"Ray's Ray". Evil and violent girls-with-superpowers fiction by Conceptfan.

Introduction - "Ray's Ray"

Hi, I'm Raymond, but everyone calls me Ray. Nice to meet you.

And this here, this little cigarette-lighter-sized device, is my ray. I was given it, one night, by a weird guy who turned out to be an alien. I met him in a backstreet jazz bar south of the river. It's long gone now, of course. It's all been gentrified to fuck since then. Anyway, this particular night I'm waiting to be served at the bar when I feel a presence beside me. Sure enough, I turn and look and there's a guy standing there who looked about a thousand years old, stick thin, and really, really tall. Maybe nearly seven foot. He was wearing this weird black plastic overcoat, buttoned up, the collar of it turned up around his wrinkly chin and the bottom of it almost touching the filthy floor around his feet.

I remember he was extremely polite. His voice was strange, high-pitched and much much younger-sounding than I expected, given his cratered face. "Excuse me," he said, "do you have a light?"

Now, I did think it was a bit peculiar that he asked the question with his hands in his pockets and nothing in his decrepit-looking mouth, but my main thought was an inner-chuckled "What are the chances?" because I had, by fluke, just twenty minutes earlier, bought a packet of six lighters from the supermarket across the road. The plan was to leave one in each pocket of my jacket and a couple at home so I wouldn't have to resort to trying to use the electric toaster to spark up again for a few weeks, but anyway...

Maybe I felt sorry for him looking so old and weird and having such an incongruous voice. Maybe I'd had a few drinks already and was feeling warm and generous. I stuck my hand in my pocket, pulled out one of the half-dozen lights and placed it on the bar-top in front of him. "Here," I said. "Keep it."

The strange man placed a withered hand over the lighter. I've never seen fingers like his. They seemed to taper to a narrow point. Quickly, he withdrew the hand, taking the light with it back to the pocket of his unusual coat.

"Your generosity moves me," he announced in his bizarre tones. "I will match it with my own." And with that, the same, peculiar hand re-appeared briefly, just long enough to deposit a small oblong metallic object, about the size of a lip-stick, shiny black with a circular aperture in one end and what looked like three round push-buttons, two blue and one red, set into one side.

"There's no need..." I begun, before curiosity got the better of me. "What's that?" I enquired.

"A gift from my home planet," he explained. Given that we were in a crappy jazz bar, I let the remark slide without much consideration. "You press the two blue buttons to move up and down through parallel realities. Of course, as far as the device is concerned, this is 'Reality Zero', and no others have been brought to existence, so those two buttons won't have any effect yet."

"Of course," I echoed. I was beginning to think in terms of how to ditch the guy. To try and speed him along, I asked "So what does the red button do?"

"It makes your dreams come true," squeaked my strange superannuated companion. "As well as creating a new parallel reality."

"Ah," I said, humouring him. "So then the blue buttons will have an effect."

"Precisely," he nodded. "You would then be able to use them to move between this reality and the one you would have created when you pushed the red button. And, after subsequent presses of the red button, the blue buttons will allow you to scroll through the various simultaneous existences that you have spawned."

"That's handy," I continued to play along with what I assumed was some kind of a delusion. "So the red button creates new, alternative universes, and the blue buttons let you switch between them," I surmised. "Is that how it makes my dreams come true?"

"Oh no," said the stranger. "I found no fantasies involving moving between parallel realities when I looked in your mind."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me," I was still just playing along, pretending all this was perfectly normal.

"The parallel realities control is merely an additional gift to facilitate your enjoyment of the red button's primary function," the weird man offered by way of explanation.

"So..." by this point, I was amused enough to wonder where this was all headed, "creating alternative worlds is just the red button's side-gig alongside making my dreams come true?"

"Yes, that covers it," came the deadpan, high-frequency reply.

"And, just out of interest, is it any dreams in particular, or just all of them?" I was teasing him now.

"Your main dream," he stated in his peculiar voice, as though it were an obvious response in a everyday conversation.

I didn't realise but at that moment, everything was about to change. And I really do mean "everything". Not merely my opinion of the stranger and his origins, not merely my disregard for his device. Everything.

I suppose my dubious facial expression is what prompted him to use specifics. "The red button, as well as generating a parallel reality, also generates an energy beam which projects through the small hole in one end of the device. The beam is invisible and undetectible. It will have no effect whatsoever if it hits inanimate objects, animals, children or men," my brief companion expounded.

I was about to interrupt with a cheeky "Well, that doesn't leave much," when my brain clicked and I realised what was missing from his list.

By then, he had already reached the phrase that changed things completely: "...but if it strikes an adult female human, it will instantly and permanently grant the target near-limitless superhuman powers."

If I'd been taking a sip of my drink, I'd probably have spat it out in shock. A stammered "What..?" was about all I could muster.

"Your dream come true," he re-iterated, as if it was an almost unnecessary clarification. "The beam bestows the strength of billions of men, complete invulnerability to all possible harm, and certain other attributes that feature in your fantasies."

I had never mentioned a word to anyone, anywhere, about my secret fetish. About how, since I can remember, I've dreamt about supergirls and their power. I had never revealed how the thought of supergirls using their power sexually excites me. And yet here was my own, most private, most hidden fantasy being presented to me by a very unusual stranger. A stranger with weird skin, weird clothes, weirder fingers and a really weird voice. A stranger, who, I suddenly recalled, had referred to his "home planet" a few moments before.

I opened my mouth, to say something, but my brain held back. How the hell did this freak know my deepest secret? And in such detail... As I said, I hadn't ever confessed my fetish. I should have mentioned at the start, but this encounter took place before the internet was a 'thing' so there couldn't have been any search-histories or digital evidence or anything like that. I was unsure whether to laugh it all off or to demand how he had known.

Before I could decide on a strategy, he stood up to his full, ridiculous height, and announced "Thank you for your gift. Please enjoy mine," and with that, he turned and began walking with a noticeable limp towards the street door.

"Wait!" I called out, grabbing the bizarre device and hurrying to follow him, hundreds of questions beginning to form in my head. A couple of people wandered between us, and I side-stepped them impatiently, losing a little ground in the chase. Despite his uneven steps, he made it through the exit door several seconds before me. I got there, stepping out onto the street just in time for what was the clinching event.

It was late evening, on a cold night, and the road outside the bar was deserted apart from the mysterious figure and myself. He glanced over his shoulder at me, uttered a very civil "Good bye," then turned away. And then, as I watched, he vanished. He didn't walk or run away, he remained where he was and, over about two seconds, seemed to fade from existence, like a ghost.

The inexplicable nature of his departure, and the equally imcomprehensible way he had told me my private thoughts left me in utter confusion. I couldn't account for either event with any rational theory. Except for one: he really was an alien. An alien who could teleport and read minds. And, if that was the case... I looked at the small device in my palm.

Put it this way: there was enough doubt in my mind not to throw it away immediately. In fact, I resolved I would try it out, just once, before disposing of it.

It was a good thing that I did!

  

Conceptfan, Feb. 2022.

Chapter 1 - "Reality one: Chrissie"

So, it's a cold night, and there's no-one else on the side-street now that the weird alien has teleported back to his home planet to show everyone the plastic refillable cigarette lighter he was gifted on Earth. Meanwhile, there's five similar lighters in my jacket pocket, and, in my fist, the alien's present to me: a generator and selector of parallel realities that, allegedly, can also make my most private dreams come true.

I'm now a bit torn inside. Sure, I'm desperate to try out the gizmo, my new ray, because who wouldn't be excited at the prospect of seeing their most intimate, seemingly-impossible fantasies brought to life? But I'm also a bit hesitant. The biggest part of my rational brain is certain that the whole episode has been a waking hallucination of some kind and that the device will prove to be a worthless toy that does nothing. I want to delay the moment of disappointment so I can continue to enjoy the anticipation of unrealistic hope.

I turn the corner into main road, and as well as traffic, there's also people. I can feel my heart accelerating at the thought of trying out the red button. I try and get a grip on my emotions, to cushion what I'm ninety-nine percent certain will be a crashing let-down, but it's hard. I'm nervous too. I pass by a woman waiting at a bus stop. She's not really my type, but I feel myself almost trembling as I glance at her.

It's all getting a bit too much... "What's my mission right now?" I wonder. Am I just proving to myself that the gadget is phoney? Or... Am I selecting a woman to transform into an all-powerful superhuman goddess like the ones in my secret fantasies? It might be cold out, but when I spot a bench a few yards ahead, I grab the chance to sit down. I can feel my heart pounding, so I take a series of slow, deep breaths and try to clarify my racing thoughts.

Out of the blue, I recall my grandfather many decades ago saying "Once you give a man a hammer, he thinks everything is a nail." I reckon I understand what the old man meant. I need to calm down. I need to be patient. I'll test the device when the moment is right, when the result will either be the expected disappointment or... or, in the words of my erstwhile companion, "my dreams come true".

There's a group of five about to stroll past me now as I sit here. Young adults... three guys and two girls. One of the females is cute. My fingers twitch around the little gizmo with its three buttons, but I keep them away from the red one. "Cute is not enough," I tell myself, consciously breathing slowly to retain control. I can tease myself with not knowing a little longer.

Once I feel that my pulse has returned to something like its normal rate, I get up from the bench and start to walk down the street again. I'm headed for an area about a mile away where there are a cluster of the sort of bars and clubs where youngsters congregate. I've seen so many gorgeous girls around that part of town in the past, so many dream-canvases that I've secretly, mentally, painted my fantasies over. Maybe I can spot one tonight...

Fifteen minutes later, I'm standing on the quieter side of a street, opposite a crowded pavement where people are spilling out of a bar as it closes. I'm trying to blend in, trying to pass unnoticed as I scan the throng, hoping to catch sight of a suitable star of a dream come true. There's a potential candidate over there, and another over there and... "Patience, patience," I remind myself. "Wait until you see exactly the ri- Oh my god!"

She's standing in the doorway, framed by the over-bright lighting of the bar as if an aura is shining around her. It shines especially brightly from her long, straight copper-red hair. Her face is stunning, set in an angry scowl. Despite the cold, she's carrying her coat, wearing just a demin-style shirt that is doing nothing to hide her exceptional figure. It's tucked into her tight leather trousers, so the narrowness of her waist, the flatness of her belly, as well as the fabulous curves of her chest are all apparent. I have to catch my breath merely from the first glimpse of her.

I try not to be caught staring, but it's impossible to take my eyes off her. Every instant confirms my initial reaction: she is utterly stunning. The perfect vision is sullied as a man of similar age to her, taller and, from what I can tell through several layers of clothing, of impressive physique, appears from the brightness beside her to stand shoulder to shoulder with her. He's gesticulating angrily at the overcoat rolled up in her arms. She makes a show of turning her face away from him as if to snub. They look like a typical young couple having an argument as they start to walk down the street, wordlessly, not touching, but still side-by-side.

I stay on the other side of the road, keeping pace with them for about a minute until we're clear of the crowds still leaving the bar. The girl is on the nearside of the couple from my perspective, and I shoot glances whenever I think I can just to admire the stunning profile of her torso. They turn into a narrow side-street, affording me my first view of her rear. I'd thought the girl was a "ten" from the front, and a "ten" from the side, and now, beholding her bouncing rear in those flattering trousers, I know she's a "ten" from every angle.

I make my way onto the opposite pavement of the alley. There's no-one else on the street and no cars for now, and it's narrow enough for me to be able to hear when the male half of the couple hisses "For fuck's sake, Chrissie, it's freezing! Put your fucking coat on before you get ill."

"For the last time!" her voice, even though it's full of anger, is still wonderfully female. "You don't get to tell me what to wear!"

"Put it on! It's making me cold just looking at you!" he's trying to sound authoritative, whilst at the same time practically pleading for her obedience.

"Then don't look at me!" she retorts.

"Now you're being ridiculous!" he claims. He makes a grab for the coat wrapped up in her arms and starts to pull it from her. She reacts by tightening her grip on it, trying to resist.

"What the hell are you doing, James?" she says, part-shocked, part-furious.

"What do you think I'm doing? I going to put your coat on you whether you like it or not!" he splutters, through clenched teeth, the tug-of-war still on-going. With a feral grunt, he gives a violent tug, finally ripping the garment away from her with enough force to make her briefly cry out and stumble before catching her balance. She turns to face him as he starts to unfurl the coat, her back to me now, her perfect seat even more perfect from the slightly reduced distance.

I can see the curve of her hips and the concave sides of her waist and the vision makes me gulp. Then, she angrily, defiantly, places her hands on the top of those hips, and the pose, which she could have plucked directly from my fantasies, removes any last traces of hesitation from me.

"Give that back right now!" she almost shouts at her aggressive companion who is still arranging the long over-garment in his hands as if in preparation for putting it on her.

"This. This is an ideal nail for my hammer," I say to myself as I point the little hole in the front of the alien's device at the centre of the girl's back and press down hard on the little red button.

I hear two quick, subtle beeps from the device in my palm.

"Give me your arm," says James, as he now approaches her, holding out the coat sleeve. Chrissie keeps her hands on her hips but as he nears, she hisses "I said 'Give it back'". Then, there's a blur. James screams and falls to his knees. He's holding his wrist... Oh! his hand is bent way too far back... no wonder he's yelling. She's holding the coat now under her arm. It's folded once again... but how? There wasn't time!

"My wrist!" cries James. "What the fuck did you just do?"

"What the fuck did you do, taking my coat from me?" she counters.

"I think it's broken!" he shouts, agony and shock audible in his words.

"Yeah, well, serves you right if it is," Chrissie doesn't sound sympathetic.

I assume it is pain that makes him lash out verbally "Fucking bitch!" he yells, his tone accusatory.

"That's it!" her voice is slightly raised too as she reacts to the insult. "We're through. You're an arsehole!" She spins and begins to walk away from him.

"Fucking bitch!" James shouts towards her back, still on his knees. "Fucking bitch!"

She looks to be ignoring him as she continues to walk down the alley. Neither of them seem to notice me either as I stay on the opposite side. There's a yell of agony as James gets to his feet again, clearly any tiny movement of his wrist is hurting him a lot. He clutches the damaged part in his other hand and starts to jog, unsteadily, after her. "Don't you walk away from me!" he menaces as he nears her. She quickens her pace for a few strides and he breaks into a run. Then, suddenly, she becomes nothing but a faint streak, stretching away down the road for a split-second before disappearing.

"What the fuck?" I can just hear James mutter.

Five, six seconds pass. Then I feel a brief gust of wind blowing down the alley and the streak re-appears, solidifying into Chrissie once again. She's standing a few yards in front of her astonished ex. "Oh my god I'm so fast!" she exclaims. It's beginning to look as if giving the device at least one try was the correct decision.

Barely has the final syllable left her sexy lips when she turns into a streak again. I don't have time to react to that, and I assume neither does James. Immediately, there's a distant shout, from the top of the alleyway. "I can't believe how fast I am!" I turn to look towards its source and I can hardly even see her, she's so far away. She'd been a few yards away an instant before.

She vanishes from view again. I feel a blast of displaced air as she reappears back in front of James. This time, she's not holding the contentious coat. I guess she must have left it at the end of the street. "Something's happened to me," she deduces. Then, after a pause, she adds "Oh my god I can see for miles! I wonder what else I can..." she dissolves into an elongated blur once again.

I hear a sudden metallic screech down the road, and turn to look, just in time to observe a massive shower of electrical sparks illuminating Chrissie's legs. She's about thirty yards away, on my side of the street. In front of her is a rough hole in the ground. In her hand, she is holding a lamppost. An entire overhead street-light, with a huge irregular chunk of concrete around its base. She has plucked it from the pavement with a single hand as if picking a flower from a meadow, and now she is standing, holding it in front of her, raising and lowering the whole thing as if trying to estimate its weight. "Oh my god I'm so strong!"

My dream come true. A real life, stunningly attractive supergirl. Showing off her power just yards away from me. Part of me wonders whether I should fall to my knees in gratitude to the alien or perform the exact same gesture in worship of the goddess my new ray has just created. Another part of me responds to the vision of the gorgeous, shapely girl effortlessly lifting a vast mass with a single hand by instantly swelling and becoming rigid.

Without warning, she pulls the metal pole hard towards her awesome body. There's a clang, like a steel hammer hitting a solid steel rail. Then the sound of Chrissie laughing. She manoeuvres the lamp post back out to arms' length. I can clearly see the deformations caused by her magnificent curves! I'm about to explode with lust. "I'm indestructible too!" she cries, delightedly. "Oh god, I'm so... powerful!"

She opens her hand and lets the battered, heavy lamppost drop to the street. It shakes the ground when the concrete base hits with a mighty crash. I wouldn't be surprised if it has cracked the tarmac. It must weigh tonnes! She glances briefly at the lump of concrete by her feet. Even from thirty yards, it's easy to spot the expression on her face changing from wonder to delight. Yet again, she turns into a barely visible smear, only to instantly re-materialise, or so it seemed to me, immediately in front of James, with her hands once again on her hips.

This time, her pose is one of arrogance, rather than defiance. This time, I have an almost perfect view of most of the front of her glorious body. I have never been so turned on in all my life. James is just frozen in his tracks, whimpering slightly, I presume because of the pain from his broken wrist. "What's wrong, James?" she taunts, the big grin on her lovely face revealing her true feelings. "A moment ago you were chasing after me and calling me a 'fucking bitch'. Now you're just standing there in silence!"

She takes a step towards him and he takes a half-step backwards away from her. She laughs. "Are you scared? I don't blame you! I mean, you saw what I did to that lamppost, right? Can you imagine what I could do to you?" She's very obviously enjoying her new-found dominance. My dream come true. In fact, I'm not sure how much more of this I can watch without ejaculating in my underwear.

James turns on his heels and starts sprinting away from her. For a few seconds, she doesn't react, then she becomes the increasingly-familiar blur and turns visible again right in his path. He yelps but doesn't have enough time to prevent the collision, smacking full-on against her astonishing torso with an "Ooof!" as he seems to bounce off her down onto his rear with a fresh shout of pain. She's still got her hands on her hips! I didn't have time to notice that when she 'materialised' just before he impacted with her.

"I didn't even feel that!" she tells him, with a big, triumphant grin. He's just sitting at her feet, moaning. "I'll bet," she says, still smiling, "that you'd be a lot easier to pick up than that lamppost!" She starts to bend towards him, and her right hand leaves its post on her hip to reach for his left upper arm.

"C-C-Chrissie..." he stammers, clearly terrified. Meanwhile, I'm at boiling point just watching from the other side of the road. He screams when her fingers curl around his arm, but not loud enough to mask her laugh. He screams again as she straightens out, lifting him by that one-handed grip as if he were as light as a sheet of paper. Now, his whole body is just dangling from her hand like a stuffed puppet. Her left palm is still resting on the top of the curve of her hip.

"Ow, ow, ow, please Chrissie, I'm s- sorry.." he pleads, helpless in her grasp. She responds by roaring with laughter. I can see how he's being shaken around by her hysterics, utterly at her mercy.

"Oh my god you're completely weightless to me!" she giggles.

"Please..." he begs, practically sobbing now.

"And so utterly pathetic," she adds, her broad smile shifting into a sneer that pushes me to the edge of shooting my load. "I'm so strong now I could probably throw you onto the roof of one of these buildings!"

"Please no! Don't hurt me!" James cries, desperately, in her superhuman grip.

She bends the arm supporting his entire weight, lowering his feet towards the ground, and pulling his body nearer to her own. "Or I could crush you like I did to that street-light," she hypothesises. James is fighting now, trying to push away from her with his feet on the pavement, and his good arm on her shoulder. It's not working at all for him. He starts kicking her shins, hard, crying out each time he stubs his toes inside his shoes against her invulnerable legs.

"Are you kicking me?" she asks, half-amused. "I can't believe how weak you are!" I can feel a trembling in my loin. Chrissie goes on "You can't even tickle me now! But I can throw you or crush you or... I wonder what else I can do... hmmm... something with my eyes, I can feel it," she voices her thoughts, "I can feel the power inside..." She turns her head, very slightly and stares over James' shoulder as if in concentration for a moment. Her pupils glow red, then brighten until it hurts just looking at her. I squint as two beams fire from her gorgeous eyes, reaching in a fraction of an instant across the street, hitting the side of a parked car.

Instinctively, I duck down to the pavement, wrapping my hands around my head, a split second before the car explodes with a flash of light that I can detect even through my closed eyelids and a boom that shakes the whole street. A piece of debris smashes down only a few feet from where I've taken improvised cover.

"Knew it!" Chrissie declares, in utter delight, her voice reaching me above the sound of the still-burning blackened, skeletal car-wreck. "I can do anything!"

James screams in sheer panic. She looks down at him dangling from her pretty hand. "I haven't forgotten about you," she smiles, cruelly. I'm still crouching, but I've taken my arms from my head so I can just stare at her.

"Now, where was I?" she teases. "Oh yes, seeing what else I can do now. I can start fires... I wonder if I can put them out too?" She moves her face back to the direction of the flames ferociously consuming the remains of the car, and pushes out her luscious lips, bending a little at the waist towards the inferno, causing her breasts to push against the front of her shirt. James remains trapped, hanging by the upper arm from the fingers of her right hand. Her other palm is still dominantly on her hip.

I have a perfect view of the pose, seemingly ripped from my private fantasies and made real by the device still clutched in my fist. It's all I can do not to moan out loud as a ripple of pre-orgasmic tension flashes through me. She blows at the fire. I can tell she's exhaling softly by the relaxed nature of her expression and the way her flawless cheeks are barely inflating, but the sound is like the roar of a jet engine!

For a split-second, the flames bend at ninety degrees in the wind, then with a shudder, the entire charred wreckage lifts from the tarmac and shoots, like a missile, into and through the big front window of an closed shop. Whatever is left of the vehicle disappears from my view, deep into the building. The sound of breaking glass mingles with the noise of more destruction from inside, even as the racket of the precision-hurricane quickly fades.

I turn from the devastation of the shop and catch her lips stretching into her biggest grin yet. "This just keeps getting better and better!" she exclaims. Then, adjusting her gaze on to James once more, she chuckles "I wasn't even trying then! And that car was so much heavier than you! I could fly you like a kite!" I feel pre-cum squirting out of my throbbing erection.

"God, it'd be so easy to kill you!" she laughs at James. "And you can't do a thing to stop me!"

James is crying like a child. "Don't hurt me! Please Chrissie!"

"Wow," she sneers, "you're supposed to be a man, remember? Or have you forgotten that, like you've forgotten calling me a 'fucking bitch'?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" he squeals, tearfully. "I'll never call you that again!"

"You know what, James?" Chrissie's not smiling now. She just looks angry. "You're absolutely right. You won't. Her eyes flash, and I have to blink because the sudden brightness is painful, even from where I'm crouching on the opposite side of the street. When my retinas sufficiently recover and I can see again, there's no sign of James whatsoever. Just a dark mark on the pavement where he was standing.

"Like he never existed!" she observes, out loud, with evident satisfaction.

Now I'm a bit scared. I'm thinking that she truly is my secret fantasy come true and the sexiest thing I've ever witnessed by a factor of millions. But I'm also thinking that I don't want to be the only other person in the street with her. I've seen enough to know that there's zero point in me trying to run. If anything that would just draw her attention to me and she'd blur in front of me before I even noticed. I also know that having a car wouldn't help me either.

I could do with some kind of emergency "de-super-iser". A reverse button to the red one on the device... The device! Of course! Maybe that's what the blue buttons are all about. Maybe "moving between parallel realities" is alien-speak for making a quick getaway. I carefully position one finger above each of the round blue controls on the contraption. But it's hard to tear my eyes away from Chrissie. I'm thinking that she hasn't noticed me yet, so perhaps she won't notice me at all. Perhaps I can continue to watch her. That'd be awesome!

Just as I'm getting excited at the thought of spending the whole night observing her, she turns her head over her shoulder. She's looking right at me! I feel a jolt of... fear and adrenaline and lust all rolled into one as our eyes meet. Her face is so beautiful, so sexy! Her eyes are glowing... I press down on the finger over the upper of the two blue buttons but nothing seems to happen. The brightness is beginning to make me close my own eyes as, in near panic, I press on the other blue switch.

Immediately, the brightness ceases. I open my eyes. I'm still crouched on the side of the road, but the destroyed car is now back in its parking spot, unmarked. The shop-front is undamaged. The lamppost is properly fixed into the pavement and shining from above. It takes me a few seconds to spot Chrissie. She's about fifty yards down the street. Fighting over her overcoat. With James. They're shouting at each other.

I understand it immediately. I am back in "Reality zero", a version of the world in which I didn't fire the ray at Chrissie, she didn't get superpowers, trash a street and kill her awful boyfriend. I'm guessing that if I press the upper of the two "Reality" selector controls, I'll be back in what I'll call "Reality one" where Chrissie is a superhuman goddess and I'd be perfectly placed to get fried by her angry stare. "I can't go back there!" I think, before my mind starts processing things, and I realise that I probably could go back, just not to that spot whilst she's firing lasers from her eyes at it...

Thinking about Chrissie and her power and how sexy she looked brings my twitching organ back to the fore of my mind. I've got to go home and take care of that before I embarrass myself. I make sure the amazing device, my wonderful little ray, is safely in my pocket as I hurry back to my place.

 

oOoOoOo

 

It's been just over twenty-four hours since I pressed that red button and spawned "Reality one" staring Chrissie as an all-powerful supergirl.

I've not really thought about anything else since. Even when I slept, I saw her again, in my dreams. Dreams about when my dreams actually came true! The rest of the time, I've just been replaying the same images in my head. Chrissie moving so fast she becomes a blur that I can't follow with my eyes. Chrissie crushing a lamppost against her wonderful chest. Chrissie exploding a car with her eyes. Chrissie causing devastation with an easy exhalation. Chrissie hoisting what's-his-name and letting him dangle. Chrissie laughing. Chrissie with her hands on her hips.

I've got the TV on, and I'm watching the news. The main story is some political bore-fest and even though my eyes are pointed at the screen, in my mind I'm seeing her, not the stuffed-suits walking in and out of buildings on the report.

I've got two competing ideas in my mind. Idea 'A' is to go back to the area where I was last night and jump back to "Reality one" and see if I can get another glimpse of Chrissie. The problem with that is she could well be miles and miles away from there by now. Or if she is still in the vicinity, she might spot me with her superhuman vision and recognise me and that could require some lightning-quick blue button pressing.

Idea 'B' is to go out, perhaps to a different part of town, and to generate what I assume would be "Reality two", in the process giving incalculable power to a new girl. It's hard to imagine another right now, because I'm obsessed with Chrissie. In my current frame of mind I'll probably be pounding the pavements looking for a girl who looks as near to exactly like her as possible.

The device the alien gave me is on the table beside where I'm sitting. I pick it up as I consider my options... go out and press red or go out and press blue. The television is still droning on about the men in grey suits meeting in private to discuss whatever it is the story is about. I'm about to stand up and switch it off on my way to putting on my shoes and coat and heading out the door when something occurs to me.

I haven't given much thought to the idea of parallel realities. It's just a sudden curiosity that makes me decide to press the upper of the two blue buttons on the gadget with my eyes fixed to the TV news.

Instantly, the picture changes. Instead of politicians speaking and getting into and out of cars, there's shaky images of crowds of people running, screaming in panic. Wait a moment, I know that street! It's my home town!

There's more film of buildings on fire, a wobbly clip showing a whole pile of six... no eight or nine huge city buses, all on their sides as if they've been tossed, one after the other, by some staggeringly powerful force. More panicking people sprinting away from a building collapse... the handheld camera zooms in to the dust cloud billowing out behind the running crowd and there's Chrissie emerging from the rubble without a scratch on her! Another film features her raising a gigantic, eighteen-wheeled lorry over her head, making the feat look effortless. And now they're showing her pursing her lips and blowing two police cars into the air, their lights still flashing whilst the vehicles spin upwards and away from her until they smash into the side of an office block four storeys up.

The screen cuts back to the newsreader reading a statement from the government advising people to stay home and keep their TV or radio on so they can hear any emergency announcements. Apparently, the army are going to be on the streets throughout the city to "reassure" the public. It's been a fraction over twenty-four hours since I fired my ray at Chrissie here in "Reality one", and she's already completely dominating the news!

I put down my wonderful little gizmo and grab the television remote, flicking over to a channel that usually airs sitcoms at this time of the evening. But tonight, there appears to have been a change to regular programming. Instead of entertainment, it's a rolling bulletin staring Chrissie. There's the pile of buses clip again, and then some security camera footage of her pupils glowing like angry red stars. That bit of film ends abruptly. Presumably she melted the camera with her lasers but the film somehow survived.

After that, we get an eye-witness interview with a pale, trembling woman who is trying to describe how she saw Chrissie walking through the brick wall of a supermarket without slowing down. "I was screaming at her," says the woman, "'Stop! People are getting hurt!' stuff like that. I thought she was ignoring me, but then she turns and looks at me and she just says 'I know' and then she laughs and keeps walking..."

Next up, we're shown a line of military jeeps and trucks speeding down one of the main shopping streets in town. It's a surreal image: the normally packed pavements are deserted and instead of the usual traffic of cars and buses, there's an army battalion. The bottom half of the screen is covered with a solid red banner with large white text that says "Emergency Government Communication - Stay where you are. Remain indoors. Do not go outside. Await further instructions." An announcer reads the message out twice.

"To recap the latest information we have," the voice-over then says, as the various clips are shown again, "Estimates put the casualty toll in the high hundreds after an apparently superhuman woman has been running amok in the city, damaging and, in some cases, completely destroying, buildings and vehicles. There are no accounts or footage of the woman carrying or using any weapons. Sources claim the woman is Christine Jones, a city native who until yesterday worked as a receptionist at an advertising agency."

"'Chrissie' is so much hotter than 'Christine'," I think to myself.

The announcer goes on: "Work colleagues that we've spoken to are shocked, claiming there was nothing out-of-the-ordinary in her character or recent behaviour. Nonetheless, she appears to have acquired superhuman abilities. Evidence suggests she is possibly thousands of times stronger than the average person and has the ability to fire deadly heat-rays from her eyes and to generate greater-than-hurricane-force gusts of air with her lungs."

Just as the newsreader says that, the accompanying clip is the one where Chrissie blows away the squad cars. Annoyingly the red emergency message is occupying a chunk of the screen, so the footage has been shrunk to accommodate it. I wish they'd show it full screen. In slow motion. On repeat.

"So far," the announcer continues in his almost funereal tones, "all attempts at apprehending or stopping her have been unsuccessful, with a significant number of law enforcement personnel believed to be among the casualties. There are numerous unconfirmed reports that firearms and other projectile-weapons have no effect on her. We'll bring you more as soon as we can, but now, wait, sorry, in fact I'm being told we can now go live to our correspondent who is in Central Square. Good evening, Tom. What's the latest from there?" The picture cuts to the roving reporter.

"Good evening," says Tom. "I'm standing on the South perimeter of Central Square. Behind me, about a hundred yards away on the North side, you can see the XYZ Advertising building where sources say Christine Jones, the woman at the centre of these extraordinary events, was employed until very recently. If my cameraman Fred can zoom in..." the distant building becomes large on the screen. Tom continues "..you should be able to see some indication of the damage sustained to the offices. Local police have described the scene inside as 'carnage' and say that the full extent of - excuse me, I'm in the middle of a live news report!"

It feels like he's stopped talking to us viewers mid-sentence and is now addressing someone else. The view pans out back towards Tom. He's being pushed by a large camouflage-uniformed soldier. "It's not safe here, sir," Tom's microphone picks up the soldier's words. "You have to move back. Both of you." The live image becomes unsteady as the cameraman seems to be obeying, along with Tom. There's a shout from someone off-picture "She's coming out!" and then a whole cacophony of raised male voices. The view on screen is still jerking but it quickly settles on the view across the open space towards the XYZ office.

Along the far side of the square, hastily arranging themselves in a line facing the advertising agency building, are about twenty soldiers. The camera zooms in and it's clear, even though the soldiers' backs are to the lens, that they are carrying automatic weapons, which they are aiming in readiness in the general direction of the battered offices. "We'll continue to bring you these live pictures for as long as we can," Tom's voice comes out of the loudspeakers on my television to accompany the remarkable images, "It appears as if the military are preparing to confront Christine Jones any moment..."

"Call her Chrissie!" I shout at the TV, futilely.

"I can spot movement inside the building," Tom tells us. It's not the clearest view ever, from a handheld camera zooming in, but a bright flash from within the lobby confirms his assessment. A cloud of black smoke billows through the smashed-up glass doors of the office. It takes a few moments for the thick dark smog to start to clear. When it does, my heart-rate instantly accelerates because standing there, framed by a twisted metal doorway, standing amidst endless smashed glass and flickering flames, is the glorious vision of Chrissie.

One of the military guys has a megaphone. I soon gather that the shouted message that comes faintly over the TV clearly isn't intended for broadcast: "Armed military! Raise you arms and slowly kneel on the ground or we will open fire! Now!"

The microphone bringing us the audio is too distant to pick up her reply. The pictures aren't the sharpest either. But I'm pretty sure I can lip-read the two syllables she's just formed with her perfect mouth. I'm almost certain she just told the men threatening to shoot her to "Fuck off".

"Final warning!" I can just about hear the amplified voice. "We will shoot if you do not surrender immediately!"

Chrissie doesn't seem to bother with a verbal response this time. She just shrugs her shoulders disinterestedly. The picture quality is more than adequate enough for me to see the corresponding movement of her amazing chest under her shirt. I have to catch my breath.

For what feels like an age, nothing happens. Tom stays silent. Maybe he's completely under the spell of her beauty and power like me. On screen, the lines of soldiers confronting my goddess are shuffling slightly, but Chrissie - magnificent, gorgeous, irresistible Chrissie - is serene and unmoving despite the array of deadly weapons pointed at her.

It's the military that eventually, finally, make the first move. The crackling of gunfire is unmistakeable. Shakily, the image zooms a little bit further into the core of the scene. The cause of all this commotion. The target of so many lethal bullets. Her facial expression is clear now. Her sublime lips are curling apart, revealing the magnificence of her lovely teeth.

The men have opened fire on her, and she is reacting by leisurely smiling! And now, she's rolling her stunning eyes in a show of boredom!

There's the occasional flash, like an electric spark that comes through on my screen where one bullet among the countless streams of munitions hits her perfection and fails to leave even so much as a bruise on her immaculate face. There's one right on her smile. A shot that would have torn right through a normal person's flesh and bone has just rebounded from her sexy teeth!

Oh god... I can see similar sparks from time to time over the front of her shirt. Bullets are bouncing of her fantastic body! I squirm in my seat, overcome with lust. A tiny bit of my brain must still be capable of some kind of rational thought because it occurs to me that her shirt itself must be bulletproof, because I can't see any holes or marks, no matter how closely I look... and at this point I'm looking very very closely indeed...

I'm assuming that my ray has made her clothes as indestructible as she herself appears to be. If she changed clothes, it seems unlikely that whatever she happened to put on instead would somehow become undamageable the moment it is in contact with her fabulous skin.

I'm slightly distracting myself from my rampant desire by thinking of ways I might be able to test that theory using my new device. But Chrissie doesn't let me be distracted. The sparks are still pinging all over her but she's slowly moved her hands from her sides and brought them up to her neck. I leave the chair and crawl on my knees to get closer to the screen, almost as if Chrissie is drawing me towards her with her power and her beauty.

She's still grinning. Her fingers are moving. She's... oh she's undone one of the buttons of her shirt. I can see a patch of flawless skin... she's undoing another! Oh god! Her cleavage! It's even more magnificent than I had imagined! She's undoing all the buttons! Leisurely, taking her time, definitely not using her ability to move in an unobservable blur... No, this is slow and deliberate. She's putting on a show!

She reaches the last button and I can feel my inner volcano on the very brink of eruption. The smile on her face is unwavering as she grabs the two sides of her shirt and pulls them away from the sacred work of art that is her body. It is although she is flinging open the gates of paradise to reveal heaven itself. Only what she is uncovering is more wonderful than mere Elysium. It is Chrissie's breasts. Suddenly, her twin, astonishingly firm, large round bosoms are being displayed. They are beyond perfect! Her nipples are so pink and so proud!

There are sparks glinting all around her majestic chest. I spot an especially bright flash on her left nipple and I can no longer contain myself. She exposes her glorious perfection to the army, to the television cameras - to the world - for just a tiny handful of seconds, before she releases her grip on her shirt and lets it cover all but a strip of the centre of her torso that includes the most alluring cleavage I have ever beheld and below it, her sexy navel.

That tiny handful of seconds was enough to show that her flawless bare skin is totally invulnerable to bullets. It was more than enough to push me well beyond the point of self-control. I'm aware of the sticky dampness in my underwear, but I simply cannot tear my eyes off the television.

I can still hear the continuous crackling of distant shooting through the speakers. Having completed her exhibitionist display, Chrissie is now mocking the men still shooting at her. She sticks out her tongue and brings her two hands up with the middle finger of each raised in insult. I just saw a spark as a bullet hit her tongue! She didn't even react! I feel my groin spasm over and over as I stare at the image of Chrissie, laughing at the military's useless attempts to put even the tiniest mark on her.

"What we are witnessing here, live in Central Square," Tom seems to have recovered the power of speech even if I'm still unable to control any part of my body, "is confirmation of the rumours that the young woman we are watching, Christine Jones, has some kind of immunity to gunfire. Given that we also know she is strong enough to throw a bus, the question for the army and the government now will be 'how can she be stopped?'"

"She can't be!" I hiss in reply, even if the query wasn't meant for me and the man who posed it cannot possibly hear my words anyway.

Chrissie certainly doesn't look like she can be stopped. She's finally dropped her raised fingers and pulled her tongue back in. Now the big grin returns. She starts walking casually forward, completely ignoring the on-going barrage of automatic weaponry. The line of soldiers adjusts around her, those closest to where she is advancing backing away, trying to maintain distance from her. To my eyes, she is moving whichever way she wants and everyone else, including the army, including the men in peak condition unloading their deadly hardware from almost point-blank range... everyone, and everything else has no choice but to make way for her.

The delighted expression on her face as she strolls through a swarm of bullets suggests that she sees things the same way. It's becoming a matter of time before the increasingly warped line of men will have to break entirely or at least stop shooting if they are not going to end up hurting each other. I have to remind myself that a single one of the... I don't know, thousands... of bullets that have struck her without effect could be more than enough to kill anyone else. Soon enough, the crackling of guns begins to die down as the soldiers give up their futile attempts to scratch her perfect skin. They're running around now, trying to form a loose ring around her.

Considering the challenges of distance and chaos he is facing, the cameraman continues to do a remarkable job capturing the zoomed-in images with his equipment. Chrissie takes a step away from the building, towards the military guys on that side of her. It's almost as if it has been choreographed, the way the men surrounding her try and keep in a circle formation as she strolls leisurely as if she were alone in a park on a spring morning. Then the image seems to glitch for a fraction of a second, and Chrissie is suddenly standing mere inches in front of one of the soldiers. In normal circumstances, I'd have dismissed the strange visuals as the result of dropped frames. But I know it's merely the broadcast technology's inadequate relaying of a short burst of her superspeed.

The uniformed man she's selected has his back to me - or rather, to the camera - I can't see his face but I think I can just about make out his yell as my goddess clearly snatches his gun away. He bends over almost double... I think his hand or hands have been hurt, but the most noticeable result of his pained reaction is that we now have an unobscured view of the upper half of Chrissie. She lifts the gun she's grabbed and for a moment, I wonder if she's going to point it at the guys still forming a ring around her. But then she does something quite glorious with it. She turns the long weapon in her hands until it is perpendicular to the ground, pointing downwards. And then, with a grin that is unmistakable, even in the low-quality image on my television, she very slowly, very deliberately, brings the gun towards the sacred perfection that is her body. She pulls it towards that mind-melting strip of flesh between the two open halves of her shirt and pushes the top portion of the long barrel into her magnificent cleavage.

The pictures are not sharp. Nonetheless, I can see the inner, heavenly curves of her breasts begin to slightly envelope the gun. Just how snugly she has embraced the weapon becomes incontrovertible an instant later when she removes her hands from it entirely and it remains unmoving, held in place solely by the awe-inspiring shape of her incomparable chest. A faint masculine shout comes through the speakers beside the screen. A solider who had been adjacent to the wounded man in the rough circle drops his weapon and charges towards her. He partially blocks our view of her for an instant, and then a scream which the microphones clearly pick up accompanies the sight of his feet raising half a yard from the ground. One of Chrissie's hands appears. She's resting it on her hip.

Her failed attacker slowly seems to drift sideways as his feet begin to thrash uselessly at air. Chrissie is turning slightly. It's almost as though she's doing it purely to allow the camera to get a clear view of what is happening. Now her other arm can be seen. The hand at the end of it is clutching the increasingly desperate man by the throat, whilst its counterpart remains dominantly stationed on her hip. She's holding him off the ground with arrogant ease. Her prisoner is fighting to pull her fingers off his neck, but he's not succeeding. Now he's tried to slap her face and I'm pretty sure I heard another scream from him but it hasn't caused her to react. Oh, wait... yes, she is reacting. She's laughing.

The soldier is panicking now. Is he trying to push at her? No... he's... he's trying to pull the gun out of her cleavage! He's desperately tugging at it but he can't move it! She's gripping it so tightly with her goddess breasts that a big, fit man is powerless to shift it. I can feel my own body reacting to the scene even though it's barely been a minute since... since the pictures of her drove me over the edge. Chrissie suddenly releases her fingers from his throat and he falls towards the ground, but his feet don't hit the pavement. It takes me a second to work it out. He's still gripping the gun with both of his hands. He's deliberately keeping his shoes off the street so that his entire weight is being added to the strength of his arms. In effect, she is supporting his bulk with just her chest and when I realise, I almost orgasm again.

I'm starting to wonder how long she can carry his considerable mass in that breath-taking manner. A minute? An hour? Forever? The hand on her hip only accentuates her crushing superiority, which is why I almost fail to notice her other hand moving. It didn't seem to move much but with a terrified squeal that gets louder, the soldier is suddenly soaring through the air away from her, towards the cameraman, and the viewer. She must have given him a fairly effortless push away judging by the extent of her movements, but the effect is astonishing. He travels in a long, low arc, never reaching more than about twelve feet high on the vertical axis yet covering well over a hundred yards on the horizontal.

The picture stays focussed tightly on Chrissie. The soldier disappears from my screen and then his yell which has been crescendoing as he flew ever closer to the microphone suddenly stops. With a disdain that is clear, she brings a hand up to her body and pulls the gun out of her cleavage, apparently without encountering any resistance. I catch a glimpse of the barrel where she had been so intimately holding it a moment before. It's hard to be certain with the low quality picture, but I'm pretty sure the metal has been deformed. Squeezed. Crushed. The idea is too much for me and I can feel my loins spasming once again. I can hear shouting from the television but my eyes flicker for an instant and I lose focus as I am brought to a second climax.

I find myself panting with exhaustion as I blink my vision clear after what must be a few seconds. But the image on-screen has changed. It's a view of a studio with a newsreader. He's saying something about the technicians having lost the live link. They're working hard to restore contact apparently, and will bring us more from the scene as soon as they can. And now he's trying to recap the events we've all just witnessed. I feel a dull ache spreading through my groin. My eyelids suddenly feel heavy. Too heavy to keep open. I realise I am about to fall deeply asleep in Chrissie's reality. Reality one.

With the last moments of consciousness left to me, I reach up for the device and press the button to return to reality zero where the Goddess of reality one is just another ordinary person. I'm dimly aware of the television image suddenly shifting from a newsroom to a comedy show, as if the device was merely a channel-changing remote control, then I slip into profound slumber with the television, and all the lights still on.

  

Conceptfan, May. 2022.