"Milena's Diary". Evil and violent superwoman fiction by Conceptfan.

Part 1

Monday 14th May 2001 - 11:00 am

The last few hours have been the most incredible in my life. I'm not through for today yet, but I just had to stop and write down everything that's happened because I don't think I'll be able to take it all in otherwise.

It started at four this morning when I was woken up by noises coming from downstairs. I knew straightaway that it couldn't be burglars: criminals around here wouldn't dare try and steal anything from Tony Alto's niece. It's an open secret that the new bridge just outside town contains the remains of at least three guys that got on Tony's bad side, and no petty thief would risk a similar fate for a few bits of silver and a video player. So, whoever was downstairs had to have some connection with my uncle.

I figured that if Uncle T. wanted to talk to me, he'd probably do it himself, and not in the middle of the night. Chances were that these fellas weren't looking to sell me insurance. I was pretty sure I didn't want to find out. Luckily, I've planned for this kind of turn of events, and twenty seconds later I'd climbed through the secret hatch my Uncle's handiman had installed and was out in the roof, moving slowly towards the fire escape. I was going to slide down and make a break for my car, but when I got to the edge of the roof, I saw a huge looking guy just standing by the Merc holding a nasty-looking pistol in his hand.

That decided things for me. These guys were no good, and I had to make my escape on foot. I slid as silently as I could down to the ground and hid for a moment in the darkness. Just as I was about to start sprinting, another man came out of the house and walked up to the guy by my car. Suddenly, I recognized him: Georgie Alinto, Tony's right-hand man. What the fuck was he doing there? I didn't have to wait long to find out as Georgie kind of explained the whole thing talking to the other guy. I don't remember his exact words, but he said something like "We can't find her in the house. She must've split or something. Tony's gonna have our balls for this - he told me he wanted her out of circulation before 8 am or else."

Well, that fucked my plan of going to dear old Uncle for help. I'm not sure what I did (or didn't do) to get him so pissed off, but it doesn't matter. Tony never changed his mind about hitting somebody and his guys were amongst the best in the business. I started to run away from the house as quickly and quietly as I could, but I stepped on a twig or something and Georgie shouted "Over there!" and a second later a bullet whizzed past my ear. I knew my only chance was to keep running until I could find a really great hiding place so I didn't turn around or anything. I just sprinted for my life.

I was heading for the beach. There were less likely to be any of Tony's guys there than in town and there might be a few decent hiding places. Maybe they'd be a boat I could steal and I could get out of town that way. I could hear at least four different voices behind me. One of them - I'm not sure but I think it was Freddie, Tony's driver, actually shouted something like "Hey, Milena! Come back. Your uncle wants to have a little chat with you." "Like fuck!" I thought and kept on running.

I got to the beach in about five minutes - not surprisingly a record for me. I knew the guys had to be gaining on me, and that I had to find a place to duck down into pretty quick. It was then that I remembered the caves that we used to play in as kids. I figured I was close enough to make it without being seen in the dark, and I knew that those caves contain enough tunnels and crannies to hide a small army, let alone just me. As kids, no-one ever found me when I was hiding in there. Then again, no-one was ever looking for me with a contract and a shit-load of the latest deadly hardware. But it I knew it was my best chance and I didn't mess about.

I chose the big cave because I knew it had loads of tunnels and passageways leading deep into the cliffs. I threw myself in there and started to feel my way, as quickly as possible, deep inside. The passageways were much smaller then I remembered - narrow and low - because I'm not a small child any more, but I kind of vaguely recalled a path to a medium-sized, damp chamber that's so far from the mouth of the cave that it's dark in there - even midday in summer. When I made it I was so shattered that I just collapsed to the ground. I got a shock when I noticed I was lying in five centimeters of freezing cold water, but I didn't move. I just tried to get my breath back.

After a while, I felt my heartbeat returning to normal, and I began to breathe slowly again. I strained my ears, trying to pick out a sound that would reveal whether I'd been followed. There was nothing. I started to shiver and realised that I was wearing nothing but the vest and panties I normally sleep in. Both pieces of clothing were soaked, either in my perspiration or in water from the cave floor, or both, but I didn't care at that moment. I was safe. I started to think about what my next move should be. I had to get the hell out of the country - like maybe the other side of the world or something like that. I've been to Australia before and didn't like it much, but I was thinking more on the lines of living there as opposed to being dead here.

But before I could start planning intercontinental travel, I had to get the fuck out of that cave. I knew it would be light soon; Georgie, Freddie and the other goons would spot my footprints leading from the beach, and then they could either starve me out or grab a flashlight and come in and get me. I didn't like either option much. No, I made my mind up: either I got out then before dawn or I was probably never going to get out - ever. I wasn't exactly happy with my chances of making a clean getaway, but I figured that the cover of darkness might just be enough. There are no lights on that beach, and my Uncle's men were probably just walking up and down looking for me all over the place. Anyway, it doesn't really matter what those guys were doing right then because that was when it all happened for me.

I was just edging my way back to the entrance of the cave when my foot caught on something and the next thing I knew I was falling onto my face. I guess now that I was lucky that I fell into a deep puddle - dry rock would've hurt me. Anyhow, I started trying to get back to my feet but my the toes of my right foot were stuck somehow. I couldn't see anything in the dark, but it felt like my toes were jammed in some sort of metal ring. I reached down with my left hand to try and release my toes. I felt more metal attached to the ring imprisioning my foot; something smooth and curved that was slightly larger than my hand. I had no idea what it was and didn't care either. I needed to get out of there fast.

I tried to pull the object off my foot. My hand slid down the length of the it, but I was still trapped. I tried again and again, but without success. I grabbed the thing with both hands and gave it a huge tug, finally releasing my toes and letting the metal thing splash to the ground. Immediately I heard a sound like a rocket whooshing by, the air was filled with the smell of sulphur and my eyes were stunned by an incredibly bright light. I assumed that someone had found me and instinctively hit the deck, soaking my vest all over again. As my eyes adjusted, I looked towards the light. Then I looked up and up and up. I just couldn't believe what I was seeing.

First of all I saw the mysery object. It looked a bit like a sauce jug, but closed - sort of like one of those ancient oil lamps you see in old movies. The sort of movies featuring fat bearded guys in robes and turbans. Which is probably why I managed not to scream when I saw a guy matching that discription floating just above the lamp. The light shining all around seemed to be coming from his skin. I don't know how, but I managed to keep it together. "Are you a genie?" I asked, kind of like I was expecting to find one there.

The floating fat guy smiled at me and in a huge voice replied something like: "Not just a genie, madam. A grateful genie freed after many centuries imprisonment!" After the last few hours I wasn't sure what reality was anymore, so it felt sort of natural when I asked him if I would now get three wishes. The genie roared with laughter. Someone outside the cave must've heard him because there was a faint shout of "In here!" The ancient fat magician stopped laughing and I started panicking.

"The men outside." said the genie. "Are they seeking to harm you?" No point in messing about at this point I figured, so I said "Harm? They going to fucking kill me!"

"Then," said the big man, "you shall have your wishes. But two, not three. That should be more than enough for a mortal like you." The word mortal struck a chord with me - never in my life have I felt more mortal than at that moment. My dear Uncle's killers had tracked me down. I was as good as dead already. I had no choice but to believe in the genie - at least I had to try him out - I mean, it wasn't like I had anything to loose.

In the moments when I was planning my getaway, I guess I planned to change my name and get some sort of plastic surgery to alter my appearence so that I could live without the fear of being recognised by anyone in Tony's organisation. If I could do that now, then I could just walk out of the cave straight past Georgie and Freddie and the other goons, right? They'd think I was someone else and just let me go as they kept on searching. It seemed like a pretty decent idea, so when the fat man asked me for my first wish I said "I want to look different."

"How different?"

"Very."

"Be precise, or you will regret the consequences." By now, I could hear someone stumbling around in the cave entrance, so I just blurted out something like:

"Taller, er.. more beautiful.. um.. younger, erm.. sexier." Well, if I had the choice then I might as well take it.

A few seconds later, I heard the genie ask me for my second wish.

"What about the first?" I asked.

"It is already fulfilled."

I looked down. What I saw nearly blew my mind. Instead of my feet as I was used to seeing, my vision was filled by an enormous chest. Two perfect round breasts filled my vest almost to bursting point. They sat high and proud on my torso with an unending cleavage between them, and the outlines of two big nipples clearly visible through my now incredibly tight top. Were these mine? I lifted up my hands to touch them, when I was distracted by the sight of flawless skin and long slender fingers. In fact, everything about my appearence had changed. My waist was much smaller, my hips slightly wider, my backside tighter and rounder, legs longer and shapelier. I looked fantastic.

"What is your second wish?" asked the genie again, interupting my thoughts. Now, convinced that he was for real and not having had enough time to get my head round what had just happened, I thought quickly. I was now surely almost unrecognisable to the goons outside. I was just about to ask for a couple of million US dollars to help me start my new life, when I heard Georgie's voice. I didn't catch every word he said, but it was something like:

"Whoever's in there, just whack 'em. No witnesses, OK?"

I was shocked. I was going to get to enjoy my new body for all of thirty seconds before getting shot. And what good would a bundle of cash do me now? For a third time the genie asked me what my second and final wish was. I thought about it - a bulletproof vest? Nah, they'd just shoot me in the head. A bulletproof head? Body? That was more like it - if I was invlulnerable like a comic book character then all my problems would be over. Suddenly, it came to me. I looked up at the genie.

"I want powers like Superman" I said calmly.

"Who is this 'superman'?"

"A comic book hero"

"A fictional creation?"

"Yeah."

"What you ask may be beyond my abilities, but I have made a promise and I am bound to do what I can." As he finished speaking the light around his body seemed to flicker for an instant. Then he said "I have given you many of the remarkable attributes of the one you call "Superman". You have his senses, his strength, his speed and his invulnerability. There are some things that are not within my power to bestow but the remaining capabilities you seek are yours now for eternity. Use them well." And with those words the genie vanished and the cave was plunged back into darkness.

Naturally, I immediately assumed that the conversation with the magician and the transformation of my physical appearance had been an hallucination. But a second later, I found myself being able to make out shapes in the blackness as if my eyes had adjusted incredibly quickly to the sudden lack of light. One of those shapes was my own magnificent new outline. Had it all been for real? I was just about to find out when I heard a scratching sound nearby. I looked in that direction and, dispite the pitch black, I could clearly see Freddie tying to operate a cigarette lighter. Obviously, he had no idea that I was only a few meters away from him.

Gradually, I became aware of the sound of his breathing and then the thump of his heartbeat. A jolt of excitement shot through me - had the genie carried out my wish? Did I now have super-senses? Before I could discover the truth for certain, Freddie succeeded in operating his lighter. Now he was able to see me too. He faced me, lighter in one hand, gun in the other. My senses went into overdrive. I could see the pores on his skin, hear the rustling of his clothes, smell the metal of his gun. I felt fantastic. Somehow, I knew then that the fat magician had managed to achieve what I had asked of him.

"Milena...?" said Freddie. "What are you - her cousin or something? What the fuck's going on?"

I looked at Freddie. His eyes were firmly fixed on my chest, as if he'd never seen a woman before. I'm not exactly used to being looked at like that, but then again I'm not used to having five star perfect tits either. I'm not sure I liked the way Freddie was staring, but it was incredible to see him almost drooling over my breasts. It made me feel sort of powerful in a way. Just as I was beginning to appreciate that idea, he snapped out of his trance and pulled the trigger on his gun.

Instinctively, I closed my eyes. I heard the click of the hammer and the bang of the gun. I remembered my Uncle once saying that you never hear the one that gets you, so I thought he must have missed. I opened my eyes. The bullet seemed to be floating towards me in slow motion. I looked at Freddie. His face was moving in slow motion too. That was the clincher. No doubts now - I knew for certain I was super. After all, I was faster than a speeding bullet. Calmly, without moving, I watched the bullet approach my face. I felt a tap on my forehead like a rain drop. Then I saw the bullet again, now crumpled up like an empty drinks can and falling towards my feet. It had hit my head and the only damage was on the bullet! Oh, thank you genie!

I blinked hoping the world would return to normal speed, and was delighted to see that it did. Freddie looked like he had just seen a ghost or something. "W.. w.. what the fuck?...." he stammered. I had to smile at him. He'd just shot me in the forehead from close range and I'd never felt better. He was trying to kill me and a genie - a fucking genie! - had just transformed me into.. into.. a stunningly gorgeous invulnerable superwoman. Poor old Freddie.

He tried to shoot me again, this time in the neck. I've got to say, he was a professional alright, and hit me right on target. This time I didn't let things slip into slow motion. I felt the tap as the bullet hit me, and saw it rebound back towards where it had come from. It glanced Freddie's arm, tearing a hole in his sleeve. I saw a nasty wound through the torn material. Cursing he dropped his gun in pain. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked through gritted teeth. This time I told him.

"I'm what used to be Milena, Freddie, but I've changed a bit." He looked at me, utterly confused. I figured it was time for me to check out just how much I had actually changed. Or, rather, just how good a job the genie had done. I bent down and picked up Freddie's pistol where he had dropped it. He continued to stare at me in shock. The gun felt incredibly light in my hand. I tried to get a better grip on it. To my amazement, the metal began to deform around my fingers. It was just like something out of a Superman comic. Then I realised that that was exactly what it was: something out of a comic. But now it was real. And it was me.

I just had to do it. While Freddie stared in disbelief at his mutated gun, I took a step towards him. He made no effort to move as I lifted up my hand and held it with my palm a centimeter from his chest. I wanted to see if I could push him off his feet. I guess I shoved a bit too hard - although it didn't feel like I was making much of an effort. Anyway, he flew through the air, smashing against the cave wall some twenty meters away and well off the ground. He slid down to land in a heap and did not move again. It was fucking brilliant! With my new, pretty little hand I had gently pushed a big man, causing him to fly off like a cannonball.

Sure, I had killed him when I hadn't meant to, but then again he had been about to kill me. That reminded me that Georgie and two others were still outside looking for me, guns ready. A few minutes before that idea had filled me with terror. Now I only felt excitement. Every centimeter of me seemed to be buzzing with energy. I just couldn't wait to introduce the boys to the "new" me.

Having dealt with Freddie so easily, I was in a real hurry. Besides, there was no point hiding in a dingy cave anymore, even if there were three gangsters looking for me on the beach. I turned away from Freddie's corpse and headed towards the mouth of the cave. My sensitive eyes could clearly make out my route despite the darkness, and my steps felt incredibly light and easy. I was almost out when I came across a narrow passage. It had been a close, but comfortable squeeze when I first went into the cave. It must have been quite awkward for Freddie I thought.

Then I realised that I could no longer fit through. I was taller now and my breasts had become so much bigger. I tried turning sideways on and my left breast brushed the rough rock wall. Immediately I saw chunks of rock and dust falling to my feet. I had hardly felt anything, and I definitely hadn't put much force into it yet I'd pulverised solid rock with just my tit! It was too incredible. I leant into the wall, delighted to see more and more rock crushed by my breast. It felt as though I was destroying nothing more substantial than polystyrene!

I moved sideways. A deep channel began to appear in the cave wall, carved out by my magnificent bosom. I continued the crab-like motion. My other breast fit neatly into the groove I had carved, widening it slightly. I leaned further into the wall. Now I could see a second, much smaller channel appearing in the centre of the first. It took me a couple of moments to realise that my nipples were actually carving through the rock too. The softest parts of my body were crushing the solid walls of a cave! It was all true. The genie had made me beautiful and super.

I tried to take a step back from the wall. My back and shoulders slammed into the hard rock behind me, reducing a large chunk of it to rubble and considerably widening the passageway. I'm going to have to learn to be a bit more careful I suppose. I looked down at my fantastic cleavage. Whereas my vest had previously been quite modest, there is now a huge amount of exposed flesh at the sides, not to mention the front. Out of curiousity I lifted my hands and placed a few fingers of each on the outside of my tits. I couldn't believe how smooth and soft I felt, especially since that same flesh had crushed rock a few moments before.

I saw that a chunk of that rock - about the size of my fist - had fallen partly into the generous space between my - I have to say it - phenonemal breasts. It was rough and had to weigh nearly two kilos and yet it had sat undetected in one of the most sensitive areas of my body. I could not resist the temptation to experiment. Cupping myself, I eased by breasts slightly apart, allowing the rock to slip down between them where it fit quite snugly. I could barely feel the contact of the heavy rough chunk against my bare skin; in fact it felt more like a lightweight bath sponge in there than a rock.

Placing my fingers once again on the outside of my breasts I began to slowly squeeze them together. Cracks appeared on the rock before it began to break up. I continued to squeeze my chest until my tits were touching each other. There was no sign of the rock. Then I saw what appeared to be sand running out of the bottom of my vest. My beautiful bosoms had ground a piece of rock into dust!

I was in awe of myself at that stage, just staring at my unbelievable new body, my mind trying to take in what it was now capable of. I have to admit I was begining to feel a little bit turned on by what I had done. My fingers drifted absent-mindedly under the elastic of my panties. How incredibly slim I am now! My whole hand had disappeared into my knickers when I suddenly had a thought. I freed my hand a reached up to the wall in front of me. I was thrilled by the ease with which my fingers dug into the solid rock. I tore a chunk away from the wall as easily as I would have picked an apple yesterday.

Carefully, I pulled open the elastic on my panties and dropped the chunk in there so that its rough edge pressed against my sex. It felt great. I released the elastic and placed my hand on the front of my knickers. As I pressed against the rock I heard it crumble and watched the sand once again pouring out of my clothes. How fantastic is that! My cunt is now as hard as a diamond! I wanted to be bulletproof, but it seems I'm far, far tougher than that.

That was the moment when I realised that it isn't just me that the genie had made "super". It was when I suddenly thought that it was odd that all that rock crushing hadn't left even so much as a mark - either on my skin or on my vest and panties. I had asked to be like Superman in the comics; he had his ridiculous-looking indestructible clothes, and so do I. It's just that my "super-outfit" is what I used to sleep in. I looked at my vest. It used to hang loose and cover my navel but I'm taller and much bigger breasted now so it clings to my chest and leaves my midriff exposed. It's not what I would have chosen, but I suppose if you've got it, you ought to show it off a bit. Anyway, I'm not complaining.

Back in the cave, I was still considering my wardrobe when my thoughts were interrupted by a shout from outside. Someone was looking for Freddie. I had almost forgotten the men trying to kill me, let alone my Uncle's treachery - the reason I came to be in the cave in the first place. For the first time, everything that happened this morning really sunk in.

My own Uncle sent four of his top men to ice me. I don't even know why. I got away. I hid in a cave. I caught my foot on an ancient oil lamp. A genie appeared. He gave me two wishes. I asked to be stunningly beautiful. He granted my wish. I asked for powers like a comic book character. He gave them to me. Then, I took a bullet on the head and hardly felt it. Not only that, but I had casually pushed a guy, causing him to fly through the air like he was shot from a circus cannon. For an enore, I crushed solid rock to powder with the more sensitive parts of my body. And it wasn't even 8 a.m. yet!

It was all a bit too much for me. I sat down in the cave, ignoring the sound of rock being pulverised by my backside and hips. My mind was racing with questions. What did the genie mean when he said some of Superman's attributes were beyond his power to bestow? What had he meant by "eternity"? Could the changes be permanent? What did my face look like now? What did I look like naked? It didn't take me long to work out that the answers definitely weren't in that cave. It was time to face the music outside. What better way to find out once and for all just how super I'd become?

Anyway, I managed to get out of the passageway without smashing up too much more rock. It was dawn by then. I smelt Cuban smoke. As I got near the mouth of the cave, I spotted one of my Uncle's guys sitting on a small boulder, his back to me, smoking a cigar. It was easy to walk towards him on the sand without him noticing; especially after I found that I can hold my breath for ages and ages without really even noticing the difference. I got to about a meter from him. I could hear his heart - I could even hear the sound of his cigar burning.

I looked at the rock he was sitting on - it was about half a meter in diameter, and fairly round and smooth. I guess it had to weigh at least a couple of hundred kilos. It looked too much like a giant ball for me not to try. Besides, I figured I had already tested the strength of my hand on Freddie. It was time to see what my delicate feminine foot could do. I drew back my right leg and kicked the base of the boulder dead centre with about the same force the "old" me would use to kick a stray can down the street.

It was a beautiful sight. It's about a hundred meters from where the gunman was sitting to the breaking waves. The rock flew in a textbook arc to fall with a mighty splash at least a quarter of a kilometer out to sea. After a couple of seconds' flight, the goon with the cigar got separated from his seat. I could hear his scream of shock fading away as he too flew towards the water. With my super eyes, I could see him drop his cigar onto the sand as he passed the shoreline. He landed about thirty meters short of the boulder with a smaller splash. I scanned the surface of the water, but he never resurfaced. I figured it served him right.

I looked at my "new" legs in the early sunlight. So smooth, so long, so shapely - so perfect! And as I know now, so very, very powerful. It was like I'd become some sort of godess: Incredibly beautiful, seemingly indestructible and unfathomably strong. I was eager to conduct some more experiments. I looked up and down the beach. It's fantastic how my eyes can now pick up tiny details at great distances, even when I'm scanning a huge area at speed. About half a kilometer away I spotted the tip of a man's shoe sticking out from behind a large outcrop of rock. I couldn't see any other sign of human life anywhere, so I figured that the shoe had to belong to either Georgie or the other guy.

I was really keen to check out the owner of that footwear, so I started running in that direction. It felt great as I ran - not like earlier in the day when I was out of breath, aching and sweating. Now I didn't even need to breathe and my whole body felt terrific - even better than it used to feel when I relaxed in the sun. There was not a trace of perspiration anywhere on my magnificent body. The ground flashed by. I seemed to arrive immediately after I set off, yet despite my phenonemal momentum, I managed to stop dead without any trouble. I looked back at the distance I'd covered. If I hadn't seen my footprints stretching back to the mouth of the cave, I would never have believed that I'd just run half a kilometer. I felt too good!

Apparently, not only had I been incredibly quick, but I'd also been pretty quiet. I could hear a conversation taking place on the other side of the outcrop, both parties oblivious to my presence. As I listened, I immediately recognised Georgie's voice. The other guy must of been the fourth member of my uncle's hit squad. They were debating whether they should phone Tony and tell him that I'd got away. The guy I didn't know was urging Georgie to tell Uncle T. that Freddie had me cornered in a cave. I thought about Freddie lying crumpled and dead on the ground. And the cigar guy who'd become fish food. I figured it was time to introduce Georgie and his pal to the new Milena...

I stepped out from behind the rocks. "Hi guys! Looking for me?" I asked cheerfully. They both whizzed round to look at me, grabbing their pistols as they did. As the sight of me sunk in, their jaws dropped. They were both staring at my chest like hungry dogs staring at a steak. Finally, Georgie recovered his voice:

"Jesus! Milena? Is that you? You had plastic surgery or something?"

"Or something" I replied. I've got to hand it to Georgie - he was a pro alright. He got back to business pretty quickly.

"Milena, your uncle wants to see you, you know. He sent us to get you. We've been looking for you all morning. Where've you been?" His voice was sincere, like he really meant it. The cold-blooded bastard. I decided then that he was going to end up like Freddie and the other idiot with the cigar. I pretended to play along with him. After all, what could he or his pal do to me? I flashed what I hope was a really sexy grin at them.

"What are we waiting for then, boys? Let's go." They were clearly not expecting this. Suddenly, the one I didn't know sprang to life.

"Yeah - what are we waiting for Georgie?" he asked. "Let's get it over with." As he finished he raised his gun and pointed it straight at my head. I could hear his breathing getting slightly faster as he pulled the trigger. Then I heard the crack of the pistol and felt the strange rain-drop like sensation of the bullet hitting the bridge of my nose. I managed not to flinch.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" shouted Georgie. "You too chickenshit to shoot a girl?" And he raised his gun and fired off three rounds in quick succession. The first bounced off my right eye. I felt it slightly more than the previous one, but it didn't hurt or anything. I kept smiling as the second shot pinged off my teeth. That one I didn't feel at all. The third hit my chin with the increasingly familiar rain-drop feeling.

"What the fuck..." Georgie said in shock.

"Can't you boys even shoot straight?" I taunted. To be honest, I was beginning to enjoy being used for target practice. The two men came to a joint decision and began firing together. The sensation of dozens of hot bullets bouncing off my body was nice really; a bit like being caressed. It was particularly agreeable when they hit my breasts, almost a bit of a turn-on. I didn't let them know that, of course. I just stood casually pretending to examine my fingernails while the emptied their clips. Sadly, they eventually ran out of bullets. They both stood dead still, jaws wide open in utter shock. I decided to tease them a bit more.

"Sorry boys, I wasn't listening. Did you just say something?"

They didn't reply they just kept staring at me in disbelief. Well, staring at my tits anyway. I took a couple of steps towards them. They didn't move; perhaps they were in shock, or perhaps they didn't think they had anything to be afraid of. I was standing about a meter away from them now.

"So tell me fellas," I said, trying to sound casual, "what do you think of my new body?" They remained silent, eyes glued to my cleavage.

I turned to face the guy whose name I didn't know. "I see you like my tits." I said. "Would you like a closer view?" He seemed frozen to the spot, so I figured I'd help him out. I reached out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, holding him at arm's length. He finally came to life, reaching up to take hold of my arm. I could see him struggling to remove my hand from his shirt, but I could hardly feel his touch. He began to put all his effort into it, almost lifting his feet off the ground as he hung off my arm. He started sweating and groaning. My arm didn't move a millimeter. I felt like a godess.

He continued his vain struggles. Slowly, I bent my arm, pulling him towards me. He let go of me and started to pound my stomach and breasts, the effort turning his face red and making him spit. It felt like being hit with a piece of paper. I pulled him closer and downwards. He began to hit me on the sides and then repetitively on the crotch. I had to close my eyes and concentrate to even feel his blows. I pulled him closer still until his face was only a few centimeters from my breasts. He kept on pounding me without effect.

"So do you like my tits then?" I asked him.

"Let go of me, bitch" he splurted out.

"I asked you a question" I said, assertively. I brought him even closer until his nose was almost in my cleavage.

"Let me go!" he was practically screaming now.

"Tell me what you think of my tits, you pathetic little worm." I couldn't help but let a hint of disgust enter my voice. He truly was the most pathetic sight I have ever seen.

Finally he saw the light. "They're.. they're great" he stammered.

I was a little bit disappointed. "Great? Is that the best you come up with? Here, have a closer look". I yanked him into my chest. I only wanted to give him a few bruises, but I underestimated my new strength. There was a sickening cracking sound. His head hung backwards at an unnatural angle, almost touching his back. A trickle of blood emerged from his mouth. I immediately dropped the corpse. It fell at my feet. A gentle kick sent it flying over the beach into the sea.

That seemed to bring Georgie into life. He turned and began sprinting along the sand. I gave him about ten seconds' head start, but still caught up with him within five strides. I grabbed him by the back of the neck carefully so as not to kill him and lifted him off his feet. Then I turned my wrist so that he was facing me, although his chest was at my eye-level as I held him aloft. He was a big man and well-built, but to me he felt as light as an empty plastic bag. His feet dangled free by my knees, his arms were limp at his sides. He made no effort to resist me, but I could see the fear on his face. He began to plead.

"Milena! Please! We were just doing what your uncle told us to do. Please! Don't kill me! Milena! I'll do anything you want me to!". This was even more pathetic than his pal. I dropped him in disgust. He fell in a heap on the sand, but immediately scrambled onto his knees. Looking up at me with eyes like a drowning puppy he sobbed,

"Milena! I'm begging you! Don't kill me!" I bent down and slipped a few fingers inside the belt of his trousers. Straightening back up again, I lifted him off the ground. He dangled from my hand like an odd-shaped suitcase. I tossed him underarm a couple of hundred meters out to sea, listening to his scream fading into the distance.

So much for the hit squad then. How easy it had been to defeat four armed men! I looked around the beach. There was no other sign of life. I walked the few meters back to the outcrop and sat down. The sand was strewn with dozens of spent, mutilated bullets. I picked one up and held it between my thumb and forefinger. I squeezed it until it was as thin as a sheet of foil in the middle. Then I closed it in my fist and tried to crush it further. I was surprised to see molten metal running through my fingers. Despite the fact that it had to be hundreds of degrees centigrade, it felt lukewarm to me. I opened my hand and poured out the liquid on to the sand. It immediately solidified, making an usual looking ornament.

I took another bullet from the ground and placed it between my teeth. I wanted to know if I could make bite marks in it, but in the end, my teeth sliced through it as if it were butter. I chewed the two halves a bit until my mouth was full of bits of metal. I spat them out. Some pieces hit a boulder about thirty feet away, embedding themselves in the rock. Others flew unchallenged to land nearly fifty meters further down the beach. Popping another bullet from the sand into my mouth, I spat it out whole. It travelled a hundred meters before hitting the ground. The next slug I placed on my open palm and flicked with one finger of the other hand. It flew even further away.

I walked over to the boulder I had studded with bullet fragments a few moments before. It was about twice my size. I knew it had to weigh several tons. I bent down over it. Placing a hand on either side of the huge rock, I stood up, bringing the rock with me. It felt about as heavy as a newspaper. I tossed it into the air about two meters above my head and caught it. I threw it up again, this time about fifty meters into the sky. This time I didn't catch it, I just let it fall onto my head. The impact knocked me ten centimeters down into the sand. It felt like being a child patted on the head by a well-meaning adult. The boulder was smashed into countless pieces that rained down all around me.

I soon got bored playing with bullets and rocks. I decided to go home to check out my new body and face in the mirror. A few hours before, as I had left home running, I was sure that I would never see the place again. Now I strolled back there, not a care in the world. I found the front door kicked in. I'll have to sort that out tomorrow. On the other hand, it might be fun to deal with an intruder or two..

I wasted no time, hurrying upstairs to stand in front of my full-length mirror, pulling off my "super" vest and panties. No wonder the four guys at the beach stared at me. I'm totally gorgeous. I mean stunning, drop-dead perfect. My face is now the equal of any magazine cover. Flawless complexion, large clear bright eyes, perfect nose - not too cute, not too strong. My lips full, red and beautifully shaped covering dazzlingly white, arrow straight, immaculately regular teeth.

This was the first time I got a proper look at my new figure too. I don't think I'd ever seen breasts like those in the mirror. It's as if they've been exempted from the law of gravity, despite their impressive size. But it's not just that they're large - really large - they're also perfectly shaped; round and proud and the ideal distance from one another. Because of those fabulous tits, I have to use the mirror to fully see my flat, smooth stomach. No amount of dieting or working out would produce a stomach as flawless as mine. It's a work of art. Just like my hips. And my thighs. Not to mention my rear. Or my legs. In fact, every single square centimeter of me is absolutely perfect.

Still standing before the mirror, I flexed my arms like a body builder. Remembering the way I'd hurled Georgie earlier, I expected to see huge muscles, but there was nothing but the mearest hint of a bulge beneath my skin. The same applied to my legs. I tried tensing myself and holding my large double bed over my head with both arms. I looked as lithe and slender as ever. Despite my unbelievable strength I have no more muscle than I did before I met the genie. It's just that my muscles are "super" now. All of me is. Beautiful, feminine and super. I truly am a godess. I think I'll put some clothes on and go out and have some fun.

 

Conceptfan, Nov. 2001.

Part 2

Monday 14th May 2001 - 3:00 pm

When I finished writing the last entry, I thought I’d had the most amazing day of my life - and it wasn't even noon yet! I knew that I should've been tired, but I felt great. I wanted to experiment some more with my new powers. I left my vest and knickers on the floor and took out a short summer dress from the cupboard. I'd not worn it much because it didn't really look right on me, but I figured that with my new body things might be a bit different. I placed it over my head and started to pull it on. There was a tearing sound. My nipples had ripped two slits in the front of the dress. I tore it off my body one-handedly in frustration.

Then I had an idea. I picked up my "super vest" and put it on. Taking another dress from the cupboard, I carefully pulled it over my head. No rips this time. I was about to leave the bedroom when I spotted the open hatch in the ceiling. I remembered fleeing through there this morning. It was a very different me looking up at it this afternoon. My bedroom is fairly high-ceiling - about four meters I'd say. I wondered if I could jump high enough to close the hatch. I positioned myself underneath, slightly bent my knees and sprang upwards. The next thing I knew, I was rocketing through the hatch. Some part of me caught on the ceiling, enlarging the escape hole considerably.

I continued rising until I could see the entire roof below. Then, inevitably, I slowed and started coming back down. I fell back through the hatch, ripping another piece of roof and landing back on my feet about half a meter from the spot where I had first jumped. Dust and plaster rained down from above where I had smashed the ceiling twice in ten seconds. Not only that, but I'd ruined another dress. At least I'd learnt a thing or two about my new jumping capabilities. Like not to use them indoors. There was dust everywhere. Especially on my dressing table. There's things there that I treasure, such as the jewellry box my mother gave me on my thirteenth birthday.

I picked up the box and carried it over to an open window. Tilting the box downwards I pursed my lips to blow the dust off it. I swear I only blew gently, the way I would to extinguish a candle. Not gently enough however. All that was left of the box when I hurriedly stopped exhaling was a small piece of wood between my fingers where I was holding it. The rest of it had flown down to the ground outside along with a large chunk of window frame and a small piece of my bedroom wall. Looking down, I saw the chunk of box embedded about ten centimeters into the hard ground. I was devastated. I've treasured that jewellry box for years.

I realised that there was going to be nothing left of the house if I continued using my new powers inside. The damage was impressive; the holes I'd torn in the ceiling, the two ruined dresses and most spectacularly, the gaps in the wall by the window. I was annoyed at the work and expense I'd created for myself and upset about the box mum had given me, but I have to admit I was more than a little bit turned on by the idea that I'd performed significant home alterations with just my breath. I was eager to experiment some more, but I knew that it would have to be outside. Keeping my vest on, but deciding not to bother with the panties, I grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of running shorts and headed downstairs.

The T-shirt I took used to be really loose on me, now it fitted over my vest like a second skin. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. I couldn't go anywhere public without attracting too much unwanted attention, so I just went into the garden out back. I was anxious to test out the limits of my newly-discovered "super-breath". I stood underneath the big oak in the middle of the garden and blew gently into its branches as if I was cooling soup. Almost every leaf on the tree immediately tore loose of its branch and lifted upwards, creating something like a green nuclear mushroom cloud. The leaves fell slowly down to earth to cover the entire garden with a bed of oak tree confetti. Very pretty it was too.

I tried blowing a bit harder. The bare branches shook and some of the smaller ones broke off. A little harder still and the larger branches began to snap and fly skywards only to crash down to earth when I stopped exhaling. I was impressing myself now. I found that I didn't need to take a deep breath before blowing; the air just seemed to come from within me. I took a few steps back, so that I was standing a few meters from the trunk of the tree. It had to be a meter across. I blew as hard as I could directly onto the trunk. The entire tree began to bend away from me.

I continued to blow. I heard the sound of cracking wood then suddenly, the trunk ripped in two. Before I could stop my breath, the top half of the tree which must have weighed ten tonnes, even without leaves or branches, flew a hundred meters away, past the end of the garden and smashed into another house. It tore a huge hole in the second floor, before finally coming to rest half inside and half outside the house. I'd broken a fifty-year old tree in half and hurled it through the air and through the side of a building just by blowing on it. The other house looked like something you see on TV after a hurricane disaster. I felt fantastic. I still do just thinking about it.

Walking up to the broken tree stump in my garden, I punched it with my right fist. My arm was embedded in the tree up to my elbow, but I hardly even felt the impact. I did the same trick with my other fist, about twenty centimeters to the side of the first hit. Then, I tried lifting my arms. At first, nothing happened but I kept lifting. Slowly but surely, the trunk began to move. Roots I had never seen began to break through the surface of my lawn all around. There was a series of cracking sounds and then, in a shower of earth, I tore the trunk free of the ground.

I adjusted my grip so that I held the huge piece of timber between the palms of my hands and raised it overhead. It felt about as heavy as a medium -sized bag of sugar. Looking at the devastation I'd caused to my neighbours house, I didn't think they'd mind if things got any worse, so I hurled the base of the tree towards the gaping hole I had accidently made earlier. It was a direct hit, the second tree-half landing with an almighty crash right on top of the first and causing very little extra damage. How considerate of me. I used my super vision to zoom in and inspect the chaos I'd made. It felt great to see the amount of destruction I had brought about in just a few short moments without even exerting myself.

Just then I heard the distant sound of sirens. I should have known that two halves of a tree crashing through the upstairs of a house wouldn't pass unnoticed. I didn't feel like sticking around to explain things to the police. Of course, it wasn't that I was afraid of them. Far from it. I don't ever have to feel afraid again. The police can try what they like. Uncle Tony and his pals can try to kill me all they want for all I care. It won't do them any good. But I didn't want to be on the scene when the cops actually showed up. It was time for me to go somewhere else to practice being super.

I decided to go into town. I knew there was a good chance that I would come across someone from Tony's organisation, but to be honest, I was actually looking forward to a confrontation. More out of habit than anything else, I thought I'd go by car. I retrieved the keys from the house and walked out to the front. I obviously still have quite a bit of adjusting to do, because when I went to unlock the driver's door, I succeeded only in mangling both the key and the lock. I tried to put things right by bending the metal back into shape with my fingers, but the entire handle just came off in my hand.

Not knowing what else to do, I poked my finger into the ripped hole in the metal and stroked at the mechanism. I must have pushed something out of the way because the door swung open. I climbed in and carefully closed the door, not wanting to cause any further damage. Of course, it wouldn't stay shut - not until I bent a bit of the frame with my thumb to hold it. With extreme delicacy I pushed the ignition key in. This time I managed not to ruin either key or keyhole. Slowly, as if I was handling a tiny new born animal, I started to turn the key. It was then that I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror and realised that I was still wearing my overly tight T-shirt. Too late to change now, I thought.

I should have known that my dear Uncle's goons, having failed to find me at home this morning, might have assumed I would return for my car. And that if they were trying to kill me, they might well have seen the car as an excellent booby trap. It's not as if they haven't done it before; in fact, that's how Tony became top dog in the first place. Perhaps I wasn't thinking straight, but I really didn't think that my car's ignition would be connected to a bomb. Maybe I wouldn't have left the tank full if I'd known. By the time I had fully turned the key to start the engine, it was too late to do anything about it anyway.

The explosion was huge. Suddenly I wasn't sitting in the car at all. It seemed to just disappear from all around me. Chunks of metal and glass flew violently in all directions. Quite a few slammed into me. The metal deformed as it bounced off me. Some bits of red hot panel actually moulded themselves to the shape of my body before falling to the ground. Glass shattered into dust. Then for quite a few seconds all I could see was red and orange as I was englufed by a massive fireball. It felt like sunbathing in midsummer. I could see flames reaching as high as the house all around me. I never realised how beautiful the centre of a fire is.

I was still in a sitting position, but there was no seat underneath me anymore so I stood up. I walked slowly through the burning wreckage until I was clear of the flames. The fire licking at my body sent a thrill through me which is difficult to describe. I felt powerful and quite horny too. Then I saw why. The explosion and burning had completely destroyed my T-shirt and running shorts and I was wearing only my super-vest. The flames had been touching my exposed sex. I laughed. I'd discovered a brand new style of masturbation! I also resolved never to go out again without my special knickers - you never know when you might be in an exploding car...

Leaving the flaming remains of the car, I ran upstairs to get my panties. I was amazed that the fire had not left a single trace on my body. No black soot marks. Nothing but silky smooth flawless skin. Then I heard the sound of police sirens once again. I didn't know if they were responding to the flying trees in my neighbour's bedroom or the exploding car outside my house. I didn't waste any more time on fragile clothes. I just jumped out of the upstairs window in my vest and panties. I landed on my feet on the concrete, hardly having to adjust at all to absorb the impact, although I did put a meter-long crack in the driveway.

I started jogging into town. I didn't think I was going particularly fast, until I realised I was overtaking a family car on the main road. I wasn't pushing myself at all, but I was doing sat least sixty k.p.h! I came alongside the car and stayed level with it for a while. I turned to see the driver. I could not believe it. Staring at me, mouth hanging open, was Enrico, one of Uncle Tony's men. I wondered why he was in such an ordinary car - Tony's guys usually drove big German petrol-guzzlers. There was no-one else inside, so I guess he was on some kind of "unofficial" business. I felt sorry for him, having to drive such an ordinary jalopy. I decided to help him out by cashing in his insurance.

I was still jogging level with the driver's seat and Enrico was still staring at me, mouth open. I flashed him a smile and then increased my pace a little, easily overtaking the struggling little car. When I was about ten meters ahead, I stopped, turned around and jumped into the car's path. Using my super-speed, I was able to watch Enrico in slow motion. I saw his surprise turn to shock and then fear. And I saw him slam his foot on the brake pedal far, far too late. Not having my ability to stretch time, he never stood a chance. The car ploughed into me. Or rather I ploughed into it.

The steel wrapped itself around my thighs and knees. It was like someone enfolding my legs in a duvet. I remained motionless as the front of the vehicle crumpled up against me. The windscreen shattered and the metal continued to concertina until the much more solid engine was pushed up against my crotch. Unable to move forward, the car's momentum forced the compressed wreckage upwards, folding on itself as it pressed on my waist, and my navel. It was magnificent to see the jalopy crease up into an unrecognisable mess against my flawless body.

The steering column, unable to make any impression on my invulnerable stomach, found Enrico's chest to be far softer. I'm sure he never felt it, but it did look pretty disgusting. It kind of spoilt the moment for me. I stopped savouring the sensation of the heavy, hot and crushed engine pressing against my cunt. Hurriedly, I reached down with my right hand and grabbed the mangled car, pulling it off my legs as easily as if it really were a blanket. Keeping my one-handed hold, I tossed the remains of the jalopy and its driver aside. It landed noisily fifteen meters away from the side of the road in someone's vineyard. The vinter's going to be busy cleaning that mess.

I feel kind of sorry for Enrico - unlike the other four guys I killed this morning, he hadn't been trying to ice me. Then again, word must have gotten around that I'm a marked woman and Tony must be offering a reward for anyone who finishes me off, so he probably would have done the same to me. If only he could. Or anyone else for that matter. Still, I was beoming aware of the growing trail of destruction I was leaving. Sooner or later, the police have to figure out that it all seems to centre around me. Even if there was nothing they could do about me, I didn't fancy becoming public enemy number one. I realised then that I need to get out of town and lay low for a while and consider my next move.

But before I could do that, I had some loose ends to tie up. For starters, there were quite a few things still at home that I didn't want to leave behind - some clothes, a few keepsakes, this diary of course. To get them, I had to go back. The place would surely be crawling with cops investigating the mysterious explosion of my car. I didn't want a showdown with the law, but I did want to get my stuff. Not really having all that much to loose, I decided to take the risk. I mean, what could a couple of policemen do to me? I jogged back down the road towards my house.

When I got there, I saw only one police car. That meant a maximum of two cops. I spotted them both, poking through the wreckage of my car. It was easy to slip round the back unnoticed. I looked up at the bathroom window. It was closed, but it would be my best entry point, hidden from the view of the lawmen. I bent my knees slightly and sprang up, sailing through the upstairs window, shattering the glass and breaking a chunk of metal frame with my elbow as I passed. I brushed a few bits of broken glass out of my hair and my cleavage, and headed towards the bedroom, keeping low so as not to be spotted by the cops outside.

Clearly, I wasn't careful enough, because my sensitive ears picked up the two cops discussing the sound of shattering glass. Through the bedroom window, I saw one of them making his way to the back. A short while later, he returned and gestured to his partner. They drew their guns and approached the front door. I had to work quick. Being super, this was not a problem. I grabbed a suitcase, threw some clothes in it and a couple of nick-nacks with sentimental value. I took what was left of my special jewellery box - for old time's sake I guess. Lastly I grabbed my diary from the bedside, and closed the case. I used to struggle to lift my full suitcase, now it feels like an empty plastic bag.

I was about to make my way downstairs when I heard footsteps headed towards me. So I turned around and went back into the bedroom. Opening the window - I was trying not to make any noise - I jumped out still holding the case. I landed easily, putting another crack in the concrete. I thought the operation had gone perfectly, but evidently I'd been spotted because I heard a shout from the upstairs window. I ignored it and started to walk slowly away from the house. The cop shouted again, but I kept on walking. I heard the shot and felt the tap in the centre of my back.

I could have run off at that point, but I knew that if I did, the cops would broadcast my description to every uniform in town, making life awkward for me. So I dropped my case, turned around, took a couple of steps forward and leapt back into the bedroom through the open window. I landed gracefully in front of two deeply shocked policemen. Public servants or not, once they recovered from the surprise of my entry they both began leering at my chest. I was pretty pissed off by this - I mean, were these guys trying to arrest me or ogle me? I wanted to teach them a lesson, but I knew I didn't have time. I had to get rid of them quickly.

A few strides brought me in reach of them both. Four eyes followed my advancing breasts. Their lechery really annoyed me. Lifting my arms, I grabbed each by his collar before they had time to react. They were probably too hyptonised by the sight of my chest to move anyway. They snapped to life pretty quickly when I lifted both of them off their feet, grabbing my arms, huffing and puffing and futilely trying to break my grip. One started kicking my thighs and his colleague followed suit. I hardly even noticed their blows.

Getting nowhere with their boots, they started pounding my face with their fists. I could see the bruises forming on their hands. I smiled. I was really enjoying the way these two well-trained men were giving it everything they had but only managing to hurt themselves. But I knew that time was not on my side. I brought my hands together, smacking their heads against one another. Immediately they stopped struggling and went limp. Neither of them was breathing anymore. I dropped them on the floor and turned around. I leapt out of the window for the third time and added yet another crack to my driveway. Without pausing, I grabbed my case and ran.

I didn't really think about where I was going, but I found myself heading back to the beach. Perhaps it was because it had offered me successful refuge this morning, I don't know. Anyway about two minutes later, I was walking into the cave where I'd freed the genie. This time, it was easy to find my way inside. My super eyes found the darkness no challenge and, as for the tight squeeze through the narrow rock passageway, well, my super tits had taken care of that this morning. I had to smile when I spotted the channel I'd carved in the wall, but the grin disappeared when I saw Freddie's body slumped in the corner, a look of surprise fixed on his pale face.

I put down my suitcase, opened it and pulled out this diary. I sat down so I could write down everything that's happened since noon before I forgot it. And that's where I am now. I need a plan. I've got everything I wanted from home, but pretty soon every cop in the country will be looking for me. I have to go abroad and as soon as possible. They'll be looking for me on the border and at the ports and airports. I'll have to slip out undetected. But before that there's the small matter of the contract on my life organised by dear old Uncle Tony. I mean, I really ought to pay T. a visit sometime soon. After all, it's thanks to him that I met the genie. It would be wrong of me not to express my gratitude.

 

Conceptfan, Nov. 2001.

Part 3

Monday 14th May 2001 - 9:00 pm

Now I've really got to get out of the country. Tonight if I can. And I guess I'll probably never be able to come back either. Not unless I'm in the mood for one hell of a rumble. But I've got to say, it was worth it. I've had more fun in the past few hours than I've ever had in my life. Being super is fucking brilliant. Anyway, what I'm going to do is write down everything I can remember doing since this afternoon and then get the hell out of here. Actually, I can't believe how good my memory is now. I can recall almost every detail. But getting it all down on paper will help me set it straight in my mind, so I'd best get started.

After I'd written down this afternoon's events, I left my suitcase here in the cave and headed out to the beach. I knew exactly where I was going, but I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there. I started sprinting by the main road where I met Enrico this morning. Using the trees lining the road as cover, I sped past the wreckage I'd made. Two guys and a policeman were standing next to it, looking perplexed. They didn't notice me as I streaked past. I had to be doing nearly a hundred kilometres an hour. It felt great to be running so fast, the friction of the wind warming up my exposed skin. I was almost sorry when I arrived at the gates of my uncle's house on the other side of town ten minutes later.

It was then that I realised that I didn't have a plan. I knew I wanted some kind of revenge on my uncle, but I also wanted to find out why he had tried to have me killed. I saw his car parked in the drive. At least he was home. That made my mind up for me - I had to get inside. From my vantage point on the other side of the street, I could see two guys in suits standing near the house. There were probably a couple inside as well, watching the driveway on CCTV. There was no way I was going to be able to surprise Tony. I might as well make a big entrance. I walked casually up to the two huge gates separating the driveway from the street.

As I approached the five-meter high iron barrier, a disembodied voice distracted me. It came from a small black box attached to one of the bars of the gate.

"Can I help you miss?" So, I'd already been spotted. I knew I'd better get on with things.

"No thanks. I can manage by myself." I said.

"This is a private residence. Please move on." said the voice.

"Actually I've got some business with Mr. Alto, so I'll be coming in."

"Mr. Alto doesn't have any appointments today. Please move on."

"Oh, I don't need an appointment."

I placed my left hand on one of the three centimetre diameter bars of the gate and my right on another.

"I am asking you to leave immediately. This is a private residence" warned the voice. I gripped the bars. I felt the iron deforming slightly in my hands. I was gripping a bit too hard.

"This is your final warning. Please leave immediately."

"I told you I'm coming in." I said. I relaxed my grip on the gate a little. I didn't want to break the bars. One of the guys in suits walked hurriedly over towards the other side of the gate. In what was obviously a well-rehearsed move, he moved one side his jacket to reveal his pistol in its holster.

"I think you'd better move on, miss." he said, trying to sound pleasant but forceful.

"Look, " I said, "I just told your pal on the intercom. I've got some business with Tony Alto. I'm coming in to see him."

"If you have a message for Mr. Alto," replied the guy in the suit, "I'd be happy to take it to him. But you'll have to leave the area right away."

"I don't have to do anything." I told him, truthfully.

"I'm afraid you do." said the suit. "Now, give me the message and go."

"OK. This is the message." I lifted my hands, maintaining my grip on the bars. I'd never heard the scream of tearing metal before. It's an amazing sound. Especially when it you that's causing it. I raised the gate slowly, not wanting to break the bars I was holding. The huge hinges continued to screech until they finally broke with a loud clang.

The five-meter high, eight-meter wide and three centimetre thick iron gate was a little difficult to balance in my delicate feminine hands. I knew if I gripped it too tightly, the bars I was holding would break and the huge barrier would fall. Carefully, I bent my arms so that I was holding the gate over my head. The guard was so stunned that he almost fell backwards over himself. I smiled at him. He just stared back at me in total disbelief. "Here," I said, still smiling, "take this to Mr. Alto" and I casually tossed the enormous gate towards him. He fell to the ground before the barrier hit him. It landed on him with a sickening crunching sound. There was blood everywhere.

I strolled past what was left of him towards the door of the mansion. The other suited guard had seen what had happened to his pal and not surprisingly wasn't too keen on coming too close to me. But his colleague was dead and he wasn't going to be a coward. "Stop right there!" he yelled at me, his gun pointed straight at my head.

"Go home and you won't get hurt." I told him, not breaking my stride. I heard the bang of his pistol. Using my super speed I whirled around to face him and caught the bullet in my hand, the lead flattening quite a bit against my far tougher palm. He looked stunned; to him my movement must have been nothing but a blur. I held up the bullet between my thumb and forefinger where he could see it. "Is this yours?" I asked him sweetly. "Would you like it back?" Before he could say anything I flicked the bullet at him with my middle digit. It spun length-wise in the air, moving far faster than it had done when it was fired at me, tearing a big hole right through the guard's head. He crumpled up to the ground.

Now I'd really announced my arrival. I heard an upstairs window open. Looking up, I saw a guy holding a really big gun. I was quite excited by this. I hoped it was a machine gun - I'd not yet been shot by one of those. To my delight, my hopes were fulfilled. There was a rat-a-tat sound and a flock of bullets headed my way. The hit in a line right across my chest, bouncing off all over the place like a jet of water hitting a wall. It felt fantastic! No man has even managed to give me a thrill like that. I stopped walking towards the mansion, and stood perfectly still in order to enjoy the sensation of dozens of bullets a second striking my breasts.

To my great disappointment the gunner ran out of ammo. I snapped out of my trance and started walking again. The front door was an ostentatiously large, wooden affair. I placed my right palm centrally on the huge slab of oak and gave it a shove. Evidently, someone had been posted behind it because when the big door had flown the length of Tony's huge entrance hall, smashing against the far wall, it stayed vertical as if stuck by glue instead of falling to the floor and red liquid trickled out from underneath it. I stood in the now empty doorway and looked around. There were three guys, two in the far left corner and one in the far right. I was overjoyed to see that they were all holding machine guns like the one I'd seen in the upstairs window.

The three goons looked at the mess collecting below what used to be the front door and then at me. I couldn't help but grin when they opened fire. To make sure I got the full benefit of their weapons, I placed my hands on my hips and shoved my chest out to meet the on-rushing gunfire. Three streams of powerful bullets felt so much better than one. I let them keep firing until they ran dry. By then, I was so excited, I'd almost forgotten why I was there. The men threw down their weapons and stared at my breasts in awe. They clearly didn't know what to do.

The guy who had been standing on his own, obviously particularly stupid, rushed at me, fists flailing. I caught his right wrist with my left hand then forced his arm across his body so I could grab his other wrist as well. With both his arms trapped in my one-handed grip, I raised them above his head. As I was feeling a little horny (my tits were still tingling from the delicious triple hail of bullets) I pulled him towards me. Getting my right hand behind his head I pressed him gently against me. He screamed in pain. I started to rub his face across my breasts. There was a crack and another scream as his nose broke. His blood ran down my cleavage and my vest and dripped to the floor, not leaving a trace on me.

Compared to the sensation caused by machine-gun fire, the guy's beat-up face did nothing for me. It was just too soft. I removed the hold I had on the back of his head and yanked upwards with the hand that had captured his two wrists, letting go of him as I did so. He bounced off the ceiling and fell with a thud to the floor. The other two guards started to run. I caught up to them in three strides, lifting them off the ground with one hand on the back of each of their necks. Bored with them now, I just tossed them over my shoulders. I heard the thuds as they hit the wall, but I didn't bother to turn around. I just turned the corner into the corridor and kept walking.

I knew Tony's office was at the end of the corridor so I walked straight towards the door. Not wanting my uncle to suffer the same fate as the guy who had been behind the front door, instead of pushing in his office door, I punched it with such speed that my fist went right through the wood, without affecting the hinges. I removed my arm from the new hole and placed two fingers of each hand on the edge of the breech. Pulling my arms apart, I reduced much of the heavy oak door to sawdust and stepped through the wreckage into T.'s office. He wasn't there. I swore.

After all the commotion of the previous minutes, the silence felt odd. I was sure that Tony would have had more men protecting his house. They all had to be hiding somewhere. I strained my ears. I could hear faint sounds coming from beneath my feet. I'd visited my uncle in that house dozens of times, but he'd never said anything about a basement. It must've been a big secret. I was too excited by this time to search for a hidden doorway, so I just raised my delicate bare foot and stamped on the floor. I went through carpet and floor boards and into thick concrete. Another stamp and I had smashed my way through twenty centimetres of fake foundations. My foot dangled in air.

Someone must've shot the sole of my foot from down there. It kind of tickled. I removed my foot, stepped back and jumped two-footed onto the edges of the hole I'd made. I went straight through the floor, landing neatly on my heels amidst a cloud of concrete dust ten foot below the office. Just a tiny bend of my knees was all it took to absorb the impact of my fall, and I was back standing straight again in the blink of an eye.

I looked around. I was in a huge underground chamber - Tony's big "little secret". Before I could scan the place properly, I was under machine gun fire from behind. As far as I was concerned, that was a waste of bullets. I whirled around and assumed the position for maximum enjoyment - hands on hips, tits pushed out. My nipples strained even more than usual against the fabric of my super vest as I could no longer hide my arousal.

There was only one guy firing. To make the most of it, I followed the path of his bullets and moved my chest so that as many slugs as possible hit my nipples. To my great disappointment, he soon ran out of ammo like the others had done. Typical man - he was finished and I was only just getting started. I began walking towards him - I think I wanted to teach him a lesson for letting me down - but before I reached him I was interrupted by the sound of more automatic weapons firing behind me. The sensation as the first slugs hit my back and shoulders was a bit like getting caught in light rain to me, but the bullets that missed me and hit the goon I had been approaching must have felt very different to him as they tore through his vulnerable flesh and he collapsed to the ground.

The hail of lead from behind continued. Clearly, I was being fired at from quite a few angles, because some of the slugs hit the sides of my breasts, bouncing harmlessly away but not before they had sent a most pleasant tingle right through my torso. The shots that rebounded of my rear didn't exactly feel bad either. Slowly, I spun around, letting the on-coming bullets hit all over my body in the same way that I turn in the shower to get the water to hit as much of my skin as possible. But I have to admit that the continuous impacts all over me felt more wonderful than any shower I've ever had.

With the dead guy behind me now and luxuriating in the sensation of being under heavy fire, I looked at the rest of the underground chamber. It was enormous! I could see long tables laden with all kinds of chemical apparatus in the middle distance and a small fleet of vans behind them. This was obviously some kind of major drug processing and dispatching centre that my Uncle Tony had built beneath his house. He'd kept it completely secret, too - at least until this afternoon, anyway. I always figured that T. had to have his fingers in some sort of narcotic pie, but I never guessed it was on this scale. No wonder he had so much security.

Speaking of the security, I counted six of them in a line right across the room, all still firing their noisy machine guns at poor little me. There were at least a dozen more guys in the room behind them, some of them hiding behind the long tables, others clutching all kinds of weapons, ready to join the fight if needed. I had a feeling they would, indeed, be needed. I started thinking about what I was going to do about the half dozen gunners immediately in front of me, smiling as I ran through the many incredible possibilities my new "super" body presented to me. I was still lost in my thoughts when I heard someone shout "Go for her head!"

Immediately, the pleasant sensation of countless bullets hitting my torso ceased, to be replaced by the curious feeling of the little lead missiles striking my face and the sides of my head. They didn't really hurt me, although the ones that struck my eyeballs did sting a little. One thing was certain - I didn't enjoy it half as much as I did when the goons were aiming for my body. Sure, it was a turn-on to know that half-a-dozen machine guns raining lead on my head didn't affect me much, but it felt nothing like as exciting as when that lead hits my tits. Nothing like it at all in fact. I decided to do something about that.

Seeing as the shooters weren't going to use their weapons the way I wanted them to, I realised I'd have to take matters into my own hands. I started walking towards the nearest goon with the intention of taking his gun off him, but I didn't figure on the tens of bullets ricocheting violently off my skull. I'd only got within about two metres of the guy when one of those rebounding bits of lead lodged itself in his forehead and he instantly fell to the ground. Using my incredible speed, I stepped forward, reached down and grabbed his gun from his now relaxed hands before his lifeless body even hit the floor.

I turned the gun I'd captured over in my hands, examining it. The five remaining shooters kept up their constant barrage on my face, but I ignored them as I held the weapon up to my chest. Carefully I aligned the barrel so that it was just a few centimetres from my left nipple and then I squeezed the trigger, the way my Uncle had taught me many years ago. It felt like heaven! The stream of hot bullets following one another so quickly to smash against the now engorged centre of my breast created a pleasure so intense that I closed my eyes and forgot all about the guys shooting at my head. After a few moments, I moved the gun over to my other nipple and enjoyed the wonderful sensation all over again.

Suddenly, the beautiful feeling ceased. The weapon I was holding had ran out of ammunition. My entire chest felt as if it was glowing with pure pleasure. Gradually, I returned to my senses and became aware once more that my face was being used for target practice. As the gun in my hands could no longer give me any pleasure, I began to squeeze it, marvelling at the way the hardened steel yielded to the will of my slender, feminine hands. Pretty soon, there was nothing left but a useless, hot, mangled ball of metal. I tossed it underarm into the midriff of one of the five guys shooting at me. The impact knocked him off his feet and sent him sailing backwards a couple of metres before he crashed to the ground. He didn't move again.

That left four shooters and a whole bunch of hostile observers. Concentrating on the river of lead flying towards my head I couldn't believe how easy it was for me just to open my mouth and catch one of the bullets between my teeth. I had to be a little careful not to bite it in half, but in the end my teeth only sank a few millimetres into the metal. Turning to face one of my assailants, I spat out the slug like I would spit out a cherry stone. This particular "cherry stone" hit its target on the bridge of his nose and travelled quite a fair distance once it had burst out of the back of his head. Needless to say, he crumpled up on the ground.

Moving my head to the side slightly, I easily trapped a second flying bullet in my mouth. An effortless little spitting gesture on my part removed another gunman from the equation. I was about to repeat the trick yet again when I was distracted by some movement from behind one of the long tables. Someone back there was throwing something at me. At first I thought it was some kind of exotic fruit, but I soon recognised the familiar shape of a hand grenade. The guy who had tossed it must've had a pretty good aim because it came to rest right at my feet. I couldn't decide whether to kick it away or run from it. In the end my hesitation made the choice irrelevant. The thing exploded right there, just centimetres from me.

I have to admit, for a moment I was a bit scared. I mean, I'd never had a grenade blow up at my feet before. I should've known better though. The heat of the explosion, added to the sensation of chunks of shrapnel striking my bare legs was actually quite enjoyable. One chunk of metal flew straight upwards, smacking into the underside of my right breast, sending a wave of pleasure through my body and distracting me for a while. When I regained my composure, I realised that the hail of bullets striking my head had stopped. Looking up I realised why: the exploding grenade had killed the two remaining gunmen.

I was wondering what to do next when the grenade thrower's arm appeared from behind one of the tables and another of his little "gifts" flew my way. I decided not to waste this one on my legs. Taking a few quick steps forward I caught it in my right hand. I placed two fingers of the other hand down the front of my vest into the deep warm valley of my cleavage and gently eased my breasts apart. I was tingling with anticipation as I pushed the grenade into the gap I'd made. I squeezed the thing right down between my tits until it was almost lost amidst the smooth, firm mounds of flesh. When I removed my hands, I saw that the grenade was being crushed as the phenomenal pressure of my breasts closing together squeezed and deformed the metal.

That was probably what set it off. I watched as my indestructible vest and invulnerable chest contained most of the force of the explosion. The fantastic heat against some of my most feminine flesh thrilled me in a way I'd never been thrilled before. Most of the grenade's casing had nowhere to go as it flew apart, the shards of metal dimpling the softest parts of my body ever so slightly as though I were being caressed by the world's most experienced lover before my transformation, only this was better. One small piece of shrapnel managed to escape from my cleavage, flying straight upwards into my chin before clattering to the ground, not reducing the delightfulness of the moment in the slightest.

As the warm glow spread across my breasts, I was in heaven. Forgetting entirely that I still had an audience, I raised my hands and cupped myself through my vest. I began to massage myself, my slender fingers making far deeper impressions in my chest than the exploding grenade fragments had managed. I could feel that my nipples fully enlarged and threatening to burst through the thin fabric of my top. I pinched them with slightly more force than I had used earlier to crush the machine gun, sending fresh waves of fabulous pleasure to my brain. I was so lost in my rapture, that I almost didn't notice when a third grenade was tossed my way.

I say "almost", because I did manage to react in time, bending low to scoop it up before it hit the ground. By that time I was so turned on that there was no doubt in my mind what I was going to do with it. I hooked my left thumb inside the waistband of my indestructible panties and dropped the live explosive inside, speedily forcing it down into my crotch until I could feel it touching my nether lips. And then I waited. Only for a second, although it felt like an hour to me, so keen was I to sample this new experience. And what an experience!

The extreme heat and force of the blast, contained in such an intimate area, sent me to a place I'd never been to before. I cried out with uncontrollable pleasure. Some of the exploding shrapnel actually got a little way inside me, the hot sharp fragments of metal creating a delightful sensation. The rest of the grenade remained trapped in the almost non-existent space between my most sensitive flesh and my underwear, transmitting surges of warmth through my crutch. The sheer energy of the explosion filled my sex with an indescribable feeling of power, generating an orgasmic sensation that washed over my entire being until I felt tears welling in my eyes.

I was brought dramatically out of my reverie by the sound of vehicle engines being started up. Blinking my vision clear, I looked up to see that most of the surviving goons were running into the vans at the far end of the underground chamber and were preparing to make a quick getaway. The far wall was slowly sliding open like an automatic garage door - the secret entrance to the secret room. Only two guys had been left behind; one of them was at one of the long tables that were covered with chemical apparatus, frantically throwing large packets of white powder into a sports bag.

The other straggler was standing by the left-side wall some twenty metres from me, holding yet another grenade in his left hand whilst his right was about to pull out the pin. I knew immediately that he was the one who had been responsible for the other grenades that had been lobbed at me. I decided to deal with him first. Moving as quickly as I could, I was by his side before he could hook his finger around the wire loop at the top of the explosive. I gave him just long enough to realise that I was suddenly right next to him before I grabbed the grenade from his grip. Then, with my other hand, I took a hold of the collar of his shirt, lifting his entire body twenty centimetres off the concrete floor. His eyes widened in shock and fear. I smiled at him, in mock reassurance.

I held on tightly to the guy's collar as his two hands came up to try and prize open my grip. Of course his efforts had absolutely no effect on me, but I did enjoy seeing him try. I smiled at him again, but his only response was to snarl something like "Fucking bitch" through his clenched teeth. Whatever it was he said, it was no way to talk to a lady and I figured that he had to be punished. So, keeping him in place suspended by my slender fingers, I moved my other hand in between our bodies. As that other hand was still holding a grenade, the fear that suddenly came over his face was understandable, but it gave me a thrill nevertheless. I suppose we both knew what was going to happen.

The pin was still firmly in place and I didn't have a spare hand to pull it out. I thought about using my teeth like a soldier in a war movie, but then I had a better idea. I just gripped the grenade a little bit tighter in my fist, feeling the metal yielding to the pressure exerted by my delicate, feminine hand. As the explosive began to visibly deform around my fingers, the guy hanging from my other hand became frantic, his eyes bulging first in shock and then fear. His big, strong-looking hands frenziedly tried to break my casual hold on his collar whilst his leg thrashed about wildly, kicking me in the thighs and crotch.

Of course, I hardly felt a thing, but I didn't let his efforts go unrewarded. I gave him a big warm smile as I continued to squeeze the grenade in my fist until finally the thing couldn't take any more and it did what it was built to do. The explosion wasn't as dramatic as the one in my panties had been and it certainly didn't do nearly as much for me as that one had, but it was effective enough for the guy in my other hand.

I say that because although my fist absorbed much of the blast, quite a bit of shrapnel did manage to escape through my fingers. Some of it hit me - one chunk in the face which felt like a quick kiss from a lover and another chunk glanced off the outside of my right breast, flying a further ten meters away to lodge itself deeply in the concrete wall. That sensation reminded me of a gentle, teasing caress. A third, much smaller chunk of debris tore right through my new friend's neck, instantly stopping his struggles. I dropped his corpse and the mangled bits of exploded grenade onto the floor, noticing that there wasn't even so much as a tiny bruise on the palm that had contained vastly more shrapnel than it had taken to kill a man.

I looked away from my hand and back towards the end of the underground chamber. The far wall had almost slid open and the van drivers were beginning to start their engines. Uncle Tony had to be in one of those vehicles and even though I was pretty confident of being able to outsprint them, I knew I couldn't run the risk of letting them drive away. There was one guy left on his feet, continuing to franticly stuff large packets of powder into his sports bag. I blew him a little kiss for his troubles, my superlungs doing the business as my gentle exhalation picked him up and threw him and his bag of powder violently up against the wall five metres behind him. He hit the concrete a metre off the ground in a vast cloud of drug-dust. When his body fell to the floor, the settling powder mixed with his blood.

I ran past him and produced a leap five meters high and twenty meters long to clear the first set of tables of apparatus that stood between me and the half-dozen vans. The second series of tables I didn't bother to hurdle. I just continued to run as I approached them, my legs and waist splintering and pulverising the thick wood, my pace not slacking for a moment. My abdomen and breasts smashed through countless pieces of glassware - beakers, test-tubes and who knows what else - sending liquids and powders flying in all directions, but of course not a drop or a crumb stained me, my vest or panties. At one point, a vicious-looking shard of glass hit me in the eye, bouncing harmlessly off my invulnerable retina, a nice reminder - if I needed reminding - of just how "super" I now am.

Having burst through the laboratory tables, I was now only about fifteen meters from the nearest vans. The cleverly disguised automatic door had almost risen high enough to allow the front-most vehicles to pass beneath it. The vans were lined up in two rough columns of three vehicles each. All six drivers were revving their engines, ready to shoot off at top speed as soon as they could. I had to act fast. A running jump landed me right between the two vans at the back of the queues.

Reaching down I grabbed hold of the rear fender of the vehicle on my right. A gentle tug of my arm, coupled with a little flick of my wrist lifted the whole van more than a metre off the ground to come crashing noisily down on its side, its wheels spinning uselessly. It was thrilling to watch ten tonnes of steel flying through the air in response to my casual toss. I darted to my left and repeated the process on the vehicle on that side of me, putting a little bit more into my tug so that it rose even higher and smashed down on its side even harder, rewarding me with the sound of a shout of pain from within.

Both sets of back doors on the two overturned vans burst open letting me glance inside them. There were five men in one and four in the other. I dashed between the two stricken vehicles to check the drivers' cabs. The windscreens had shattered, but I could clearly make out the faces of the two guys in each truck. To my disappointment, although I'd put a pair of vans out of commission, dear old Uncle Tony was not in either of them. I left the goons in the two toppled trucks to untangle themselves and walked forward between the next - middle - pair of vans.

I could see that the front vehicles would be speeding off any second, so I had to find T. quick. The genie hadn't managed to give me X-ray vision along with my other new powers, so I had to improvise to see who was hiding in the backs of the next pair of trucks. I stepped quickly up to the side of the right-hand van and turned to face it. Then I ducked down and forward, my head tearing through the thin steel as if it were paper. Six shocked faces greeted me as I peered through the hole I'd made. No Tony.

I turned around and smashed my face through the side of the next vehicle. It felt like walking through a lightweight curtain as I tore a jagged hole thirty centimetres in diameter in the metal, not leaving a single scratch on my now flawless skin. It was fun, but once I'd studied the men cowering inside without finding my target, I was disappointed. I was strolling forward to check out the identity of whoever was up front when the automatic door finally opened far enough for the vans to pass. The front two vehicles immediately sped away, I guessed towards the main road.

Now I really had to get a move on. The vans on either side of me began to accelerate too, following the other out. There was no way I was going to allow that. Sprinting to the side, I flashed out my leg, hitting the bottom of the left-hand machine. My kick launched the van sideways, lifting it off the ground with which it only renewed contact after it had smashed against the wall ten metres away. Immediately I spun around and chased after the truck on my right. This time I kicked its underneath from behind, forcing the back end of it so high into the air that the whole thing crashed down on its front fender before toppling over and coming to rest completely upside down.

Dashing forward, I checked out the front of the two huge machines I'd just turned into junk with my delicate bare foot. Uncle T. wasn't in either of them. He had to be in one of the two vans that had sped away. Furious with myself, I left the four mangled vehicles and the ruins of Tony's hidden underground chamber behind me as I sprinted through the now open secret doorway, hoping to give chase. I found myself on a dirt track that led, as I had thought, to the main road. But when I got there, I was in for another disappointment.

The road went both ways from the dirt track. Using my enhanced vision I scanned the horizon in each direction and saw that the two vans had torn off in opposite directions. There was no way I would be able to catch them both. I had to make a decision - a flip of a mental coin. The odds on picking the right vehicle were 2 to 1; I laid my bet by turning to the right and running as fast as I could after the distant speeding truck.

The gap between me and the van I was chasing must've been about two kilometres when I started sprinting, and I know that it was going at full pelt, yet it only seemed to be a few minutes later when I found myself within touching distance of it. I didn't even feel tired or out of breath. In fact, I would have happily kept on running at that pace all day, if it weren't for the fact that I was looking for my uncle. Business before pleasure, as they say.

Sprinting up behind the van, I reached up behind it, taking a one-handed hold on the back doors. Then I stopped running, keeping my grip secure. The vehicle's momentum did the work of ripping the big doors off their hinges. I tossed them casually aside, catching sight of them landing fifty metres away. Then I looked into the van. Only one guy in there, and he definitely wasn't Tony. I broke into a run again, effortlessly re-closing the gap between myself and the speeding vehicle. This time, I spread my arms wide and grabbed hold of both sides of the van itself, bending the metal inwards as I tightened my grip.

I heard the engine whining in complaint as I slowed down my pace, holding fast to the back of the vehicle. I smelt burning rubber and noticed that tires were smoking. It was no contest really. A big, powerful van against slim little me. There was a huge bang as the engine gave up, yielding to my vastly superior strength. I heard a tinkle of glass and a dull thud as someone was thrown through the front window. Letting go of the now motionless vehicle, I dashed around to the front to see who it was. I found a corpse lying on the centre of the road. The face was bloodied, but I knew straight away I'd picked the wrong van. This guy wasn't the one I hope to find. I'd let Uncle T. get away.

I was still cursing my luck when my ultra-sensitive ears picked out the sound of an approaching police siren. I had no desire at that moment to answer any questions and I didn't feel like having to smash up the entire police force, so I decided to get the hell out of there. As I started running back here towards the cave, I consoled myself with the thought that even if I hadn't found Tony - or even discovered why he had wanted me dead - at least I had put his little manufacturing and distribution concern out of business. And I've certainly reduced the size of his staff.

It wasn't that I set out to take so many lives this afternoon, but most of the people I killed were trying to kill me. And, to be honest, apart from the disappointment of letting Uncle T. get away, I've had a great time. I just love being this super; having nothing to fear and being able to do just about anything I can imagine. OK, I've got to lie low for awhile - perhaps abroad somewhere - but I'll be back for Tony and he won't be so lucky next time. The only question is how am I going to get out of town with every cop in the country looking for me?

 

Conceptfan, Dec. 2001.

Part 4

Tuesday 15th May 2001 - 9:00 am

Oh what a night! Being super is just brilliant. I haven't slept in days and I feel as fresh as I ever have in my life. Travelling abroad used to leave me utterly exhausted, but right now I'm ready to go out and start exploring. And I've had the most eventful trip of my life. To think I thought it would be difficult to leave the country! As if anything is difficult for me these days. Well, actually, that's not strictly true. Trying not to kill idiots can be tricky sometimes, as I found out again last night, but then I can't be held responsible for other people's stupidity.

Just because I have this amazing, beautiful, harder-than-steel, faster-than-lightening, stronger-than-anything body doesn't mean I have to spend my life treading on eggshells. I'm Milena. I'm gorgeous. I'm super. I can't help that, can I? I mean, if guys want to try and kill me for whatever reason or worse, get fresh with me, then why should I feel guilty about the consequences? Besides, they're only guys. And I'm entitled to enjoy myself as much as the next girl is. Before I met the genie, I wasn't particularly happy. Now I'm having a whale of a time and I'm not about to stop, thank you very much.

Take last night. All I wanted to do was quietly leave the country. I'd happily have just got on a bus or something, but no, it had to be a big affair with guns and explosions. And blood. OK, the way it turned out was much more enjoyable (for me) than any bus ride, but that's not my point. I didn't start it. So don't blame me for finishing it. I only wanted to get into another country, not kill a bunch of its citizens. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I mean, what did they expect? That I was going to surrender or something? Me? I suppose some guys' brains are so choked with testosterone that they can't think properly. Either that or they're actually born stupid.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. When I wrote the last entry I was hiding out in the cave on the beach where I'd met the genie, having smashed up Uncle Tony's place without actually finding him. As I also killed a couple of cops, wrecked a house and been in an exploding car yesterday, I knew that I needed to get out of town. I thought for a while about how I was going to do it with every policeman and woman in the land seeking me out. Then I realised: the solution was staring me in the face. I was on the beach. Instead of heading back into town I could go the other way - out to sea. I figured that being super and being able to run faster than a car, I would also be able to swim a couple of hundred kilometres to the far shore.

I thought at the time that my plan was perfect - what better way to move to another country undetected than at sea. Without a boat. The only problem was my suitcase. As well as this diary and some clothes, it also contained quite a few little bits and pieces with memories attached. I didn't want to let them go. I was confident that its weight wouldn't be a problem for me - I've lifted vans and a huge iron gate off the ground easily enough, but I was worried that it wouldn't be waterproof. I didn't want my stuff getting ruined. Super or not, I can't fix a salty, wet diary. And I don't want anyone else other than me reading this. Not ever.

Just then, I had a brainwave. Most of the case was a specially-developed plastic - the only non-watertight parts were the join between the bottom and the lid and the hinges. That was no problem for me; I just rubbed the tips of a couple of fingers quickly back and forth over the weak spots until the friction heated the plastic and it became soft. Then I smeared it across the gaps until the case was completely sealed. To cool it back to hardness I just used my super-breath. Although I was extremely careful and blew as softly as I could, almost immediately I noticed icicles forming as my cold puff froze the moisture in the air. I picked up the suitcase, still amazed by how light it felt, and, wearing only my super vest and panties, strolled down to the sea.

It was a cloudy night, no moon or stars, but I had no trouble seeing. The only problem was what direction to head in. My geography told me I wanted to head due East. I decided to just head away from the shore and hope for the best.

As I had expected, I found swimming a piece of cake. Even with a large, supposedly heavy, suitcase in my left hand. I soon discovered that with one arm and my legs paddling gently I could move incredibly quickly. I was confident that fatigue wouldn't be a problem - in fact I haven't felt tired or been out of breath since the genie did his stuff - and that proved to be the case. I'd been going non-stop for hours when I noticed the first hint of dawn appearing on the horizon in front of me. That was good news - it meant I was heading East as I had hoped. Other than feeling slightly bored, the hours spent ploughing through the icy, salty water had had no ill effects on me.

A short time later I spotted a large ship in the distance. My super eyes zoomed in, to reveal that it was some kind of military or at least official vessel - the grey paint was a clue, as were the numerous large guns mounted on its deck. I took its presence as a sign that I was nearing my destination, and continued to swim on, not intending to pay the ship any further notice. The rim of the sun finally rose above the edge of the world, infusing part of the black sky with a staggeringly beautiful range of colours. I didn't realise it at the time, but this increasing light must have been what made me visible to the crew on board. Either way, I suddenly became aware of the approaching sound of outboard motors.

I guess what must've happened was that some sharp lookout on the big ship had noticed something in the water and a couple of motorised dinghies were dispatched to investigate. My fault really. If I had taken evasive action when I first noticed the ship, I'd never have been discovered. My senses are far more sensitive than anybody else's. But I had just kept on regardless. Call it arrogance, but I didn't think I needed to hide. And, in a way, I was right - in the end. But I wasn't so sure when I stopped swimming and trod water as the two small boats approached. In the growing light, I could easily make out two uniformed men in each dinghy. A little while later, with much shouting and pointing, they saw me.

I knew then that a confrontation was unavoidable. I wasn't particularly concerned for myself, but I did worry about my suitcase and its contents. I couldn't see a cheap piece of luggage withstanding any kind of serious impact. If it broke, then all my stuff would be ruined. And, thinking about the situation from the point of view of the guys on the boats, I figured the case would look too suspicious to be ignored. The last thing I wanted was a bunch of hostile foreigners reading this diary and poking about in my private property. I'd experienced that enough times with the cops back home. So, I just let go of the suitcase, my super eyes following its gentle descent even to the thick obscurity of the ocean bed a couple of hundred feet below.

About that time, I was able to spot that all four men were carrying machine guns over their shoulders, although one guy in each boat was busy steering. I remained where I was as the little craft began to encircle me before cutting their engines. One the men shouted something at me, but of course, I couldn't understand his language, so I just smiled. He started motioning with the barrel of his gun, indicating that he wanted me to get on board with him, all the while shouting his unintelligible instructions. I merely shook my head and stayed right where I was in the water. His colleague in the dinghy cocked his weapon and pointed it at me, gesturing franticly for me to climb aboard.

It was at least twelve hours since I'd last been shot at. After my long swim, I figured it was the least I deserved, so to encourage them to start, I stuck out my tongue. Finally, one of them did open fire, but to my disappointment, he aimed over my head. Some kind of warning shot, I guess. That just wasn't good enough. I stuck out my bottom lip to show how upset I was. At that moment, I heard a loud splash behind me. One of the two men in the other little boat had dived into the water. Things were beginning to get interesting. Without turning around, I heard him swimming up towards me. When he got within reach, he slipped an arm around my waist and tried to pull me towards him.

A tiny movement of my submerged foot generated enough power to resist his tug. Instead of him pulling me to him, he pulled himself into me. As his body came into contact with mine, I felt a burgeoning little erection pressing into my rear. Sure, it was nice to note that even underwater and in semi-darkness my new body has an irresistible effect on men, but I was still deeply annoyed by the violation of my personal space. Before I could think of how I was going to express my displeasure, the pathetic pervert planted his other hand right on my left breast. There was no way it could have been an accident. He was copping a feel.

His feeble fingers barely made any impression on my big mound as they tried to squeeze me through my vest with all their might, so that the tendons on the back of his hand stood out. I could hardly feel it, but that wasn't the point. I decided that the bastard had had the last grope of his life. Too quickly for him to react, I brought my right hand out of the water and placed my open palm over his filthy, wandering hand. Then, as slowly as I could, I began to push his palm against my firm breast. His arm started jerking as he tried to pull himself away, but of course I held him firm. I heard his feet kicking madly under the water and then he began to moan.

His other hand left my waist and tried to remove my fingers, with absolutely no effect. Then he tried punching me, first in the head and then in the other breast. As his blows got weaker, I could tell without looking that he'd injured his knuckles on my body. His moans became screams as I pressed his hand ever harder against my chest until I heard the cracking of bone. I merely increased the pressure as I clutched him intimately to me, my "super" tit remaining wonderfully firm as I obliterated his muscle. Still I continued to squeeze him, enjoying myself as his tough masculine hand turned out to be hopelessly mismatched against my beautiful "soft" feminine breast.

The water around my chest turned red as I reduced his hand to nothingness between my delicate palm and womanly mound. Somehow, despite the blood all around, not a single drop clung to my skin or my vest. The genie really did give me an indestructible stain-proof garment. Actually, the same goes for my body too. Busy calculating the savings in cleaning bills and soap that come with being super, I almost didn't notice the amputated perv's screams ending as he passed out. He must've swallowed quite a bit of water, because when I finally released him, he quite literally sank without trace.

That brought his colleagues into life. The lone guy in the boat behind me who had benefited from an unobscured view of his partner's body falling permanently below the surface immediately started firing his automatic weapon. Even though most of his bullets hit the water and lost almost all their effectiveness, quite a few did hit me in the back of the head. Feeling no worse to me than medium rain did before I met the genie, they bounced uselessly off my skull. Nonetheless, I reckoned the hot-head shooting them needed a little cooling down. As the two idiots in front of me weren't doing anything except staring with their mouths hanging open, I turned my back on them to face the gunner.

He was short and stocky, his eyebrows thick and his cheeks dark with stubble. His lips were contorted into a sneer as he continued to spray me with ammo, the slugs now rebounding into the water off my face. Once or twice, he scored a direct hit on one of my eyes, the impacts almost stinging me. Not hurting, you understand, but undeniably veering towards discomfort. Since my encounter in the cave, it was the nearest I'd come to pain. He needed rewarding for his efforts. Forming my lips into an "O" shape, I sent a gentle puff of air his way, almost as if I was extinguishing an invisible match.

It goes without saying that a casual little bit of my breath was far to much for a well-built, fit young man. The wind generated by my super lungs and channelled through my - even if I say so myself - gorgeous lips, lifted him off his feet and threw him rapidly about thirty meters backwards. He yelled as he flew through the air until he plunged into the sea. I guess the shock of it all - or maybe the jolt as he splashed down - was a bit too much for him, because he never re-surfaced. I smiled. One way or the another, the new super me just blows men away!

That left the pair behind me as the immediate threat. The death of another colleague prompted them both to start peppering me with automatic fire. I turned around in the water and tried to raise myself a little higher so that their rain of bullets would do me some good, instead of just being wasted on my face. It didn't really do much good, though. Only a couple of slugs struck my breasts; enough to remind me how good it feels to be shot there, but not enough for me to start enjoying the sensation. Not for the first time, I was left disappointed with the pathetic efforts of men. It was time for me to take matters into my own hands.

A couple of easy strokes speedily carried me the fifteen or so meters up to the side of the dinghy. The changed angle of me to shooters now meant that most of their fire struck the top of my head, bouncing back up again like marbles being dropped onto a hard floor. I tried tilting my head back and thrusting out my chest to get more enjoyment from the bullets. At this point, I should add that some facts are unavoidable and it's pointless to ignore them. Like the undeniable truth that my transformation has given me fantastic tits. Which is why, when I pushed the beauties out, the faces of the two guys standing almost directly above me changed dramatically. I felt as if I was treating them to the best view of their lives.

So, the four eyes and two mouths of the lecherous creeps opened wide, and I got a bit of a treat too, as quite a few of their slugs did smack into the top of my breasts, sending a lovely warm feeling through my entire being. As usual though, I ended up being let down. They ran out of ammo. I decided that was the right moment for me to obey their earlier instruction and join them in the dinghy. I put my hands on the sides of the little boat, intending to haul myself aboard. However, I misjudged the manoeuvre completely. I suppose I've still got a lot to learn about being super, although I'm getting better all the time.

Anyway, I got that particular trick wrong. As I pushed down on my hands I expected my body to rise out of the water. Instead, the side of the boat lowered into it. The force of my push actually flipped the lightweight inflatable craft over like a pancake and then burst it so that it became a useless piece of material floating on the sea. Its two occupants were thrown straight up at least five meters into the air, splashing down next to the remains of their vessel. They both managed to remain conscious, thrashing about as they fought to keep their heads above the icy water. Obviously they didn't possess half a brain between them. Why else would they have decided to swim towards me?

I held my position, waiting for them both to get close to me. Then I held my arms out at right-angles to my body and used little paddling movements of my submerged feet to spin me around in the water. I've seen some pretty sick stuff since I became super, but one of the worst sights has to be my naked outstretched arms decapitating those two, their severed heads flying away to plop down and sink whilst the rest of them slowly fell beneath the reddening waves. I know loads of men have lost their heads with the new me, but not like that. At least they wouldn't have felt much.

I can only assume that while I was unmanning the two dinghies, someone on the big ship had been watching through high powered binoculars. I write that because, a few moments after I'd completed my little spin of death, I noticed something heading rapidly towards me through the water in a dead straight line from the side of the vessel. For half a second, I thought it was someone swimming, but I soon dismissed that idea. No-one can swim that fast. Except maybe me. I zoomed in with my supervision to see what looked like a giant jet-propelled bullet speeding my way. A torpedo!

My first reaction was a thrill of excitement. I remembered (how could I forget?) how wonderful the exploding grenades had felt against my skin in Tony's basement. A torpedo, I figured, ought to produce a much bigger blast. I began to swim towards it, my speed almost matching the on-rushing marine missile. Just before impact, I lifted myself as high in the water as I could, carefully aligning the metallic nose with the centre of my chest before closing my eyes in sweet anticipation of the sensations to come. The next half-second seemed to last an eternity.

Finally, it hit me. Right between my breasts. The explosion was enormous, instantly turning the cold sea water all around to steam and lifting me out of the brine into the morning air, throwing me twenty meters backwards. I hardly noticed that though. I was too busy enjoying the ferocious heat and the phenomenal force of the impact against my sensitive flesh. I was in heaven. As the thick, heavy metal casing of the torpedo blew apart, hot and sharp chunks of shrapnel hit all over my body, only intensifying the wonderful sensation as they bounced away. I was almost out of breath as I plunged back into the water, my breasts tingling deliciously, my very core thrilled beyond anything I've ever experienced in my life.

I wanted another. A feeling that fantastic is too enjoyable not be to repeated. Once I got my bearings again, I faced the ship and waited in anticipation. Whoever was on lookout duty was doing his job well, because he spotted where I came down and that I was still very much in one piece. Either that, or it was my lucky morning. To be fair, every single second has been lucky for me since I caught my foot in that old brass lamp. Even so, that particular instant felt especially lucky. My keen eyes spotted the second torpedo heading my way. My heart leapt for joy while the rest of me was still glowing with pleasure anyway as it neared.

The thing had been well-aimed. I hardly had to move at all to line myself up with it. This time, I bent my spine as far back as I could, grabbing my ankles behind me so that my chest was forced as far forward as possible by the time the collision occurred. I was glad I did. The first explosion had felt good. The second was brilliant. Once again, the torpedo struck me right in my cleavage. Super-heated metal smashed into the exposed portions of my breasts, a caress vastly superior and infinitely more erotic than anything a mere man could manage. As I was forced backwards by the blast, I heard myself crying out in uncontrollable delight. I wish I could live that moment forever!

Sadly, it was all over too soon. The sea around me became cold again, my skin, too, cooled and the wonderful tingles died down. I waited about a minute, but there were no more torpedoes. I swam towards the ship and stopped about ten meters from it, waving my arms and calling "Hey! I'm here! Got any more heavy weapons?" Soon enough, two more uniformed guys appeared from within, machine guns at the ready. They began spraying me with lead. Some of it hit me where I wanted it to, but compared to the aquatic missiles, the puny bullets were a bit of a damp squib. Not only that, but a few hit my eyeballs, annoying me considerably. All in all, I'd had enough of those guys.

I dived down beneath the surface, a few powerful strokes carrying me quickly under the ship. Before the genie, I couldn't swim underwater for more than about five meters. Things have changed now. For starters, salt water doesn't affect my eyes at all. In fact I can see just as well under the sea as on land - in other words further, more clearly and with less light than anyone else alive. As well as that, I felt as if I could stay under all day without needing to come to the surface for air. I still haven't gotten over how great it is to be super. Sometimes I think there's nothing I can't do. Maybe there isn't.

Looking up at the bottom of the thirty meter long ship, I certainly didn't feel limited. I selected a section of hull that was fairly central and well below the waterline. A gentle stroke carried my easily right up to it. Once there, I drew back my hand, closed my fingers into a fist and punched the metal as hard as I could. There was a loud underwater clang followed by the muffled sound of wrenching iron. The hull had been constructed of two thick layers of metal, but my small fist went through them both as if they were wet cardboard. I barely felt the resistance. Pulling my hand back, I proudly examined the hole I'd made.

I could see the water rushing into the new breach. To help things along, I pushed the fingers of both hands into the gap and slowly pulled my hands apart, nearly laughing as the iron yielded to my slender arms. It seemed to me that the vessel had been made of unfired clay rather than metal as it crumpled and tore so very easily in my hands. With almost no effort, I made a hole about a meter across in the bottom of the ship. Now the brine flooded into the hull, the violent flow of water not bothering me as I swam away from it, resurfacing a second and a half later twenty meters from the ship.

I lazily trod water and watched as the big craft sunk beneath the waves. It didn't take long. The whole thing was submerged within a minute. Various crew members appeared on the sea, their heads bobbing on the waves, arms thrashing as they sought some solid debris to cling to. I ignored them as I dived quickly for the ocean bed. Moments later I was deep, deep down where the pressure would have killed an ordinary person. But I'm not an ordinary person. I got proof of that when I scanned a square kilometre of sea floor and found where my suitcase had come to rest within moments. I'd make a terrific undersea treasure hunter. Come to think of it, I'd be terrific at anything. I am terrific. Full stop.

I grabbed my case, my super legs propelling me at fantastic speed as I resumed my journey shore-ward. With the sun now over the horizon, I had no difficulty navigating as I swam about twenty meters below the waves. I stayed at that depth for a few minutes, until I was out of sight of the floundering men behind me. When I resurfaced, my keen eyes spotted the distant coastline. I'd made good time. Despite my journey being so rudely interrupted. I wondered if the grey ship and its uniformed occupants had belonged to the local military or if they were just a well-co-ordinated gang of smugglers. Whatever they were, their ship and most of its crew were now lying on the bottom of the sea having proven little more than a distraction to me.

What I hadn't realised was that although they couldn't fight - well, not against me, anyway - they had been able to use a radio. I would discover that once I was ashore, after I had swam into water that was shallow enough for me to stand. Wading through the sea is no problem when you're super; it felt just like walking on dry land to me. I just strolled up the deserted beach, marvelling at the way the moisture seemed to just slide off my skin and clothes so that I was completely dry in an instant whilst my suitcase dripped salty water onto the sand. I looked around the beach. Then my keen ears detected the distant sound of a car. I assumed I was near a road.

Strolling towards the vehicular noise, I was surprised to see a jeep racing along the sand towards me. There were two soldiers inside, both armed. I stood still and waited for them to see me. They eventually did and stopped their car only a few meters up the beach from me. As soon as the driver cut the engine, his passenger jumped out and came towards me, shouting something in the language I had heard earlier at sea. When I didn't reply he pointed his gun at me, motioning with the barrel that he wanted me to drop my case. What the hell, I thought. This could be fun.

The soldier walked up to my big luggage with its custom water-tight seal and bent over it. Running up quickly behind him, I put an arm around his waist and lifted him off his feet, at the same time using my other hand to easily pull his rifle out of his grasp and casually toss it a hundred meters out to sea. He began shouting again, thrashing about, trying to remove my arm which of course remained exactly where it was. He tried punching me with the usual results of a man who thinks his puny fists can hurt me. His knuckles bled and his hands bruised painfully whilst his hardest blows felt like a summer breeze against my flawless skin.

Whilst that was happening, the jeep driver had climbed down and ran to a spot about ten meters away, aiming his weapon at me, but afraid to use it in case he injured his colleague. I smiled at him as I tucked the other soldier under my arm so that I was carrying him like a rolled-up newspaper. Actually he didn't even feel as heavy as the morning news to me. I just held him fast between the crook of my arm and the generous curve of my breast as I faced his colleague. What that did was present the guy who'd been driving with a clear, free shot at my body. He took it.

The rifle cracked and I watched the big slug heading towards me, pleased to see that the shooter was a good aim. He'd gone for my heart. That of course meant the bullet slammed into my breast, the projectile's reinforced point hitting my vest and dimpling my womanly flesh for an instant before it rebounded harmlessly away, leaving not a trace on my brief upper garment and nothing but a nice warm feeling in my chest. It felt lovely to me, but it was obviously an unexpected sight to him. He recovered his composure quickly enough though, firing his other barrel even as his eyes still expressed his shock that the first had had no effect.

This time, I judged the path of the shot, moving a tiny bit up and to the side so that the shot hit directly on my excited nipple. It didn't even dimple my breast, but it felt fabulous. The bullet ricocheted away as if it had struck a cubic meter of solid reinforced steel, not a girl's aroused nipple. It landed almost at the firer's feet as a delicious tingle spread through my torso, my chest suddenly feeling electrified and my mind was lost in waves of erotic pleasure. Forgetting myself entirely, I brought my hands up to cup my big new breasts. Suddenly, I was interrupted by the sound of the guy who'd just shot me being sick.

Immediately I saw what had caused him to loose his breakfast. When the second bullet hit my nipple I got so turned on that I completely forgot the guy I'd tucked under my arm, so when I reached for my breasts with both hands I had simply crushed his middle between my slender arm and my magnificent chest. Actually, not so much crushed him as almost cut him in two. There was blood and gore all over the two chunks of his corpse and the sand and yet not a drop anywhere on me. I'd been so distracted that I hadn't even felt his body collapsing, neither against my feminine arm nor against my seemingly soft breast, but I'd not only killed him, I'd practically obliterated him.

I had gone through his flesh, his bones, his muscles - everything - as though it wasn't there, merely because my attention had momentarily wavered. I dropped the disgusting remains onto the sand, relieved that my clothes and skin are immune from staining. Having phenomenal strength is brilliant, but there can be a price to pay. For the rest of the world, anyway. I didn't feel too bad about it - he and his pal had tried to kill me, after all. And it wasn't as if I'd been covered in his gore. If his partner was vomiting because of his weak male constitution, well, that wasn't my problem, either.

Sick-boy eventually finished depositing the contents of his stomach on the beach and wiped his mouth with his hand, staring at me in shock and not a little fear. As I walked towards him, he began to back off unsteadily until he tripped over himself and fell on his backside. He craned his neck to look up at me, pathetic tears in his eyes. He kept his hands by his sides and his legs still, making no attempt to defend himself. I stood above him, reaching down to gently stroke his hair like I would a frightened child. At the same time, I smiled down reassuringly at him as he lost himself in the beauty of my face. How could such a helplessly weak creature have been in the military?

I bent low towards him, giving him a grandstand view of my large cleavage as my big breasts strained against my vest. I heard his breathing become more shallow and his heartbeat accelerate as he showed himself far from immune to my charms. I didn't need my enhanced vision to spot the bulge in his trousers, either. I kept my hand on his head, very gently pulling his face towards my chest. He made no attempt to resist. I let his temple rest on the soft, warm exposed flesh of my breasts as if he was a scared child and I was a kindly adult. But he wasn't a child, and I.. well, I'm not kind. Not at all.

There I held him. Without him realising it, I pressed my hand down securely on the other side of his face. Not nearly enough to hurt him, but more than enough to keep his head firmly in place, sandwiched between my palm and the upper part of my two breasts which at that moment must have felt as soft to him as any pillows. If only he'd known. I took a quick, deep breath, making my chest rise dramatically. Naturally, my rising curves lifted him with them. Unfortunately for him, my hand gave his head nowhere to go. So his skull was trapped between my rapidly rising breasts and my unmoving palm.

It all happened so quickly, he probably didn't get to feel it. There was a loud crunch as his head went the way of a walnut in a nutcracker, my petite hands and big, feminine breasts making a mightily powerful vice. Blood gushed from his mouth as I released him from his final embrace and let his corpse fall to the sand. Looking down at him, the experience left me feeling rather pleased with myself. Partly because I'd destroyed a man who was far bigger than me with nothing but the softest, most womanly part of my body. Partly because I'd killed him so easily after he had failed to even scratch me with his weapon. And partly because I'd long before overpowered him with my irresistible sexuality. No wonder I feel like a goddess!

The only problem was that I'd just left one country to escape the attentions of the cops there and before I'd even reached the shore of my new home, I'd made myself a target for the local military. So I grabbed my suitcase and ran quickly up the beach to get myself out of sight before anyone else came along. Where the sand gives way to dry grass I turned back towards the sea. Putting my hands on my hips and leaning slightly forward for maximum effect, I pursed my lips and exhaled a less-than-medium strong blast from my lungs. My super-breath momentarily lifted the top layer of sand off the beach. When it settled again, my footprints had been erased and the two corpses buried. I figured that would buy me some getaway time.

I found myself jogging across a meadow, not running too fast to avoid causing suspicion. Soon, I was in a dense wood. Confident that I wasn't being observed I began to go faster - around the speed of a car. I ran straight ahead, my bare feet and legs kicking any bushes or fallen trunks out of my way without me having to adjust my stride. I ran right through dozens of low branches, my head, chest and stomach smashing the thick wood into match-sized splinters with about as much effort as it takes to blink. Only when my suitcase was in danger did I have to alter my path. After all, the case is only made from a specially-developed material that the manufacturer claims could survive falling out of an aeroplane. In other words, it's far, far more fragile than I am.

All in all, I must have ran like that for about half-an-hour. Even after my swimming marathon, I wasn't even slightly short of breath when I stopped in a clearing by an abandoned cabin. It was small and windowless, its door held close by a severely rusted padlock. I got that off by pinching it between my thumb and forefinger, the metal yielding immediately to my delicate hand. Inside there was nothing but a table and a lot of dust and spiders' webs. I did the spring cleaning by leaving the door wide open, and blowing the crap out through it. I had to take care to do it as gently as I could - I didn't want to destroy the cabin (and surrounding trees).

That done, I closed the door again. My super eyes had no trouble making out even the smallest detail in the window-less darkness. I lifted my suitcase onto the table. Then, I used my fingers to smash through its "tough" material and make a hole big enough for me to get my things out. I reckoned it was time to pause and update the diary. It should be a while before anyone finds me here. Although, it's not exactly the case that I'm scared of being discovered. I mean, sure, I'm a marked woman here, but there are compensations. For starters, the apparent willingness of the soldier boys here to use their weapons might mean I get to enjoy a few hand-grenades or, if I'm lucky enough, torpedoes.

I'm getting a bit excited with that thought. Maybe I'll go out and see what I can find. It's been a great night and morning so far. I can't see why it should end here. I'm not even vaguely tired yet. Not in the slightest.

 

Conceptfan, Dec. 2001.

Part 5

Tuesday 15th May 2001 - 12:00 pm

Being super just gets better and better.  Especially as I'm only just learning how super I am.   I've discovered another even more fabulous power!  That's why I'm writing this down.  It'll help me get things straight in my mind before I go and try out my remarkable new ability.  After all, this magnificent body I've been given needs to be shown off, and the same goes for all the great things I can do with it.  If that pisses people off, well that's the way it goes.  A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.  If folks don't like it, then they should keep out of my way.  That way, they wouldn't get hurt so much.

Like the crowd this morning.  There I was - I'd just finished writing the last diary entry and I was wondering what to do next, when my super ears picked up the sound of dogs barking.  Somehow, I knew straight away that those dogs were on my trail.  I thought I'd covered my traces on the beach earlier, but then I remembered; I'd taken care of my footprints and buried the soldier boys I killed, but I'd forgotten about their jeep.  I might be super, but it seems I can still make mistakes.  The hounds must've been following my scent all the way from the seashore.  Obviously, I still have a scent.  I bet it's a really lovely one - that would suit my fab new body.

So, anyway, I knew there'd be people with the dogs and I didn't think they were a hospitality squad coming to welcome me to their country.  There wasn't much point in staying in the dark cabin and waiting for them to come to me.  As it happens, it probably wouldn't have made any difference to the way things turned out, but I didn't know that.  I mean, I can't see the future.  I'm superhuman, not supernatural.  That's why I opened the door of the cabin and went outside to check out my unexpected visitors.

The sun had come up in the cloudless sky while I had been filling this diary.  Although I'd had no trouble at all seeing in the pitch-dark of the windowless hut, I would have thought that the contrast with the brilliant daylight would have temporarily blinded me.  Not a bit of it - my eyes adjusted in a fraction of a second.  In fact, I found I could look straight at the sun itself and zoom in to see the flares around its edge without any problem.  I could even see stuff with the blazing sun right behind it as if Earth's star was no more than a 25-watt light bulb.  Just another reason why it's so great being super.

Once I was outside, I immediately spotted two angry-looking mutts straining at their leashes as they practically dragged a guy in a black uniform through the wood.  There were two others with him, both wearing camouflage.  That pair were carrying rifles slung over their shoulders and the one with the dogs had a small pistol holder on his hip.  I could tell the animals were on my trail - they were pulling the handler right towards me, even though no-one in the party had actually spotted me yet.  Well, I was over two hundred meters from them at the time.  Not that the distance prevented me from studying every little detail of the men's faces or even examining the poor quality stitching of their clothes.

I waited until, finally, they spotted me.  The hounds - a pair of lean, vicious-looking beasts - were growling and showing their long fangs, and the guy in the plain uniform had to shout to make himself heard over them.  It didn't make any difference; I didn't understand a word of his language.  When I didn't react to him, he repeated the same phrase.  I guessed from his tone of voice that it was some kind of order, but, of course, I don't take orders these days even when I know what they mean.  I just shrugged, making my new, impressive breasts rise and fall, drawing all three sets of male eyes to my chest.  This might be a foreign country, but some things are the same all over the world.

There was a brief pause during which the trio stared at my partially-exposed cleavage so that I wasn't sure if the dogs or the men were doing the most drooling.  Eventually, one of the camouflage-wearers removed his rifle from his shoulder and pointed it at me.  He was the youngest of the group.  I could see that he'd barely started shaving so, to be nice to him, I threw him a smile, listening to the sudden increase in his heart-rate as I flashed my perfect teeth.  The dog-handler, clearly a miserable man, stopped leering at me just to shout his unintelligible instruction for a third time.  I waved my hand at him in a dismissive gesture.  That made the third member of the party copy his junior partner and raise his own rifle.  I showed my contempt for the implied threat by sticking out my tongue.

I take it showing your tongue is a major insult in this part of the world.  Or maybe the ugly idiot holding the leashes was in a bad mood.  Either way, he released his hold on the two dogs and they came sprinting towards me, barking and baring their huge jaws.  I didn't bother to use my super-speed as I watched the angry beasts charged at me, producing impressive leaps as they drew close.  They probably expected to knock me down to the ground as they jumped on me, but of course, I didn't move an inch as the two animals' front paws hit my shoulders and neck.  I saw that their long claws were fully extended, but I barely felt them as they slid down my body, leaving not so much as a hint of a mark on either my exposed skin or my magic, figure-hugging vest.

Having failed to knock me down or wound me, the dogs fell to the ground at my feet still making a fearsome racket.  One of them clamped his huge sharp teeth on my slender ankle.  Although the bite - enough to break a normal person's bones - hardly even tickled, I nearly panicked for an instant when I saw blood running down to my delicate bare foot.  It was only when I heard a high-pitched canine howl that I realised that it was the dog who was bleeding, not me.  His enormous fangs had been ripped from his gums as he tried and failed to pierce my flawless skin.  To shut him up, I gently kicked out the leg he'd attacked, not really putting much effort into it.  The poor creature sailed upwards through the air, over the tree-tops.  I heard, but didn't see, his body crashing down to the forest floor at least a hundred meters away.

The remaining mutt was angered by what had happened to his friend and, opening his mouth, leapt for my neck.  I flashed out my bare arm too quickly for the stupid animal to react and he shut his jaw on my smooth, slender forearm.  As I moved my arm out by my side, the dog hung helplessly by his teeth, his back legs a good fifty centimeters off the ground.  I could hardly feel its weight.  He might as well have been an empty polythene bag for all the strain on my discreet feminine muscles.  If I didn't know better, I'd have said that there was a look of shock in his big, dark eyes.  He clawed me furiously with his front paws, his enormous nails doing little but tickling the naked flesh of my arm and hand.

I brought my other arm into play, encircling the beast's neck with my free hand.  I swear I only intended to pull the dumb animal off of me.  I mean, I'm not used to handling dogs.  Especially vicious attack dogs.  And this was no way to get a first taste of it.   Anyway, there was a series of cracking sounds and suddenly, the creature went silent and limp.  I guess I'd gripped a bit too hard - or maybe a lot too hard.  Whatever, I'd killed two blameless dogs.  I feel worse about that than most of the guys I've "offed" since I met the genie.  That said, the hounds would've ripped by throat out given the chance, so I suppose that's life.  Or rather, that's death.  I flung my arm, sending the second dead dog off on a final flight through the uppermost branches of the surrounding trees.  His corpse must've got stuck somewhere up there, because, although I listened out, I never heard the sound of it hitting the earth.

It never occurred to me at the time, but I guess by finishing off the two dogs I'd done the miserable guy out of a job.  That's probably why, after watching with a shocked face as the second mutt soared over his head, he went for his pistol.   A bit bored, I watched as he lined up his little weapon and squeezed off a shot.  Maybe he was a true professional with a great aim.  Maybe he wasn't and he actually wanted to kill me.  Either way, I had more than enough time to see that his bullet was on course to fly about two centimeters over my right shoulder.  Now that, if you ask me, would have been a waste of good lead, so I jumped a tiny bit up and to the side as the slug neared.

Naturally, I judged my movement to perfection, and happily accepted my reward as the bullet crumpled up against my big, steely-hard nipple before pinging harmlessly away to the side.  The impact against my sensitive flesh through the thin, highly-stretched material of my vest, was as usual, delicious.  But it was too brief; it was a kind of reminder of how lovely it feels to be shot in the chest, a "taster" that left me wanting more.  "Do it again!" I shouted at the guy who'd shot me, but I guess he spoke as much of my language as I did of his.  He was just staring at the raised point on my vest where his bullet had hit me, his mouth hanging open.  Behind him, the young lad and his pal were staring too, rifles pointed promisingly at me.

With the tingle that the single bullet had given me still not quite completely faded, my mind turned, as it tends to do at times like that, to erotic fantasy.  I looked at the three men in front of me.  The former dog handler was an unpleasant-looking, overweight, sour-faced individual.  The sight of him would have been enough to end my reverie were it not for the last traces of pleasantness still spreading from my nipple.  Of the other two, one was short and middle-aged with a plain face, but his colleague... the young one... well, let's say that - before I met the genie anyway - I wouldn't have kicked him out of bed on a cold night.

As I looked at his handsome, youthful face, I remembered that I hadn't been with a man since my transformation.  I found myself getting curious.  Sure, I knew I'd have to be gentle with him, but... would it be possible?  I mean, a grenade had exploded in my knickers - and very nice it was too.  But could a man actually do anything for me now?  And if so, would it feel... better?  All I knew was that I wanted to find out.  First, of course, I had to make sure we were alone.  That meant dealing with the unwanted extra company.  And, if I could do that in such a way that they got to use their weapons on me, well, I had no problem with a little foreplay...

Seeing that all three guys were just staring at me, I decided to try some provocation.  I turned back towards the open door of the little cabin, as if I wanted to get something from in there.  I knew they would think that I was fetching a weapon.  The middle-aged camouflaged guy took the bait and fired what he thought would be a warning shot, aiming for the space between me and the cabin.  I saw the high-powered bullet's trajectory, noting with delight that it was not only larger than the pistol slug I had enjoyed a moment before, but that it also appeared to have some sort of special tip.

Before the genie, I never realised just how useful it can be to have such large, round breasts.  I only had to lean a little forward to ensure that the special bullet smacked into the side of my big left tit.  The "soft" flesh gave a little, dimpling momentarily as the amour-tipped mini missile ploughed into it before popping back out to its normal perfect roundness, pushing the now deformed slug away contemptuously.  A fabulous shiver of pure joy ran right through my upper body as the sensation of the impact spread over my torso.  If I'd been feeling a little aroused before, I was downright horny afterwards.  I wanted more.  "Again! Again!" I called out.

I wasn't understood, but at least there was a reaction from the ugly guy with the little gun.  Maybe he was freaked out by the sight of the rifle-shot bouncing off my breast, or maybe he was worried about whatever he thought I was fetching from the cabin.  Whatever it was, he pointed his pistol at my head and shouted something.  I knew his weaker bullets would be an anti-climax after the special-tipped one so, to make sure I could get the maximum benefit from them, I quickly pulled my magic vest over my head, dropping it at my feet. 

There was a gasp as I exposed my chest to the three men.  I heard their thumping hearts and their accelerated breathing and saw the growing bulges in their trousers, pleased to spot that the young one I was interested in had a particularly impressive lump down there.  I cupped myself, lifting my huge, firm mounds slightly, offering them to the would-be shooter.   The sensation of my delicate fingers, pressing far more forcefully than any bullet could into my feminine flesh, lifted my arousal to new heights.    Meanwhile, the ugly animal controller accepted my invitation and emptied his clip, his hands trembling as he sent his five remaining bullets careering towards my, if I say it myself, most impressive chest.

Without my vest in the way, the little bullets created a much bigger sensation as they ricocheted off my eager breasts, making the flawless skin ripple ever so slightly as they smacked into me.  One slug actually hit the inside of my left mound and rebounded into the right before falling, doubly crumpled, to the floor.  Another hit my right nipple dead centre, making my cry out with pleasure as it bounced back in the direction it had come from, actually traveling three-quarters of the way back to the pistol that had first fired it.  The others pinged off other parts of my chest, adding to the generally lovely feeling.  I hardly noticed that the shooter was still squeezing his trigger long after he'd exhausted his ammunition, staring, amazed at my unharmed, unmarked breasts.

"More!" I called out.  But nothing happened.  The pistol guy kept clicking his empty weapon, but the others just gawped.  Fortunately, it was easy to figure out a way to take the ugly guy out of the picture and provoke the others into action without even removing my hands from my chest.  I just leant forward, puckered up my lips and blew him a little kiss.  My brief "kiss" produced a gust of wind strong enough to lift the ugly fat guy off his feet and throw him about seven meters backwards till the back of his head smacked into a tree trunk.  Only then, as he slid, unconscious, down the trunk did his boots touch the ground once more.  Smiling, I turned to the two remaining men, giving the cute one a little wink.

My plan worked a treat.  Perhaps in fear, perhaps anger, they both fired their rifles at me.  I watched the two big bullets converging on my naked torso, pulling my hands out of the way and letting them hang by my sides.  I wanted nothing to come between the two armour-tipped slugs and my tingling, erotically-charged bosom.  Estimating the fight-path of the bullets, I steered myself carefully so that the first hit my left nipple dead-on and the second hit my right one just as precisely a split-second later.  The impacts sounded like steel hitting steel.  But they felt like heaven.

Each of the slugs was almost flattened as it bounced back towards were it had come from.  I know because I spotted them later, lying on the ground.  At the time, I couldn't have cared less about the two bullets.  My eyes were closed, my mouth open as I released an uncontrolled moan of pure pleasure.  My hands returned to my chest, my palms failing to cover my huge breasts as I caressed them, letting my delicate fingers make far deeper impressions in the tingling flesh than even the armour-tipped ammunition had managed.  My big nipples, fully aroused, were now enormous as I pinched them with easily enough force to crush steel bars.  I'd had enough foreplay.  I was ready for the main course.

I walked towards the two rifle-men who stood frozen in place, their eyes wide with shock as they stared at my perfect, invulnerable chest.   Ignoring the older one, I smiled at my intended.  They both just continued to gape.  Turning to the surplus man, I said sweetly "Run along, now.  I want some time alone with your young friend here."  He didn't even blink.  Somehow, I felt that even if he had understood me, he wouldn't have reacted.  I pointed to the forest and said "Go!" but still he didn't move.  I made a little running gesture with my fingers and gestured with my head.  This time, I think he got the message, but he still hesitated.  At least the look of confusion on his face told me that he wasn't in a total state of catatonic shock.

I decided to give him one final demonstration.  I reached forward and snatched his rifle from his hands. taking from his grasp without noticing any resistance.  There must have been some, because he yelped in pain and clasped his hands to his stomach.  Paying no attention to his discomfort, I held his weapon out in front of him, gripping it with one hand at each end.  Making sure he was watching closely, I gave my wrists a little twist.  There was the familiar scream of tortured metal as my casual movement snapped the long reinforced steel barrel in two as easily as if it were a thin, dry twig.  The guy's eyes grew even huger and the blood drained from his face in an instant.

When I caught his gaze again and repeated the sideways gesture of my head, there was no more procrastination.  He turned and sprinted into the forest.  By my standards, of course, he was moving at a snail-like pace, but I had no doubt he was running as fast as his puny male legs could carry him.  Now at last, I was alone with the good-looking one.   Seeing the look of fear on his lovely face, I gave him the warmest smile of reassurance I could manage.  That seemed to work; his eyes met mine and he visibly relaxed.

By this time, I was eager to get on with things.  Giving him what I hoped was a come-hither look, I beckoned him towards me with one finger.  He paused for a moment before taking a cautious step in my direction.  I matched his move with a stride of my own.  We were about equal height and I let him gaze deeply into my eyes while I studied his handsome face.  He was extremely young, but I had to admit, he was exactly my type.  The pounding of his heart and his rapid, shallow breath told me that he wasn't exactly immune to my charms either.  But then again, I was standing right in front of him, naked except for my invulnerable panties.

I let him make the first move.  Nervously, he brought his hands up towards my chest.  I smiled at him encouragingly and he took heart.  He was trembling as his fingertips brushed my breasts.  His touch was so light that even when I closed my eyes and concentrated, I couldn't feel a thing.  "Harder!" I implored, temporarily forgetting the language barrier between us.  He seemed to understand anyway, or maybe he was just getting bolder - perhaps he was starting to get into it, who knows.  For whatever reason, he began to caress my big mounds with much more gusto.  But his touch was still far, far too feathery for my liking.  "Come on!" I urged.  He took the hint and began to squeeze the flesh under his fingers with real urgency.

The poor boy was obviously warming to his task, but it wasn't nearly enough for me.   I could see the tendons now standing out on the backs of his hands, proof that he was putting everything he had into the effort, but his big, supposedly strong, masculine fingers were barely making the tiniest of dents in my softest flesh.  Getting frustrated, I brought my own far smaller hands up to cover his, thinking I would lend him some of my strength.  At the last moment, I remembered the idiot whose palms I'd crushed against my chest overnight and decided not to try.  Instead, I let him carry on his pathetic ministrations while I used my hands to carefully tear his clothes off him.  He didn't resist.  He was so absorbed in my breasts anyway that he probably didn't notice.  I had him completely naked in seconds.

I have to say that I was quite impressed by the sight of the young man without his clothes.  He had a fine physique with some lovely muscles.  Sure, I know that those muscles were only for show; I've got more strength in my little finger than he had in his entire body.  What most caught my eye, unsurprisingly, was his cock.  It was standing at attention, ready and waiting for me.  Now, I'm no virgin, but I don't think I'd ever seen one as impressive as that.  I licked my lips as I reached for it, taking it very, very gently in my hand.  Not gently enough, obviously, because he screamed in agony, letting go of my breasts.  Instantly, I relaxed my grip.  He looked at me fearfully.  I was beginning to get a bit pissed off with his fragility.

The shock of having his manhood painfully crushed had the worst possible effect on him as far as I was concerned.  He was beginning to go limp.  I needed him hard.  Afraid I'd castrate him for good if I took him in hand again, I tried kissing him.  He relaxed as our lips met, responding well to the kiss at first.  Unfortunately, I couldn't really feel much so I tried to put a little more into the embrace.  He stiffened and I noticed just in time that his face was turning blue.  Without even realising it, I had sucked all the air from his puny lungs!  Immediately, I broke off the kiss and he gulped down air for a few moments like a man who's been too long underwater.  When he looked at me again, the normal colour returning to his visage, his eyes revealed fear rather than the lust I'd hoped to see.

Not wanting to disturb the atmosphere any further, I figured I'd ease him down to the ground, hoping to relax him and put him back in the mood before moving things on to the next natural step.  I placed my hand carefully on his shoulder to encourage him off his feet.  Once again, it transpired that I had not been careful enough, because I'd barely touched his strong masculine shoulder with my delicate feminine palm when he collapsed as if he'd been shot.  He let out a cry as he landed, sprawled out at my feet.  Seeing he was more or less alright, and desperate to get on with it, I used my super speed to take of my panties and then dropped down on all fours, my knees on the ground straddling his thighs, my hands either side of his head.

The touch of my silky bare thighs against his had an immediate effect as his manhood swelled to its substantial maximum, brushing my crotch with a feathery lightness that was curiously stimulating for me.  It was like being teased and it left me wanting more.  I leant forward over him, letting my big, round breasts hang only a centimeter from his face and was rewarded with a look of sexual hunger in his eyes.  I was about to lean right into him and bury his head in my generous cleavage, when I stopped myself.  At the last moment, I remembered how easily I'd crushed solid rock and metal in there.  I didn't want to do the same to this guy's skull.

So I settled for softly, tenderly caressing his face with my chest by lowering myself a tiny bit over him and swinging my breasts with extreme caution to and fro.   Each light touch of one of my firm mounds moved his face from one side to the other as if he were watching a tennis match.  He seemed to enjoy it, although I soon noticed mild bruises beginning to form on his cheeks.  I raised myself off him before I could do him a serious injury with my "soft" womanly bosom and smiled down on him as I carefully lifted my buttocks to position my damp, waiting sex over his own throbbing organ.  I could tell he was as eager as me when he arched his back, lifting his hips towards mine.

I felt the lovely touch of the tip of his erection on the edge of my nether lips.  It made me desperate to feel him inside me.  I closed my eyes and slowly began to lower myself onto him.  But something was wrong.  Instead of the familiar wonderful feeling of being penetrated, all I got was the continuing sensation of the lightest of pressure on the outside of my vagina.  I felt him caressing my shoulders and my face as I pushed down a little harder, trying to ease his sex into my own.  Suddenly, I heard him scream.  Opening my eyes I saw that he wasn't caressing my face, he was pounding it with his fists.  He was frantically trying to get me off him.  He was in agony.  His shaft just wasn't parting the fleshy gates of my intimacy and, as I had pushed down trying to force him inside me, all I had succeeded in doing was to painfully squeeze his organ.

Exasperated now, I ignored his discomfort as I rolled off him onto my back, lying beside him.   Reaching over, I placed a hand on each of his hips and lifted him off the ground.  His big, muscular, manly body felt as light as a thin blanket as I easily maneuvered it over my own slim, feminine form.  I dropped him on top of me, paying no attention to his gasp when the impact of his chest against my own knocked the wind temporarily out of his lungs.  He tried to push himself away from me, placing his hands first on my shoulders and then on my firm round breasts.  His bulging biceps were the only clue I got that he was trying to press against me with all his might.  Not only could I hardly feel his efforts, but even when he pushed down on my chest with all his weight, the force hardly even dimpled my supposedly soft feminine mounds.

Keeping my hands on his hips I pulled his groin towards my own, trying to push him into me.  But it was no good.  No matter how hard I tried, I could not get more than the very tip of his member about a centimeter inside me.  His hard, masculine organ was simply to weak and fragile to penetrate my soft, feminine organ.  When I tried to force him in, his shaft bent and he screamed.  Totally frustrated, I decided to have one last attempt at getting him inside me.  It turned out to have been a bad decision.  An easy tug pulled his groin firmly towards mine, but there was no penetration.  There was just a sickening crunching sound as his fragile pelvis crumbled against my own steel-hard crotch.  I was just too super for him.  His eyes bulged and he began to screech, only for the yell to suddenly cease as his entire body went limp.

Looking down, I was greeted with a disgusting sight.  I'd crushed his middle to almost nothing, practically cutting him in half.  Shattered bone poked bloodily through his flesh in four or five places.  Thick, dark red liquid was rapidly covering his body as I flung it off me, turning away in horror as the corpse flew at least fifty meters through the air, blood flowing like a comet's tail from the terrible wounds I caused.  There was gore all around me, but not a drop remained anywhere on my smooth naked skin as I proved invulnerable even to getting dirty.  There was absolutely nothing to clean off.

Although I was in shock about what I'd accidentally done to my would-be lover, I was still in a state of extreme sexual arousal.  Absent-mindedly, I began to stroke my damp sex as I lay on the ground, my dainty fingers proving infinitely more effective than the poor young soldier's manhood.  I confess I put him completely out of my mind as I increased the speed and strength of my ministrations.  Soon I was completely lost in a self-induced erotic haze.  My fingertips reached deep within me, easily achieving what a man had proved utterly incapable of doing, finally giving me the full pleasure I craved.

My eyes closed as I involuntarily arched my back.  From deep within, I could feel something enormous growing.  Like the distant roar of an approaching tidal wave, the building sensation in my inner core conveyed barely a hint of the force of nature about to be released.   I heard myself yelling in pure pleasure as my orgasm finally broke with a simultaneous explosion of pure, brilliant light in my mind and unlimited joy in every other part of my body.  It seemed to last forever.  Countless pulses of energy spread outwards from the center of my sex, each one filling me entirely with delight.  I felt myself shaking uncontrollably as I let the incredible sensation take over my being.

What seemed like hours (but was probably minutes) later, I opened my eyes and stared at the sky for a few moments, slowly recovering my senses.  Gradually, I became aware of a puzzling unease.  Something wasn't right.  There was a confusing sensation of air moving across my shoulders, my heels and my backside.  But wasn't I lying on the ground?  I didn't understand.  Why couldn't I feel the ground?   I turned my head to the side and got the answer to my question.  No wonder I couldn't feel the ground.  My body wasn't touching it.  It was floating twenty centimeters above it.  It looked like I was lying on an invisible mattress!

Somehow, I knew straight away that I'd stumbled on a previously undiscovered aspect of the new "super" me - the power of flight!  All that I needed to do was to learn how to control it.  I tried concentrating on going up and down, and imagining myself floating towards the sky and then the ground, but I didn't move.  Just when I was beginning to think I was destined to spend the rest of my life suspended slightly above the ground, I cracked it.

It's all about tensing and relaxing muscles.  A little experimentation and I had the fundamentals.  My calf muscles give me vertical control; by tightening and loosening them I can rise straight up into the air or come back down to earth.  The muscles in my forearms hold the key to steering when I'm airborne.  It took a while to learn how to co-ordinate it all.  A few times, I misjudged and smashed into a tree trunk, each time with the same result: the trunk broke in two and I continued to soar through the air utterly unaffected.  I also put two deep craters in the forest floor by miscalculating the speed of my descent.  It was fun, especially with the knowledge that, no matter how careless I got, I couldn't get hurt.

Pretty soon though, I had mastered a sufficient degree of control to be able to weave in and out between the tightly-grouped trees.  Then, I found I could do it just as easily on my back or front and in any direction - even backwards upside-down.  I was flying!  The genie really did give me powers like in the Superman comics.  For some reason, this particular ability just hasn't shown itself until now.  Maybe I hadn't properly "activated" it, maybe the orgasm brought it out or maybe it simply took a few days to take effect.  Who cares!  It's just fucking brilliant!  Turning summersaults in the air, I laughed out loud.  The feeling of total freedom is indescribable.  It more than compensates for being far to super to be penetrated by a man.

After a few minutes' practice, I managed a fairly graceful landing on my feet.  I picked up my vest and panties and put them back on before grabbing this diary to write down the latest fantastic events.  Now, I'm going to try out the flying thing a little more.  I wonder how fast I can go?  Or how high?  Or how far?

 

Conceptfan, Apr. 2002.

Part 6

Wednesday 16th May 2001 - 7:00 am

Flying is so cool! Especially now that I've really got the hang of it. I spent most of last night practicing. Just another advantage to being super, I guess. Staying up all night doing stuff. I haven't actually slept for days now, and I don't even feel a little tired. If anything I feel more full of energy than before. I suppose that's the excitement of being able to soar through the air like an airplane. Better than an airplane probably. Once I fully worked out how to control myself using my flying abilities, I was doing some amazing tricks and going pretty fast too. In fact, it might be interesting comparing my aerial skills against a 'plane some time.

I started out my training session last night doing something an airplane certainly can't do: just flying straight up into the air. No problems there - it couldn't be easier. But reversing the direction to come straight back down to earth... Well, that took quite a bit of practice. The first couple of times I misjudged things completely. I was coming down too fast. One time I just hit the ground and kept on going, my feet crushing the soil and tree roots and rocks as my body drove a narrow vertical shaft thirty meters deep. At least it didn't hurt. If anything, it felt quite nice. It certainly made me feel powerful to be able to "fly" through the solid ground almost as easily as I can through the air!

Another failed landing involved me crashing down into a huge oak tree. I thought the thick branches would break my fall and help me decelerate. Instead my fall broke the branches, snapping them from the enormous trunk as though they were twigs. They smashed down to the earth beneath me as I hit the trunk itself. That tree must've been over a hundred years old - it was at least three meters in diameter at its base and its uppermost branches reached around twenty-five meters above the ground. I assumed I would just bounce off the great column of wood as I descended on top of it. I didn't. I carved right down through the middle of it like a great human axe. Splinters and wood dust flew out in all directions as my invulnerable body split the massive trunk in two right down the center.

Finally, I came to a halt at about ground level. I heard a tremendous creaking sound as the two halves of the great oak began to topple outwards, away from me, to crash down on the carpet of dead leaves, the twin impact shaking the earth momentarily and causing a mass panic among the bird population for kilometers around. I stood up - completely unhurt of course - not realizing that part of my right leg was "pinned" under one of the half tree trunks. The easy moment of my delicate ankle as I rose lifted one end of the huge slab of wood a meter into the air. It smashed back to the ground near my foot, but not on top of it this time.

Feeling a bit experimental, and perhaps because I wanted to take a little break from flying practice, I bent down and wrapped by arms around the irregular semi-cylinder of felled tree. I had no trouble seeing what I was doing in the pitch black of the forest night, but the tree had been so big that when I embraced half of it, my fingers did not meet on the other side. I tried to get a better hold, lowering my body further and hugging the end of the horizontal trunk as tightly as I could. For a brief but lovely moment, I felt my big pendant breasts flattening very slightly against the rough bark and squeezed the thing even harder against my body.

That action caused a series of loud splintering sounds that told me I was hugging the trunk a bit too tightly now. Too tightly for the tree that is. As I continued to strengthen my embrace until I was pressing it to me with as much force as I would have used to hug a friend (before I met the genie), the cracking sound grew louder until an entire meter-long chunk of trunk just seemed to dissolve into a hundred thousand matchsticks and toothpicks. Sharp little pieces of wood flew from my arms, bouncing off my wonderful "new" body to scatter all around and leave me holding nothing. I stood up again and looked down at what was left of the mighty tree trunk.

I had shortened the half of trunk I'd hugged by around a meter, so it was now about twenty-four meters in length, although the last five meters or so were mostly branches and leaves rather than solid base. Despite that, it had to weigh tens of thousands of kilos. So I was quite surprised, after I'd bent down and gotten my arms around it once again, how easy it was to straighten up, lifting one end of the enormous column. I stood for a few moments with the end of the trunk comfortably in my arms, thinking about what to do next. Deciding to see just how strong I am, I tried tilting the trunk until the whole thing was off the ground.

Now, I realized at the time that the easiest way of raising the half-tree and keeping it horizontal was by gripping it at the middle. But I wasn't interested in doing it the easiest way. So, with all the laws of leverage working against me, I started to twist the end I was holding, expecting a hell of a strain to get the entire length in the air. Instead, the top half of the trunk, branches and all, came smoothly and pretty obligingly off the forest floor. It must have made for quite a sight - me, standing under two meters tall and less than a meter around at my impressive bust, dwarfed by half a tree trunk twenty five meters long and one-and-a-half around which I was calmly holding straight out in front of me like a knight holding an oversized lance.

Still in the mood to find out how powerful my slender body now is, I started to turn on my heels. It was no trouble at all to swing the huge chunk of wood like an American with a baseball bat. Of course, I couldn't turn very far without smashing the thing into another tree. My "bat" just carved right though the second trunk with a tremendous crack, leaving a high stump as the rest toppled violently to the ground. I swung again, easily chopping down two more giant trees, marveling at how little effort I had to use to maneuver such an enormous and heavy object.

Feeling incredibly powerful now, I adjusted my grip, lifting my new toy to a vertical position, my hands on either side of the bottom of the giant pole which rested totally securely between my big, round and, even if I say so myself, impossibly firm breasts. There was something incredibly erotic about casually holding several tons of phallic-shaped wood in that way. I don't know if it was the ease with which I did it, reminding me of the incredible strength I possess, or if it was the feeling of the rough bark pressing against my chest through my thin vest. Whatever it was, it really turned me on.

I think I was getting a bit lost in that sensation, because I suddenly found myself grasping the tree trunk tightly against myself and lifting it up and down, rubbing it against the front of my body. Soon, I smelt smoke and realized that the friction I was generating had heated the wood almost to the point of catching fire. The warmth only served to get me further aroused and I increased the pace of my movements, vigorously stroking myself with the huge chunk of tree until, with a "wumpf!" it burst into flame. I let the fire lick deliciously at me as I continued to caress my front with the burning wood until the inevitable happened.

It must have been about that moment that I dropped the flaming tree. I remember shaking violently as I orgasmed over and over. My hands were suddenly free. One found its way inside my invulnerable panties where a couple of fingers sought out my eager sex. My other hand traveled, seemingly by itself, up my vest to cup one of my full breasts, kneading the "soft" flesh - I guess probably with enough force to crush steel. Anyway, I was in paradise. My eyes closed and I lost track of time for a while as I gave myself the sort of extreme pleasure that I could only dream about before I got superpowers.

When I re-opened my eyes, I was greeted by the sight of fire all around me. The burning trunk I had been holding must have set light to the surrounding forest. The heat would surely have been phenomenal where I was standing, but I didn't feel anything but the pleasantly warm afterglow of my fantastic release. I knew I was in no danger from a mere forest fire; no flame can singe my hair or even mark my "super" underwear, let alone actually hurt me. Nonetheless, I was a little concerned that the fire might get out of control and perhaps alert the authorities to my presence, so I decided to try and put it out.

I think I should join the fire brigade! I did such a good job extinguishing those flames, even I was impressed. And it was so easy! I just put my hands on my hips, leant forward, puckered my lips and blew gently, turning slowly in a full circle as I continued to exhale. My super-breath instantly quelled the fires all around. In the process, I also blew quite a lot of trees over, the trunks bending and then breaking as they turned out to be unable to resist the gale-force winds generated by my lungs. I really love the sound of rushing air whenever I force a hurricane through my lips and I got a bit carried away, continuing to blow for a while after all the flames had gone until I'd cleared a circle of forest about forty meters in diameter.

Looking around at my handiwork and thinking how effortlessly I had altered the landscape, I started feeling incredibly powerful once more and recognized that I was getting horny all over again. However, I stopped myself from grabbing another fallen tree and rubbing it against myself; I didn't want to spend the entire night starting fires and putting them out. Instead I rose about fifty meters straight up into the air and hovered there for a bit, proudly observing the perfect circle of devastation I'd made before plunging straight back to earth, this time controlling my landing immaculately, coming to rest on the soles of my feet as lightly as any tiny bird would have done.

I spent the next few hours practicing loops and turns until I found I could fly at speed in any direction or angle, even backwards upside down. I've found I can turn sharply in the air, even going from a vertical dive to a steep climb in a fraction of a second. I can also travel far faster off the ground than on it. It's a good thing my super-senses give me lightening reactions or I'd have done an awful lot of damage.

And, whilst I'm on the subject of an awful lot of damage, it has just occurred to me that my mastery of flying means it should be no bother at all for me to cross the sea back to my home town and pay dear old Uncle Tony a "flying" visit. I wonder how long it'll take if I go as fast as I can...

 

 

Wednesday 16th May 2001 - 11:00 am

Oh wow! What a day I've had so far. Even compared to the ones that went before it. I suppose I'm pretty quickly getting used to being super-Milena. Things that seem normal enough to me now would've been fantasies before I met the genie. For instance, getting shot isn't most people's idea of having a good time but now I go out of my way to enjoy it whenever I can. Or throwing full grown men around like rice at a wedding. That's another type of fun I'm happily getting accustomed to. Likewise generating hurricane-force winds with as much effort as I once used to blow dust off a CD... But flying - and the stuff I can do in the air - is something else. I don't think I'll ever stop marveling at that. I mean today was just awesome.

Sure, every day is incredible when you're super - in fact just about everything you do is incredible. But, some things are more incredible than others. And what I did today was about as incredible as it gets. I almost can't believe it all actually happened. Some of the stuff I did today! I can't believe I actually spent the whole night a while back swimming across the sea and then running overland for hours just to get from my home town to that lousy little cabin in the woods. I can do that journey in well under half an hour by air - and that includes enough time to stop and have some fun along the way. And what fun there is to be had in the air!

It all started soon after I'd hidden my suitcase with this diary under some huge boulders on the edge of the forest. I just put my stuff down in a little dent in the ground next to one of the enormous rocks and then, with one hand, rolled the thing on top. A construction crane probably wouldn't be able to move that boulder, but the dainty hand of Milena had no trouble at all. How I love being super. Anyway, my stuff safely stashed, I took to the air, enjoying the feeling of the wind rushing by as I leisurely accelerated in the general direction of home. In no time at all I saw the sea below me, so I came lower to revel in my amazing abilities.

For a while I flew a few meters above the water, but I soon got bored of that and rose higher into the air. That must've been when I showed up on some radar screen somewhere. I'd only been traveling for a few minutes, but I was already halfway across the sea, in the official air-space of my country. And - I'm guessing now - as a small object traveling fast in a straight line, some kid staring at one of those green screens probably thought I was a missile. Stupid kid. I'm far, far more dangerous than any missile. Anyway, whatever actually happened doesn't matter. Suffice to say, somebody sent the Air Force after me.

Well, not the entire Air Force. Just six of what I suppose were the latest jet fighters. Imagine! Half-a-dozen jets with highly skilled, highly trained pilots with up-to-the-minute propulsion and weapons systems sent up against a single woman who was naked but for her vest and panties. It was totally unfair. I understood that right away as I saw the first plane approaching me from distance. Altering my course, I was able to fly alongside it without any difficulty. In fact, I had to stay well within myself so as not to shoot straight past.

When the pilot turned to stare at me from his cockpit, I couldn't resist the temptation to show off a little. I smiled and waved at him and then put on a burst of speed, by no means going at anything near my top speed, but certainly flying quick enough to zip by close to him. I just wanted to give him a little exhibition of Milena-power, to show him how much faster I can travel with just my lovely body compared to him in his big, expensive machine. However, I obviously went a little too near to him. The turbulence I caused (or maybe it was the shockwave generated by my passing - I don't know) knocked his craft spinning completely out of control.

I heard the frantic whine of the plane's engines as the pilot struggled to regain control and get out of his nosedive. It took him quite a while to steady his machine and climb again, eventually coming back into formation alongside one of the other jets. By then, I was too excited with what I had already done to just leave things there. Lazily, I turned a circle to come up behind the two parallel craft. Then I accelerated for all I was worth, streaking into the gap between them, going so fast it was as if they weren't moving at all by comparison. I didn't even touch either plane, but, as I glanced over my shoulder, I saw that I'd created enough of a disturbance to cause them to bump into one another.

Whoever is in charge of these things really ought to think about buying some tougher aircraft for the military. The two planes I "buzzed" barely touched, yet instantly there was a tremendous explosion and where there had been two jets, all I could see was a twin fireball. Big chunks of metal flew outwards from the point of impact, but sadly for me I was going too fast for any of them to actually touch me. I stopped in mid-air and turned to watch what was left of the two war birds spiraling towards the waves far below. I admit I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as my superhuman eyes spotted some of the larger bits of debris splashing into the brine.

By this point I was convinced that I had as much to fear from these jets as I have from a couple of moths. As I was in a playful mood, I decided to try and chase one of the remaining four. In no time at all I was right on its tail, keeping my speed down so I didn't overtake it. The pilot obviously knew I was there and, perhaps thinking about his dead colleagues, tried to shake me off. It was too easy to follow his every twist and turn, my agile body able to turn far sharper and quicker than his clumsy machine. I found myself getting closer and closer until my face was touching the flames of its exhaust plume. The heat felt lovely, like lying on the beach on a summer's day.

Enjoying the wonderful warmth, I just kept getting closer and closer to the plane until I found myself almost touching the tailpipe. Then I got curious. What does the inside of a jet fighter's engine in flight look like? I decided to find out and sped up a tiny bit, flying right up inside the pipe. I never got to see the inside of the engine, though. I suppose they're not designed to handle super-women having fun in their exhausts. The whole thing just blew up suddenly, lovely burning fuel raining down on me as red-hot bits of plane slammed into my invulnerable body, making me moan with delight. But it was all over too soon as far as I was concerned. A few more splashes in the sea below and no more plane.

But my fun was just beginning. With half the squadron destroyed, the others needed no further convincing that I was a hostile presence. I heard a sort of whooshing sound behind me and turned in the air to see, to my complete delight, what could only be an air-to-air missile heading straight for me. Remembering how wonderful the torpedo had felt the other day, I steered myself right into the path of the oncoming rocket and just waited for it to do its thing. It didn't disappoint, the pointed nose striking me right in the abdomen, the impact alone thrilling me. But that was nothing compared to the detonation.

The heat of the explosion was nice, but the dozens of bits of torn metal smacking into my body was altogether fantastic. I watched as one chunk bounced off the underside of my breasts, making my whole chest tingle with delight. Another bit of debris glanced against my chin, breaking in two as the hard metal hit my far harder face. Other pieces pinged off my knees and shoulders. I flew upwards, hugging myself with the sheer pleasure of it all. In fact, I was so wrapped up in my enjoyment that I almost didn't see another missile passing by beneath me.

Fortunately, I spotted the thing in time and dived down towards it, easily catching up with it. Carefully, I adjusted myself so that I was flying right above it, matching its slow pace. Then, too excited to wait any longer, I just reached down and hugged it to my chest. It was the perfect size to fit between my breasts, but it didn't stay whole for long. It just did the one thing it had been built to do, blowing up with such intensity that the front of my vest and the skin beneath it actually glowed for a while. But I was more interested in the sensation of the enormous explosion I'd trapped between my smooth, slender arms and my big, heavy breasts.

I don't think I've got the vocabulary to describe what it felt like. It was better than any sex I've ever had. The force of the metal against my mounds and my nipples in particular must have been enormous, but to me it was like being kissed a thousand times simultaneously all over my sensitive breasts whilst being expertly fondled by a dozen strong, loving hands. I screamed in delight as my entire upper body seemed to vibrate with pleasure, my eyes almost watering as my brain struggled to cope with so much pure physical joy. It was that good.

Once I'd finally come down off my peak and my chest had started to cool, I naturally looked around for more missiles. I was so sad to see that there weren't any that I decided to try and provoke the pilots into sending me a few more of their lovely presents. I just put on a little burst of speed, overtaking one of the jets, being careful not to pass too close to it and send it out of control. Then I turned around to face the pilot, putting my hands on my hips and thrusting out my still tingling chest as I "stood" in mid-air, directly in his path. Judging by the look of shock, fear and lust on the poor guy's face, I guess I looked pretty impressive as he sped towards me.

However, although I knew how to look good, I clearly have a lot to learn about jet fighter pilots. It seems that they don't use missiles for targets that are that close. They use a special gun, mounted at the front of their craft. I only saw it at the last moment. It had loads of barrels like a big machine gun. But the bullets! I saw the pilot's eyes narrow as he prepared to fire and then a stream of little shells headed my way - probably hundreds in just a few seconds. I just kept absolutely still waiting for them to hit me, thinking that it wouldn't feel like much after the wonders of the second missile.

How wrong I was! Each big bullet felt about half as powerful as one of the grenades that had exploded against me in Tony's underground lair. The difference was there was dozens and dozens of them. Each impact made me shiver with delight, the after-effects lasting long after the next shell hit, building into a crescendo of stimulation. Lost now in the pursuit of physical heaven, I found myself lifting my vest up and letting the material hang rolled up under my chin so that my breasts were completely exposed to the magical barrage as my hands returned to my hips.

Every single shell that touched my chest - and there were too many to count - felt fantastic. Some merely exploded against the outside of one of my breasts, leaving an electric tingle. Others though went right into my cleavage, stimulating both of my mounds at once and filling my mind with stars. But the best sensation of all came from the shells that detonated against my fully-erect steel-hard nipples. Each time I took a hit there I thought my brain was about to shut down, that it wouldn't be able to stand such a fabulous physical thrill. Of course, it didn't shut down at all. It just let me enjoy the incredible feeling over and over and over again. I suppose my brain is super too now.

All good things come to an end and this was no exception. I guess the pilot felt that he was getting dangerously close to me or something, but anyway, he stopped firing and went into a steep climb. I just kept my hands on my hips and matched his ascent until he was almost flying vertically. Then I sped up a little, positioning myself directly above him - and directly in his path - floating parallel to the ground, smiling down at the panicked face of the pilot. Well, I couldn't let him try to kill me with his amazing ammo and just leave it at that. So, I stuck myself in his way and let his plane fly straight into my mighty chest. It was the least I could do.

Pretending to be slightly bored as if I did that kind of thing every day, I let the pilot's last sight be my defiant pouting face.  I watched the front of the jet crumple against my naked breasts for a few milliseconds. Then came the good part. The fighter turned into the now familiar fire ball that warmed me and then I got the expected massage of supersonic chunks of metal debris that felt nice, but came and went too quickly. I didn't move a centimeter as the craft ploughed into me and blew up, keeping my palms arrogantly on my hips the whole time, really enjoying the sensation of absolute power that filled every part of my being at that moment. It was just all so very, very easy.

I glanced quickly all around me. I'd downed four planes and there were only two left. I had to slow down or else I wasn't going to be enjoying the fun much longer, so I leisurely flew towards one of the remaining jets, being careful not to affect its delicate balance by getting too close. Putting my hands behind my head and rolling so that my back was towards the ground, I acted as if I was floating on water as I gently maneuvered myself in front of the nosecone, matching the noisy engines for pace without any conscious exertion on my part. I left my vest rolled up above my chest, my exposed, aroused nipples pointing straight upwards. Then I waited for the pilot to see me and use his wonderful weapons against me.

It didn't take long. I floated to a vertical position, smiled broadly at the pilot - a fresh-faced young man - and thrust out my naked chest towards him to offer the best possible target for his ammunition. Soon enough, those wonderful shells were peppering the front of my body once again, filling me with a thousand simultaneous explosions of pleasure as they stroked and touched and caressed and kissed the front of my body. My breasts thrilled with the fantastic sensation of hundreds of impacts and detonations as I kept the distance between myself and the jet constant, just making sure I got the full physical enjoyment the craft's expensive gun could offer.

Throwing my head back, my long hair whipping crazily in the on-rushing air, I moaned my thanks to the genie for making it possible for me to feel like that. My hands came up to my bare, tingling chest so that my slender fingers could add their substantially greater power to that of the exploding shells and I was about to loose myself once again to sexual ecstasy when, quite suddenly, the gentle caresses of the ammunition stopped. I brought my head back and stared. The jet was still there in front of me and so was the pilot. It took me a while to work it out. He must have run out of ammunition.

I looked at the quivering face of the young man at the controls. He looked a bit pathetic. Like a typical male, he'd exhausted himself just when he was beginning to satisfy me. Smiling reassuringly, I let the distance between me and his windshield slowly diminish, spreading my legs out to allow the jet's nose to pass between them. I could've just let the front of the craft crumple up against my crotch like aluminum foil, but, thinking about how delicate these machines seemed to be, I wasn't sure that wouldn't cause the whole thing to blow up like the others had done. I did want that yet. I wanted some fun with the pilot first.

So that's why I ended up sitting astride the cone, like I was riding a horse (although it goes without saying that my now invulnerable and perfect rear needs no saddle). My body was right in front of the windshield, so my firm, upstanding breasts must have been filling the pilot's vision as he sat in his seat, terrified eyes as wide as saucers. I smiled at him, but I guess, being a man, he was too busy staring at my tits too notice. I decided to give him more of what he wanted. With my vest still around my neck, I lent slowly forward until the very tips of my erect nipples touched the glass pane between us. I held the pose for a moment, letting my hair stream out behind me and thrilling in my dominance over man and machine alike.

I didn't figure until the last moment that I was going to have to be very careful to keep my thighs relaxed. Without noticing, I had severely dented the sides of the nose cone when I bent forward. It's a good thing that I'm incredibly supple now. Anyway, the pilot didn't seem to mind. Maybe he didn't even realize. The terror on his face hadn't eased, but there was a strong hint of sexual arousal there too by this stage. I appeared to have him completely hypnotized, or more precisely, my chest had him under an unbreakable spell. He was under my power and I hadn't even used my superpowers on him! It was time for that too change.

I just leant a little further towards him, hair spraying out in the winds behind me. Immediately, the glass cracked where my impossibly hard nipples pressed against it. For a fraction of a second, my large breasts flattened again the creaking pane and then, in an instant, the glass simply dissolved into a million tiny fragments that sprayed all over the cockpit and out into the atmosphere as the cabin pressure was lost. But I didn't stop there. I bent further in until the points of my chest almost touched his shirt. He didn't move, he simply stared down at the top of my generous mounds whilst still gripping his controls. What was he thinking? That I was just going to leave and let him land his clumsy machine unmolested?

I slowly lifted my right hand off my knee and brought it up past his face, unopposed. He seemed to be wrestling with a dilemma: should he just keep his eyes glued to my tits or should he tear them away to see what I was going to do with my hand? After quite a lot of hesitation, the hand just about won. I was glad. It meant he got to see my slender fingers casually pulling the top of his harness loose from its metal fastenings. Still leaning in oh so close to him, I moved my hand slowly down, gently pulling off his helmet and oxygen mask so that he gasped for each breath of thin air. Then, showing off by using just my fingernails, I sliced through the tough webbing of the lower part of the harness.

It should have been pretty obvious to him what was going on, but he made no move to try and stop me. I did notice that he was trembling slightly now. It could have been fear, shock or perhaps he was just cold now I'd exposed him to the thin, bitter air of the upper atmosphere. Still though, he kept his shaking hands on the controls as my dainty hand approach the final strap holding him in. As this strap ran across his lap, I teased him a little by lightly brushing the edge of my palm across the obvious bulge in his groin, making him shudder. Men! Here he was, scared to death, but still he was stiff as a board just because I'd let him see my naked chest!

I figured that once I'd gotten the final strap out of the way, there'd be nothing holding him in and he'd be sucked straight through the open windshield, so just before my fingernails sliced the webbing completely in half, I pressed my breasts very gently against his chest. His squeal of agony was brief - I guess because my big mounds soon squeezed the air from his lungs - I certainly didn't relax the pressure anyway. I just reveled in the knowledge that it was only my beautiful breasts that were stopping him from being pulled violently into the sky - the same beautiful breasts that were slowly crushing the life out of him anyway.

It was then that I decided to take things outside. I used my flying powers to suddenly pull backwards away from him, letting the laws of physics rip him from his seat and send him hurtling out of his stricken plane into the atmosphere. A second later, I stopped flying backwards and hovered motionless so that he slammed into me front on. I got my hands around his back, hugging him extremely gently to me and just held him there while we both watched his unmanned jet suddenly nose-dive towards the sea ten thousand meters below us. Of course, he wouldn't have seen the mighty splash as the craft hit the waves. Only my superhuman eyesight could manage that.

His very human eyes were just staring, terrified into mine. With what little air he could find to push through his vocal chords, he was pleading with me to take him down to the ground. Only then did I realize that when I'd torn away his harness, I'd also removed his parachute. I smiled at him and then kissed him gently on the lips. I can't be sure, but I think he was actually kissing me back, responding to me sexually even in his frightened state. I removed my hands from his back, letting them fall by my side as I continued the kiss, feeling his arms grasping me around the middle as he clung on for dear life. I reached back to clasp each of his wrists between a thumb and forefinger.

Breaking his grasp took no effort whatsoever. I just pulled his hands from behind me, all the while keeping my lips pressed to his as I held his arms out wide by our sides. All that kept him air at that moment were my powers of flight which he was receiving the benefits of through my hold on his wrists and the intimate contact of our mouths. Which meant, of course, that I only had to open my fingers and break off our kiss and he was once again at the mercy of gravity. I, however, just hung unmoving in the air, "super" in every way. I heard his yell of desperation as he plummeted towards Earth, but I was too busy readjusting my vest, pulling it back down over my big breasts to wave goodbye. I hope he didn't think I was rude.

Anyway, I was already starting to wonder what I would do with the last remaining jet and its pilot. I found them in the sky quickly enough, but I hadn't anticipated the guy's next action. Obviously, having seen five of his colleagues taken out by me, he wasn't in the mood to try his luck. So, before I could fly over to his machine, he had ejected. His craft's engines were already screaming as they headed straight down towards the sea. The pilot, meanwhile just seemed to be floating around where his plane had been, hanging from a huge white parachute that billowed, supported by a cushion of air.

gher up than before.

When he saw me hovering right near him again, his face turned even whiter than it had been. "P..Pl...Please.." he stammered, pathetically. I just smiled at him. Very slowly, and extremely deliberately I brought my hand up to my face, turning my palm upwards and resting it just under my chin. Then, as sexily as I could, I pouted and blew him another kiss. This time I probably put a bit too much into it. As he went soaring off, parallel to the sea far below, I saw that the force of my super-breath had been too much for the thin material of his parachute. A huge hole had been torn in the center of the cloth and a couple of the strings had become detached from its edges and hung free from the pilot's back pack.

I watched as my "kiss" pushed him a few hundred meters sideways in the atmosphere, dragging his now collapsed parachute behind him. Then, as soon as the momentum my lungs had lent him was exhausted, both pilot and useless canopy fell out of the sky. And that was it for the six Air Force jets and the men that had been inside them. I had totally destroyed all of them. And I'd done it in minutes and with the greatest ease. I found myself laughing as I saw the last pilot's tiny splash so distant beneath my feet. I had just defeated six of the latest, heavily armed supersonic fighter aircraft in combat. I've never felt more alive, or more powerful.

Suddenly, I realized that I was absent-mindedly rubbing my crotch through my invulnerable panties. I was so turned on by my own power, I was in danger of making an exhibition of myself. But, then again I thought, there wasn't anyone to see me do it at fifteen thousand meters. So I slipped my fingers inside the waistband and let them reach my innermost place whilst my other hand pinched and rolled my harder-than-diamond nipples until I was at least temporarily sated. It wasn't until a few moments later, as I came down from my orgasm, that I started to think about what I was doing in the sky in the first place.

I'd wanted to know how long it would take to fly back to my home town. And now I know - not very long at all, whether or not the Air Force sends a delegation to meet me en route. I can pop into Uncle Tony's any time I want! I turned around and returned to where I'd come from, making it back to the edge of the forest without interruptions in mere minutes. I spotted the boulder under which I'd stashed my stuff in no time at all, even though I was thousands of meters up in the air, and swooped down to land - daintily - right by it. Then I pushed the big rock aside, picked up my case, opened it, got out my diary and started writing.

with the ease that super-strength gives me, I tucked him under my left arm like he was a rolled-up newspaper and "walked" over to his friend, repeating the same trick on him - showing off my breasts as I bent down, yanking him out of the sea and stashing him between my side and my slender right arm.

They didn't fight me this time as I took off, flying us all back onto the deck.  There I dropped them both the final meter to the floor, letting them roll about in their wet clothes until I said "Stand up!"  They both immediately obeyed, each man dripping into a big puddle at his feet.  Of course, I was completely dry, the water just refusing to stick to my lovely skin or my magic underwear.  One of the two clearly petrified men plucked up the courage to speak.

"Who..who are you?"

"I'm your new boss." I replied.  "Do as you're told and I'll let you live."

"What do you want from us?"

"That's the spirit!" I smiled.  "I want you to clean up this boat and then sail it home."

The one who'd let his friend do the talking for a while suddenly looked horrified.  "But... but... we don't know how to sail.."

Still smiling I placed a finger under his chin, tilting his head back until I was sure it was hurting him.  "Then yoAnd now it's time for me to plan my next move. I think a visit to Uncle T. is very much in order. Perhaps even this afternoon. I mean, it's not as if I feel tired after my exertions. And I've also got to sort out somewhere to live. I mean, what's the point in being the most powerful person on Earth if you live in an old shack in the woods?

 

Conceptfan, Aug. 2002.

Part 7

Wednesday 16th May 2001 - 8:00 pm

Ah, this is more like it!  Now I really feel super.  I've found some accommodation that better suits the new me.  Of course, no mere building could ever be as beautiful - or, come to think of it, as powerful - as I am these days, but at least my surroundings now are a vast improvement on that horrible little shack in the woods.  Although, looking around, I can see that this place is going to need a bit of redecoration.  All those bullet-marks.  And the mess in the basement.  Not forgetting the blood stains.  Or the corpses downstairs.  Still, it'll do.  And it was so much fun to acquire, even if it wasn't exactly a run-of-the-mill property deal...  Anyway, I'd better start with what happened after I finished writing the last entry.

After all the fun I had in the sky this morning, I originally decided to take things easy for the rest of the day.  Once I'd written down everything I'd done, I just laid down in a clearing in the forest to soak up some sun.  Seeing as not even a missile exploding at point-blank range had managed to leave a mark on my lovely "new" skin, I didn't really expect to catch a tan, but the warmth felt nice enough.  In fact, I felt terrific - like I have done ever since the genie worked his magic.  Despite my earlier exertions, I wasn't in the least bit tired and it was a little strange to be relaxing when I was buzzing with energy.

I closed my eyes. but I was so alert and awake that they soon popped open.  From my position flat on the ground, I was staring straight at the midday sun.  It took me a few moments to realize that I was doing something no other person can because the incredible brightness caused me no discomfort whatsoever.  I spent a few moments observing individual flares shooting from the edges of the sun, marveling at yet another of my incredible new abilities.  My "super" vision is fantastic.  I could even follow the flight of a tiny bird as it crossed in front of the glaring heavenly fireball.   But seeing the bird reminded me that I, too, am free to travel the skies now.  That's when I decided there was no point lying around doing nothing when I could be enjoying myself soaring through the air.

As an experiment, I thought I'd try taking flight without bothering to stand up first.  Well, that was the idea.  To be honest, I might be a goddess but I'm not quite perfect yet.  It took me a couple of seconds to work out how to do it.  First, I had to get it wrong once.  I had a pretty good idea which muscles to tense to raise my horizontal form skyward -  but it soon turned out that I wasn't so sure exactly how to tense them.  In fact, I got it completely incorrect.  Instead of floating gloriously upwards, my body moved straight down!  The biggest problem was that, at that moment, I was flat on my back on the forest floor.  I might have expected the hard ground to have blocked my attempted movement, but I suppose I'm still learning that mere physical barriers have little relevance to me now.

So, rather than soaring towards the clouds, I sunk rapidly into the Earth.  I barely felt the compacted soil and tree roots yielding beneath me or the dislodged dirt and debris falling on top of me as I descended through the ground.  My outstretched body carved a shaft straight down - sort of like an empty grave but many times deeper.  So much deeper that by the time I reacted to the situation and relaxed my muscles to stop the downward "flight", my back and rear had slammed through a good half-meter of bedrock.  I'd pulverized fifty centimeters of solid stone with nothing but my prostrate body!  I lay there for an instant, amazed at what I had just done and marveling at my power.  If I hadn't stopped would I have continued burrowing through the ground until I went through the center of the Earth and emerged on the other side of the globe?  I must try it someday.

At the time, however, I was more interested in being above the world than in its core.  Having made such a mess of trying to levitate myself the first time, I completely reversed the way I tightened my muscles in my calves and forearms for my second attempt.  To my delight, it worked.   My back instantly came off the bottom of the pit I'd created and I was aware of earth walls flashing past me as I rose, still in a relaxed, lying position.  Soon enough, I flashed by the edge of my new hole.  Now I was heading in the direction I wanted.  Needless to say, floating upwards in such a comfortable manner is as effortless as it is enjoyable but, of course, just about everything I do these days is effortless...

Looking up at the sky as I levitated ever higher, I saw a thick, overhanging tree-branch rushing to meet me.  Or rather I was "rushing" to meet it.  More precisely still, my face was on a collision course with the branch.  Sure, I could have stopped my ascent or easily steered my body around the obstacle to avoid hitting it, but where would the fun have been in doing that?  So, instead I kept on heading at a steady (if slow, compared to what I'm capable of) pace in a dead straight line.  My nose hit the branch first and then an instant later, the forest echoed with the sound of straining timber.

I fought the instinct to blink just at the moment of impact and was rewarded with a close-up view of the sixty-centimeter thick wooden off-shoot bending as I pushed it upwards with nothing but the tip of my pretty nose (and my powers of flight.)  I must've been exerting amazing amounts of pressure through such a small part of my body, but I felt no discomfort where the rough bark was pressing against me.  Pretty quickly, in fact, I pushed the branch further than it could accommodate and with an almighty cracking sound it tore away from the tree.  The great chunk bounced off my cheek, a blow which would probably have killed a man, but which was more like a lover's caress to me.

Up I floated, still "flat" on my back.  I heard the broken branch crashing down on the ground below, shaking the forest floor.  Finally, I turned my head and looked down on the tree tops far below.  I let the strong rays of the sun wash deliciously over my body as I absent-mindedly viewed the forest.  It was pretty from up there, but I soon came to the conclusion that it was nothing special.  Certainly, I thought, it wasn't the place you would expect to find the most powerful person on Earth.  I caught sight of the little wooden shack where I had hid when I first arrived in that part of the world.   It definitely was not worthy of me.  I resolved to find somewhere more appropriate to make my base.

I think it's taking me a while to get used to being super.  I must have spent a minute or two figuring out how I could get myself a nice bit of real estate without any money until the little light bulb appeared over my head and I remembered my powers.  Who needs money when they can lift a car and bounce bullets off their skin?  So, I started making plans to rob a bank to get some cash.  They weren't very elaborate plans, to be fair - more something along the lines of: walk into the bank (if the door is closed or locked, knock it down first), walk through the security doors, ignore security guard's bullets, push people out of the way with a finger if necessary, rip open the safe, take the money and walk out.

I was grinning to myself as I thought about how easy it would be, when another thought occurred to me.  Instead of raiding a bank, I could cut out the middle men and just help myself to the home of my choice.  After all, I reckoned I would be able to persuade the current occupier of my chosen residence to sign the place over to me... perhaps in exchange for, say, being allowed to live.  And if whoever it was objected to the terms of the deal, well, they'd be welcome to fight me over it.

But where was I going to find a suitable place?  My first idea was just to fly around for a while and see if anything caught my eye and with that in mind,  I started building up a mental picture of my ideal home.  Pretty quickly, I realized that I was imagining a grander version of the house that had been my home for years until a few mornings ago.  Then I had a wild notion: why couldn't I just go back there?  Sure, I had fled from fear first of my Uncle's thugs, then of the police.  But that was before I'd so easily defeated a squadron of military jets.  What could a couple of Tony's pet gunmen or a bunch of overweight policemen do to me?

Attractive though the idea was, I didn't want to start a war, even if the outcome was a foregone conclusion.  I began to weigh up the options.  The more I thought about it, the surer I was that I would be able to get the boys in blue off my back permanently.   All I would have to do would be to borrow a leaf from my dear Uncle's book, and come to some sort of arrangement with the local District Commander.  With my "muscle", not to mention my invulnerability, I knew I would be able to negotiate a deal on far better terms than Tony had ever managed.  But even if I got the police to leave me alone, there would still be the matter of Tony himself.

Of course, I wasn't worried about him sending a hit-man or six after me.  I've taken a direct hit from a speeding airplane and quite enjoyed it.  A few goons with pop-guns wouldn't trouble me in the slightest.  Although, if they kept on trying they might eventually become a little boring.  I berated myself for not removing Tony from the equation when I had the chance.  Instead, I had taken my time and let him get away.   That left an irritating loose end because, of course, I never got to "thank" the man for trying to kill me.  If he hadn't, I wouldn't have met the genie. 

By now, I had convinced myself that if I could get Tony and the police out of the way, there would be nothing stopping me moving back into my home.   Then, a most obvious thought struck me:  I was looking for a property more in keeping with the new me.  My house, although lovely and comfortable, is hardly the abode of a goddess.  Perhaps I could find an alternative home in the vicinity.  I racked my brain to think of the grandest residence in my home town.  Immediately, a place sprung to mind.   It had one big advantage: I already knew the owner.  His name?  Mr. Tony Alto.   I decided there and then that I was time to try and arrange another appointment with my Uncle.

Five minutes later, I was flying West, over the coastline, towards home.  I had to keep my speed down at something like a twentieth of my maximum, because I was carrying my suitcase and I didn't want it to disintegrate.  Remembering what happened this morning when I'd tried to make an airborne sea-crossing, I was excitedly looking around for any military jets that might have been in the area.  Then, I thought of the heavy case dangling from my single finger, as light as a sheet of paper to me.  Rockets and bullets can't hurt me, but they could destroy my suitcase and its contents, which included this diary.

Sadly, I couldn't stuff the thing inside my indestructible vest as it was far too large, especially considering how hard my upper garment has to work merely to contain my fabulous new bust.  With regret, I realized that I would have to avoid any explosions until I could put the case down somewhere safe.  The few action movies I've seen gave me the idea that I could avoid being spotted by radar by flying low, so I dived down towards the ocean beneath me.  The water streaked by as I flew just a meter above the surface, the bottom of the suitcase occasionally skimming the waves.  Disappointed at missing out on the fun of tangling with the air force, I consoled myself with the thought that I would get to see plenty of action when I got to Tony's.

The journey over the sea passed by uneventfully.  I changed course to avoid a few fishing boats as I didn't want anyone to know that I was coming.  In the end, mostly because of the slow speed at which I was traveling, it was a whole hour before I crossed the shore of my country.  Immediately, I spotted the entrance to the cave where I met the genie.  It seemed the most obvious place to stash my bag, so I swooped in and deposited my luggage.  As I turned to leave, I caught sight of a rotting human corpse slumped in the corner.  I recognized it immediately - Freddie, one of Tony's men.  The first person I'd killed after the genie had done his stuff.  I felt almost nostalgic.

Leaving Freddie's remains to guard my case, I soared into the sky, free now to go as fast as I wanted.  Thirty seconds later, I descended gracefully in front of my Uncle's house.  The gate I'd ripped off had been rebuilt, but I didn't have to remove it this time.  I merely landed on the other side of it.  I took in the glamorous look of the place and made my mind up: I had to have it.  With nothing to fear, I strolled up to the front door, surprised that no-one appeared in any of the many windows.  The last time I was there, I had already come under machine-gun fire before I'd even got to the front door.  Now, there was dissatisfying silence.

Thinking how I planned to make the house my own, I was careful forcing my entry, "gently" breaking the door down by just tapping lightly on it with a couple of finger tips.  The heavy wooden panel fell inwards with a tremendous crash that echoed inside the vast entrance hall.  I couldn't believe it.  The place looked deserted.  Most of the mess I had made on my previous visit had been cleared away, certainly the blood and fallen masonry was gone, although quite a few bullet-holes remained in the walls.  But where were the people?  Where was Tony?

I wandered around the house a little, floating upstairs to check out the bedrooms.  I decided that the biggest one would be mine, but I knew that first I would have to "negotiate" ownership with my Uncle.  Downstairs, I looked for him in his study without finding any trace of life.  The hole I'd installed in the floor was still there, so I dropped down through it into the basement.  There were no lights on anywhere in the house, and the once-hidden cellar was absolutely pitch-black.  Not that I had any trouble seeing thanks to my superhuman eyes.

It took me less than a second to scan every square inch of the huge room.   Whoever had mopped up in the main part of the house obviously didn't have time to do their thing down there.   The place was a tip.  Blood stains, broken glass, used bullets and smashed up tables everywhere.  Only the actual bodies (there were quite a few as I remember) had been removed.  Nothing else had been disturbed and no-one was in there at that moment.  In particular, as far as I was concerned, Tony was not in there.

Frustrated, I was about to start trashing what was left of the basement - not a difficult thing to do when you're as strong and invulnerable as I am.  Just as I was going to start venting my disappointment, my ultra-sensitive hearing picked up the unmistakable sound of a car engine outside.  Thinking it was Tony returning home, I hurried to greet him, flying noiselessly up through the busted ceiling and out into the main hall.  But there was no sign of my Uncle.  Instead, I saw a total stranger staring at the knocked-over front door.  He was a short man, smartly dressed.  Barely into his middle-ages, he was carrying an expensive-looking briefcase in his hand.

Behind him, a black estate car was parked in front of the house, engine running.  I recognized the fellow behind the wheel straight away. It was Silvio, one of Tony's regular drivers.  If the other guy had been driven to my Uncle's house by my Uncle's chauffeur then chances were that he also was working for Tony.  I cleared my throat to get his attention.  He looked towards me.  As his gaze flicked from the displaced door to my face, his expression changed from confusion to surprise.  Then when his stare moved slowly from my face down to my chest, the surprise gave way to lust.  Typical man!   He was obviously too absorbed by the sight of my partially-visible cleavage to speak, so I took it upon myself to open the conversation.

"Who are you?" I asked.  It was a simple enough question, but it seemed to confuse the guy.  His lips moved, but no sound came out.  I decided to try again.  "Hey, stupid.  I asked you your name!"

That did the trick.  "Marco." he said.  Squeezing a word out also brought him out of his trance.  He suddenly became aware of the situation, his right hand moving clumsily into the pocket of his jacket.  I knew what was coming.  Painfully slowly, he pulled out a little gun.  I resisted the urge to laugh.  His hand was shaking as he pointed the weapon at me, but even without that clue I could tell that he wasn't one of my Uncle's usual trained monkeys.  He definitely was not used to handling a weapon.  He waved it amateurishly at me as he tried to sound authoritative.  "Put your hands in the air."

When I failed to react he began to get panicky.  "Do you know whose house this is?" he asked.

"Yes." I said, disinterestedly.  "Now do you know who I am, little man?"

He obviously didn't.  Struggling to maintain the act of sounding confident he tried to answer my question.  "You are trespassing on private property.  Put your hands in the air and come out of the house immediately."  Then he added (rather redundantly) as an after-thought "Or else I'll shoot."

I fought the temptation to invite him to "Make my day" and instead tried a new approach to discovering his identity.  "You're the trespasser." I said. "This is Tony Alto's house.  You've got no right being here."

My plan worked a treat.  "I'm Mr. Alto's lawyer." he answered, genuinely angered. "I have every right to be here.  Now, leave the house immediately!"

Smiling, I put my hands defiantly on my shapely hips and thrust my chest out, making his eyes bulge slightly.  "Well, now," I begun.  "Seeing as you are a lawyer, perhaps you could be so kind as to arrange for the transfer of this property from Mr. Alto to me?"

My attitude clearly disturbed him.  He began waiving his gun about furiously and he shouted "Get out!  Get out now!"  He threw a glance over his shoulder towards the car outside, perhaps appealing to Silvio for some back-up or perhaps checking his escape route.  Either way, it gave me a great idea.  Uncle Tony might not have been there, but chances were that one of these two would know where he was and I didn't think I would have too much difficulty getting them to share the information with me. The thought of the impending family reunion made me smile with joy. 

Marco the diminutive lawyer was still gesticulating furiously with his pistol and screaming at me to leave the house.  I started to walk towards him, keeping my hands on my hips and the smile on my face.  Even though I was taking my time in order to fully enjoy the situation, the lawyer seemed reluctant to shoot.  Instead he just began to shout more and more desperately.  I came to a stop about a meter in front of him.  At that distance, the difference in our heights was more obvious, and he had to tilt his head back a little to look at my face.  It gave me quite a thrill to have a man looking up at me, so I decided to increase the effect a little by using my flight powers to rise about quarter of a meter off the ground.

Seeing me levitating stunned Marco into silence.  His jaw dropped and I could see that he was really straining now to maintain eye-contact with me.  He mumbled something like "H.. how.. how did..." but I ignored it.  His pistol arm was now by his side, the poor man being far too shocked to point it at me anymore.  I thought it would be a good moment to up his inner turmoil, so I began to "walk" towards him once more, only of course now I was floating well off the floor.  It was fun, pretending to walk on air - for me anyway.  My new friend didn't appear to enjoy the spectacle much.

His face was a picture of fear now.  As I took another "step" in his direction, he started to back away.  He kept on uttering incomprehensible bits of words as he moved backwards, like "Who... how... what... no... please..."  It was all a bit pathetic really, but I didn't say anything.  Well, I didn't want to be rude.  I just kept advancing on him as he back-pedaled, looking increasingly terrified.  His neck bent more and more as he struggled to keep some sort of eye-contact with me while I loomed above him, carefully measuring my "stride" so that I was moving towards him faster than he was going away from me.  Seeing the gap between us closing, he cried out in panic "Go away!"  Naturally, I didn't.  I just kept "walking".

I got within twenty centimeters of him, and the strain on his neck appeared to become more than he could bear.  His chin began to drop and he was no longer looking into my face.  Now his pupils were pointed directly at the exposed upper portion of my chest.  I heard his already racing heartbeat accelerate even more as the sight of my generous feminine curves had its usual effect.  From his vantage point, my breasts must've almost filled his vision.  Delighting in the effect I was having on him, I kept on closing the distance from his face to my body until I could feel his rasping, hot breath against my flawless skin.

Still, he tried to back away and still I advanced on him until we were touching.  The point of contact was the end of his chin with the shelf of my bosom, just above the low neck-line of my magic vest.  The touch of my womanly flesh quickened his heartbeat until it reached a speed which couldn't have been healthy for him, but I confess I wasn't particularly concerned.  I just continued moving forwards.  He tried to get away, but I was faster and soon, I was pressing my breasts against his face.  His hands came up to my waist.  I think he may have been trying to push me away - he bared his teeth and began straining, but to be honest, I only felt the lightest of touches on my abdomen.

I kept strolling forward.  He tried to resist me by no longer stepping backwards, attempting instead to anchor the soles of his shoes on the floor.  Of course, it was a waste of his time and energy.  His feet slipped on the ground as I pushed him, not slowing down at all as I forced him backwards with my breasts against his face.  His feet began working furiously as he tried first to hold his position, then to walk forwards and finally to kick me in the shins.  I hardly felt his hardest kicks and I certainly didn't notice any resistance to my strides.  It was all the same to me whatever he did and I continued propel him backwards with nothing but my thrust-out chest, his shoes dragging along the ground. 

Soon enough, the inevitable happened.  His back hit the wall.  Of course, I saw it coming, but he didn't and the shock made him panic.  He moved to make a dart to the side, but by then it was far too late for him.  In truth, it had been to late for the guy the first second I saw him.  With my feet still well above the floor, I leant in, effortlessly trapping his head between the wall and my heavy bosom.  Evidently, I was putting a bit too much pressure on the lawyer's head, because he screamed and moved to punch me in the stomach.  The first I knew of it was when I heard the sound of the bones in his fist crunching against my perfect flat belly.  Then, as I could have predicted, he screamed again.  I merely held myself dead still as his fought for all he was worth to free his head.

Paying no attention to his useless struggling, I began my questioning.  I started him off with an easy one. "Where's Tony, Marco?"  Instead of the reply I wanted, there was nothing but a garbled moan.  My chest was completely muffling whatever sounds he was trying to make.  I moved a tiny bit away from him - not nearly enough to free his head, but enough to let him speak a little more clearly.

"I... I don't know where he is!" he blurted as soon as he could.

"You're lying." I chided him.  I didn't know if he was, but I didn't want to take any chances.  I leant back into him, much more intimately than before.  Initially he let out a scream as my big round mounds pressed against his features, but the noise ended abruptly as I smothered him with my femininity.  His arms and legs thrashed about wildly as he tried to move me away, but, unsurprisingly, his frantic efforts had absolutely no result.  I let him fight in vain for about half a minute before giving him enough space to breathe and talk once more.

His face was a picture!  Two huge, purple bruises were already forming, one on either side, stretching from his cheekbones down to his chin.  There were tears forming in his eyes too.  He was panting noisily, moaning with every labored breath and it took him a few moments to gather enough wind to speak.  It wasn't worth the wait.

"I swear!" he spluttered between gasps, "I don't know where he is!  Please!  Let me go!"

"Wrong answer, Marco." I said, bending towards him yet again.

"No-" he started to yell as I pressed my breasts into his head, squeezing it against the wall, both cutting off his shout and stifling him with just my lovely chest.   His efforts to free himself were less energetic than the previous time, I suppose because he was weakening.  Yet all I was doing was gently resting my bosom on his face!  No wonder I felt so powerful at the time.  I mean, effortlessly overpowering a man is thrilling enough; to do it using nothing more than my sexy bust made me feel like a goddess.

I suppose that's why I got a bit carried away.  I should've let the lawyer come up for some air, perhaps given him another opportunity to tell me what I wanted to know.  But I was getting off on the idea of physically dominating him with my breasts.  I wanted him to know that I was wounding him - suffocating him even - using only a tiny, tiny portion of my strength.  I wanted to show him that I could so easily increase the pressure, that my supposedly soft mounds were infinitely tougher than any part of him.  So I leant in closer to him, thinking to hurt him just a little bit more with my generous chest.

Immediately, two things happened that I hadn't expected.  Firstly, there was a loud cracking sound.  Secondly, the lawyer went limp, his formerly frantic arms and legs suddenly motionless.  I'd just put a tiny bit too much into it and my breasts had shattered his skull.  I moved back, annoyed at my lack of self-control.  In the split second before he slumped to the floor, I saw that blood was pouring from Marco's mouth.  His face was deep purple, his eyes dull and lifeless.  I had accidentally killed him with my chest!  Worse, I'd finished him off before he could tell me where my Uncle was.

Dropping my feet down to the floor, I bent down and scooped up the dead lawyer by grabbing a handful of the collar of his shirt.  The trickle of blood from his lips ran over my fingers but, as usual, not a trace lingered on my perfect skin as I hoisted him up.  He felt as light as a sheet of paper to me.  I walked with him towards the opening that had been the front door.  I must have made quite a sight for Silvio, the man sitting at the wheel of the car out front, because as soon as he clapped his disbelieving eyes on me he gunned the engine, slammed the car into gear and sped out of the driveway.

Not wanting to lose a second potential source of information, I tossed Marco's body into some bushes about twenty meters away and leisurely took to the air in pursuit, forgetting that I was leaving the house with no front door.  My first thought was to grab the car immediately, pull the driver out and take it from there.  But as I flew about two hundred meters directly overhead I realized that he had no idea that I was following him.  He may have been checking behind himself, but he never would have thought to look up.  And if he didn't think that he was being tailed, then he would be far more likely to go straight to Tony to report the death of the lawyer.  Rather than interrogating Silvio, I could let him lead me right where I wanted to go.

I confess it was a little boring trailing the pathetically slow car as it crawled at its top speed along the auto route for about twenty kilometers.  I tried to make it more interesting by flying feet-first on my back, but I was relieved when Silvio finally took a side turning.  From my vantage point, I could see straight away where the road lead: a tiny civilian airfield.  It would be just like my Uncle to hide out somewhere like that - quiet and out of the way but with easy transport links.  I put on a burst of speed, shooting past the speeding car and landed on the rusty corrugated roof of some old hangar to wait for Silvio.

After a while, the car pulled up close to where I was hiding.  Expecting Tony to emerge from one of the many buildings dotted about, I was surprised to see Silvio get out of the car and sprint towards another of the hangars.  I waited until about a minute later when I heard the sound of an engine firing up.  It was only then that I remembered that my Uncle employed Silvio not just as a car driver, but also as a pilot.  I should've known when I saw him driving into the airfield.  He hadn't gone there to meet Tony, he'd gone to pick up a plane.

Sure enough, the engine sounds got louder and a small, private plane - one of those single-propeller things - emerged from the hangar.  My keen eyes soon spotted Silvio at the controls as the little craft taxied towards the single runway.  There were only two seats inside, one for the pilot, the other unused.  No sign of Tony.  For all my superpowers, I still hadn't managed to track down a fat, old man.  But at least I had some kind of a lead.   A lead that, at that moment, was accelerating down the runway.   A couple of days ago I would have had to sprint after it to stop it getting off the ground.  But that was then.  Today, I just let the plane take off.   I mean, what's a single, tiny plane when I'd already downed a whole squadron of fighter jets?

Silvio gained altitude and then banked, turning the craft to head in a southerly direction.  Lazily, I too took to the air, closing the distance to the plane in less than a minute without any conscious effort on my part.  The little propeller could only drive the thing at a fraction of the speed of a jet, and it was all I could do not to streak straight past it.  I managed to hold off, following at a distance of about half a kilometer, watching the fields and villages below for a while, waiting to see where we were going.

Eventually, we flew over the coast and out over the ocean.  Traveling at that snail's pace, with no landscape below to look at and nothing to do but follow a plane that didn't do anything entertaining (such as firing rockets at me), I quickly grew bored.   It was no fun at all.  Sure, I wanted to see if Silvio would lead me to my Uncle, but I was rapidly running out of patience with him and his flimsy machine.  After about half an hour, I couldn't take it anymore.  I mean, there's no point being super if you can't show off a little every now and then.  So I decided to have a little sport with the guy.

An easy burst of speed brought me level with the craft in seconds.  I flew alongside for a while, waiting for Silvio to spot me and start panicking, but he kept his eyes stubbornly straight ahead.  I came a little closer, being careful not to disturb the delicate plane with my shockwave, but still he refused to turn and see me.  In the end I had to maneuver myself around one of the wings so that I was right by the side widow.  Then, putting on my friendliest smile, I reached over and knocked very gently on the glass.  That did it.  He turned immediately, his eyes growing huge and his mouth hanging open in pure shock.  Laughing, I gave him a little wave before flying away.

I waited about ten seconds and then flew around to the other side of the little plane.  The stunned pilot was still staring out of the window I had appeared at previously, so I rapped on the other side to get his attention.  He whirled his head around, his face going white.  This time I winked at him before shooting off, out of his sight.  Knowing that I had him going now, I waited almost a minute before making my next move.  For maximum effect, I approached the craft from above, ensuring that I wouldn't be spotted.  I landed as lightly as I could and managed to avoid making any noise as I came to rest on my belly on top of the plane.

Then I scooted up, leaning forward over the front windshield, letting my hair hang down over the glass.  If I'd shocked him with my first two moves, this time I almost gave him a heart-attack.  From his point of view, my grinning, upside-down face must have suddenly appeared right in front of him.  He pushed his controls forward, sending the plane into a dive, perhaps trying to shake me off.  I used my flight powers to remain in position, being careful not to affect his mastery of the craft.  Soon enough, he pulled out of the dive, but only to attempt a roll.  Again, careful tensing of key muscles kept me right where I was, despite the best attempts of both Silvio and the laws of physics to dislodge me.

Having proved to him that he could not move me against my will, I drifted away from him once more, showing off for a while by flying a series of ever-faster loops around him.  I had to stop before I created more turbulence than the delicate plane could withstand, but I continued the game by shooting off and stopping about twenty meters in front of him.   Turning my body mid-air so that I was "standing" upright, directly facing him, I matched his speed as I continued to move backwards through the air, keeping the gap between his whirling propeller and my exposed navel constant.  To make certain that he understood how easy it all was for me, I pretended to yawn and placed my hands on my hips.

Clearly, Silvio was not prepared to accept the situation.  He began to make the plane do a series of jerky, side-to-side and up-and-down movements, trying to lose me.  But the thing was so slow and its clumsy maneuvers were so easy to read that I was able to stay in exactly the same pose at exactly the same distance in front of him throughout without really having to think about it.  The more he fought to shake me off, the quicker I was able to anticipate.  My palms never left their resting place on my hips as I moved through the air with a million times more control and grace than the tiny, but no doubt expensive, airplane.

I could see the exasperated pilot's growing desperation as the shock of it all subsided, only to be replaced by fear.  I'm sure he recognized me from when I'd come out of Tony's house carrying the dead lawyer.  Perhaps he'd also heard accounts of what had happened in my Uncle's basement, put two and two together and realized that I was the mysterious super woman responsible for all that carnage.  Either way, he wanted to get away from me and I wasn't letting him.  It was all to easy for me, and I could feel myself growing bored once again.  Time to take things to the next level.

Floating slightly to one side, but staying close enough for him to be able to see me clearly, I smiled and winked at Silvio.  Then, as sexily as I could, I pouted and blew him the tiniest of little kisses.  I made sure I didn't put much into the puff, as I could see that the little plane would instantly fall apart if I did.  Nevertheless, the little jet of air I produced was enough to send the craft hurtling violently out of control.   I followed alongside, laughing as I watched the poor guy struggling for all he was worth to regain control.  It took him nearly a minute to do it, and by the time he'd finally leveled the plane, he was drenched in sweat.

All that panicking, all that work to keep the thing in the sky, just because I'd so gently exhaled in its direction!  Needless to say, that made me feel pretty good about myself.  I steered myself into his path once more, his face a delightful picture of horror as he caught a glimpse of me once again, right on cue to see me pursing my lips for a second time.  I blew towards the wing this time, as softly as before.  My lungs produced a stream of air easily powerful enough to make the whole plane spin rapidly, much to my amusement.  I was still chuckling two minutes later (and about a thousand meters lower) when Silvio eventually managed to stop the rotation and started regaining altitude.

Of course, I made sure that he knew I was right there with him, only a few meters away in fact.  Somehow, I could tell he wasn't having as much fun as I was.  For starters, he no longer looked white.  Now he was a kind of shade of pale green.  Then, there was the fact that he was visibly trembling.  All in all, he was in a pretty bad way.  If I shook him about too much more, he wouldn't be able to tell me anything about my Uncle's whereabouts.  So I decided to leave him be for a while and set about looking for something else I could do in the meantime.

I don't know exactly why, but I found my gaze being drawn towards the single whirling propeller at the front of the plane.  Having easily out-flown the thing, I was aware that the spinning blade was nothing amazing, but nonetheless it had to be fairly powerful to keep Silvio and the rest of the plane in the air.  I drifted towards it.  My super-speed enabled me to study it even though it was turning at hundreds of revolutions a minute.  It looked like quite a sturdy chunk of material and it was spinning fast (perhaps not by my standards, but then, everything falls short if I measure it that way.)

Curious, I reached towards the overgrown revolving bow-tie but at the last moment I had a better idea.  Maybe it was the feeling of utter control over the machine and the man inside of it that was making me feel a little horny, or perhaps it was the memory of what I had done to the lawyer earlier.  Whatever the reason for it, I pulled my hand away before it touched the propeller and used it instead to pull my vest up over my glorious chest, exposing its perfection to the elements and affording Silvio probably the greatest sight of his life.

All thoughts of the pilot vanished from my mind, however, as the cold wind rushed by, caressing my now freed breasts, rapidly arousing my nipples, and making me feel increasingly excited.  Carefully, I positioned myself with my flat stomach right in front of the propeller.  I could feel the blade passing several times a second within millimeters of the underside of my chest.  It was a pleasant enough sensation, but by then I wanted more.  Much more.  So, very slowly, I began to lean forwards, letting my big, heavy breasts hang lower until finally, they came within the circumference of the spinning panel.

Immediately, I was in heaven.  The ends of the propeller whacking repeatedly into the underneath of each of my mounds sent shockwaves of delight running across my chest.  I closed my eyes to savor the wonderful caresses, letting the powerful motor drive the thick molded slab against my naked breasts hundreds of times a minute.  I didn't care if Silvio was watching; the feeling was far too lovely to allow any thoughts to disturb it.  I lost myself in a dream in which some ancient god of love was ministering to my tingling chest with divine expertise.

But my dream quickly seemed to fade and end and the delicious sensation just petered out to nothing.  Disappointed, I opened my eyes and looked down through the deep valley of my cleavage.  Instantly, I saw what had happened.  The propeller was now only about two-thirds of its original length and the circle it described had shrunk correspondingly.  Clearly, although I, and my breasts in particular, were hungry for more, the tough specialist material of the blade just wasn't up to the task.  The repeated contact with my feminine flesh had completely worn away the ends of the panel.  Of course, there wasn't the slightest hint of a mark where I'd been struck so many thousands of times; my chest may have ground down the propeller but the propeller had had no effect on my chest - other than giving me a bit of pleasure.

Seeing as there was still plenty of blade left, I leant further forward so that the wonderful feeling of it striking my mounds returned.  This time, I didn't let the enjoyment fade as my invulnerability took its toll.  Rather, I made sure I extracted every possible gram of pleasure by unhurriedly bending my upper body towards the ever-retreating propeller.  I watched in a kind of erotic trance as the blade inevitably lost the battle with its vastly more powerful attacker: my bust.  Gradually, but inevitably, my beautiful big breasts trimmed the thing down until finally, sadly, there was nothing at all left but the smooth, round hub spinning pointlessly.  And a nice, but rapidly evaporating afterglow in my bosom.

Of course, Silvio's silly little airplane had now become a glider, and a not particularly good one at that. Recovering my composure, I pulled my vest back down over my still just about tingling breasts and looked up to see how my friendly pilot was doing.  Evidently, he had enjoyed the show despite his understandable terror.  I could tell by the way he was crossing and uncrossing his legs and rubbing his groin through his trousers with his left palm.  Surely he had more pressing business to deal with, seeing as he had effectively lost his only engine.  But perhaps I am underestimating my charms...

Anyway, I watched him squirming with his erection for a while until he caught my eye and stopped, suddenly embarrassed.  I almost felt sorry for him.  Almost.  At that instant, he reminded me of a young man who, having seen the girl of his dreams, is too shy to approach her.   I decided that I would have to make the first move.  In one fluent motion, I swooped towards the top of the plane, extending my arm and thrusting my fingers out to pierce the roof directly above his head.  I used to think aircraft were tough machines but I couldn't believe how easily my slender hand penetrated the thin metal casing.  When I took a hold of the panel and pulled, I found I could peel the top off the plane as effortlessly as ripping open a paper bag.

Silvio looked up at me through the gaping hole above him, the lustful look gone from his eyes now.  Fear was well and truly the dominant emotion once again.  I smiled down at him, not so much to put him at ease, but more to show him how easy it all was for me.  Reaching down, I tore away his harness, grabbed a hold of the back of his shirt and pulled him effortlessly clear of his doomed plane.  For a few moments I held him dead still, so that he could watch the pilotless wreck dive towards the ocean.  I don't know if his "normal" eyes were able to spot the splash so far beneath us but I certainly saw it.  Even if he didn't actually witness it, he must've imagined it anyway.

That was when I remembered my original intention to discreetly follow the plane until it lead me to Tony.  I'd become so involved in my little games that I had completely forgotten the plan.  Without his transport, Silvio wasn't about to lead me anywhere except straight down to the sea bed.  Silently cursing myself I realized that I would have to make the unexpectedly-retired pilot talk or else lose a promising lead in my search.   I looked down at the big guy, dangling so helplessly at the end of my long, slender arm.  Aware of the delicate nature of his situation, he wasn't struggling.  He was pleading.  Begging me not to drop him, to take him down, to let him live.

I didn't take him down, but stayed, hovering motionless several thousand meters up.  But I didn't drop him either.  Instead I bent my arm to bring his face up right in front of mine.  Then, putting on a voice that I hope sounded mockingly sweet, I spoke, letting my warm breath buffet his freezing face.

"Silvio, darling, I want to ask you something, but I want you to think very carefully before you answer.  Because, if you don't, I'll be forced to do this." As I finished, I just let him go.  He screamed as he started to plummet earthwards, arms and legs flying about helplessly.  I let him fall for quite a few seconds before diving down, towards him.  When we drew level, I slowed, matching the speed of his descent before grabbing hold of him under one arm and bringing us both to a careful stop.   He was in a state of panic, puffing furiously, muttering some prayer to himself.

"Get a grip on yourself." I commanded him but he continued to hyperventilate.  I shook him very gently, making his whole body fly about like a child's doll, but still he couldn't get his breathing under control.

 "Silvio!" I barked, angrily, shaking him again, but again to no avail.  I tried another tactic, pulling him against me, remembering at the last moment to be gentle so as not to kill him.  The force of my careful tug was enough to make his head slam against my left breast, an impact I barely registered but which made him cry out and left him with a bloodied cheek.  It also had the effect of snapping him out of his fit, but just to be sure anyway, I gave him another little yank, smashing his face full on into my waiting mound.  He screamed as he bounced off.  I giggled when I saw him; as a result of what I considered a very light tap against my most yielding flesh, he virtually had no nose, just a flattened, bloody pulp in the middle of his face.  At least he was a bit calmer now.  Certainly more in the mood to help me with my enquiry.

I brought his messed-up face close.  "Are you ready to answer my question now?"

"Please don't drop me!" he blurted, tearfully.  I was furious.

"I thought I told you what would happen if you didn't answer me properly." I said, my voice angry.

"Please!  Pl-aaaaaaah!" I had to let go when he started the second "Please".  I was starting to think that the guy was never going to co-operate.   Of course, I wasn't going to let him die without getting what I wanted from him, but I left it long enough for him to think that I would.  Then, when he was barely a hundred meters from oblivion, I set off downwards at nearly top speed, shooting past him and turning around to face him as he descended towards me.   Tilting my head upwards, I let out a gentle exhalation - more of a sigh than a blow - and let my puff slow his fall, holding him momentarily mid-air, supported by nothing more than a cushion of my tepid breath.

I stopped the casual flow of air through my lips and let him fall into my arms, absorbing the worst of the impact.  His face was now utterly covered in blood from the dramatic wound I had inflicted on what had previously been his nose and I could tell by the way he squinted up at me that his vision was starting to blur.  He was openly weeping too.  I put my finger very gently across his lips and said "Shhh." as if tending a sick child.  Amazingly, he stopped sobbing.  At last, I'd gotten through to him.  The classic nasty-then-nice tactic had worked a treat.

Keeping my tone as soft as I could I bent my head so that my lips were closer to his ear.  "Silvio," I began, "do you want to live?"  I don't know if it was the gentle voice I was now using as I cradled him in my arms, if his two falls had had the desired effect, or if the contrast between the two had confused him but for whatever reason, he began to play along with me.

"Yes." he said, weakly.

"Good boy." I replied, smiling.  "I want to know where I can find Tony Alto.  Do you know where Tony is, Silvio?"

"Yes."

Again, his voice sounded pathetic.  He was a broken man.  I leant in and kissed him as tenderly as I could on the lips, tasting the blood that covered his face.  Then, with my mouth still almost touching his, I breathed "Can you tell me, Silvio?"  I kissed him again.  "Can you?" I pressed my lips gently against his for a third time.  When I lifted my face ever so slightly away from his, I could see in his eyes that he was completely mine.  "Tell me, Silvio.  Tell me where Tony is."

"He.. he's with Filippo Calucci.  They.. they're on Calucci's yacht."  The name rang a bell straight away - one of my Uncle's main "business" partners.  I had no reason to doubt my captive's word.

"Well done," I congratulated him.  "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it."  I gave him the softest, most lingering kiss yet.  When it was over, I kept my lips almost touching his as I asked "Is that where you were flying to just now, Silvio?"

"Yes."

"So it's not far from here?"

"No."

Another kiss.  I let the very tip of my tongue touch his mouth for an instant. He responded with a little shudder. "How far is it, Silvio?"

"Er.. A... About forty kilometers."

"In which direction?"

"Um.. south.  South."

"Thank you, Silvio.  You've been so kind." I whispered as I kissed him once again. "Now, run along."  So saying, I pulled my arms away from under him and let gravity take over.  He didn't scream on the way down, perhaps he was too confused to understand what was happening to him.  I held my position in the sky just long enough to watch him splash into the sea below and sink beneath the waves and then turned, with renewed purpose, to the south.

I was keen to find out if Silvio had been telling the truth or if I'd been wasting my time, but I couldn't fly too quickly as I had to scan the ocean beneath me as I traveled.  For some reason, there were dozens of ships about.  It was easy to ignore the tankers, ferries and fishing boats but there were plenty of yachts I had to scrutinize too.  Each time I saw what I thought might be Calucci's vessel I used my superhuman vision to zoom in to try and see the faces of the people on board.

I was beginning to think that I might have to personally inspect every likely yacht in the area in case Tony was out of sight in one of the cabins when something on the deck of one of the more promising vessels caught my eye.  Two men, dressed entirely in black were standing, looking out to sea.  But what really drew my attention was the fact that each of them was wearing some kind of automatic weapon across his shoulder.  Immediately, I swooped down towards them thinking that if my target wasn't on board, then at least the guns presented an opportunity for some light relief.

I descended behind the pair, who obviously hadn't been expecting an attack from the air.  Or at least they were expecting a silent attack from the air.  Suffice to say, they never saw me.  A gentle tap with one fingertip on the top of each man's head put them to sleep and they slumped at my feet as I touched down on the deck.  Bending low, I sliced the thick straps off each of the two weapons with a fingernail and pulled the guns from underneath their unconscious owners, moving the two big bodies with the greatest of ease.

I was just about to treat myself to a little burst of fire from the weapons when I changed my mind and decided to search the vessel first.  Business before pleasure, and all that.  Obviously, no-one else was up top so I started looking for the way in.  Before I could even find it, my superhuman hearing detected the sound of a familiar voice.  I put the guns down and stopped to listen.  It was Filippo Calucci.  I almost jumped for joy.   He was talking to someone about the merits and demerits of dealing with the police.  Excitedly, I waited for the mystery other person to reply.  And then I heard the unmistakable voice of Tony Alto, my Uncle.

From the sounds alone, I could pin-point exactly where they were - on the other side of the wall I was standing next to.  Unfortunately for Filippo as it turned out, there was neither a door nor a window that I could immediately locate in that wall.  If there had been, Calucci's life may well have been oh, at least a couple of minutes longer.  As it was, when I planted my hands on my hips, stuck out my wonderful chest and just marched right through the fiberglass panel, quite a few of the chunks of wall my body violently displaced ripped deep into the man's flesh.  He was dead even before I saw him.  And it wasn't a pretty sight either, with bits of jagged, torn material sticking out of his face, torso and legs and blood everywhere.

But, there were a number of advantages to my unorthodox entry.  First and foremost, it was a lot of fun, letting first my breasts then my knees then the rest of my body push and bend the toughened material beyond its tolerance so that it cracked then dissolved, yielding so utterly to the vastly superior force that is Milena.  The second advantage was that I caught the two men - Filippo more than Tony I suspect - completely by surprise.  And the final bonus is that I now own a luxury ocean-going yacht.  Well, Calucci wasn't really in a position to turn down my offer (we settled on a price of exactly zilch...)

Anyway, there I was, hands on hips, bits of busted wall all around me, Filippo's corpse at my bare feet, face to face at last with my dear Uncle.  Even an old hand like Tony had to be impressed with the sight.  But I have to say, he did well, almost remaining completely calm.

"Hi, Tony." I said, sounding casual.

"Milena?  Is that you?" he asked, genuinely confused.  "What's happened to you?  I can hardly recognize you!"   I could detect a little nervousness in his voice, but under the circumstances it wasn't much.

"Never mind me," I said, still pretending this was an everyday conversation, "Where have you been?  I've been looking everywhere for you.  Oh, and by the way, your lawyer's dead.  And that pilot guy - what was his name - oh yeah, Silvio.  He's partying with the fishes."

"What's going on?  What do you want from me?"  He was a little more nervous now.  "Is it money?  I have lots.  Look -" he thrust his hand into his inside jacket pocket.   I saw him pulling out his large, black leather wallet.  What happened next was rather predictable.  I should've seen it coming, but I'm new at this game.  Tony pulled one of the oldest tricks in the book.  When he took out his wallet, he'd also grabbed his gun, keeping it hidden underneath the money-holder.  I only realized what he had done after he'd squeezed off a shot.  Of course, once I saw the flash of light at the end of the barrel, I had plenty of time to dodge the bullet, but I didn't bother, just letting it crumple up against my silky belly and ping away to the side.

Tony looked stunned, but not too stunned to try again a couple more times, holding his weapon out in the open now and aiming for my head.  He wasn't a bad shot - one slug hit my cheek just beneath my right eye, the other my forehead.  They felt like two soft little kisses to me.  Both bullets bounced off me without leaving a mark.

"What the fuck is going on?" my Uncle demanded, rapidly losing his cool.

I laughed.  "You'll get used to it."   I said, turning around for a moment to retrieve the two machine guns from the other side of the busted cabin wall.  When I turned back to Tony, his eyes fell on the weapons and he backed up towards the far side of the little room, suddenly terrified. "Relax," I reassured him.  "you're family.  And, unlike some people I can think of, I don't kill family.  Unless I really have to."  My words had only a limited calming effect.

I held the two guns out to him, the butts towards him.  "Here," I offered, "take them.  Try them out if you like."  I was about to add that I particularly liked to be shot in the chest, when I remembered who I was with.  It wasn't something I wanted to share with my Uncle.  Tony took the weapons and did actually fire one of them, spraying my lower legs and feet with dozens of lovely, hot bits of lead.  I smiled at him to show just how unbothered I was by being shot.  His eyes grew huge in amazement and he obviously got the message because he put the guns down on an empty chair beside him.

"Pass me one of them." I requested.  The nervous look returned to his face.  "Oh, come on, Uncle!" I said.  "If I was going to kill you, you'd have died along with Filippo."  (He wasn't to know that Calucci's death was an accident.)  Anxiously, he picked up one of the weapons and held it out to me, business end first and at arm's length.  Calmly I took it from him.  I used my thumb to bend the end of the barrel at a right angle. the steel squealing as I casually exerted thousands of kilos of force.  Then I crushed the trigger mechanism in my fist until molten metal ran over my fingers and dripped, sizzling, on to the floor.  It made for an impressive display, even if it only required a tiny percentage of my superhuman strength.  Then I threw what was left of the weapon to land at his feet.

Tony glanced at the misshapen lump of steel and then back up at me.  "How.." he began... "how did you get to be so... so strong?  And.. bullet-proof?" Then after a little pause, he said "It was you!   In my basement!  You killed all those guys..."

I hadn't tracked Tony down so that he could ask me a load of questions.  "You do the talking." I told him.  "I want to know why you put a hit on me."

"I.. I.. had to... I... You..."

While he stammered, I listened to his heart beating faster and faster.  My wonderful super-powered eyes even let me see the pores on his forehead as they opened.  Countless tiny beads of sweat began to appear.  Calmly, I bent down and scooped up one of the larger fragments of wall that were scattered on the floor.  Holding it up were I was sure my Uncle could see it, I brought the chunk up to my mouth and took a big bite out of it, as though it were an oversized potato chip.  Then, I noisily crunched the tough fiberglass between my teeth a few times before making a show of swallowing.  I was pleased to see the little demonstration had made Tony look even more fearful.

"The truth, Tony.  No bullshit."

"You.. You'll...kill...me..."

"If you don't tell me the truth, I will." I threatened, casually taking another mouthful of wall.

"OK.  OK.   The cops were putting a hell of a lot of pressure on me.  And they were digging around everywhere, y'know, looking for anyone who could give then a bit of dirt on me.  I figured it was only a matter of time before they started grilling you and.. well, you could tell them just about everything.  Y'know - enough for them to get me for good..."

Tony's story didn't surprise me much.  I certainly believed it then and I still do. It's exactly the kind of thing he would do.   Sacrificing me, not so much to actually save his own skin, but more just to make it a little more secure.  Sure, I'm disappointed that my own Uncle didn't trust me enough not to shop him to the police, but like I said, I would expect that of him.  Tony's never trusted anybody but himself.  At least now I knew what it was all about.

"Shame on you, Uncle, for not trusting me." I said.

"I'm sorry." he answered, sounding humbler than I'd ever heard him in my life.  But it didn't change the way I felt: of course he regrets trying to have me killed now that I've got superpowers.  After a pause he spoke. "So... what happens now?  You going to kill me, Milena?"

I wasn't unhappy to see him so afraid.  After all, he deserved it.  I decided to keep him in suspense for a while.  I took a couple of strides over to Calucci's corpse and flicked it with my bare toes, making the body fly across the little room.  "Seeing as Filippo here won't be sailing for a while, he's given me this boat." I announced.  Tony swallowed hard, but said nothing.  "Clean it up, Uncle." I instructed him.

"What?"  he asked.  It had been quite a few decades since anyone had given him an order.  I put my hands on my hips and tapped my foot impatiently on the decking, making the whole floor shudder.  "There's a mess on my ship.  Get rid of it.  Or you can join your pal down there."  That did it.  He moved immediately, picking up the corpse and staggering with it to throw it overboard.  Of course, I could have picked up the body with less effort using one finger than my Uncle needed using both his arms, but that wouldn't have been so enjoyable as watching the old man huffing and puffing.  When he was done, I got him to pick up all the fragments from the floor and dump them in the sea too.

He was completely out of breath by the time he finished.  Walking out on deck, I found the emergency life raft.  It was secured with two strong nylon ropes which I snapped with a couple of gentle tugs from my little finger.  Then, with one hand I tossed the raft over the side.  I went back and found Tony.  Reaching out, I got the fingers of my left hand most of the way around his right arm, just below the shoulder.  Picking him off the ground as he squirmed, trying not to show the pain he was in, I carried him to the side of the ship.  I gave his arm the gentlest of squeezes - just enough to make all his bones crunch - and waited patiently for him to stop screaming.

There were tears in his eyes as I continued to hold him off the ground.  "Sorry about that.  I forgot how fragile you are."  I said, not particularly sympathetically, before adding, as an afterthought,  "By the way, you're giving me your house.  Think of it as compensation for all the trouble you've caused."

When he didn't reply, or even properly acknowledge what I'd said, I gave his damaged upper arm another tiny embrace with my fingers.  His yells told me I had gotten through to him.  As soon as he could speak, he blurted, tears streaming down his cheeks: "OK OK.  The house is yours.  I just need to get my things...."

"They're my things now Tony."

"Milena, you can't I -"  I couldn't believe he was still arguing with me.  I brought my free hand up to his good shoulder and clasped it delicately between my thumb and two fingers.  Before I could even get to pulverize his bones, he decided to have a change of attitude.

"Please!  Don't!  Take what you want.  Anything.  It's yours.  All yours.  Please don't hurt me anymore... Please.  I'll give you everything..."  He was really crying now, like a child.

"Thanks, Uncle." I smiled.  "That's really nice of you."  I was still holding him by his busted arm and, as I spoke I hoisted him over the railings so that I was dangling him over the side of the ship.  The life raft I prepared earlier floated about ten meters beneath his hanging feet.  He glanced down at the raft and then back at me, tears still rolling down his reddened face.  "There's one more thing, Tony" I said.

"Name it, it's yours." he said between sobs.

"You're going on holiday for a couple of years.   I don't care where, just somewhere a long way away.  Understand?"  He nodded that he did.  I smiled.  "Great."  I said.  "I think that brings this meeting to a close.  Now, get off my boat!"  I didn't give him a chance to disobey this final command, as I opened my fingers and just let him drop into the life-raft below.  He fell awkwardly, landing on his wounded arm and crying out in pain.  After a few moments, he'd recovered enough to sit up.

"You'd better get rowing before I change my mind!" I called down to him.  He didn't hesitate, grabbing the oar nearest his good arm.  It couldn't have been easy for him with only one useable hand.  He had to keep alternating between the left oar and the right one.   I could see on his face the discomfort the effort was causing him as I watched him moving painstakingly slowly away, out into the open sea.  When I was sure he was far enough gone not to try and come back, I went back inside to search for Calucci's bar.

I found it next to the main bedroom down below decks.  I have to say Filippo had excellent taste.  My new yacht is really beautifully furnished.  The bar itself is a lovely, cream-leather and chrome affair - really elegant.  The drinks cabinet was locked, so I just shoved my hand through the glass panel at the front and pulled out the best whisky.  Rather than waste time unscrewing the bottle, I just crunched the top off between my teeth and chewed the glass and the metal lid up before swallowing them down.  I wasn't surprised to learn that glass is pretty flavorless, but the novelty of eating it was fun.

Now I'd gotten my drink I went back on deck and sat down next to the two unconscious security guys to wait for them to come to.  I kept taking glugs from the whisky, but nothing seemed to happen.  Before I knew it, I'd finished the bottle and I wasn't even a little tipsy.  I suppose I'm immune to alcohol now.  That's booze and sex - two of life's great pleasures that the genie seems to have taken away from me.  I consoled myself by discovering a new party trick - using just my tongue to smooth down the jagged neck of the broken bottle.  Pretty soon, though, I was starting to get bored of that so I went back to the bar, fetched a two-liter bottle of mineral water and emptied it over the heads of the two men to wake them up.

"Morning, gentlemen." I greeted them as they blinked their eyes open and slowly began to sit up.  "There's been a few changes since you went to sleep."  The guards looked for their guns, but found nothing.  They looked at each other and then back at me.  Well, mainly at a certain part of me.  You know, just below the neck...

"Who are you?" one of them asked, rubbing his head where I'd tapped it with my finger to knock him out.  The pain clearly wasn't bad enough to make him stop staring at my cleavage.

"Where's Mr. Calucci and Mr. Alto?" enquired the other as he climbed, unsteadily to his feet.

"They had to leave in a hurry." I said, half-truthfully.  "This is my ship now."

"Listen lady," said the guy not yet standing.  He rose to join his colleague as he went on "you're dealing with a couple of serious players there.  I don't know what's going on, but it ain't going to end well for you."

His pal chimed in. "Yeah, it'd be a real shame if that pretty face or that - " he used the opportunity to really get an eyeful of me - "lovely body got all messed up.  Why don't you just give us our guns back and go shopping or something.  Leave the boys' stuff to us."

I threw my head back and laughed.  The one on my left didn't seem to like that because he said "This ain't no joke.  Don't make me get rough with you."  Naturally, that made me laugh even more.  The idiot who'd made the threat started raising his hand as if he was going to hit me, but I easily moved quicker than him, carefully placing one hand around each guard's throat.  Then I hoisted them both into the air, gently as I didn't want them too badly hurt at that time.  For a while I just stood there, a big guy hanging from each of my hands, four loose feet frantically trying to kick me and four big fists raining blows I could barely feel on my face, chest and stomach.

I let them both severely bruise their toes and knuckles before announcing "Men overboard!" and casually flicking my wrists to send both of them sailing over the rail.  It was a couple of seconds before the twin splash as they fell into the sea.  I took great care to ensure that I didn't toss them too far or too hard, but there were a few anxious moments while I waited for them both to surface.  Eventually, though, two heads bobbed up and they started to swim in the vague direction of the yacht.  My yacht, I should say.

Taking to the air under my own power, I flew towards them.  I was going to swoop down on the pair when I had a wonderful idea.  Remembering how I'd terrified Tony's lawyer by "walking" on air I decided to try the trick again, but with a little twist.  So I turned myself to an upright position and descended slowly until my bare feet were touching the waves.  Then, I started striding towards the security guys.  Of course, I was really flying not striding, but to them it must've looked as if I was walking on water.

My actions definitely impressed the pair, because they immediately stopped swimming and just tread water as they stared in disbelief.  I kept on pacing in their direction.  Soon, I was just a "step" from the nearest one.   As he craned his neck to look up at me, I bent over slowly from the waist, my large breasts hanging right in front of him, giving him a splendid view of my impressive cleavage as I reached for him with one hand.  I heard his pulse-rate increase as his eyes grew wide and smiled.  Men!  So predictable.

Using my flight powers to keep my feet immobile as they "floated" on the sea, I pulled the guy right out of the water.  His weight and the extra resistance of the brine were like nothing to me as he hung, dripping, from my one-handed hold.  Moving him around with the ease that super-strength gives me, I tucked him under my left arm like he was a rolled-up newspaper and "walked" over to his friend, repeating the same trick on him - showing off my breasts as I bent down, yanking him out of the sea and stashing him between my side and my slender right arm.

They didn't fight me this time as I took off, flying us all back onto the deck.  There I dropped them both the final meter to the floor, letting them roll about in their wet clothes until I said "Stand up!"  They both immediately obeyed, each man dripping into a big puddle at his feet.  Of course, I was completely dry, the water just refusing to stick to my lovely skin or my magic underwear.  One of the two clearly petrified men plucked up the courage to speak.

"Who..who are you?"

"I'm your new boss." I replied.  "Do as you're told and I'll let you live."

"What do you want from us?"

"That's the spirit!" I smiled.  "I want you to clean up this boat and then sail it home."

The one who'd let his friend do the talking for a while suddenly looked horrified.  "But... but... we don't know how to sail.."

Still smiling I placed a finger under his chin, tilting his head back until I was sure it was hurting him.  "Then you'd better learn quick," I said, letting go of his chin so that his head snapped forward, "because if this ship isn't in its dock in twenty-four hours' time, I'm going to find you both and when I do - " I reached out with my left hand and gripped the metal railing - "I'm going to do this to you."  A sharp pull on my hand tore a two meter long, ten centimeter diameter section of metal rail free.  Taking hold of it with two hands I slowly started to bend it.  The rail groaned in protest, but it was powerless to resist as I formed it into a rough circle.

I was pleased to see the demonstration working as both men started to sweat as they observed how easy it was for me to perform the "amazing" feat.  No longer needing the ring of railing, I used one hand to toss it over the side like a giant Frisbee.  Even I was impressed by how far it traveled (at least two hundred meters) before finally splashing down and disappearing beneath the waves.  Turning back to my reluctant new boat crew I asked "Any questions?"  Both men shook their heads vigorously.

"Good." I said.  "See you in the harbor in twenty-four hours.  Oh, and if you get a single scratch on my boat I'll break every single bone in your bodies.  Got that?"  They nodded.  I didn't bother to spare them a second glance as I took off, soaring straight up into the darkening evening sky.  I doubt they'll be any trouble.  They seem to have gotten the message.  I can just picture them, right now, struggling to get the yacht under control, frantically trying to work out which direction they should be heading in, panicking every time they look at the clock, terrified out of their wits.  It's enough to get me giggling.

Anyway, after I left the undynamic duo all at sea, I flew straight towards home.  The journey over the sea had seemed to take forever when I was following Silvio and his glorified paper airplane, but I got back to land in minutes traveling at my own, comfortable pace.  I swooped down into the cave, widening one of the narrow passages inside when I brushed my bare shoulder against the rough rock, so knocking a sizeable chunk to the ground.  Then, I grabbed my case, waved to the pile of bones that used to be Freddie and shot out of the cave.  I had to slow down a little so as to get the suitcase home safely, but I still made it to my new place on the other side of town in under two minutes.

It was then, as I was about to start my descent, that I noticed that the house was not deserted as I expected to find it.  There was a large van with its engine running and its rear double doors open, parked right by the main entrance.  Excited to be receiving my first guests so soon after taking ownership of the property, I dived down, landing gently on my feet behind the vehicle.   Immediately, I saw what was going on.  The back of the van was half-full of expensive-looking ornaments and small pieces of furniture.  Everything seemed familiar to me and I soon worked out from where.  It was my Uncle's stuff from inside the house.  Which means, of course, it was my stuff.

So what idiot was trying to take away a van-load of my possessions?   I thought it unlikely that Tony could have arranged such an operation from a life-raft adrift at sea and even less probable that he would have dared defy me so soon after our encounter.  Then I remembered how I'd left the place to pursue Silvio earlier, with the gates open and a big inviting hole where the front door had been.  A large, grand residence lying so unprotected would have made far too tempting a proposition for any passing opportunist thief.  That's why the vehicle's engine was running - in case a quick getaway was needed and that's why the back doors were open - the intruder or intruders were still loading up stuff.

First things first.  I decided to make sure my new things wouldn't be going anywhere without my say-so.  Putting my suitcase down, I executed a graceful flight-powers-assisted hop with a twist in mid-air which carried me over the length of the van to land facing the windshield.  I was surprised to see a very young looking guy sitting behind the wheel, but nothing like as surprised as he was to see me coming down from the sky.  He stared at me in utter shock for a second before his adrenaline-fuelled instincts took over and he grabbed the gear-stick to put the little truck into reverse.

His youthful movements were swift, but of course I was a thousand times swifter.  I just leant forward a little, hooking the fingers of my left hand around the front grill.  A half-second later, the kid got his foot to the accelerator.  The engine roared but the van didn't move.  My single, dainty hand on the end of my slender arm was more than a match for its opponent, a supposedly powerful motor.  The wheels spun but they could not get sufficient traction on the tarmac.  As the confused driver floored the pedal, smoke began to rise from the over-heating tires but still they could not find a grip to equal mine.  The engine-noise rose to a frantic pitch and the clouds of smoke became thicker, but the contest remained utterly one-sided.

The young man desperately trying to get the van to move was looking in his side mirror, thinking that something must have been obstructing the van from behind.  After a while, though, he happened to glance straight ahead.  I think he spotted my arm anchoring the vehicle, but his eyes were drawn elsewhere.  After all, he was sitting quite high in the driver's seat and I was standing a bit beneath him, bending forward.  He must've had a perfect view right down inside my vest.  At his age, it probably took all his self-discipline not to unzip his flies and start jerking off there and then.

As usual, I was really enjoying having that kind of effect on a guy and I got a little carried away myself.  I used my hand to slowly pull the protesting van closer to me and found, to my delight, that the wheels, spinning furiously against me, offered hardly any noticeable resistance.  There was a sequence of loud bangs as friction wore through the four tires one by one, releasing the pressured air inside and the engine's whine took on a desperate note, but other than that, the vehicle came easily towards me.  I think at that point the driver finally understood what was happening.  I gave him a bright, mischievous smile but I don't know if he was too focused on my bosom to notice.

I leant forward until my nipples, straining at my vest, were touching the front of the van.  The young man began to squirm as more and more of my big round breasts became visible from his vantage point.  Lost in the moment, I slowly bent into the vehicle, loving the feeling of steel and chrome yielding like soft clay to my perfect body.  My chest just effortlessly pushed whatever it encountered out of its way, the metal groaning as it folded and tore, molding itself to my fabulous contours, unable to offer me any contest.  I glanced up at the young man and saw his stunned, lustful expression.  How I love putting on these little shows of my power and sexuality for helpless men!

My latest audience was clearly enthralled as I continued to lean into his vehicle, the more solid metal I now encountered proving no more able to resist me.  My breasts carved into the guts of the van, hot steel now wadding up pleasantly against me.  I was obviously getting close to the engine because I could feel its powerful vibrations ever more insistently against my heavy mounds.  For a few seconds, the beleaguered motor produced a loud, clanking sound as something - i.e. my chest - got into its workings and then, suddenly, it fell completely silent.  I had destroyed the engine, merely by pressing my bust into the front of the van!

I stood up, pulling myself free from the mangled vehicle with utter ease and admired the way the shape of my lovely front was imprinted in the van.  The driver just stared through the windshield of his now useless machine, his jaw almost grazing the steering wheel.  I dashed around to his side and with a single finger hooked around the handle, I yanked the entire door free, its steel hinges tearing audibly.  Then, for good measure I tossed the heavy metal panel casually over my shoulder.  It must have soared over the high open gates at the front of the house, but I didn't turn to look.  Instead I reached in and pulled the young man out by the collar of his leather jacket.

His shock turned to fear as I lifted him clear of the ground and held him out in front of me.  He started the usual kicking and punching as I carried him around the van and into the house, his knuckles quickly bruising against my face, his knees and toes following suit as they failed to make any impression on my exposed thighs and legs.  I pulled him hard against me, our chests meeting with a thump, forcing all the air from his lungs.  Then I kept him tight against me with an arm around his waist.   My breasts were squeezing his ribs inwards, almost to breaking point, which meant that he could only draw enough breath to survive but not nearly enough to use his voice.

As my muted companion and I got inside, I listened for the sound of other intruders.  I heard voices upstairs; two men, discussing what furniture they should take.  Eventually deciding, they began making their way noisily down the big staircase.  I waited out of sight, still carrying the half-suffocated young man.  When the two others got to the bottom, one either end of a large, heavy-looking oak table, I released their colleague, shoving him gently towards them and stepped out of the shadows.  The two with the table put it down awkwardly, relieved to be free of its weight.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demanded, putting my hands on my hips.  By way of an answer, the one who must have been the leader pulled a pistol from his waistband and pointed it at me.  Without blinking I insisted "I asked you what you were doing."

The fellow with the gun seemed a bit surprised at my calmness faced with the barrel of his weapon.  He hesitated for a moment before squeezing the trigger.  I let the bullet hit me on the chin and rebound with a clang on to the floor.  All three now stared in disbelief.  Smiling, I said "Try again."  So he did.  This time his shot smacked into my forehead, crumpling up against my invulnerable skin before it ricocheted harmlessly away.  "You're not very good at this, are you?" I taunted.

Angered by the teasing, he emptied his clip at me.  I guess he was aiming for my heart because three of the remaining four slugs struck me squarely on the left breast, sending small, but pleasant ripples of pleasure through my chest as one by one they bounced, misshapen from my utterly unaffected mound.  The other bullet hit right inside my cleavage, getting stuck for a moment in the valley of my bosom before I shook my chest and it fell out, slightly flattened, onto the floor.  "Is that it?" I asked.  "Haven't you got any more?"

The one who had been shooting put his now useless gun back in his trousers and bending down, pulled a large knife from his sock.  I fought the temptation to laugh as he ran at me with the blade screaming "Die, bitch!"  I just stood there with my hands on my hips as he thrust the point of the weapon at my neck.  I could feel the spot were the tip of the thing touched me, but only when I really concentrated on it.  Meanwhile, the blade bent as he tried to pierce my flesh until it snapped (the blade, that is, not my flesh), leaving my confused attacker holding a useless bit of steel.  At that point, I could no longer contain my laughter.

That seemed to provoke the guy because he balled his hand into a fist and took a huge swing at the side of my head.  I made no attempt to cushion the blow as it landed.  The idiot's screams of agony were only just louder than the sound of every bone in his hand breaking.  As he clutched his ruined fingers to his stomach, still crying out in pain, I smiled at him.  "Here," I offered, helpfully, "let me show you how to do it properly."  I stretched out my hand with my index finger extended and, making sure all three men could see what I was doing, I flicked him under the chin.  It was enough to lift his entire body well off the ground and send it flying backwards to land half-way up the stairs behind him.  I listened, but he wasn't breathing.

That left the young van driver who was still recovering his breath after I'd squeezed it from him and the other table-carrier, a tall skinny guy with a face so covered in acne, it could have passed for a pizza.  Seeing the fate of his colleague, this fellow decided to make a quick dash for the front door.  No way was I going to let him go, so I strode over to the table he and his dead friend had brought downstairs.  They'd really been struggling to lift it between them, but I hoisted the huge oak desk off the ground using one hand with about as much difficulty as I would have experienced lifting a postcard.  A flick of my wrist sent the massive thing sailing through the air to come down with a dull thud right on top of the fleeing man, knocking him instantly to the ground.

The table landed perfectly on its four thick legs, with pizza-face lying on his belly beneath it.  Walking over to him, I bent down and took a hold of one of his ankles, pulling him from under the desk as though he were a nothing more than a piece of fabric, which is how heavy he felt to me.  He didn't protest as I lifted him up by his leg and I soon saw why.  There was a huge, bloody wound in the top of his head where the table had crashed down on him.  He wouldn't be burgling any more homes.  With contempt, I tossed him on top of his pal.  That just left the young driver.

He was quivering as I turned to him.  "Pl... Please.." he began.  Wisely, he'd chosen not to run, or perhaps he was still too winded to try.

"You want to live?" I asked him.  He nodded vigorously as tears rolled down his cheeks.  "Then you'd better start putting everything back.  Starting with that." (I nodded at the oak table).  He went over to the desk and tried to lift it, but as much as he strained and panted, he could only just lift one side of it a few centimeters off the ground.  "Hurry up!" I commanded.  He began to drag the table towards the stairs.  Of course, I'd already thrown it across the room using just one hand, but I wasn't in the mood to help.  I let him haul it tortuously up the stairs, crying silently as he worked, while I just watched.

Once he had finally managed to put the table back upstairs, I instructed him to repeat the process with all the stuff that was already in the van.  He toiled without protest for over an hour until, at last, the mangled vehicle was empty.  The poor kid looked to be on the point of collapse, so for good measure I told him to bring my suitcase in too, which he did, placing it carefully exactly where I told him to.  Then, with a finger, I beckoned him over to me.  He hesitated for a moment before finally approaching.  "Give me your hand." I commanded him.  Cautiously, he obeyed, holding his hand out towards mine.

I took his fingers in my own, and smiling sweetly at him I slowly closed my fist until he screamed.  Then I squeezed some more until I heard the familiar crunching sound of bones disintegrating.  Then I crushed his hand a little more until blood began to run through my fingers.  Letting go of his ruined palm I waited for his yells to subside and said "That's just a little something to remember me by. Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind and send you to join your friends."  I doubt that kid has ever run faster in his life, or ever will.  The fresh amputation certainly didn't seem to slow him down as he sprinted down the street.

The blood had already dripped clean from my hand by the time I stopped watching the young man's disappearing form.  I went upstairs, and explored my lovely new house for a while before opening up my suitcase and settling down to write this diary entry.  It's been a long day, but I'm not tired yet.  In fact, I think I'll change into something a little less conspicuous than my tight vest and panties and then go out on the town tonight.  Who knows, maybe there's still some more fun to be had.  But then, there's always fun to be had when you're super.

 

Conceptfan, Dec. 2002.

Part 8

Thursday 17th May 2001 - 12:00 am

It’s amazing how much I can accomplish in four hours now that I’m “super”.  This evening, I've made this lovely house feel much more like it's mine, got the cops off my back and enjoyed a wonderful meal out. I'm having so much fun I don't ever want it to end.  It seems there's nothing I can't do now and nothing I can't get if I want it.

As usual, I'm getting ahead of myself.  I really need to put my thoughts in order or else I think I could go crazy.  I've got to pause and absorb everything that's happened since I wrote the last entry.  Writing it all down should help.  I'll start with what I did immediately after closing this diary last time... It was about quarter past eight in the evening and I'd just dealt with a bunch of guys who were trying to rob my new home...

I was wandering around the house, going from room to room, checking it all out.  I must say, my dear old Uncle has exceptional taste.  The furniture is a mixture of wonderful antiques and stylish modern pieces and all the rooms are expensively decorated.  The door knobs alone must've cost T. a fortune.  I was furious with myself when I grabbed one of them a little too firmly and it squished like play-doh in my hand.  I tried remoulding it, but although it was no trouble at all shaping the solid metal with my fingers, I just couldn't restore it's original perfect roundness.

I decided I would be better off going out for a while and continuing the exploration of my new property later.   After all the time I'd spent hiding in caves and little shacks in foreign woods, I thought a meal in a nice restaurant would be a pleasant change.  I'd just made my mind up when I suddenly remembered that I didn't have any clothes to wear.  Now, I know from reflections and the reactions of men that I look pretty good in my "magic" invulnerable vest and panties, but the kind of place I fancied eating in requires slightly more formal dress.  I had nothing suitable.

I considered the idea of forcing the staff of whichever eatery I finally chose to serve me in my underwear.  But I wanted a good, comfortable meal in pleasant surroundings.  So I walked into each of the three bedrooms in this place, opening the cupboards and wardrobes carefully so as not to rip the doors off their hinges.  But all I found were my uncle's things - suits and sports jackets and certainly nothing that would fit me.

I started thinking about all my clothes back at my house, picturing a couple of outfits, either of which would have been ideal.  From there, I started imagining all my things and wondering where they would go in my new place.  So much stuff!  I was planning on calling a removal firm first thing in the morning when another thought crept into my head: aren't I better equipped now to handle the move than any bunch of men?  I mean, I tossed that huge oak table around easily enough after I'd seen two guys struggling to lift it off the ground...

Popping over to my old place and seeing exactly what I wanted to bring seemed the next logical thing to do.  That was when I remembered the last time I was there and what had happened (I killed two policemen by banging their heads together)  The place was probably still crawling with cops.  Of course, I wasn't afraid of what they might do to me - since I met the genie there's nothing I enjoy more than being shot.  It was more a case of not wanting to draw too much attention to myself.

But, I realised that I'd have to deal with the law sooner or later if I was going to live comfortably in this big house and I'd already set my heart on doing just that.  I reckoned that I might as well get it over and done with sooner rather than later.  I took two steps towards the stairs, planning to leave by the front door when I stopped and burst out laughing.  I'd forgotten that I don't need to be on the ground floor to leave a building any more.  I went over to the nearest window and opened it.  Then I tensed the muscles in my arm, feeling my feet leave the floor, and just floated out into the night.

It felt so good to be flying that I went quite slowly over towards my old house, taking my time and travelling on a curved path instead of a straight line.  Nonetheless, I was hovering over the roof, looking down at the hole I accidentally made practising standing jumps, in about two minutes.  It was dark, but my super eyes made light work of identifying the squad car parked outside.  Not to mention the other two vehicles stationed nearby.  The cops were indeed on the scene.  I decided to investigate a little further before confronting them.

All that flying practice in the woods really paid off as I made a perfectly silent landing on the roof.  Immediately, I heard voices coming from below.  I concentrated and was able to tune into the conversation instantly - just another reason why it's so great being super.  I listened to what was being said.

"...you're new 'round here. We have our own local way of dealing with this kind of thing." the first voice stated.

"What's that mean?" enquired a younger man.

"You should leave this to me."

"Because her uncle is Tony Alto? Is that what you're saying? Two of your men get killed in her bedroom and you're not even going to investigate because she's someone's niece!?!"

"I didn't say that... Look, the coroner here has already said that whoever did this used a hell of a lot of force to smash those men's heads together.  Isn't that right, Alfonso?"

"A hell of a lot, Chief." This third voice must've belonged to the coroner. Now I knew that the older sounding guy was the local Chief.  He spoke next.

"Right, so we know it couldn't have been her who did it.  But seeing as it took place in her house, she might be able to give some info that will lead us to whoever did. I just don't want you charging in with accusations so she doesn't want to talk to us or worse, goes crying to her Uncle."

"So it is about her uncle."

"Like I said, you've not been around here very long. Dealing with the Alto family is...complicated.  They have... friends... in some very high places and some pretty low ones too, if you know what I mean.  Getting on their bad side can make your life extremely difficult.  Let me deal with this.  I've got.. experience."  I almost laughed out loud.  He obviously had no idea what he was really up against.  If he'd known about my transformation then Tony's (admittedly impressive) connections would have been the last thing he was scared of.

"OK, OK."  The younger guy, who I guessed was from out-of-town, was yielding.  "It's your patch.  You're in charge here." That was my cue.

"No, I'm in charge here." I announced in a loud and strident voice through the hole in the ceiling directly above the three men.  I must have sounded pretty arrogant to them, but I was completely sure of myself and I didn't see any need to hide the fact.  Not with my amazing abilities.  Anyway, I don't know whether it was the the tone of my voice that caused it or the sight of my superhuman figure leant over the improvised sky-light but there was no response bar stunned silence from the trio below.

Putting all the flight skills I'd gained up to that moment into practice, I floated up about ten centimetres off the roof.  Then I moved a little sideways through the air until the soles of my feet were directly over the hole in the ceiling.  One of the three guys down there gasped in amazement, and it was all I could do not to smile at the reaction.  I think I managed - somehow - to keep the stern, emotionless expression on my face as I lowered myself very slowly and smoothly through the broken roof.  If the gap had been wide enough, I'd have had my hands on my hips, but I had to choose between keeping them by my side or smashing another bit of ceiling and I went for the first option.

As my eye-line lowered into the room below, I caught my first proper view of the men.  Two stood facing each other close to where I was about to "land."  One of these was an attractive young man in a modern-looking suit, the other a middle-aged overweight wreck in police uniform.  I realised that this was the pair whose conversation I'd overheard.  The third member of the group - the coroner - was crouched over a dark stain on the ground where the men I killed fell.  He was the oldest of the group, his white hair matching the colour of his long lab coat.

All six male eyes were fixed on me as I leisurely descended.  To be precise, they were fixed on a part of me just below my neck.  Why are men so obsessed?  I couldn't even tell for sure if the three guy's mouths were hanging open in shock at seeing me fly or in wonder at the glory of my chest!  When my feet were less than half-a-meter from the floor, the points where my nipples dramatically stretch the fabric of my magic vest passed right in front of the faces of two of the men, only about a meter away from the closest of them.  At that moment, the pair's eyes bulged and their heartbeats went into overdrive.  At least I was certain that I had their complete attention.

My feet soon came to rest silently on the carpet, but none of the guys were looking down there.  I put my hands on my hips, slightly emphasising the area they were so interested in and looked at each one in turn.  I let the silence drag on another moment before finally breaking it with a courteous but unsmiling "Good evening, gentlemen."  No-one took the opportunity to respond so I went on "Perhaps one of  you will be so kind as to tell me what you're doing in my house?"

At last, one of them - the coroner - recovered the power of speech.  To my annoyance, he didn't use it to answer my question, but instead to make a garbled enquiry of his own: "What... How... How did you..." I turned to face him and glared.

"I asked you a question." I chided him, sternly.  He looked confused and fell silent, leaving it to the youngest member of the trio to do the talking:

"We're investigating the murder of two policemen in this room." the young man declared, sounding confident but avoiding eye contact with me.  Again, I couldn't work out if this was because he was reluctant to move his gaze from my cleavage or because he was afraid to meet my stare.  I continued to glower at him as I addressed the group. "Who told you that you could enter my property uninvited?"

The well-dressed fellow took it upon himself to be the spokesman once more: "We don't need permission to access the site of a murder."

"You do if the site is on my property." I snapped back.  That finally got the Chief to speak up, his tone of voice much like a teacher who is correcting one of his pupils.

"Actually, the law is quite clear on that point.  The police are fully entitled to enter any premises on which a major crime has been committed.  We need to conduct a thorough examination of the scene and, if you don't mind, we also need to ask you a few questions ma'am."

"What if I do mind?"

"It won't take long," said the fat man, "and it is absolutely necessary."

"Well, I'm not in the mood for questions or company, so you three had better leave immediately."

"I'm sorry, we can't do that." The Chief sounded genuinely apologetic.  "Not until we've completed our search and taken a statement from you.  Now, is there somewhere we can sit down for a few moments?"

"No.  Now get out."  No-one moved to leave but the guy in the suit did give the Chief an angry look.  The fat man stared back at him, as if the two were engaged in a silent argument using only their eyes.  After a few moments, the younger man seized the initiative.

"Listen lady" he spoke to me, his gaze now on my face for a change, "I don't care who your Uncle is.  You can't talk to a police officer like that.  Kindly show some respect for the two men who died here and co-operate with us."

I glared at him.  "I'm started to get annoyed with you and, believe me, you don't want that to happen."

"Are you threatening a police officer?" asked suit-man, his tone of voice carrying a considerable degree of warning.

"I mean it."  I told him, coldly.  "I'll deal with you like I dealt with your friends."  My casual "confession" to the killings brought sharp intakes of breath from each of the three men.  It was the Chief who regained his composure first.

"Are you saying that you are responsible for the deaths of those men?"

"What of it?" I demanded impatiently.

"Two men are dead!  Stop playing games and tell us exactly what you know about it!" shouted the young man.  What little patience he possessed had clearly been exhausted.

"I warned you." I said, quickly stepping forwards and reaching my left hand up towards him.  I got my fingers around the knot of his tie before he or the other two could even begin to react.  Then I used that hold to pull him close, lowering my hand sharply so that I yanked his face right down to the exposed upper portion of my chest.  He was barely touching me, but the intimate contact had an instant effect on him, quickening his breathing and pulse and confusing him for a moment.  I used that moment to reach my free hand inside his jacket towards his holstered pistol.  I was standing with my back to the Chief, obscuring the fat man's view and I think that was why he didn't seem to react straight away.  Either that, or he was in shock.  Or perhaps he was just too unfit to move with any speed.

Meanwhile, the coroner began to climb to his feet.  The awkwardness of his movements betrayed his age.  I ignored him as I curled my fingers around the cool metal of the young man's firearm.

"Is this a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?" I asked as I withdrew the weapon.

"Mmmmummph Mmmmnnn." he replied, his voice muffled by my breasts.  I could see he was trying to pull his head back away from me, but of course I couldn't actually feel his efforts, even when he placed both his hands on my naked shoulders and started struggling to push me away.  The sweat beaded on his forehead and quickly formed big drops, one of which fell into my cleavage, trickling over my flawless skin as it ran down to my belly before dripping onto the floor.  Not a single particle remained to taint the perfection of my body.  I guess the guy wasn't too worried about his wayward perspiration because he continued his useless struggling unabated.

"What's the matter?" I teased him.  "From the way you were staring earlier, I thought you liked my chest."

"That's enough, ma'am." That was the voice of the Chief, still behind me.  I turned around, keeping a tight grip on the young man's tie.  With his face still touching the bare shelf of my breasts, my movement actually lifted him on to the tips of his shoes and then dragged him on his toes in a wide semi-circle around me as I rotated to face the fat man.  At no point was the contact between the suited man's sweaty forehead and me broken and he kept on fighting in vain for his release. I found it ridiculously easy to move him with me as I spun around even though I was holding him with just a single hand, all the while holding his gun in my free palm.  When I'd completed the turn, the youngster's heels came back to the floor so that he was now directly between me and the Chief.

I watched the overweight buffoon for a moment.  The surprise on his face was a delight to behold, and the way his eyes kept shuttling from his colleague's trapped head to the weapon I was holding was hilarious.  But I kept a straight face as I made a show of disinterestedly examining the gun.  The Chief took a very audible deep breath as if trying to reassure himself of something before speaking in a soft, well-rehearsed "negotiating" voice.

"OK.  It's alright.  There's no need for this to go any further.  Just put the gun down very slowly."

Ignoring the frantic efforts taking place below my face, I spoke over the suited man's head to address his superior.  "Who do you think you are, breaking into my house and then telling me what to do?"

"I'm Chief of Police in this town." he answered, not sounding as confident as he would probably have liked.  All the while he kept glancing nervously between the gun in my hand and his colleague's increasingly desperate attempts to free himself.  At that moment, the young man was actually trying to sink his teeth into my left breast.  His whole head shuddered as he clamped his jaws with all his might, his mouth almost filled by just a small portion of my mound.  I could see the strain of his efforts making the tendons in the back of his neck stand out but, far from the wounding he sought to cause, he actually inflicted nothing more than extremely mild pleasure.

Although I enjoyed the sensation of the breeze-like caressing of my womanly flesh, I was all too aware that I had business to attend to with the fat man.  I realised that I had been presented with an excellent opportunity to get the local police force off my back once and for all and I didn't intend to let it slip through my fingers. I just needed to ensure that I was negotiating from the strongest possible position to be certain that my demands would be met.  To achieve that, I realised that a little demonstration of my remarkable abilities was required.  Something to make the Chief understand that my way is now the only way.

I started by quickly transferring my hold on the suit-man from the knot of his tie to the back of his neck.  I lifted him (I thought) fairly gently off the ground but he screamed as I moved him.  Looking at him I saw his mouth was full of blood.  There was plenty of red liquid on the top of my chest, too.  I'd forgotten that he was still trying to bite my breast when I pulled him away - I guess the feeling of his teeth gripping my mound was so slight that it went out of my mind altogether.  The result was that most of his dental-work was torn roughly from his gums by my unyielding soft flesh as I lifted him.  The floor at my feet was sprinkled with dislodged teeth and blood.  His white shirt did its best to soak up as much of the bleeding as it could, a dark red stain spreading rapidly through the material.  By contrast, my chest and vest quickly dripped completely clean.

Letting the younger man moan and bleed as he hung helpless from my one-handed grasp, his feet level with my shins, I turned back to the Chief just in time to see him pulling his pistol from its holster.  I couldn't tell if the look on the fat guy's face was one of confusion or fear, but he certainly wasn't calm.  He was having trouble pointing his gun at me because of the way I was holding his colleague between us so I made things easier by moving my arm and dangling the guy in the suit about twenty centimetres to the side, allowing the Chief to line up the barrel of his weapon with my forehead.  All the while, my free arm hung by my side, the young man's pistol secured in my hand but pointed at the floor.

"So, are you just going to stand there or are you going to shoot me?" I asked the Chief.

"Please release the officer." was his only answer, his voice quivering as he spoke.

I said simply "No." Then, after a pause I added "Are you going to shoot me now?"

"No-one's going to be doing any shooting." The fat man's words carried little conviction, but he persevered: "Now release him, please."

I had no intention of carrying out the request.  Instead I shook my left hand a little - a tiny, effortless gesture on my part, but enough to make the young man's entire body move violently from side to side.  A splash of fresh blood burst out of his mouth as he screamed and splattered the fat man's face and uniform.  I waited a moment as the Chief wiped his face on his sleeve and the suited guy's yell died down into a whimper then I said "And now?  Are you going to shoot me now?"

"Look... I don't know what's going on here lady but I-"

I was running out of patience with the Chief.  "If you won't shoot me," I interrupted him, "then maybe your pal here will." So saying, I brought my free hand around to the young man's side.  He was still complaining and thrashing his legs a bit so I had to practically place his gun in his hand before he grasped it.  But once he had taken possession of the firearm, he wasted no time.  He was certainly less reluctant to shoot than his colleague.  Perhaps that was down to the fact that I had already trapped his head against my chest, caused him to lose most of his teeth and then lifted him into the air with a single hand on the back of his neck before shaking him around like a child's doll...

He fired a single shot at my ankle, no doubt hoping to force me to drop him without actually killing me.  The bullet pinged loudly from my bare leg, bouncing away to tear a large hole both in the carpet and the floorboards below.  I rewarded him with another easy shake that made him yell out in terror.  As soon as he was relatively still again, he squeezed his trigger for the second time.  This one smacked into my unprotected hip.  The ricochet actually travelled as far as the coroner, striking his leg hard enough to knock him down and make him cry out in pain.

Clearly terrified now, the young man dangling from my hand twisted his body around to shoot me in the stomach just below the bottom of my vest from point blank range.  At the last moment, I realised that the bullet was going to bounce off me and probably kill him, so I let it strike my exposed midriff and caught it with my free hand before it reached him. I held it up between my thumb and forefinger in front of his bloodied, panicky face.

"I think you just dropped this." I said nonchalantly.

"Oh, fuck, no!" spluttered the young man.  I did nothing to calm him as I casually brought my finger and thumb together, crushing the remains of the steel bullet until a trickle of molten metal ran down my hand.  I let it fall to the floor.

I reached down and took the young man's pistol hand in my own, bringing it up so that the edge of the barrel was just a few centimetres from my big, obvious left nipple.  I could tell that he was fighting for all he was worth to regain control of his hand and the gun it contained, but it could not have been easier for me to move him around. I just positioned his hand and the weapon exactly where I wanted to and then held them in place without any conscious effort on my part.  I ignored the pathetic efforts taking place directly in font of me and the confused, fearful look on the Chief's face as I spoke:

"Do you get it now, guys?  I'm not the woman I used to be anymore."  I slipped my finger over the suit-guy's own as it rested on the trigger of the gun and continued the lecture.  "For starters…"  (It was time for some practical lessons)

"…I'm…" I pushed my digit down gently, just enough to force the younger man to fire his weapon directly into the centre of my left breast.  Heavenly!  (But over too quick)  The rebounding slug just missed the suited man's shoulder, making him wince.

"…completely…" I moved his hand and the gun over to my other nipple and made him shoot again.  Oh, so nice! This time the ricochet grazed his arm, tearing his suit and a chunk of his flesh, too.  He screamed.

"…utterly…." Now I brought the gun and the arm holding it up until it was directly in front of my face, pointing right between my eyes and pushed his finger against the trigger once more.  Clang! The shot crumpled up almost flat against my far-harder-than-steel  skull, pinging away over the heads of both the bleeding man and the fat guy standing a few meters away.

"…bullet-proof."  I smiled, satisfied that I had proved my point.  The Chief just stared, his jaw hanging open, his gun trembling in his podgy hand.  The younger man hanging from my grasp began to weep.  "Oh…fuck….oh….no…." he mumbled as the blood continued to ooze from his toothless mouth and torn upper arm.

"Be quiet!" I chided him. "I haven't finished.  As I was saying I'm bullet-proof and…" I stretched my arm upwards, lifting the crying cop until his chest was level with my face.

"…I'm also…"  I pulled the gun with total ease from suit-guy's hand and held it away from him in my free hand in full view of the Chief.  I slowly closed my fingers around the weapon until the metal began to groan.

"..very…"  I made sure the fat man could see the steel deforming in my hand, my dainty, pretty fingers reshaping it as if it was modelling clay.  The three remaining bullets in the chamber exploded under the huge pressure I was exerting, but I contained the triple explosion in my palm without any discomfort.  I dropped the red-hot mangled remains of the pistol at my feet.

"..very.." Slowly, I bent my other elbow, drawing my arm and the man whose weight it was so effortlessly bearing closer to me.  Then, I snapped my arm straight, releasing my hold on the young man at the same time so that he flew from my hand, his body upright with his feet about half-a-meter above the floor the whole while until he hit the far wall with a damp crunch, leaving a large sickly red stain as he slid lifelessly into a messy heap on the carpet.

"…strong."  I planted my hands triumphantly on my hips as I concluded my brief demonstration.

The Chief only glanced at the horrible scene on the far wall for an instant before he turned back and immediately opened fire at me.   Nonetheless, I had more than enough time to move away from the path of his shots or even to pluck them out of the air one by one.  Instead I chose to stand perfectly still with my palms resting on my hips and a slightly bored expression on my face as the first bullet bounced off my cheek-bone, the second off my nose, the third off my upper lip, the fourth off my chin, the fifth off my neck and the last one off my shoulder.  The gun clicked a few more times, but it had ran out of ammunition, even if the Chief was refusing to accept the fact.

Finally, the fat man finally stopped squeezing his trigger.  His face was as white as milk, his eyes wide in disbelieving terror.  Other than a distinct tremor in his hands, he seemed utterly paralysed.  I was distracted from the rather pathetic sight of him by a scuffling sound coming from my left.  I turned at my leisure to watch as the coroner ran at me as fast as his ageing legs could manage.  In his fist he was holding a syringe filled with a yellowish liquid.

I kept my hands on my hips as he almost leapt at me and tried to stab me in the neck with the steel point of his injection.  The needle snapped in half against my silky skin, the broken end spinning harmlessly away as the old man's momentum carried him, uncontrolled, into my body.  With my arms bent out at my sides, there was nothing to prevent a full-on collision between our chests.  Of course, his tight, masculine pectorals never stood a chance against my soft, feminine breasts.

The first thing I heard was his yell of shock - presumably at the unexpectedly solid nature of the impact.  That yell was quickly cut off as the next sound reached my ears - the noise of the air being sharply forced from his lungs as his body yielded to mine before bouncing off. Next, there was a brief pause before the "Thump!" that was his winded frame collapsing at my feet.  He lay there, gasping for breath as I looked down on him impassively.  My hands had remained unmoved on my hips throughout.

Realising that the old man wouldn't be disturbing me again for a while, I turned back to the Chief who was fiddling around, frantically trying to reload his gun.  I cleared my throat loudly to get his attention and when he looked up - his eyes full of fear - I started tapping my foot impatiently.  He responded by jamming his fresh clip into his gun and pointing it at me once again. I showed what I thought of it all by casting my gaze exasperatedly at the ceiling for a moment.

He squeezed three shots off in rapid succession, clearly aiming for my heart.  My left breast tingled delightfully as each bullet struck, momentarily dimpling its rounded perfection for the briefest of instants before crumpling up and pinging away, leaving both my vest and the flesh it covered completely untouched.  Meanwhile, I didn't flinch or move my palms from their resting place on my hips. I didn't even let my face betray the mild pleasure of his hot bullets smashing futilely into my chest.

The fat man paused for a second, as if trying to comprehend what was happening.  Evidently, he still hadn't worked out the exact meaning of the word "bullet-proof", because he then me shot twice more.  I don't know where he was aiming but the first bullet hit me right in my eye, making a pinging sound as it impacted and stinging me a little.  It didn't hurt at all, but it wasn't a millionth as enjoyable as its three predecessors.  The next one felt far more pleasant as it struck and then crumpled up against the bridge of my nose before rebounding from me and hitting the floor at the Chief's feet.

He stared down at the misshapen lump of metal as if it could provide him with some vital piece of information that he was lacking.  After a while, he raised his head and his gun once more, preparing to shoot yet again.  At that moment, I decided that enough was enough.  I moved too quickly for him to react - probably too quickly for him to even see - as I took two steps towards him and reached for the gun, pulling it out of the fat man's grasp with utter ease.  His first yell told me I had damaged his hand extracting the weapon.  His second cry revealed his shock when he suddenly realised that I was now standing just a few centimetres from him, holding his gun in my hand.

While the Chief rubbed his injured palm and fingers with his good hand, I slowly lifted his pistol to my face.  I made a little show of slowing parting my full lips before sensuously pushing the end of the gun's barrel into my mouth.   The fat man's eyes grew huge as he gawked at me.  I bit down on the steel tube, my teeth slicing through the metal as if it were ice-cream until my jaws closed and the pistol was cut in half.  Then I began to chew the section that was still in my mouth like it was merely gum, the machined-steel no match for my molars.

I couldn't blow a bubble with the lump of metal, so instead I turned my head to the side and just spat it out.  The chunk flew across the room too fast for the Chief to follow, but he did look to see the rough, golf-ball-sized hole it tore right through the brick-and-plaster wall of my bedroom.  When he returned his gaze to me, I let him see me compressing the rest of the gun to a ball of scrap between my two hands. The remaining bullet exploded in my palms, making the fat man jump but not even tickling me as red-hot, razor-sharp shards of steel bounced around the prison of my hands.

Having reduced the thing considerably in size, I opened my mouth once again and popped it in.  I bore my teeth down on it for a while, grinding it into a series of little bits of metal with even less effort than the man in front of me would need to eat a doughnut.  Then, I ostentatiously swallowed it all down.  It didn't taste particularly nice, but it was extremely effective as a demonstration of my power.  When I had finished, I leisurely licked my lips before opening my jaws to show my companion my now empty mouth.

The Chief's eyes, already bulging, seemed about to burst from his skull and I didn't need to use my new abilities to see that he was trembling.  His forehead shone as sweat trickled down from his receding hairline.  My sensitive ears could clearly detect the furious palpitations of his heart.  He was just staring at me, his expression now one of pure, unadulterated terror.  My demonstration had been completely successful and, having now clearly established the position I would be negotiating from, I was ready to open talks.  I stayed standing very close to the fat man, invading his personal space, and put my hands back on my hips to symbolise my dominance.

"I've got a little proposition for you, Chief."  I said.  There was no reply.  I could hear the elderly coroner slowly drawing himself to his feet over my shoulder, still breathing heavily.  I ignored him as I spoke to the fat man.  "You may not be aware, but my Uncle Tony has decided to take a long foreign trip and I'm going to be looking after his business from now on.  I believe Mr. Alto had a long-standing er, shall we say "relationship", with the local Police and I'd like to continue that.  With a few changes of course.  Are you interested?"

The Chief remained silent.  I don't know if he didn't want to reply or if he was finding it hard to talk, but when I repeated the question in a stern tone "I asked you if you were interested." and added the command "Answer me!" he mumbled something along the lines of:

"Yes... please... yes... I'm interested... please... don't kill me..."

"Well," I said, "that's more-or-less what I'm offering.  Here's the deal:  You, and all your colleagues will keep out of my way.  You will not interfere with me, my work or my business interests.  You will not approach any of my properties unless expressly invited.  Additionally, you will use whatever influence you have to ensure that the National Police..." I nodded in the direction of the remains of the young-man from out of town - "...also respect my privacy.  In short, I will do as I please and the Police will not get involved unless I give orders to the contrary.   In return, I will let you live.  So, what do you say, Chief?  Do we have an agreement?"

Once again, he seemed to be having trouble forming words.  I was surprised to hear the silence broken by the coroner's voice drifting over from the other side of the room.  "Who... who are you?"

"This doesn't concern you." I snapped at the old man without bothering to break eye contact with his boss.  "This is between me and the Chief."  After a short pause I added "Well, Chief?" His lips were moving alright, but even with my super-hearing I couldn't make out an intelligible reply.  I decided to give him one last prompt.

"Of course, you're free to decline my offer." I said, softening my glare to the point that I was almost smiling.  "It's your choice, Chief.  Either you accept the deal and walk out of here, or you turn it down.  It's completely up to you.  Incidentally, here's what will happen to you if you do choose to say 'no'."  Keeping my body straight and my hands on my hips I turned my head towards the coroner.  The old man was standing about three meters to my left and slightly behind me so I had to crane my neck just a little.  I studied his face for a second or two, taking in the look of confused anxiety in his life-worn features.

I gave the coroner a quick wink.  Then, I exaggeratedly pushed out my lips towards him and blew at him.  It was just a short burst of air - an absolutely effortless exhalation on my part - but the force of my breath picked the old man off his feet and threw him violently across the room to impact with the far wall with enough force to dislodge a large chunk of plaster.  When he hit, I had already closed my lips, but the initial strength of my easy puff meant that his body was still nearly a meter off the floor.  It slid lifelessly down into a heap in the corner and I turned my face back to the fat man.

"So," I said calmly as if nothing unusual had happened, "do I take it that we have a deal?" Instantly, the Chief started nodding furiously.  He was trying to voice his acceptance, but maybe his mouth and throat were too dry or perhaps his vocal chords too tight - whatever the reason, he simply couldn't talk.  It's a syndrome I'm getting used to seeing.  I think I should call it the "Milena Effect".

I couldn't help but smile.  I'd gotten the deal I wanted to keep the Police from bothering me in my lovely new house and I had the added satisfaction of reducing their local Chief reduced to a quivering voice-less wreck.  "Well done!" I gloated, smugly.  "You've made an excellent decision.  Now, it's time for you to be running along.  I guess I won't be seeing you for a while.  I'll let you know if I need you."  The fat man's eyes were oscillating between me and the door that was the only way out.  I suddenly realised he was unsure what to do, so I helped him out.

"Go!" I commanded.  Immediately, the Chief of Police turned and walked quickly to the door without so much as a backwards glance at me or his two dead colleagues.  He reached the top of the stairs and then broke into a run.  A few seconds later I saw him through the window, sprinting as best as his huge frame allowed to one of the cars parked outside.  A few more seconds and he was roaring away, his foot doubtless pressing the car's accelerator to the floor.

Once the sound of his vehicle had faded even from my super-hearing, I found myself alone in what was, until a few days ago, my bedroom.  The familiar room bore witness to the incredible changes that had occurred in the meantime.  Two corpses, one of them especially revolting-looking, lay on the floor.  There was a large hole in the ceiling and another smaller one by the window.  It just didn't feel like "home" to me anymore.  I thought of the lovely big house I had claimed for my own and remembered that I had originally come just to pick up a few things to take back there.

As I started to list everything I wanted to move to my new residence, I realised that there was actually quite a lot of stuff that I was going to take.  Having pulled large trees out of the ground with relative ease, I didn't have any doubts about my ability to physically carry everything, but I wasn't sure how I was going to carry so many bulky and odd-shaped items.  I mean, I couldn't tie everything - clothes, furniture, ornaments and the like - into a big bundle without ruining half of it.  And I didn't want to have to make several journeys - that was too much like a "normal person" would do.

I quickly worked out that what I really needed was one big - no, huge - container to place everything in.  But I didn't have anything I could use.  They certainly don't make suitcases the size of buses and even if they did, I didn't have one.   Then, out of the blue, an image slipped into my mind.  Something I'd spotted from the air when I was flying over from my new house.  I hadn't paid it much notice at the time, but I wasn't looking for something to serve as a giant container then...

I ran over to the broken window and leapt out, immediately tensing my muscles to activate my flight powers.  I suppose I should have been impressed with myself given how quickly I'd mastered that ability, and how effortlessly and - even if I say so myself - gracefully I went from running to jumping to flying, but at that instant, I just did it without even thinking.  In a few seconds I was thousands of feet over the town.  It took about another minute to spot my target and only a dozen or so seconds more to descend, landing immaculately on my feet right next to it.

I was outside an abandoned factory.  I think they used to make toys there, but I'm not sure.  I don't think the place has been in use for ten or fifteen years.  But I wasn't visiting to satisfy an interest in local industrial history.  What had drawn me to the spot was the presence of a cargo-container.  It's one of those standard size rectangular metal boxes for shipping - six meters long, 2-and-a-half meters wide and 2-and-a-half meters tall and made of steel.  Over a decade of punishment from the elements had done no favours to the faded, peeling paintwork, but I couldn't see any obvious signs of critical corrosion.  It was just what I needed.

I walked around to the end of it, where the doors are and found them padlocked shut.  The lock, unlike the container, was rusty.  It crumbled to powder when I squeezed it in my first.  I'd have thought that the bar holding the doors closed would have become stiff through fifteen years' lack of use, but I encountered no resistance when I flicked the three-foot metal slab off its latch with my index finger.  I was careful not to rip the heavy steel doors off their huge thick hinges as I pulled them open and took a look inside.  There was nothing in there but dozens of giant sheets of yellowing paper and empty polythene bags. Walking to the back of the container, I cleared all the debris out of it with a gentle puff of breath, the paper and plastic billowing out as if in a hurricane - which, I suppose, it was.

Now I had my giant suitcase all I had to do was take it to my old place, fill it up and get it to my new house.  I came out of the huge metal box and turned to face it.  I bent low and forced my fingers into the ground, underneath the very edge of it.  Then I straightened up.  I don't know how much an empty container weighs, but I lifted the end of it over my head as easily as I would have lifted a comic book.  I found I could  even twist my wrists so that the far end of the thing also came off the ground.  Supporting the weight with all the laws of balance against me wasn't any noticeably more difficult, so I just floated up into the air, carrying the entire container horizontally out in front of me as I flew back to my old home.  I made it back almost as quickly as I had come.

I landed in the garden, taking care to set the massive steel case down quietly so as not to alert all the neighbours and, to save time, just flew in through the upstairs window.  Opening my big wardrobe, I was about to start selecting which clothes I wanted to take when I had a better idea.  I flew back outside and floated in the air in front of my big partially-damaged bedroom window.  With my hands, I carefully pushed in the still-intact portions of glass so that they landed inside, making less noise.  Then I removed the metal frames of the window with a casual tug of my hand until I had created a huge opening in the bedroom wall.

After that, I floated back inside, lifting the entire full wardrobe by holding it with one palm on the doors and the other on the back.  The weight - surely more than two strong men could lift together - was as nothing to me as I carried it out of the opening I'd made, down into the garden and inside the container where I set it down.  It was all so easy!  I made about ten more trips between the house and my giant case, carrying everything I wanted to move to T.'s former residence and packing it into the container within five minutes.  When I finished the box was almost full.  I didn't even need to pause for a moment to rest before I closed the big doors and threw the bar across the latch to secure them.

I was a little concerned about the considerable extra weight I had added, but when I crouched by the doors and lifted the near end of the container, I was only aware of a slight difference in the way it felt.  I'm sure I could have lifted two, three or four times as much without any problem!  My stuff was sliding around inside, so I carefully rotated my hands until the far end rose smoothly into the air and the big box was parallel to the ground once more.  Again, I could tell that it was heavier than when it was empty, but not much.

I took to the air, my slender arms carrying the contents of my old home in a giant steel sea container out in front of me as if I had been performing such amazing feats all my life.  I had to keep my speed down and avoid any sharp turns to prevent my possessions from being damaged, but I still felt magnificent as I contrasted the sight the huge object with the comfortable feeling in my muscles.  I would make a fortune in the removals business!

If anything, I got to my new home too quickly.  I felt as if I could have stayed in the air all night, carrying that gigantic, heavy cargo.  But, I had things to do - like unpacking for a start.  I set myself and the container down in the gravel in front of my residence, marvelling at the way my arms didn't even feel in the least bit tired. How I love being "super"!

To avoid attracting any undue attention from my new neighbours, I opened the container's doors the manufacturer's recommended way rather than merely tearing them from their hinges and tossing them over my shoulder.  This house has a huge front entrance and a beautiful, wide staircase so I didn't need to make any structural adjustments before bring my things inside. It took about four minutes in total to empty the huge metal box.

The last time I moved house, it took me hours to sort out my clothes when I arrived.  This time, all I had to do was carry my full wardrobe upstairs - it might as well have been weightless to me - and put it down in the biggest bedroom.  That was it. Half an hour after I started packing at the other house, I had moved and installed my possessions in my new place. I wasn't tired, or out of breath. Nor had a single drop of sweat had appeared on my wonderful "new" body.

The last thing I wanted to do at that point was rest.  I thought of the meal in town I had promised myself and set about the process of selecting something suitable to wear for an evening out. Remembering what happened the one and only time I'd tried on clothes since my transformation, I knew I'd have to find something I could wear on top of my special vest. After all, it wouldn't do for my nipples to tear strips out of all my dresses.

In the end I selected an elegant black dress that comes down to just above my knees and is low-cut enough to reveal a fair portion of my amazing cleavage whilst not being so low-cut that it doesn't hide my vest. I hadn't worn it since my encounter with the genie and when I saw my reflection in a full-length mirror the way my figure filled the dress to perfection nearly took my breath away. Even I could see that I looked stunning.

I put on a pair of black high-heels that go well with the dress and stared for a while at the majesty of my long, shapely legs which was further accentuated by the shoes.  I'd never felt so confident getting ready to go out.  Moving over to the dressing table that was part of the furniture I'd just carried over from my old place, I sat down and stared at my face in the mirror.  No matter how hard I studied myself, I could not discern a single imperfection in my features or my smooth complexion.  I found myself smiling at the sight of my face and saw the reflection of my flawless teeth.  Again, I searched and searched, but couldn't find any faults.

After a few more moments when I lost myself in my own beauty, my mind shifted back into 'preparing for a night out' gear.  Over the years, I'd sat in front of that mirror to get ready for a evening out thousands of times  and I'd developed something of a routine.  I'd always start with applying some foundation cream and, even though I'd just spent a couple of minutes admiring my “new” complexion, I nevertheless followed my tradition.  Scooping a handful of cream from a little pot I'd brought over in one of the dresser draws, I applied it to my cheek.

Or rather, I tried to apply it.  My skin didn't seem to be absorbing the balm in the usual way.  I tried to rub it into my face, but the volume of cream remained the same.  When I stopped rubbing it fell in big drops from my cheek and my hand.  A puddle formed on the dresser and I could see it contained exactly as much cream as I had taken from the pot.  I realized that I was “immune” to face-balm in just the same way as blood and other muck won't stick to me.  I decided that my complexion was too perfect to need foundation, so I threw the pot of cream into the waste-bin.

The next step on my usual routine was my eyes.  Although the genie's transformation gave me beautiful, long thick lashes like the “after” picture from a TV commercial, I still located my mascara brush nonetheless.  But, it was as useless as my face-cream.  The viscous black dye just rolled off my lashes like rain off a window, splattering onto the face-balm stains on top of the dresser.  No matter, my lashes look great undecorated.  I smeared the mess on the table with my finger-tip.  I could “paint” the varnished wood alright, but when I lifted my digit, not a trace of colour was visible on it.

I was beginning to realise that my days applying make-up are well and truly over.  More out of curiosity than anything else, I pulled a jar of rouge from the dresser and dipped a brush into the reddish powder.  When I pressed the brush to my cheekbones, the powder trickled down my face to add to the increasingly complex tableau on the table.  Grabbing a particularly shocking-coloured lip-stick, I pushed out my lovely thick “new” lips and rubbed the stick on them.

Of course the lip-stick fell in little, greasy flakes and not a trace of it remained on my mouth.  Experimentally, I drew the colour over my chin.  The result was the same.  More mess and absolutely no change to my appearance.  I tried writing on my arm, but I quickly stopped when I saw that the little bits of lip-stick that slipped off my skin were going to mark my black dress.  I pushed out my lips as if about to kiss the mirror and checked the reflection.  Fortunately for me, I concluded, my lips didn't need any extra help to look stunning.

Defeated, I collected up all my pots and jars and sticks of make-up from the draws of the dresser and tossed the whole pile into the bin.  I wiped the table off with a towel from the bathroom, making a mental note to thank my Uncle next time I see him for leaving a set of towels out.  After a couple of wipes, the dresser was still smeared with colour and a little greasy.  A table is a lot harder to keep clean than my face!  I didn't keep wiping as I was afraid I would accidentally break the dresser.

The last thing I used to do before leaving the house was brush my hair.  Turning back to my new friend the mirror, I couldn't see any tangles in my long, straight dark brown hair.  In fact, it looked shinier and thicker than I'd ever seen it before.  The lack of tangles was confirmed with the first stroke of the brush - it passed effortlessly through.  I would have thought after all I'd been through since I last washed it that my hair would have been a complete mess, but like every other aspect of my appearance, it was faultless.

Before the genie, I could spend up to ten minutes brushing my hair.  I don't seem to need to own a brush now, which is just as well.  I ruined my old one in a playful experiment to see how fast I could wield it.  I just started pulling it through my hair faster and faster until smoke began to rise and an unpleasant smell reached my nostrils.  Thinking I was burning my hair I pulled the brush away from my head, just in time to see it burst into flames.  The nylon bristles melted, dripping hot liquid onto my hand.  It just rolled off me like everything else - no stains, no marks, no pain.  When I checked my hair, it was as perfect as before.  Only the brush had burnt.  I threw what was left of it away with the make-up.

I had totalled failed in my attempts at beautification.  If I wasn't so utterly stunning to begin with, I would be irritated.  But, every time I see my reflection, I know that no make-up could ever improve on my natural appearance.  I'm gorgeous.  Perfect, even.  And now when I go out in the evening, I won't have to spend any time messing around with potions and face-paint.  I don't even need to look after my hair any more!  I love the “new” me.

No wonder I felt so terrific as I flew slowly out of the bedroom window into the night.  I knew I had to be very careful not to damage my dress, so I didn't indulge myself by flying fast or turning too many mid-air summersaults.   Soon enough, though, I was hovering over the centre of town where the good restaurants are.  I watched the evening strollers moving through the streets below me and realised that I was going to have to be extremely discreet with my landing if I didn't want to attract the whole town's attention.

Locating an un-lit, narrow alley, I examined it from my lofty vantage point.  Despite the darkness down there, my eyes had no trouble determining that the side-street was deserted so I descended towards it feet-first, as quickly as I thought my dress could withstand.  I had to control my flight carefully, coming to a stop in a very short distance, but I've already got the hang of that now.  I dropped to the pavement and strolled out of the alley like a “normal” - if amazingly beautiful - woman would do, my high heels click-clacking with every step.

The side-street comes out on the big pedestrianised area in the centre of town.  My favourite place to eat, Luigi's, is on the opposite side of the square and I made a bee-line towards it.  Everybody I passed stopped to stare at me - the women almost as much as the men.  I took in the expressions on their faces, enjoying myself hugely.  The couples were the best; the male part would gawk at me, tracking me from feet to face and back again, usually settling on the low-cut top of my dress, whilst their female companions narrowed their eyes in a hatred born of jealousy.

I went through a small group of teenaged boys, almost laughing as their conversation suddenly halted when they saw me.  Their jaws practically dropped and their eyes bulged as they just stared at the exposed portion of my deep cleavage.  I listened to their panting and their quickening heartbeats.  When I smiled at one of them, he almost fainted.  I winked at another with similar results.  Keeping a low profile isn't easy when you're as attractive as I am!

I was only a few steps from the door to Luigi's when I suddenly remembered that I wasn't carrying any money or cards or anything that I could use to pay for my meal.  I decided that I could work something out later, and walked straight in.  Immediately, all the diners and waiters were engaged in a game of trying to stare at me without me or their companions or clients noticing.  The maitre d' came over, his eyes flickering every so often from my face to check out my chest.  I ignored his poorly-hidden lewdness and asked for a table for one.

Even though I'd eaten at Luigi's a hundred times before, none of the staff seemed to recognise me post-transformation.  I followed the maitre d' to my table, sat down and waited for him to stop gawking at my legs and hand me the menu.  In the space of about two minutes, five different waiters came and asked if I was ready to order, or if I would like anything to drink.  The service has always been good there, but I knew the extra attention was purely down to my “new” appearance.  I smiled as I studied the selection of dishes on offer.

As I looked down the list, I was confused.  After all, I hadn't eaten much - excluding the Chief of Police's pistol, that is - since the night before I met the genie and reading the descriptions of the various offerings should have triggered the usual hunger sensations in my stomach.  But I simply wasn't hungry.  The thought of the food was appetising, alright, but I didn't feel as if I needed the nourishment.  I just fancied it.

When I was ready to order, I looked up from the menu and almost instantly three waiters started to rush towards me.  The two who realised they wouldn't get to me before their colleague backed off, obviously disappointed, whilst the winner took out his pad and pencil and stood by my table, gazing down the prominent valley between my breasts.  I gave him my selection - a starter and main-course and a bottle of my favourite local wine and he reluctantly took his eyes off my cleavage and took the order to the kitchen.

For my own amusement, I concentrated my super-hearing on the room behind the big double-doors where my waiter had vanished and heard him telling one of the chefs: “…like nothing I've ever seen!  I'm telling you she's got the face of an angel and a body like a dream - I mean tits you would die for!  You'd better make sure she leaves happy - that's one customer I'd love to become a regular.”  Needless to say, I was not unhappy at the thought that I was going to get top-class service from the kitchen as well.

Normally, I used to always get a half-bottle of wine when I ate alone, but I felt celebratory so I went for a whole one.  When it arrived, I tasted the first glass and discovered that my transformation has given me an incredibly powerful sense of taste.  I could detect all the flavours I love in the wine, but much more vividly than before.  In addition there was a raft of new tastes that I'd never noticed before, all of which combined to make the drink far more delightful than I remembered.

I drained the first glass enthusiastically and poured another.  That went down pretty quick, too.  I picked up the bottle to re-fill once again, when something occurred to me.  Two large glasses of wine, on an empty stomach, would always have made me slightly tipsy in the past.  But as I poured and drank my third and then my forth, I realised that I was staying stone cold sober.  The bottle was empty and my starter had yet to arrive so I just looked up and instantly I caught a waiter's eye and he came scurrying over.  I asked him for another bottle.  He practically broke into a run to fetch it for me.

Realising that alcohol no longer seems to get me drunk, I savoured the second bottle and made it last.  The starter arrived and I tucked in.  It was the most delicious thing I'd ever eaten.  Until the main course came.  Something about my enhanced sense of taste means that I appreciate food, and good food especially, much, much more than before.  I polished off everything on my plate and then chose a slice of rich chocolate cake from the sweet trolley.  I've always liked chocolate, but now, it was almost an emotional experience as the flavour melted into my mouth.

I finished my meal all too soon.  I wasn't even full, either.  Despite the fact that I wasn't hungry before I started, I still felt as if I could have eaten the entire meal again.  I don't know how my metabolism works now, but it's awesome - I can eat as much as I like, or nothing at all, and I just feel terrific!

I'd been sitting at an empty table for about ten minutes after my emptied dessert plate and drained coffee cup were removed, when one of the waiters came over and enquired if I would like to see the bill.  I had completely forgotten that I didn't have any money on me.  I could have just run - or even walked - out without anyone being able to stop me, but I formulated a better plan instead.

“That was wonderful.” I said to the waiter smiling.  “I'd love to be able to thank the Chef and his staff for their fantastic work.”

“I'd be delighted to pass your comments on.” The waiter informed me.

“I think it would be nicer if I could thank them in person.” I said.

“I'm sorry, Madame.  We don't allow customers in the kitchen.”

“Are you sure,” I said, softly, leaning back a little to make my chest even more prominent, “that you couldn't make an exception - just for me?”  The waiter hesitated, so I went on, fluttering my eyelashes, pouting my lips and keeping my breasts thrust out, “I'd be ever so grateful.”

“Well… perhaps I can make an exception… Follow me, please, Madame.”  I stood up and let him lead the way through the double doors into the kitchen.  All work ceased as I walked into the room and every pair of eyes in there came to rest on me and my anatomy. I walked slowly into the room, allowing the half-dozen men to track my every movement.

Passing a stainless steel work-counter, I picked up a knife.  There was a sharp intake of breath from each observer as I stuck out my tongue and slowly drew the length of the sharp edge of the blade across my supposedly soft glossa.  The scrapping sound of my tongue blunting the knife impressed even me and I made sure that my entire audience saw what was happening.

Now that I had everyone's attention, I made a show of holding the knife out in front of my face and turning it in my hand so that it was pointed downwards.  I lowered the long blade vertically into my cleavage, taking care not to damage my dress.  Then, I gripped the exposed handle and pushed it hard to the left.  The steel was unable, of course, to lever my breasts apart so the knife bent dramatically and finally snapped noisily in half.  I extracted the handle-less blade from the valley of my chest and crumpled it into a ball in my fist like those watching would have crumpled a sheet of paper (but probably with less difficulty).  I tossed the little ball of steel over my shoulder and heard the crash as it smashed deep into the brick wall behind me.

“Hi there, fellas.” I said, casually.  “Sorry about the knife.  I wanted you all to know that I've just had an absolutely wonderful meal and I've decided that I'm going to be eating here regularly.  The only problem is…” I reached up and took a large copper saucepan that was hanging from a hook on the ceiling, “…I don't want to have to pay.”  Adjusting my grip on the pan, I placed a palm on either side of its wide circumference and pushed my hands together.  The metal groaned and squeaked as I made light work of reducing the heavy cooking implement into a misshaped ball of shiny copper.

I tossed the ball underarm at the door of a huge refrigerator on the other side of the kitchen.  The chunk of copper smashed into the metal fridge like a cannon-ball, ripping a hole in the door and the back of the cabinet and embedding itself in the brick wall behind.   One of the kitchen staff collapsed on seeing my little demonstration of my strength.  The others looked from me to the busted refrigerator and back again in fear and disbelief.  Planting my hands on my hips for effect, I took advantage of having their complete attention to ask “Do any of you have any objections to me eating here for free whenever I like?”

A middle-aged man in a full white coat and kitchen hat took this as his cue to step forward and confront me. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here with your conjuring tricks and demanding free food?”  Over his shoulder, in the far corner of the room, I spotted one of those large, rectangular open waste bins.  Noticing that it was half-full of vegetable peels and uneaten meals, I realised it represented an opportunity that was too good to miss.

I made up the ground on my challenger and told him to “Conjure this!” as I brought up my left hand and flicked him in the stomach with my little finger.  My aim was good, my strength once again fabulous.  That little tap - so effortless for me to do - was enough to lift his nearly two-metre frame off the ground and send him flying over a work-counter to crash down ten paces away.  At least his landing, rump-first into the kitchen waste, was soft, even if it was accompanied by an undignified squelch as he landed amongst the peelings and half-eaten food.  His eyes were closed, but I could see he was still breathing.  The others looked at him before turning back to me, shifting nervously where they stood.

I put my hand back on my hip. “Does anyone else have any objections?”  There was a chorus of quick “No”s and “Of course not”s.  I smiled in satisfaction.  “Great.  Well, thanks for tonight's meal.”  I turned and walked about half-way to the door before twisting my head slightly and adding, over my shoulder, “Incidentally, if I ever get asked to pay for anything here again or if you ever give me anything to eat that isn't up to tonight's standards, it won't be a fridge I put a hole in.  Understand?”

As one, the conscious contingent of the kitchen staff answered with a firm “Yes!”.

“Goodnight, then.” I said, cheerfully, strolling out of the kitchen across the dining area and out into the street without looking back.  I did however, hear the various sighs of relief from the kitchen once the staff in there thought I was out of earshot.

I was about to cross the square back to the alley where I had landed before diner, when I noticed another side-street running down the side of Luigi's.  It was the kind of narrow, dark passage that I would have been terrified of a week ago.  Now, of course, I don't need to fear anything.  I strolled down the alley and found it turned a corner, running immediately behind the restaurant.  I was walking past the back door to the kitchen I had just been in, when I picked up a one-sided conversation that made me stop and listen.

“…saucepan like it was tin-foil!”  I overheard. “She threw it right through the door of the fridge!  And she tossed Enrico across the room like something out of a movie....Yes, definitely sure…. No, I haven't had a drop to drink….Yes, I'll hold…..” Then there was a long pause before I heard “Describe her?  Well, she's about one-eighty tall, incredible figure, dark brown hair, er… I'm sorry?.... What?!!...You won't come and see our kitchen?... What do you mean, 'Not worthy of police time?'… Let me speak to the Chief…. Oh, you are the Chief.  And you won't come and take a statement?  Well, thanks for nothing!” That was followed by the sound of a telephone handset being smashed down.

I was delighted.  The Chief of Police seemed to be holding up his end of our little arrangement nicely.  I left the staff of Luigi's to clean up the mess in their kitchen as I soared up into the air, accelerating as much as I dared to get out of sight quickly without generating enough friction to set my dress on fire.  In no time at all, I was floating into my new bedroom through the window I'd left open.

Then I slipped out of my black dress and stored it back in the cupboard.  Wearing only my special vest and panties once again, I paused in front of the mirror to admire my own reflection before sitting down to write this diary entry.  It’s past midnight now, but I still don’t feel tired.   I’m looking forward to tomorrow when I can try out my new-found negotiating skills some more.  After all, I did so well with the Chief of Police and the guys at Luigi’s…

 

Conceptfan, Sep. 2004.

Part 9

Thursday 17th May 2001 - 4:10 am

Well, I've had another incredible night.

After the wonderful big meal at Luigi's and especially the wine I'd enjoyed with it, I half-expected to feel sleepy. Certainly, before I met the genie, I would have been ready for bed. But instead I was full of energy, just as I have been every instant since my fantastic transformation. I strolled around my new house, checking out all the beautiful and expensive things I've "inherited" from Tony. It’s funny to think that it took him years to accumulate all those expensive and exclusive possessions and yet it took me just seconds to take it all from him. I suppose that's the difference between being very clever and very good at your "work" like T. and being "super" like me.

"Super" means everything is easy. Seemingly impossible physical tasks are now effortless. Things that used to take me ages now take me a fraction of a second. Places I couldn't go because they were too dangerous now hold no fear for me. People that I dared not cross because they were too strong or too powerful or too well-armed can now be swatted aside like insects with the most casual sweeps of my arm or sent spiralling into the air with just a gentle puff of my breath...

"Super" also means everything is better. My senses are so enhanced! I can see millions of shades of colour that were previously indistinguishable. In the dark. From amazing distances! I can smell every plant and flower within a kilometre. I can hear conversations and even heartbeats in the next street, even when I'm standing right next to the stereo playing at full volume. And as for my sense of taste! Every mouthful I ate at Luigi's seemed to convey a thousand subtle flavours, all appreciable both separately and as a glorious combination. And the wine was like nothing I've ever experienced.

Remembering those two bottles of wine I had drunk in the restaurant, I found myself walking downstairs into the lounge where my Uncle had his drinks cabinet. Of course, it's my drinks cabinet now, so I was perfectly entitled to snap the lock off with a fingernail, which is what I did when I couldn't find the key. The doors flew open, revealing a dazzling array of fine liqueurs from all over the world. For all his many faults, lack of taste was not something T. could ever be charged with.

I selected a particularly expensive-looking twenty-five year old Scottish Malt. The bottle was unopened, but I decided against removing the screw-cap. Instead I parted my lips and placed the top of the bottle inside my mouth. I bit down on the neck, the glass shattering immediately against my teeth. The power of my jaw muscles ground the sharp fragments into powder and I chewed on, crushing the top of the bottle and its cap to mush. The glass and metal shards weren't a patch on Luigi's for flavour, but I swallowed them as easily as I had my exquisite dinner.

I knew I didn't have to be careful of the broken glass as I brought the unorthodoxly-opened bottle up to my lips. Tilting my head back, I drank the whole litre of strong whisky in about ten seconds without moving the bottle until it was empty. It tasted terrific - so many subtle notes and flavours that I’d never noticed in whisky before - but it had absolutely no other effect on me. Not even a little bit of blurred vision. Nothing. I pulled another litre - of brandy this time - from the cabinet, chewed off the top and poured the contents down my throat. Still, I felt nothing.

I got through another four or five bottles in similar fashion before I got bored with the exercise. For all my fantastic new abilities I've discovered at least two things I can't do now that used to be no problem for me - putting on make-up and getting drunk. Thinking about it, that's a rather small price to pay for being “super”!

It was about quarter-to-one in the morning, and I'd been up for days, but I really wasn't interested in the idea of sleeping. I started wandering around the house, making it truly my own by re-arranging some of the furniture - not hard for someone as strong as I am. For instance, I picked up a three-seater sofa with one hand and carried it around as I wandered at my leisure from room to room, deciding where to place it. I did need two hands when I lifted a bookcase full of heavy-looking bound volumes, but that was purely to keep it straight so that all the books didn’t fall out…

I was thinking about finding a new location for T.'s - sorry, my - big, luxurious reclining chair when I heard the sound of the doorbell. I still haven't done anything about the busted front door, so I went immediately to see who was there before whoever it was ambled in by themselves. There, in the doorway stood a young man with short black hair and an attractively masculine face. He was wearing tight jeans and a T-shirt that appeared to have shrunk after he put it on, so that every muscle on his well-defined torso was clearly visible. I knew the size of those muscles was meaningless - I've got more strength in my little finger than there was in his whole body - but I have to admit, they did look good.

I smiled at him, and let him take his time as his eyes scanned the length of my body a couple of times. I didn't need super-powers to realise that whatever attraction I felt for him was being returned with interest. “Is there anything… else that you want?” I asked him, drawling the “else” in a particularly suggestive manner.

“Er…” he stumbled “Are you Milena?”

“It depends who wants to know.” I answered, seductively. Evidently, my efforts were not going to waste - a quick glance down at the crotch of his now overly-tight trousers told me as much.

“Um…” he began. Men! So articulate when they’re distracted… “I have a message for you.” he managed to say. He fumbled for an envelope which was sticking out of his hip pocket and extracted it, slightly crumpled, holding it out to me. I brushed his fingers as I took the letter, ensuring that the contact lasted quite a few seconds. Then I turned my back on him, placing the envelope on a side-table and walking into the house. Over my shoulder I called “So, are you going to stand there all day or are you coming in for a drink?”

He took the bait immediately, and walked into the house. I stopped and waited for him. He approached me and stopped about two paces short. I turned to face him. “Oops. I'm sorry.” I said, “I forgot that I don't have a drink to offer you. I've already finished it all. I hope you don't mind - we'll have to move straight to the sex.” His eyes nearly burst from his skull as he took in my words. I don't know if he was trying to come up with a reply, but I didn't really give him a chance as I closed the gap between us, put my arms around him gently and carefully pressed my lips against his.

When I broke off the kiss, I saw that his face was turning blue. I must've been squeezing him a little too tight or maybe the kiss was a bit strong. I relaxed my arms and took a step back as he gulped down as much air as he could. While he continued to refill his lungs, I reached down for the waist-band of his jeans. I didn't bother with unbuckling his belt or unfastening the buttons of his trousers. I merely used two fingers of each hand to carefully tear the thick leather and denim in half, peeling his tight jeans off his lower body like opening a banana.

His reaction to this was to shout “Hey!” and take a step backwards. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't completely free of his trousers when he took the step and he tripped and fell backwards. He would have landed on his compact rear on the hard, tiled floor if I hadn't moved quickly and caught that nice ass by placing my open left hand behind him. While he tried to get over the shock, I used the fingers of my free hand to rip away the remains of his jeans and his shoes.

The messenger boy then tried to stand up, so I used the palm cushioning his backside to scoop him completely off the ground and placed him with his muscular belly on my shoulder and the rest of him hanging either side of my body. With one hand pressing him gently against my shoulder to prevent him moving, I started to walk towards the stairs. He began pounding my stomach with his feet and my lower back with his fists but, of course, without so much as tickling me. “Save your energy,” I advised him, “You're going to need it.”

I was aware of his head bouncing against my back as I climbed the stairs, and thinking back, I did notice the pounding of his feet dying down, but I was too absorbed by the feel of his tight little backside to pay it much notice. It was only when I got into my bedroom and tossed him onto his back in the centre of the big bed that I saw he had passed out. His face was black and blue, and his nose bloodied and misshapen. It must've happened as I went upstairs, his head rising up and slamming against my harder-than-steel back with every step until the cumulative punishment had proven to be too much for him.

I almost screamed in frustration. I had been so looking forward to enjoying his compact, muscular body. Since I met the genie, what with my beautiful “new” body and the incredible things it can do, I feel hornier than ever before in my life. But every time I try and spend some “quality time” with a man, something goes wrong. I sat down on the bed next to his comatose form and carefully tore off his shirt. I stroked his lovely chest with the finger-tips of my left hand as my right found its own way under the waistband of my panties.

A couple of minutes later, once I had at least relieved some of the pressure within me, I removed my hand from my crotch and stood up. I picked up the almost naked young messenger. His unconscious body felt as light as a sheet of paper to me as I carried it downstairs, out of the house and across the drive before putting it down on the pavement outside. I glanced both ways down the street to make sure I hadn't been observed and then went back in.

Snatching up the envelope that the young man had brought, I ripped it open and pulled out the single-page hand-written note it contained.

“Dear Milena,” I read. “You may have heard of the terrible maritime accident that recently claimed the life of my father. As a result of his tragic passing, I have been forced to take on a number of new business responsibilities. I understand that you are in a similar position yourself, following your Uncle Tony's sudden and unexpected decision to emigrate. It would be mutually beneficial if we could meet to discuss these developments. As this needs to be done as soon and as discreetly as possible, I insist you to come to the bus station car park at one-thirty tonight. Yours sincerely, Toto Calucci.”

Toto Calucci! I instantly remembered the name as that of Filippo's son. I didn't like the tone of his note. It was the sort of thing that would have terrified the life out of me a week ago. The word “insist” said it all; it was a kind of code - either you come to the meeting or something bad will happen to you. Of course, threats don't work on me any more and I could have ignored the note completely, but I was curious to know what he wanted to discuss. The bus station garage in the middle of the night is a typical venue for this kind of meeting and although I should have been more suspicious, I wasn't.

I did consider the possibility that Toto knew more than he was letting on about what had happened to his father and that he was merely luring me out to get his revenge. Or rather to try and get his revenge. Naively, as it turned out, I didn't think Calucci Jr. would be able to rustle up more than a couple of guns. And what could a couple of guns do against me? Other than give me a little pleasure if aimed correctly. After a few moments' thought, I decided that I would attend the rendezvous. I thought that it might be interesting from a business point of view.

In fact, “interesting” turned out to be far too mild a word to describe the meeting. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Looking at the time on one of the beautiful and - naturally - expensive clocks I've recently "inherited" from my Uncle, I saw that it was already past one. If I had been planning to drive to the meeting, I would have needed to hurry. But as I was going to be travelling bird-style - but slightly faster - I had plenty of time to go upstairs and pick out an outfit. With the benefit of hindsight, I should have gone in just my invulnerable vest and panties, but I wasn't to know at the time. I’m superhuman. Not clairvoyant.

As it happened, I choose a pair of old jeans that I remembered as being quite tight the last time I wore them, which was before my transformation. Clearly, the genie's "adjustments" must have included a shrinking of my waist and a lengthening of my legs, because the trousers were loose and ended a little above my ankles. Making a mental note that I need to get hold of some new clothes, I compensated for the deficiencies of the jeans by adding a belt and fitting the bottom of the legs inside a pair of below-knee-length dark brown suede boots.

I had the opposite problem with the top I selected. It had been a fairly baggy T-shirt. Now it was straining at the seams as my chest, even though it was restrained by my vest, dramatically stretched out the red material. I checked myself out in the mirror. Considering the fact that the clothes barely fit me, I looked pretty stunning. Maybe not very business-like, but definitely very, very feminine.

When I thought it was time, I opened the big window of my new bedroom, lifted my feet off the floor, and floated on out. I flew slowly towards the bus station, partly to protect my clothes, which turned out to be a waste of time, and partly because I wasn't trying to be early. Toto could wait a minute or two for me, I thought. I'm not the sort of person who waits patiently for others. Not nowadays.

As I passed over the front of the deserted, closed-for-hours station, I caught a glimpse of the big digital clock that's mounted above the main entrance. "01:34" it read. Perfect!

I stayed in the air, continuing my flight-path over the main concourse of the station. Of course, unlike an aircraft, I’m silent in the air. And at night, I’m as good as invisible from the ground. So I could observe the scene down there, safe in the knowledge that I wasn’t going to be spotted.

There were four men standing in the middle of the concourse. Although I hadn’t seen Toto for years - well, since he was in his late teens - I was almost certain that I recognised him. But the other three were strangers to me. One of them, a tall, thin man, intrigued me. Even from that distance in the bad light, my marvellous vision revealed that he was dressed in a very expensive suit. Given his skinniness and the quality of his clothes, he was obviously not a run-of-the-mill hired thug. The remaining pair, however, with their more casual clothing and thick, squat bodies, could not have been anything other than rented muscle.

I paused in mid-air, hovering fifty feet above the quartet. Defying gravity so openly comes effortlessly to me now and I gave no thought to the feat. Instead, I concentrated on tuning my hearing into the conversation taking place below. Immediately, every syllable being spoken down there became crystal clear.

The tall man was speaking. I detected his thick American accent immediately. As well as his bad pronunciation, his overall command of our language was poor to say the least. I could only assume that he hadn’t spent much time this country.

“It is the one o'clock past five minutes." he said. "I said to you that she will not have come." The poor guy desperately needed some quiet time alone with a grammar book. I resisted the temptation to laugh at his crimes against the language as I didn’t want to announce my arrival. Yet.

"Relax,” said the man I thought was Toto. The sound of his voice was the final confirmation that I had correctly identified him. He sounded almost exactly like his father used to.

"She'll show.” Toto reassured the American. “She's playing a little game with us, making us wait. She thinks she's Tony Alto. Give the jumped-up broad another couple of minutes. She's probably been held up choosing what to wear. You know what dames are like!" he chuckled.

The American snorted in response. Then he resumed his one man assault on the language: "We are both knowing what they are saying that she has done. If the stories are not the lies, then I will say that this is not a subject of laughter. There is a lot of business in the stake here for you and also for me. And this woman Milena is the one that they say has already done much harm to us. We must be ending this situation tonight. Your men are knowing what they must do?"

I was intrigued. One thing was for sure, this was not going to be an everyday business meeting. I listened on.

"Cool it, John,” said Toto, “My men are the best."

"She has already killed good men, Toto,” the American pointed out. “Very good men.” What did that mean? Was that a reference to Fillipo?

Toto looked down at the ground. From his reaction to the American’s remarks, I could only assume that he did, indeed, know something about my role in his father’s demise. "That's why we aren't taking any chances,” Toto said, coldly. “I've pulled some very special strings for this one."

"I am hoping you are correct. These events are making me uncomfortable,” the tall man responded.

"Trust me.” Toto said, with palpable determination, “It'll be over soon. I have an ace up my sleeve."

If I was intrigued before, I was absolutely fascinated now. What on earth could that “ace” up Toto’s expensive silk sleeve be? Seeing that the conversation seemed to have reached a hiatus, I circled around the bus garage once more, checking to see if there was anyone else on the scene. I didn’t spot anyone. The clock now read “01:37”. I figured I’d made the men wait long enough for me. It was time to join them.

I didn’t want them to know about my ability to fly yet, so I descended silently, landing perfectly on my feet just outside a small side-entrance to the station that had been left open - presumably in my honour - and strolled confidently inside.

They were all facing away as I entered, so I called out "Good evening, gentlemen." As one, all four turned my way. With my superhuman senses I could follow the various reactions as they became aware of my beauty. The eight eyes widening. The gasps. The accelerating heartbeats. The shifting of legs trying to get comfortable in suddenly tighter trousers. I don't think I'll ever tire of seeing the effect of my appearance on men. I waited and watched as each of them drank me in, their gazes travelling the length of my body up and down and back again. Several times. They seemed especially fascinated by the contrast between my tiny narrow waist and the massive swell of my chest. Eventually, though, their eyes seemed to settle - predictably enough - on the small hint of the top of my cleavage that was visible above the neckline of my T-shirt.

"Milena? Is that you?" asked Toto, sounding confused. "You've changed!" he understated, dramatically.

"You don't know the half of it!" I told him, truthfully, with a smile that immediately set his heart-rate soaring. It was left to me to remind him why we were all there. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" I asked.

"Ah, yes," Toto began. Apparently it was hard for him to take first his mind and then his eyes off my breasts. Finally, he achieved the feat, indicating the tall American with his hand. "Milena, this is John King, a business associate of my late father from the U.S." Then, he had to wrench his gaze away from me entirely to complete the introduction. "John, this is Tony Alto's niece, Milena".

John King's narrow grey eyes had not flickered away from my torso for an instant. Even as he reached for my hand, he seemed unable to look elsewhere. "I am having a big pleasure for meeting you." he said. I was polite enough not to laugh at his clumsy words as I let him take my hand between his wrinkled, bony thumb and forefinger and kiss it with his dry lips. The fact that he seized the opportunity for some close-range ogling did not escape me. It also took him just a little too long to release my hand and stand back again.

Once the American was done, Toto rounded off his introductions. I was right about the other two. Toto didn't bother with their names, merely describing them as "associates". They grunted in acknowledgement and continued to stare at my upper body as if neither of them had ever seen a woman before. Maybe that was partly true: neither of them had ever seen a woman quite like me before. I played with their obsession, putting my hands casually behind me and arching my back slightly, making my big breasts even more prominent. I had to stop when I heard the stitching of my T-shirt begin to fail. "Nice to meet you, boys." I said. They grunted their own pleasantries back, directing them, of course, at my chest.

That's also where the American addressed the question "Are really you the nephew of the Mr. Tony Alto?"

Toto couldn't hide his embarrassment at the appallingly worded enquiry. I saw him glance briefly skyward in exasperation. I just laughed. After all that staring at my breasts, King should have realised that I was a niece, not a nephew.

"Yes, I'm Tony's niece." I replied, still chuckling.

Toto turned to his colleague and gave him a harsh glance that presumably was intended to say "Leave the talking to me." The American seemed to miss the gesture, however, as he was still focussed on me. "Mr King is a long-standing business partner of your Uncle and of my-" he paused, mid-sentence, and fixed me with a piercing eyeball-to-eyeball stare. It was, frankly, refreshing to receive a man's gaze on my eyes rather than lower down my body. I think the look was supposed to scare me, but of course, nothing scares me anymore. No doubt, men twice Toto's size have been terrified by that stare. I merely returned the gaze calmly and let Toto finish his sentence: "-recently departed father."

Clearly Toto did, indeed, believe that I was responsible for Fillipo's death, but I continued the innocent act. Besides, I hadn't deliberately set out to kill his father. He just got in my way. So as far as I'm concerned, I am, genuinely, innocent. At least as far as Fillipo Calucci is concerned. "I was sorry to hear of his passing." I told the son, quietly, my eyes not flickering from his.

"Normally, under these circumstances, I would be talking to your Uncle," Toto went on, his stare intensifying. I pretended not to notice. "But it seems he's made other arrangements. Quite unexpectedly." The way he uttered those last two words, they came across as nothing short of a direct accusation. Toto was a master of this game and I was pretty new at it, but not for a moment did I feel at a disadvantage. Even if no-one else there realised it, I knew that I was totally in charge of the situation.

To demonstrate how unconcerned I was by Toto's fiery gaze, I turned away from him and addressed the tall American, speaking patronisingly slowly as I explained: "I'm running Mr. Alto's affairs now."

"So I hear." said Toto, coldly. "That's what we wanted to discuss with you."

"Well," I remarked, airily, "it must be pretty urgent if it couldn't wait until morning. So, what do you boys want?"

"We'd like to ask you a few questions," Toto answered. "About your Uncle's.... ah, retirement."

I gave him a big broad grin, folding my arms smugly under my chest, intentionally presenting my big, round breasts even more breath-takingly as a result. I caught Toto stealing a lightning glance at my bosoms whilst he was trying to stare me down and winked at him when he restored his gaze to my eyes. That little victory of my sexual power over his self-control provoked him into trying to gain the upper hand.

"Milena," he started, feigning a conciliatory tone, "it's late. We're both very busy people. I have to be up early in the morning to supervise a building project I've invested in." Then, almost as though he was attempting a one-man version of the old nice guy / bad guy interrogation routine, he changed tone before continuing: "I want to make sure that no… ‘impurities’ get mixed in with the concrete."

It was such a thinly-veiled threat, I almost rolled my eyes. I'd practically grown up on stories of people who had crossed the Carlucci family ending up inside support pillars for road-bridges. What Toto was really saying was that he was going to kill me if I didn't tell him what he wanted to know. It was a kind of code for "last warning". Needless to say I ignored it completely. I just kept smiling contentedly. The thought of being encased in concrete only served to amuse me as I considered ways in which my powers could serve me in such a situation.

I could tell that my failure to show fear was beginning to annoy Toto. The calm diminished in his voice and anger crept in as he replied. "Tell me what happened to Tony. And to my father!"

That was it. The moment that all semblance of polite respect evaporated and the meeting became a confrontation. I didn't raise my voice, but I wasn't exactly grinning anymore as I said "So, have you got any business propositions for me or did you get me out here in the middle of the night just so that your friends could stare at my tits?" Immediately, the two goons looked away, more than a little embarrassed. John King, however, did not remove his gaze. I could only assume that he hadn't understood the slang I'd used.

"Oh, I got a proposition, alright." said Toto, through slightly gritted teeth. "I propose that you got something on your Uncle. Something big. Big enough to blackmail him into taking early retirement. That's YOUR family's business. There's something else that bothers me a whole lot more: MY family's business."

"Well," I said, flippantly, "then perhaps you should go and sort out YOUR family's business rather than wasting your time trying to chatting me up."

That did it. One provocation too many. He'd lost most of his cool now. His eyes burned with anger and his words were clipped. He cut to the chase: "What do you know about my father's death?"

"Not much, Toto." I lied, with a shrug that caused my large heavy breasts to bounce spectacularly. My T-shirt only survived because it was protected by the incalculable restraining power of my thin, clingingly tight, magic vest. Once again, my body had succeeded in distracting Toto and I let him know that I had noticed by shaking my shoulders to cause another man-melting movement of my perfect mounds.

"You just can't help looking, can you Toto?" I teased him, beamingly smugly.

I claimed victory in the psych-battle as Toto, embarrassed by his inability not to check out my awesome curves, tried to claim the moral high ground and change the subject all at once. "Enough bullshit!" he shouted. He lowered his voice, struggling to keep a lid on his temper. "My men say you stole my father's boat. He was in a meeting with your Uncle when you showed up. They said something knocked them out. An hour later, my father has vanished without trace, Tony's getting picked up in a rowing boat by the coastguard and you're telling my father's bodyguards that the boat is yours. Then, the very next morning, the cops pulled my father's body out of the sea."

"That’s some story! And you believe a couple of hairy-knuckled oafs?" I asked.

Toto was almost trembling with fury as he nailed my frivolous defence. "I spoke to your Uncle, Milena. He told me everything." Confirmation at last! Toto knew. I could drop the pretence.

"I don't know what you did to your Uncle," Calucci Jr. went on, "but all of a sudden the great Tony Alto is chickenshit. He doesn't want anything to do with his business anymore. 'Leave her alone, Toto.' he tells me. 'There's nothing you can do about it.' All kinds of fairy-tales about you. But I'm not listening to a cracked-up has-been hiding out in a filthy motel because he's scared of a woman!"

"That's your mistake, Toto," I said. "You should have listened."

"The only mistake was the one you made when you killed my father!" Toto shouted again. The gloves were well-and-truly off now. He took a moment to regain control of himself once more. "You got a lot of nerve coming here, unprotected. Either you really are bullet-proof, or you're a complete idiot, and I know I what I'd put my money on." He chuckled at his own weak joke. The American glanced at him for a moment and then began laughing too, in a forced way which suggested he hadn't really understood and was trying to look as if he had.

"Why don't you find out?" I teased, "Or is that not a gun I can see in your trousers?" I couldn't help it. I was beginning to enjoy myself with Toto.

"Bitch!" he shouted. But I was right. It was a gun in his trousers. He whipped it out with well-practised speed. To me, the swift, expert movement seemed excruciatingly slow. I could have flown home, changed outfit and returned to the bus garage in the time it took Toto to point the pistol at the space between my eyes. The end of the barrel was only about two metres from my face. Unmissable range, even for a man choked with fury.

To say that I had plenty of time to grab the gun from him before he shot would be a massive understatement. I'm so fast these days that I had time to grab the bullet from the air after he pulled the trigger. But that would not have sent the right message. So instead, I tensed my muscles in the opposite way to when I fly to root myself to the spot and merely stood and waited for the shot to hit. Finally, the lump of lead reached my face and hit with a "ping!" sound. The tip of it pressed against the bridge of my nose, trying to burrow into my head but it couldn't even bruise my skin. The feeling was a bit like a single drop of light rain hitting my face. I couldn't see the bullet crumpling up against me because it was right between my eyes, but I could see it bouncing away once its momentum had been fully defeated. By then, it looked like a big, fat coin. I let it spin away and land a couple of meters to the side of me.

Toto, the American and the two goons turned to stare at the flattened slug. Then they looked back at me. Toto seemed to be studying my face, looking for signs of damage. Of course there were none. None whatsoever. I raised an eyebrow, as if to say "Did you just shoot me? Because I didn't really notice…"

I already knew that Toto was from the "Got a problem? Shoot it. Still got the problem? Shoot it again."-school. So, there was absolutely no surprise when he squeezed his trigger for a second time. Either he was even angrier now, or perhaps a little nervous. Something was making him shake. His aim the second time was a little off. Instead of hitting the space between my eyes, his shot flew - slowly - towards the exact centre of my right eyeball. I decided not to dodge it. I didn't even blink, despite the instinctive desire to do so. The bullet touched the surface of my eye. It didn't hurt. It didn't smart. It was a curious sensation that passed very briefly. Not pleasant, but far from uncomfortable. The vision in that eye remained perfect throughout.

My eyeballs must be very slightly elastic. Instead of crumpling up against the cover of my pupil, the thing bounced away from my eye only slightly squashed. It seemed to be travelling only slightly slower than it arrived. Toto was quite lucky. The ricocheting bullet whistled over his shoulder, close to his ear, moving fast enough to have killed him. He didn't seem to notice however, until it landed with a dull "Clang!" on the ground about twenty metres behind him. He whirled around in response to the sound, but I guess that, unlike me, he couldn't see its resting place in the dark. Quickly, he turned back to look at me. All the confident aggression had vanished from his features. He looked confused. And scared. I gave him a warm, smile, flashing my perfect teeth.

"What the fuck...?" Toto mumbled, staring. His jaw hung open as he tried to come to terms with what he had just witnessed. Meanwhile the American started to back nervously away from me. The two goons glanced uncertainly at their boss and then at me and then at each other. They obviously had no idea what to do. Fortunately for them, Toto was one of those men who always knew which course of action to take in a crisis: violence. He turned to the pair of muscle-heads. "Hit her!" he ordered.

They stepped towards me in unison. So lumbering! I briefly considered eliminating them from the equation before they could land their blows. It would have been so easy. But I couldn't resist letting them try and hurt me. Especially when I saw that they had made a fist each which they were intending to drive simultaneously into my belly. I held myself still and waited for their oversized knuckles to slam into my flat stomach. Both fists impacted on my T-shirt at the same time. The two goons' faces betrayed the fact that neither of them had held anything back from their punches, but to me it felt as if I'd been touched by the tip of a feather. It must have felt very different for the two men, however.

We all heard the "Crunch!" as the bones in their hands dissolved on contact with my abdomen. There is just no give there. Nothing but taut, flawless skin over remarkably solid, harder-than-diamond muscle. Two loud, masculine screams tore through the night as the fists, now hopelessly shattered , fell away. The men clutched their busted hands to their own bellies, doubling over with the agony and staggering backwards. They were too busy suffering in agony to notice the triumphant grin I was wearing.

Toto, however, did see my smile. "What kind of shit are you trying to pull here, bitch?" he asked, now - quite obviously - more than a little scared.

"Oh, that's nothing!" I told him, honestly. To prove the point, I went on: "Look what else I can do!" Stepping forward and reaching out, I grabbed one goon by the throat with each of my hands. At first, they were too wrapped up nursing their ruined fists to notice. But, unsurprisingly, when I gripped tight and hoisted the pair of them off the ground by stretching my arms overhead, they soon directed their attention my way. It's still a wonderful sight to see a big man - and these were very "big" men - dangling helplessly at the end of my slender arm. Two at once is an ever better sight. Particularly when contrasted with the complete lack of strain that I could feel in the muscles that were supporting all that weight.

The two men struggled to secure their release. They kicked at me, smashing their heavy shoes into my shins, but I felt next-to-nothing. Weary of trying to punch my stomach again, they tried slapping my face with their uninjured hands. The repeated strikes were too light to be considered as caresses, but I noticed, with delight, that each attempt caused their palms to become more and more bruised until, pretty soon, they were forced to abandon all attempts to hit me with their hands. Perhaps their toes were also bruising inside their shoes, because the futile kicking died down rapidly as well. In the end they were reduced to trying to bite my arms. I couldn't really feel the teeth closing about my flesh, but the presence of blood on my forearms - not mine, of course - and a couple of dislodged teeth, were evidence that they had really gone for it.

Nothing sticks to my skin and the crimson liquid dripped off, leaving my perfect flesh unmarked. Meanwhile the two goons appeared completely defeated, their hands and feet and mouths wounded. I don't know if they were too hurt to struggle any more or simply exhausted by their efforts, but they weren't even trying to get free any more. All their efforts had amounted to nothing more than waste of their time. Time that was, unbeknown to them, extremely precious.

For a moment, I just stood there, motionless, triumphantly holding up the two defeated thugs, letting them hang from my relaxed, but inescapable grasp. I noted Toto's shocked expression as he gawped at me and my stunning body and the demonstration of what it can do. I also overheard the American muttering something incomprehensible in English. My ears could clearly make out the sounds, but I never learnt more than three words of English in school, so I have no idea what he was saying. He was still, ridiculously slowly and extremely cautiously, trying to edge further from me.

An effortless bending of my arms brought the two goons towards me. I pulled their faces up close to mine, manoeuvring them as though they weighed a few grams rather than nearly two hundred kilos between them. "Say goodbye to Toto, boys,” I told them, cheerily. Then I opened my arms out straight once more, releasing the two men as I did so, the gentle movement of my slender arms enough to fling each man away from me with such force that both of them peaked over thirty meters up and neither landed less than two hundred meters away. They screamed as they flew, but the yells were cut off by the dull distant thuds of their final impacts.

Dusting my hands off theatrically, I turned to face Toto and placed them on my hips. He responded to the realisation that he had become my focus of attention by taking a nervous half-step backwards. I could see he was scared. Really scared. Of me. I was already beginning to think about what I was going to do with him, when, suddenly, he shouted "Now, men!"

Behind me, I heard the scraping sound of one of those metal roll-up garage doors being raised open. My first thought was that I should’ve expected him to stash a bunch of guys like that. Then I thought "Oh well, if I’m going to get another set of clothes ruined, at least these guys have probably brought some nice guns to give me some fun along the way."

I turned around to take a look and found myself face to face with a full-size, military tank! I was stunned by the sheer scale of it. Wider than a bus, and much taller than me, it did make me feel small for a fraction of a second. That feeling was very quickly replaced by a rush of excitement as I began to think about the unexpected opportunity to test my superpowers against such a mighty, imposing war machine.

I could not resist showing off my confidence. Over my shoulder I complimented Toto on his remarkable hospitality. “Wow, Toto! I'm impressed." I said. "Where did you get THAT from?”

“Mr. King and I have a lot of influential friends,” he boasted. “Perhaps you should have considered them as well before sticking your pretty nose into other people's business.”

I heard the huge vehicle’s engines firing up, their sheer power reverberating through the ground and introducing an element of self-doubt into my thoughts once again. And then, rumbling like an angry dragon, the tank started trundling forwards out of the garage where it had been hidden. It truly was huge. And it was heading right towards me. I must have looked so tiny in comparison with its massive, ever-nearing presence. For a moment, I considered taking to the air and getting the hell away from it as quickly as possible.

But I hesitated. Since my transformation I’d let more than one car crumple up against my skin after a high-speed collision without feeling any discomfort at all. The jet-planes I’d let crash into me at hundreds of miles an hour had been pretty big objects too. They hadn’t hurt me, even when they’d exploded on impact. In fact, nothing had managed to hurt me since my encounter with the genie. The more I thought about it, the less I feared the awesome war machine. And the more I became curious to test its mighty engines against my own power.

So instead of fleeing, I remained right where I was, letting the tank noisily approach. The cannon was pointed straight ahead, perfectly aligned with me. As it lumbered closer, I found myself staring at the huge, long steel cylinder protruding from the turret.

I didn’t have long to amuse myself thinking about what the giant tube reminded me of. A couple of loud metallic clanks inside the machine were followed by a big, bright, white flash of light at the end of the barrel. I knew exactly what was happening, but I still found myself catching my breath a moment later as the actual shell emerged amidst the smoke. It looked so large and heavy and I knew it had to be packed with explosives.

A split-second passed before rational thought kicked in. I thought back to all the high-powered bullets and grenades and air-to-air rockets that had tried and failed to hurt me. Not to mention the torpedo that I enjoyed at sea. So many delicious feelings! And the tank-shell floating apparently so slowly towards me as I watched it using my superhuman speed powers promised to be even more exciting than anything I’d already experienced.

I licked my lips in anticipation, bracing myself with my hands on my hips and my big, prominent chest thrust out. Then I used my flying abilities to anchor myself to the spot so that the shell wouldn’t knock me back.

It was heading towards my right shoulder and I made no effort whatsoever to duck under it as I could easily have done. I was right not to try and evade the missile. It struck me at the very top of my arm, with all the force and insistency of someone tapping me there with a finger to get my attention. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as for a few instants, the solid tip of the shell began to reshape itself around the invulnerable contours of my shoulder. Then, inevitably, it detonated.

The entire shell dissolved into a million small, red-hot, razor-sharp fragments. Many of them struck my chin and the side of my face, the myriad impacts feeling like a series of gentle touches. Still more shrapnel slammed downwards into the top portion of my chest, especially the upper curves of my right breast, before bouncing off. More pieces pinged away from the outer ridge of my right mound, the combined sensation like a lover’s firm caress. Within a fraction of a second my t-shirt was burnt and torn to shreds. But none of the steel fragments could mark my magic vest or the flawless skin beneath.

I pulled the few remaining scraps of T-shirt from my body and tossed them aside. I was confident I’d find a way to make Toto and his Yankee friend pay for it later. Over the noise of the rumbling tank engine, I could hear the two men shuffling behind me, clearly trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and me without attracting my attention. They’d failed in the second part of their task. With my superhuman hearing, I knew exactly where they were, even though my back was turned on them.

Returning my hands to my hips, I leant a little forward so that my breasts, now partly displayed as the T-shirt was gone and my invulnerable vest is fairly low-cut, were even more eye-catching. “Is that all you’ve got boys?” I called. I was still facing the tank, but the question was equally meant for Toto and the American, as well as the mysterious crew inside the vehicle.

My sensitive ears picked up the sound of Toto whispering to the American, as though he were answering my question: "I told the men, if the first round doesn't work, use the one with the black tip. It's supposed to be armour-piercing. It must be good - they cost thousands each."

It was all I could do not to rub my hands together with anticipatory glee when, moments later, I heard the same clanking noises inside the tank that I'd noticed just before the first round was fired. Once more I heard the bang of launch and calmly watched for the flash of light that followed. With my superhuman speed, I could observe at my leisure the cloud of smoke and, finally, the shell itself emerging from the end of the behemoth's barrel. To my delight, the tapered front end of the missile was, indeed, painted black. The "armour piercing" round!

The shell appeared to be floating gently towards me. Of course, in reality, it was actually rocketing at me, but I had all the time I needed to anticipate its trajectory. I calculated that it was on course to strike the upper right portion of my abdomen. So I bent forwards at the waist, leaning my upper body a little to the right. This had the double effect of increasing the amount of dramatic, firm cleavage I was displaying as well as aligning the centre of my magnificent chest with the black tip of the incoming explosive.

Finally, it reached me. I was perfectly positioned. The rounded end of the long, cylindrical warhead entered about two centimetres into the valley between my big, spherical breasts until the widening casing touched the inside of both of my mounds simultaneously. I lost myself in the sheer eroticism of the moment as the shell tried to bury itself in my deep cleavage, the super-dense nose of it nuzzling my breasts, pressing itself between them with hundreds of times more power than any man could summon.

Of course, the missile didn't get very far. My chest is far, far too firm to accommodate even a state-of-the-art, anti-tank rocket. Soon enough, the thing found it could push my heavy orbs apart no further. I looked down, watching as the front portion of the shell began to deform, the thick metal, designed to punch through military armour, proving utterly unable to dent my supposedly soft, womanly flesh. My breasts retained their perfect shape, defying the destructive power of the warhead as it started to crumple against my chest in complete defeat.

And that's when it detonated. A wave of searing heat burst over the top of my breasts, heating the surface of my mounds to thousands of degrees and sending tingles of pure delight through my torso. Then came the blast; a tremendous burst of explosive force which tore the thick metal casing of the shell into countless superheated fragments. Travelling at huge initial velocities, most of these fragments did not get far before they pressed into the unmoving, invulnerable flesh of my chest. Some of the pieces got deep into my cleavage, bouncing around between the two round walls of impenetrable flesh and caressing the sensitive inside curves of my breasts. Other pieces of shrapnel pinged from my chin and my nose, like a series of soft touches on my face, adding to the intense sensations from my chest. I threw my head back, moaning in the sheer delight of the thousands of simultaneous stimulations taking place over my body.

The feeling lasted long after the explosion was spent and my skin had cooled once more. In fact, I was still enjoying the afterglow of the delightful tingling in my chest when I heard the now familiar "Clank! Clank!" sound from within the tank, telling me that a third shell was being loaded. I reacted to the noise in an almost pavlovian way, a thrill of pure excitement ripping through me. After all, the previous two occasions that I'd heard the sound had ended with physical delight.

This time I decided to do something slightly different with the shell that - to me - seemed to drift out of the machine's cannon. Following its relatively slow - relative to me, that is - progress towards me, I lazily reached out with my right hand to catch it out of the air. It was moving at terrific speed, but I was so much faster still. I was careful, firstly not to bring the missile to too abrupt a stop and secondly not to crush its casing with the fingers I used to grip it. I didn't want it to explode until I was ready for it.

I managed to pluck the round out of the air successfully, without detonating it. I knew the thing had probably been quite heavy for the men who had loaded it inside the tank, but to me it felt weightless resting in my petite right hand. I lifted my arm, bringing the shell up to the shelf of my bosom. Then, I brought my free left hand up to the top of my chest. Extending two fingers, I plunged them deep into the dramatic valley of my cleavage and used them to prise my big, heavy breasts apart. My delicate-looking digits proved far more adept at separating my mounds then the previous tank-round had been and I continued to hold my cleavage open with those fingers as I used my right hand to ram the shell I'd just captured deep into the gap between my mounds.

Once I was satisfied that I had forced the missile as far as it could go into my cleavage, I removed the fingers that had levered my mounds away from each other. The superhuman firmness and elasticity of my chest immediately caused my chest to close together again, my womanly flesh unimpeded by the presence of a large tank-shell. My large, round breasts simply crushed the end of the rocket almost flat between them, the thick steel no match for their strength and power. There was nothing the shell could do against my chest. Nothing, except explode.

My breasts absorbed the vast bulk of the immense heat and energy of the blast. The crushed and now exploded casing had nowhere to go as it was already tightly wedged in my cleavage, so all the force of the detonation was spent on massaging my flawless mounds. It was all I could do not to scream with the sheer pleasure of it all. I felt ripples of delight flowing through my being and closed my eyes, hugging my breasts with my arms as I let the beautiful sensation fill my mind for an all-too-brief couple of seconds.

I let out a sigh as the feeling began to subside and let my hands fall to my sides once again. I looked down at the top of my chest, and saw smoke still rising from my tingling cleavage. Noticing a small piece of steel shrapnel that had been jammed between my breasts, I used a hand to pull it out and toss it casually away. Aside from that, there was no other sign of the recent explosions on my beautiful body. The flawless feminine flesh of my mounds was completely unmarked. There wasn't even a tiny smudge of soot anywhere to be seen.

I could not resist calling my thanks over my shoulder to the man who had unwittingly arranged for me to receive such a treat. "Oh Toto!" I enthused, "That was a lovely surprise!"

Toto didn't answer me. Craning my neck backwards, I was able to see him standing as if frozen to the spot. The shock of what he had just witnessed - me clearly enjoying myself as I absorbed the awesome destructive power of three successive shells, mostly with the big breasts that so fascinated him and his little entourage - had stunned him into silent inaction. That was amusing in itself, but by then I was fully in the mood for more fun.

I turned back to the tank itself, the smile on my face wider than ever. "Hey! In there!" I called out, hoping the crew could hear me, "You got any more of those nice party toys?"

Apparently, they didn't. Maybe Toto's budget had only stretched to three shells. Maybe he hadn't imagined, even for an instant, that anything could survive as much as three. As it happened, not only had I survived, but I was disappointed they didn't seem to have any more. Instead, they had a different trick planned for me. While I waited in vain for the clanking sound of another shell being loaded into the canon, the tank's engines roared and the enormous vehicle began to trundle forwards. It took a few seconds, during which the war machine steadily built up speed, for me to realise what was going on. They were going to try and run me down!

For the briefest moment, I felt a shiver of intimidation. The huge scale of the tank, the way it was accelerating, looming down on me and dwarfing my slender body, all made me wonder if I was safe standing in its path. But the memory of the trio of shells leaving me unscratched, not to mention all the other "big" and "powerful" things that I've seen crumpling uselessly against my invulnerable body, gave me confidence. And the thought that I might - just might - emerge as the physical superior in a test of strength with the mighty behemoth, filled me with anticipation. My mind was set. I decided to stand my ground and face the tank down. I put my hands defiantly on my shapely hips and thrust out my generous, proud chest, staring directly at the advancing machine.

In the harshly-lit-night-time bus garage, it was easy to think of the huge tank that shook the ground as it lumbered towards me, its powerful engines roaring, as some kind of dinosaur or mythical monster. In stature at least, it dominated me as it came close. By then, I was sure enough of my own abilities not to feel intimidated. But I couldn't help the brief sensation of unease as the open end of the thing's cannon, leading the way for the tank itself, passed over the crown of my head. It looked so big up close. So long and rigid, proudly extending from the turret. If the tank was a monster in my imagination, it was an indisputably male monster. And its rampant sex was looming, unchallenged, over my head.

It was time - in my mind anyway - for a display of feminine power. I raised my right hand, leaving the left still resting on my hip on the other side of my body, and, opening my fingers, reached up for the smooth wide steel cylinder passing above. Quickly, I closed my hand around it, gripping it with all four fingers on top of the tube and my thumb beneath. There was a tremendous, almost animal-like squeal, as the metal collapsed, feeling to me as though it were made of a single sheet of aluminium foil. I removed my hand straight away, and only then did I see that, in fact, the cannon was constructed from two-centimetre thick solid steel. Now, it was crushed flat about a third of the way from the end. As a weapon, I'd rendered it completely useless in a fraction of a second. I'd not even felt it resisting my pretty girl-fingers. I find myself grinning, thinking of the sound when I had squeezed - my "monster" screaming as I badly injured a very sensitive part of his body…

All the while I was daydreaming, the main body of the tank was almost upon me. I decided to - literally - grab the chance of a final bit of cannon-humiliation. This time, I grasped a little less tight, and instead of squashing the pipe flat, I gave it a sharp twist by turning my dainty but massively strong wrist. Screech! An ugly sound, but the ease with which I tore the bulk of the barrel clean away from the tank thrilled me. I was left holding the loose length of canon in my right hand. My left had not moved from its station on my hip, naturally. Casually, I tossed the two-meter cylinder over my shoulder. A second later, I heard a mighty crash followed by a prolonged rumble. It was almost loud enough to drown out the racket of the tank itself - now just centimetres from me. Without looking back, I knew from the sounds that I'd thrown the torn-off canon through a wall and probably another wall behind that.

I had other things to pre-occupy me, however. The tank actually picked up a little bit of extra speed after I'd unburdened it of its big gun and, roaring away with insistent fury, it came at me. Once again, I used the reverse technique to flying to hold myself in position, just as the gap between mighty war machine and me vanished. The motors in that thing were loud, alright, but nowhere near as loud as the "Clank!" of the front of the tank hitting my bare knees. I glanced down, but my view was obscured by my jutting chest. I could feel something pressing, not uncomfortably hard, into my kneecaps. And I could see the rest of the tank in front of me. The huge metal beast was shuddering. But it was not advancing. The engine-noise grew in pitch, the motors complaining of the strain they were being forced to exert. I could hear the pitter-patter of debris and see the rising cloud of dust being kicked up at the back of the treads on either side of the giant vehicle - signs that the tank was trying to move forwards. I was surprised by how easily my knees seemed to be holding out. I felt I could stand like that, holding thousands and thousands of horsepower at bay, all week.

And then I started to wonder. If cancelling out the huge tank's momentum and matching the power of its mighty engines came so easily to me, just how strong am I in comparison? The thought really grabbed me and I felt a rush of excitement as I considered how I might test myself against the war machine. I decided on the obvious first.

Letting my knees continue to take the "strain" of halting the vehicle's advance - although I could hardly call it that as it certainly didn't feel like "strain" - I placed the palms of my hands flat against the front of the tank. The strong vibrations I sensed in my finger tips were a reminder of the size and supposed power of the engines I was pitting myself against. The idea that I might overcome machinery on that scale spurred me into beginning my experimentations. Slowly, carefully, full of curiosity, I started to push the two hands touching the front of the behemoth away from me.

The result was breathtaking.

As I straightened my arms, the tank immediately moved back away from my knees. The whining of the engines, rising to a manic pitch and the increasing strength of the fountains of dirt and dust being thrown up at the rear of the huge thing were the only indications that it was trying to resist me. Before my transformation, I used to find three-quarters empty supermarket trolleys harder to push than this mass of military machinery that was actively fighting against me. It was almost effortless. I just calmly pressed the tank backwards - against the will of its controller - until it was at arm's length from me.

Delighted with what I had just proved, I removed my hands from the front of the vehicle. Immediately, without my dainty palms and slender arms to prevent it, the tank shot forwards at full speed. It managed less than a meter. Then it encountered my knees once again. Clank! Roar of engines. Spumes of dust at the back. But no forward movement. My knees, comfortably, held firm.

It was all going so well! And I was gaining ever more confidence in my powers with every passing second. Keen to keep experimenting, and remembering how easy it had been to force the monster back the first time, I thought I'd try it with just one arm. I chose my right - because I'm right-handed - so my left hand was superfluous. I put it on my hip. Then I positioned my right hand flush against the front of the tank. I was too excited to wait. I started to push. Again, the motors protested audibly. Again, the spraying of particles from the rear of the treads intensified. Again, the tank was forced backwards. I was surprised. I didn't expect the feat to be just as effortless with one hand as it had been with two. I looked down at my arm, its skin so smooth and flawless. So slim, so shapely. I glanced along its length to my petite hand. So feminine. And further on, to the massive machine that my arm was overpowering.

So strong… So amazingly, wonderfully, gloriously strong!

I held the thing back with my right hand for a few seconds until, mostly to prove to myself that the engines were indeed trying to work against me, I let my arm fall to my side. The monster sounded genuinely relieved as its was freed to surge forward. But of course, my knees were waiting for it. Once the tank reached them, the engines, for all their noise, were useless.

Of course, after that, I had to try the same trick with just my left hand. I don't know if my left is any weaker than my right now that I'm super, but I do know that when it comes to driving back dozens of tons of military hardware, there was no discernable difference between doing it with my right or my left. Whichever hand I used, I found it completely easy. I forced the tank to go backwards with my left arm, held it away from me for a while and then dropped my arm, letting the machine lurch forwards until it slammed hopelessly against my legs. My body felt so good, I was sure I could have repeated the exercise a hundred times without tiring.

But I wasn't in the mood for repetitions. By the sixth time I'd pushed the thing back, alternating using my left and right arms, I was getting bored. I decided to try something else. With the vehicle's forward movement prevented by my right hand, I experimentally began lifting my fingers off the front of it, one by one, and curling them into my palm until only my extended index finger was left pressing against the tank. No other part of my body was touching the mighty machine yet still it was not moving. I was holding it back, the engines fighting all the while, with nothing more than a single finger! My solitary digit was displaying more strength than a massive and deadly piece of military hardware. No wonder I felt awesome!

When I removed my finger, the tank advance on me once more. This time, instead of letting it "Clank!" into my knees, I held out the little finger of my left hand and waiting for the vehicle to hit that instead. I could feel the machine pushing against the tiny tip of that finger, but I never felt that my little digit was struggling to hold out. Never mind one arm, I was now showing my superiority over the tank with only my smallest finger. It looked so ridiculous, that tiny part of me keeping the huge device in check. It started me laughing. Laughing at the sheer ease of it.

By this point, any fear or respect I might have had for the monster had completely vanished. I was amusing myself by finding new ways to humiliate him. Playfully, without too much conscious thought on my part, I withdrew my fingertip and let the tank charge at me again. Before it got to me, however, I bent my right index finger behind my thumb and then flicked the face of the behemoth with it, just as I might have flicked a pea off the dinner table before I met the genie. But the tank was an awful lot bigger and heavier than any pea. My invulnerable fingernail made a mighty "Clang!" and put a deep, if small, dent in the vehicle's armour. Much more impressively, the armour and the entire machine it was attached to, responded to my casual flick by jumping twenty centimetres into the air and flying about twenty meters backwards. It landed with a massive crash that seemed to shake the earth.

The instant the tank's rotating treads made contact with the dusty ground, it began to jerk forwards again, building up speed as it prepared to make yet another attempt at flattening me. I waited with my finger at the ready to give it another flick, this time, as it were, on the volley. The "Clang!" was even louder this time, the dent in the thick metal all the more pronounced, and the tank's little flight - covering nearly forty meters and carrying the wheels a whole meter above the dirt at its peak - was spectacular. And I'd barely even felt the contact with my finger as it effortlessly tossed the gigantic monster away!

The thing made the whole bus station shudder as it crashed back down. A moment later, the treads had got a grip once more and it was speeding forwards at me, apparently a glutton for further punishment. I put my hands dominantly onto my hips, pushing out my big breasts in triumph, just laughing with delight at my total superiority and let the massive vehicle crash noisily but ineffectively into my knees. Several seconds passed while it pressed uselessly at me and I continued to chuckle. Then I heard a new, sharp metallic crunching sound from within the tank. It took me a moment to work out what it could be.

Of course! They were changing gear. Confirmation arrived a second later when the barely registerable pressure on my knees disappeared altogether and the vehicle started to reverse away from me. I wasn't sure if the crew were planning to pull back so that they could take yet another run at me or if they'd decided that they'd had enough and were trying to make an exit. Either way, I was not prepared to let them do it.

My initial reaction was to grab hold of the nearest part of the tank and see if I could just hold it still while its engines fought to pull away from me. But when I glanced down I saw there were no hand-holds in the flat armour-plate. Nowhere to grip. The only features in the metal plain were the dents made by my flicking finger a few moments before. I quickly realised that if I wanted to get a good hold of the monster, I was going to have to create my own grip-point.

I had no idea how thick the armour was when I punched it. I liked the huge "Bang!" as my hand hit and began to plough through the front of the tank. Encouraged by the noticeable, but hardly uncomfortable resistance my small fist met, I continued to drive my knuckles through the steel until I felt them emerging, unhindered, inside the belly of the beast. I'd buried my arm almost up to the elbow in solid metal. I know I could easily have punched a lot harder, but I didn't need to. Designed to withstand the deadliest and most advanced munitions, the wall of the machine had yielded like soft butter to my slender arm. I couldn't help the smile of satisfaction that spread across my face.

Now I had a perfectly-sized handle. I opened the fingers of the fist still within the tank and curled them around the inside edge of the new hole I'd installed. A crescendo of engine noises, rising in pitch, told of the motors’ latest struggles. I had succeeded, with very little effort, in halting the vehicle's movement for the umpteenth time. After a moment, an ever-taller column of dirt sprayed up either side of me where the treads, now working in reverse, were desperately attempting, and failing, to get any kind of grip that could challenge the strength of my arm. Little pieces of stone were kicked up at me by the futile efforts of the tracks, only to shatter to powder against my invulnerable body. But nothing could break my hold on the monster.

I started to bend my arm, a process which shortened the distance between the hand gripping the tank and my body. Aside from the crazy whine of motors and the frantic spewing of particles by the treads, I hardly noticed any extra resistance as I dragged the entire, massive machine towards me, completely at my leisure. When I relaxed my arm, the treads immediately re-established their grip on the ground and began to pull the tank away from me. Until, that is, my arm became straight again and any further movement was denied. Instead the engine-moaning and dirt-fountaining resumed anew.

Ignoring the protests of the beast, I began bending my arm once more, this time not only drawing the front of the tank towards me, but also, slowly, lifting my hand so that the near end of the treads rose about fifteen centimetres from the ground. Even though I was now supporting a considerable portion of the immense weight of the thing, my hand felt quite comfortable. So I continued to raise my arm, lifting the front of the machine higher and higher until the entire vehicle was at about a thirty-degree angle. Still the engines battled in vain to drag the tank away from me. I continued to resist their pull effortlessly.

Pondering what to do to the monster next, I decided on trying to slowly twist my tiny wrist whilst it was holding one end of the thing aloft. This time I did feel some strain in my muscles, but it passed after a second or two. Then I heard a resonating, low, groaning sound as I began to exert forces on the frame of the vehicle which its designers could never have anticipated. The creaking intensified and I took it as encouragement, continuing to turn my wrist until I saw the entire left side of the tank, tread and wheels and all, separate from the ground. It was so easy! The more I turned, the more the tank began to tilt. I kept going until the whole behemoth was almost on its side, only the rear right corner of it on terra firma. I would have expected my delicate-looking wrist to tire after exerting such awesome power, but I felt absolutely fine.

There was no doubt who had won the duel between me and the tank. All that was left for me to do at that point was to complete my long-since inevitable victory. With my right hand taking all the weight of the front of the vehicle now, I stretched that arm fully over my head, lifting the monster's nose another thirty centimetres into the air, and exposing quite a bit of the underneath of his belly to my gaze. I quickly spotted a section of chassis a little over a meter down that looked structurally secure and gripped it firmly with my left hand until I felt the steel deforming in my fist and loosened my grasp a little. I needed that bit of tank intact for what I wanted to do next.

Making sure that my left arm was ready to take the weight, I released the fingers of my right hand, and pulled them out of the hole I'd made. The monster groaned loudly as so much of its bulk shifted from being supported by one of my hands to the other, but the transition was easy enough. Immediately, I set about reaching with my freed right arm for another hand-hold, this time nearer the centre of the chassis. I found one that seemed ideal and secured my hand around it.

I was already holding up one end of the tank, so I calculated that all I needed to do to lift the whole behemoth completely off the road was to take the weight of the other end too. In terms of leverage, my right had was not best placed for the job. As I pressed upwards with it, I could feel the forces pushing back against me. But whereas I knew that those forces had a limit, my own strength feels utterly unlimited. The tank's frame almost screamed under the strain as I forced my will onto it, raising my right hand, lifting the far end of the monster into the air. To my delight, it seemed to become easier the more I straightened my arms above me until, triumphantly, I held both my arms over my head. And resting on them, the whole, mighty, shuddering tank, its treads still spinning uselessly.

I might have looked rather small beneath that monster, but I did not feel small. I felt powerful. Unopposable. I knew it was my slender arms and my beautiful body that was keeping the tank off the ground. The same tank whose main weapon had done no more than stimulate me before I'd casually disarmed it. The same tank whose engines I'd bested with a solitary finger. The tank that Toto had ordered in, especially in my honour. And here I was, holding it above my head like a weightlifter’s victory pose. The tank that, I can only assume, was supposed to have killed me. But there wasn't a scratch anywhere on my body. The only damage I'd sustained was to my clothes: my T-shirt had been destroyed and my jeans, which I was still wearing, were badly singed. My magic vest and my body itself were not even dirty.

As I paraded the tank above my head, I glanced down at the top of the shelf of my chest, looking at the smooth round curves of the upper portions of my breasts which were once more on display thanks to the low neckline of my vest. Even though these softest parts of my anatomy had absorbed the brunt of three exploding shells, there was not a scratch to be seen on my feminine mounds. Not even a bruise. Just flawless, beautifully rounded flesh. I realised that I and my cargo must have made for a remarkable sight. It would have been a shame if Toto and his American friend had missed it.

I'd been aware of them both shuffling around behind me whilst I'd been toying with the tank. I could follow the sounds of their respective heartbeats, even above the whine of the tank's engines, by occasionally tuning my super-hearing to them. Without having to keep visual track of the pair, I'd known where each of them was to within about a meter all the time. I'd heard them initially running from me when the tank had first emerged. I'd heard the American diving to the ground when the first shell had been fired at me. When I tossed the detached cannon behind me, and it crashed through a wall, I heard Toto's gasp of shock amongst the sounds of falling debris.

Now I could hear the two men, behind and to the left of me, slowly creeping, step by step. I think they were hoping to slip out of the garage unnoticed. But they were not doing a very good job of it. I could hear the fibres of their clothes rubbing together. I could hear the tiny sounds the soles of their shoes made each time they took a step. I could hear their pounding hearts. I could hear their rasping breathing, even though, no doubt, they were making every effort to be silent.

I decided to turn and face them. Of course I had to rotate carefully. Every tiny movement of my lithe body was matched by a huge movement of the massive tank still resting on my palms. The huge monster had no choice but to move through nearly one hundred and eighty degrees to finish facing the opposite direction. A couple of load creaks from the chassis I was supporting served as reminders of the scale of the task my arms were performing, but I managed to turn around completely without the tank, looming over my head, losing balance. Finally I stood facing the startled figures of Toto Carlucci and his foreign friend, both frozen mid-step on their way to the nearest exit, like rabbits paralysed in the headlamps of a car. The tank, its mammoth weight resting comfortably on my hands, had never turned so tight a circle!

I looked out, through the frame of my up-stretched, shapely arms, at the two men. They looked back at me, their eyes flickering between the mighty tank, my arms holding it aloft, and - of course - my chest. I tried to read the emotions on their faces. Fear was there, for sure. Also, shock - perhaps at being caught red-handed trying to make a getaway, perhaps at the whole notion of a woman lifting a tank. I could see, too, that they were both, understandably, more than a little in awe of me. And I couldn't help but notice the traces of lust revealed in their gazes, especially whenever they stole glances at my body. Despite everything that had happened in the previous minutes and despite the fact that they were face to face with a indestructible girl holding a tank aloft, they were still men. And despite the amazing strength that I demonstrated, I still am an exceptionally attractive woman these days.

Fillipo Calucci was no fool. His vast business empire had not been built on luck, but rather on Fillipo's sound judgment. When to buy, when to sell. When to attack, when to stand his ground. And when to cut his losses and get the hell out. Evidently, before his death, he had managed to pass some of this good sense on to his son. Toto, for all his shock both at what he'd watched me do to his tank and at finding himself caught in the act of trying to tiptoe out of the garage, and for all his obvious fascination with my upper-body, was still intelligent enough to realise that his best option was retreat. Now that Plan A - slip out quietly - had failed, he modified it slightly to create Plan B - run for it, regardless of how humiliating it might appear.

He looked at me, glanced briefly at the nearest open exit, turned for it and began to sprint. He was not exactly in the best of physical conditions, but it would not have mattered if he was the current Olympic 100-meter sprint champion. I was always going to be faster. Thousands of times faster. His cause was not helped by his colleague from overseas. The American, taking his cue from Toto - the language barrier not an issue when it comes to being afraid of me - started running in the same direction as the younger man. After a few, slow strides, the poor fellow was already gasping. My sensitive ears picked up on the rapid pounding of his pulse. I knew he wouldn't get very far.

For brief second, I weighed up my choices of action. The first option, letting both men go, was out of the question. Toto needed thanking in person for all the trouble he had gone to arranging the tank. The American deserved an opportunity to explain his presence, too. So I was definitely going after them. I considered chasing the pair whilst continuing to hold the massive military machine overhead. Whilst I didn't think the physical effort was beyond me, I was aware that carrying the monster would slow me down dramatically if I was to keep its precarious balance intact and not embarrassingly drop it. No, I realised, I was going to have to put the tank down to chase Toto and his friend. I hesitated before lowering the vehicle however. There was one more factor in the equation that needed to be taken into account: the tank-crew.

I knew that there were two of them in there. I'd heard their heartbeats from the start. I was pretty certain, from the noise of their breathing, that they were both men, although neither had said a word since our encounter began. What concerned me about them was that they were almost certainly Toto's men, rather than a regular military tank-crew drafted in for the day. If I know the Carlucci way - and I believe I do - Toto would have arranged for his own, most trusted staff to undergo training in operating a tank, rather than trusting a couple of random soldiers to follow his instructions. After all, would ordinary soldiers really agree to fire on a poor, defenceless girl like me? It's unlikely. But Toto's men would kill a woman without batting an eyelid.

The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that the crew of the monster were Toto's henchmen. As such, they deserved special thanks for their role in the evening's entertainment. Especially as one - or both - of them had fired three rounds at me, with the express intention of blowing me to bits. Not to mention the various futile attempts to run me over. If I put them and their vehicle down on the ground and went after their boss and his trans-Atlantic pal, there was a small chance the pair in the tank might manage to slip away before I got a chance to deal with them.

On the other hand, there wasn't any particular information that I was hoping they could provide. I had no special reason for not wanting them to escape, other than a desire not to let them go unpunished after trying to kill me. Meanwhile - very, very slowly - Toto and the American were running towards the exit sign. Carlucci Jr. had only about ten meters to go before he would be out of my sight. I made a snap decision. I needed to stop the two runners more than I needed to talk to the two guys inside the tank. I opted to block the exit with the most convenient exit-blocker to hand. One that was already actually in, or rather on, my hands. The men inside it would just have to take their chances.

Carefully, not wanting the massive machine to topple out off my palms, I drew my arms back a few centimetres. The subtle movement of my limbs might have passed unnoticed, were in not reflected and amplified by the tank which lurched backwards about half-a-meter over my head, its frame creaking in tired complaint, unaware that it would soon be put out of its misery.

I was cautious as I thrust my arms forward again, this time with increased speed. As the mighty vehicle shot forwards above me, I let the bottom of it move off the palms of my hands, carried by the momentum of my gentle toss. I was going for accuracy, rather than power. That's why I hardly put any extra lift into the throw, concentrating on driving the monster forwards towards the exit from the station concourse, rather than up into the air. The thing left my hands and flew dead straight. It was as well I didn't toss it with any real force, or it would surely have smashed right through the doorway and the rooms beyond and finished up some distance outside the garage. As it was, it only started to lose height after it had already travelled nearly twenty meters. Fortunately, its excessive weight and the lightness of my throw ensured that once the thing started to drop, it fell in an increasingly sharp curve.

If you have never seen a tank fly, then I recommend the experience. It really is quite a spectacular thing to observe, especially when you know that your own, slim body has provided the power for the flight. Toto stopped dead in his tracks, mid-run, and stared in open-mouthed disbelief as the entire oversized monster soared gracefully through the air. Had he continued to sprint, he probably would have ended up right in the descending behemoth's path. Instead it passed about thirty centimetres from him on its way down. I heard the American mutter something monosyllabic in English just before the back of the tank, which was leading the way, reached the exit doorway.

Of course, the military vehicle was wider than the opening, and the sides of the machine carved through the brickwork bordering the door as if it wasn't there. With a crash that made the entire building - and probably the surrounding area too - shake, the wheels finally touched down, half of it still on the concourse, the other half inside the corridor on the other side of the now much bigger and less geometric doorway. Bricks continued to rain down for a second as a cloud of thick dust billowed up from the rubble beneath the base of the tank, filling the air and making it difficult, even for me, to see for a few moments.

I was fairly sure that I had successfully blocked off the exit with the monster. I wasn't completely certain, because of the blinding dust however, if there was any space between the flank of the beast and the newly-widened door-frame. For an instant I was worried that Toto might have managed to slip through such a gap. To set my mind at ease, I listened carefully, ignoring the sounds of falling masonry and settling dust, scanning for heartbeats. The first I heard belonged to the American. I recognised the unhealthily rapid pounding immediately. The next beat I isolated sounded like Toto's, if a little faster. I kept listening, expecting to hear two more, but my superhuman ears detected nothing. Then, I heard a cough. I identified it immediately, without doubt, as belonging to Carlucci. So Toto and the American were definitely still inside the main concourse with me.

But there was no audible sign of the two-man tank crew. Curious, I strolled into the already receding dust-cloud. I could only see about a meter in front of myself, but the particles saturating the air didn't seem to irritate my eyes, even though thousands of them must've tried to settle on my irises. I guess dust won't stick to my eyes any more than make-up will stick to my face these days. Toto was still coughing, his lungs clearly less happy with the state of the atmosphere than my eyes, which meant I could pin-point his location with ease. Meanwhile I kept track of the American using the sound of his frantic heart-beat.

Soon, the familiar front of the tank loomed before me. I'd tossed it rear-first so it had actually flown backwards. That meant the hole I'd punched to get an initial grip on the thing was conveniently placed at waist height. I bent down and took a look inside using my ex-handhold as a fist-sized spy-hole.

It was dark in there. Whatever artificial lighting the crew had used before had cut out, presumably when the tank crashed down to earth after I threw it away. My enhanced eyesight had no trouble piecing the gloom however. I soon spotted what I was interested in. It seemed that the illumination circuits weren't all that had ceased functioning. The two men I had anticipated were there all right. I smelt their blood before I saw them. One had lost the top part of his head. I can only assume it had happened when he had bounced upwards and hit the ceiling. The other appeared to have become impaled, through the stomach, on some kind of lever. Neither was in any position to tell me if they were indeed, regular employees of Toto. I straightened up, away from the hole in the front of the tank. Nothing more to see there.

There was, however, more to see outside the tank. The cloud of dust was quickly settling so that visibility was returning to normal. I don't know if Toto and the American, lacking my superhuman eyesight, found things so clear, but I was able to see both men well once more. Toto had staggered backwards, away from the falling debris which had piled up as high as his shoulder. The other side of the mound of rubble leaned against the silenced tank. Behind him, a still intact portion of wall. It wasn't exactly how I'd intended to block his exit, but it was just as effective. He crouched, shivering, although the night was warm, turning his head from side to side, searching, I guess, for his colleague. Meanwhile the older man was about fifteen meters away from the smashed doorway, peering into the dust, trying to locate Toto. "Toto! Are you finding yourself near here?" he hissed out in his comical accent.

Carlucci coughed on some dust. "Toto, that noise is by you?" the American asked, nervously, his voice low. Did he seriously think I wouldn't be able to hear him?

"Yeah. It's me. Over here," Toto said in a loud whisper. There was no response. "John! Over here!" Toto repeated, slightly louder. I resisted the temptation to laugh.

"I go to you," the foreigner promised. I watched as he took a couple of steps in the vague direction of Toto before tripping on a piece of dislodged brick. A few seconds later, he clambered back to his feet, managed about six more strides and then fell down again. This time it took a little longer for him to regain his feet. He made it the rest of the way, eventually finding his target, without major incident.

"Have you seen the girl?" Toto whispered into his ear, once they were together. I was only about thirty meters away from them, but I would have heard every syllable of the "secret" exchange from a kilometre with my superhuman hearing.

"No. I believe that she is departed." the American whispered back.

"Did you see what she did.... to the tank?" murmured Toto.

"It is breaking my head with thinking about it!"

"Well, we have to think about it," Toto hushed. "My father will be avenged. One way or another, that bitch has to be stopped."

"You are having a plan what to do?" asked the tall man, still whispering.

"Not yet," confessed Toto. "First we need to get the hell out of here and then I can make some calls."

I decided that was as good a moment as any to interrupt the conversation. Striding towards the pair, my hands resting on my hips, a smug grin - which I could not help - on my face, I announced: "Sorry boys. I'm afraid I just can't let you walk out of here after all we've been through together." I was still approaching them as I finished the sentence. I could see them clearly through the dispersing dust cloud. From their perspective, I must have "appeared" in front of them from out of the gloom. Both of them gasped. Both stared as I came to a stop, just a meter from the two of them.

Inevitably, the American's staring settled onto my chest. Toto, to his credit, was managing to shoot the occasional glance at my face in between bouts of gazing on my unmissable womanly charms. "N... N... Now, M... Milena..." he stuttered, visibly shaking in terror. "We c-c-can t-talk. Do a d-d-deal..."

"Shut up, Toto." I told him, harshly, taking a step forwards. With my right hand I pushed him very, very gently in the centre of his torso, just enough to lift his feet a few centimetres from the ground as his body flew back a meter until it hit the wall behind him. The impact winded him, but probably didn't do much more damage than that. He managed to more-or-less keep his feet as he fought to breathe.

I turned to his colleague. "So, Mr. King," I began. His eyes did flicker briefly up to my face as I started to talk, but they soon returned to breast-watch duties. "What is your connection with the Carlucci family?"

"I... I am the friend..." he said, his expression an amusing mix of fear, confusion and lust.

"Oh, are you two boys an item?" I teased.

"I.. do not understand." he told my cleavage.

"Never mind." I said. "I think it's safe to assume that you prefer girls."

"I do not under-"

"Oh, this is getting boring!" I exclaimed.

"I.. I am sorry. I do not speak very much your language." he apologised, his eyes still glued to the exposed top portion of my chest.

"Then you're not much use to me, are you?" I pointed out, taking a step towards him.

He stumbled backwards, trying to maintain the distance between us. "Wait... Ah.... One minute.... Please..." he began to sound desperate as I continued to advance and he retreated clumsily until, inevitably, his back hit the wall. I kept on approaching until our noses were almost touching, and the prominent peaks of my big super-firm nipples were just centimetres from his rapidly rising and falling chest. He turned his head and shifted his weight onto one leg, as if preparing to make a dart to the side. I anticipated and blocked the move simply by leaning forwards, my hands still on my hips, and thrusting out my chest. My breasts made contact with his body and refused to yield to him, instead forcing him back against the wall, and pinning him in place.

Although I wasn't really putting any pressure on him, I could see that the guy was finding it hard to breathe as my big, heavy mounds squeezed his lungs. As a result, he was also finding it even harder than before to talk. "I.... cannot.... take.... air..... enough!"

"You should've thought about that before you started playing army with your friend Toto," I said.

"Please! I... have... pain..."

"Oh come on, I thought you liked my body. You've been staring at it all night." I told him.

"I.. do... not... under- Aggghhh!" I couldn't resist leaning in just a tiny bit further and looking down at my magnificent bust, its glorious rounded shape unaffected as it pressed into the American's supposedly much less yielding body. In fact, it was his hard, masculine ribcage that was deforming to accommodate my soft, feminine chest. I could feel his bones bending against my breasts. I could also feel a small, insistent pressure on my groin.

"See?" I said, "You DO like my body. It's given you a little erection, hasn't it, Mr. King?"

I could tell from the embarrassment in his eyes that he had understood. "Please!..... Stop!" he begged.

"Why?" I asked.

"I... have... much... friends.... here.... and... in.... America...." he wheezed. "Are... you... knowing... what... will... be.... happening... to... you... if... you... kill... me..?" It was obviously meant to be a threat. Under the circumstances, it didn't carry much weight with me. What were this Yankee’s friends going to do if I killed him? Send a tank after me?

"So what?" I said, with a genuine shrug of disinterest. The shrug turned out to be a bad move. For Mr. King. As I raised my shoulders. the movement of my body caused my large, weighty breasts to rise and become more prominent. A series of "Crunch!" sounds revealed that my temporarily expanding chest had compressed the American's torso beyond its ability to cope. My rising breasts must have crushed his upper ribs. And probably his lungs and quite a bit of muscle as well. I checked his face. A frozen look of surprise: eyes wide open, unblinking and dull, mouth open. A stream of blood appeared from the corner of his gaping mouth and poured down his chin. Some dripped on to the top of my chest, immediately running off my flawless skin, leaving not a trace behind.

I hadn't meant to kill him, but things happen. It was great to think that I'd ended a man's existence with the most casual of gestures, with my hands resting on my hips the whole time, my big mounds proving an extremely effective murder weapon. I stepped back. My breasts stayed as round as they had done all along. The foreigner's body retained its new, disturbingly concave, shape. Then it seemed to fold up on itself, finishing up in a heap at my feet. I was already turning my attention to Toto.

"Oh my god...." said Fillipo's son, feeling the wall behind him.

"So sorry about your friend," I smiled, making it clear that I wasn't, in any way, sorry. "Were you close?"

"W... w... wait!" Toto spluttered.

I was standing right in front of him now. "Are you going to offer me a deal, Toto?" I asked.

"P... p.... please don't kill me." he pleaded, tearfully.

I was just about to disregard his request completely and back-hand him into the next life when something - maybe it was my innate business sense - made me stop. Toto had just gained full control of the Carlucci empire. If he had inherited even half of his father's financial acumen, he could be a very useful... tool for me. The more I considered it, the more I knew I could make good use of him if I spared his life.

"Congratulations, Toto." I told him. "You've just become my business manager. Unless, that is, you'd rather join your American friend..."

"N... no.... I'll take the j... job.... Oh.... thank you! Thank you!" He was almost crying with relief.

"Ten o'clock tomorrow morning," I told him, "you will come round to my house with all the necessary paperwork to transfer your family's assets into my name. I'll give you further instructions afterwards."

"Ten o'clock! That's not enough time!" he protested.

"Fine," I said. "Forget the deal. Say 'goodbye' to the world, Toto." I raised my hand.

"OK. Ten o'clock. I'll be there! Please!"

"Good boy." I patronised. "Make sure you are. Otherwise, you know what will happen, don't you."

"Yes, Milena."

I turned away from him. To make absolutely sure he had the message, I left the bus station concourse by walking straight through an intact portion of brick wall, my invulnerable body smashing through the stone like a beautiful wrecking ball. Temporarily obscured from his view by the dust created by my exit, I soared up into the sky. From about fifty meters up, I looked down at the impressive sight of a big military tank imbedded in a wall, and smiled, proud of the knowledge that I had single-handedly overcome that tank, picked it up and thrown it with such spectacular results.

On the short flight home, I reflected on the night's events. All-in-all, it had been a pretty good meeting. As well as learning more about my powers - my strength and invulnerability are fantastic! - I’ve also gained a whole raft of new "enterprises" and someone competent to run them, along with all my uncle's ex-affairs. And all it cost me was a T-shirt.

Of course, I'll be taking the value of the shirt from Toto's earnings. And if he disagrees, well, I can get rid of him in a fraction of a second. Even he knows now that I can kill a man just by shrugging my shoulders.

Oh. it's so great being super! I wonder what I can do while I'm waiting for Toto to turn up at ten...

 

Conceptfan, Jun. 2006.