Now, when I left off yesterday, I was several miles up, free-falling through the atmosphere.
I plunged Earthward, tearing through the clouds, feeling the exhilarating rush of the cold air racing past me. I've jumped out of aeroplanes before, but never from such a height. I knew the impact would be impressive. I was hoping for some rocky ground to land on as that's always more fun, but instead I saw a grassy field zooming to meet me below.
I hit the surface and just kept going, through the soil and the rocks beneath, my invulnerable body reducing everything in its path to dust until the resistance finally began to take its toll and slow me down. I came to a halt at the bottom of a crater that measured twenty feet deep and thirty feet wide, a shower of pulverised stone and dirt raining down on me. I stood up instantly, and brushed the debris from my hair.
Before I could even consider my next move, I heard the Whoosh! that announced Ultragirl's arrival on the scene. She was hovering about five feet from the ground, a couple of yards in front of me, her hands on her lovely, shapely hips. "You should be dead, bitch." was her angry salutation.
She dived at me, I ducked aside at superspeed and she ploughed a new hole in the rocks at the bottom of my crater. Before she had time to pull herself out, I grabbed her legs and yanked her out with a single hand. In a fraction of a second, I sat down, pulling her body to my thighs so that she was lying across my lap.
Smiling at the thought of what I was about to do, I opened my hand and slapped it hard against her fantastically rounded, harder-than-steel rear. She yelped in shock, and no doubt, more than a little pain. "That's for trying to take me into space." I told her. Then, I smacked her again. "And that's for interfering in my business. And this-" I gave her a third spank, much harder than the first two, which made her cry out "-is for fun."
After that, she was so shocked, I was able to stand up, using one hand to toss her aside. My casual throw left her buried headfirst, up to her shoulders, in crushed stone. She took a second or two to extricate herself. When she did, I saw that her face was the deep red tone of a girl who knew she'd been humiliated.
"I'd love to stick around," I told her, "but I wouldn't like you to take me to the stars again. I guess you and I just weren't meant to be together. Such a shame. We could've been something special." With that I brought my hand up to my mouth, planting a slow and sexy kiss on my fingertips. I turned my palm and blew over it, carrying the kiss to Ultragirl.
Of course, I made sure I blew hard enough to knock her off her feet once more, leaving her sitting on her already well-punished backside. And with that, I turned on my heels and walked calmly from the scene. As I expected, Ultragirl didn't even try to follow me.
I certainly won't be seeking her out again. I've no intention of becoming a permanent satellite. And I doubt she'll want another beating from me, either. I guess, I'll have to stick to ordinary, fragile men rather than super women in future if I want to get my kicks. Maybe one day, Ultragirl will change her attitude and become my lover.
Until then, all I have is the memory of those wonderful moments in the clouds when I pressed her body against mine. A beautiful body. That didn't dissolve into paste in my arms. Oh, Ultragirl! Will you ever love me?
Monday 4 April 2005 17:41 BST (GMT+1)
So, I've had a whole weekend to reflect on my meetings with Ultragirl. Mostly, I've been reflecting with my fingers, but I've also used a diamond-tipped hammer-drill. And that's not all...
On Saturday, travelling across the U.S. before my final swim home, I broke into the storage area on a major construction site and smashed my hand through the side of a steel safe, "liberating" a small amount of plastic explosive. I detonated it last night. You could call it a "controlled" explosion. Only the smoke curling between my fingers as they gripped my crotch revealed that a bomb powerful enough to have blasted a twenty foot hole in a solid rock wall had gone off inside me.
Although that was fun, it wasn't a fraction of the pleasure I felt rubbing against Ultragirl. It's frustrating: if I don't want the risk of being carried out of Earth's gravitational field and left to drift endlessly in space, I have to continue trying to squeeze my gratification out of weak, fragile men. Or power-tools. Or explosives...
Tomorrow, to take my mind off thoughts of what might have been and what should be, I'm planning a special party. There's only one invited guest: me. Everyone else there won't have a choice about attending. Should be a laugh!
Tuesday 5 April 2005 19:51 BST (GMT+1)
Well, I'm a bit disappointed this evening. I had high hopes for today's activity but they weren't fulfilled.
Some background: It seems my local amateur football club is getting desperate. They're almost bottom of their league and they've recently lost most of their best players (two went to a better team, one quit due to work commitments and the leading scorer broke his pelvis on Monday. Maybe I was pounding a bit too hard, but he needn't have screamed so much...)
Anyway, they were holding an open trial this morning in the ridiculous hope that they might discover some hidden talent in the community. Eight guys turned up, ages ranging from late teens to early forties, abilities raging from very very small to non-existent. I doubt if any of them would have made the grade, but it doesn't matter. The club's run of bad luck struck again, and the event was a complete disaster.
Just after all the trialists were sent into the spartan dressing room and asked to change, a huge tree inexplicably collapsed, its trunk snapping clean in half so that it fell right in front of the changing room door, trapping everyone inside. Fortunately, no-one saw me leaning on the tree, pushing it with one hand until the wood simply yielded to my strength.
Whilst the club officials called the emergency services, I leapt onto the roof. Bending down, I peeled a section of steel sheeting away as if it was paper, stripped off my clothes and jumped down amongst the surprised men. Selecting one of them I liked the look of, I advanced on him, pushing him back against a wall.
He tried to push me away without success. He tried to duck away and I leant in, pinning him with my naked chest. He tried to hit me and hurt his fists. He tried to kick me and damaged his feet. The other men got involved, trying to pull me away. A casual swing of my arms sent three of them flying away, not to get up again. The others I just ignored.
My man was only wearing underpants. My fingernails sliced through the elastic waistband and the material fluttered down to his ankles. I closed my fingers gently around his throbbing member, bringing it quickly to full size before guiding it as I lifted myself onto it. Then I pumped away for a bit until his chest was heavily bruised and tears were forming in his eyes.
Reaching behind me, I grabbed hold of a shocked spectator and slammed him up against the wall next to my first lover. Stripping number two, I found he needed no further encouragement before I could force myself onto him. I rode him a for a while, paying no attention to the sounds of an electric saw working outside.
I became aware of a persistent tapping on my back, and, glancing over my shoulder saw that one of the remaining men was throwing studded football boots at me. Without interrupting my rhythmic thrusting, I blew him a kiss that lifted him from the ground and smashed him into the far wall hard enough to knock him out cold.
The sight of a man helplessly tossed around by my breath was stimulating and as I turned back and saw the pain on the face of the man I was riding, I came to a small orgasm (knocking my second lover unconscious as I trembled in mild delight). I was ready for more, but realising that the door was shortly going to be opened, I decided to leave early.
I leapt back up through the hole I'd made in the roof then bent the steel sheeting back into place before putting my clothes back on. I left not completely happy. First of all, I'd left two guys still walking, which was a shame, and the most of the others will have come round fairly soon after I left. And secondly, I didn't really get to satisfy my needs: the two men combined managed to give me about a tenth of the pleasure I felt just rubbing against Ultragirl.
I'll have to find out if they're holding any more trials. Maybe next time I can do things properly.
Wednesday 6 April 2005 18:41 BST (GMT+1)
So, Ultragirl finally recovered enough from her humiliation to post her version of the other week's events. Good to see that she knows I got the better of her. If only she would surrender to her true feelings towards me!
In other news, the local paper has a lovely article about the incident at the football club. Apparently, the police say the tree fell so hard, the impact shook the dressing room causing a variety of injuries to the triallists inside. Yeah, right!
Anyway, I've been invited to a party. The guy downstairs (the one who wanted to get me a job in the music business, presumably in the hope that, in return, I would let him approach my perfect body without killing him) pushed a little card under my door this morning.
Apparently, he's having some friends and colleagues 'round "for a wild time" tonight. I might just make his dreams come true and put in an appearance. Of course, it won't be in the way he's expecting...
Thursday 7 April 2005 08:51 BST (GMT+1)
What a lousy party! I should have known that a stupid, pathetic man like my downstairs "music business" neighbour would only have stupid pathetic friends. That's why I didn't stay very long.
I decided to gatecrash the get-together, even though I wasn't invited. Of course, there's no actual gates in our flats, so I door-crashed instead. Starting about two steps from his front entrance, I ran. The wooden door didn't slow me in the slightest. The front of my body slammed into it, ripping its heavy steel hinges clean in half. The detached panel flew into the apartment, knocking a trio of partygoers over immediately.
I kept running, hurdling the length of the fallen door and the three men on the ground. I was going too fast for "normal" eyes and brains to follow as I sprinted into the main room. There were about twenty people in there, mostly clustered around a long table that had been covered with drinks and a few party snacks.
My extremely-rapid passage created a strong gust of displaced air which scattered quite a number of party guests. They fell like bowling pins, pushing others over on their way down. That was a pretty funny sight, but I didn't hang about to observe it. I leapt onto the table, pressing down with my feet so that its legs immediately snapped and its contents were sent flying around the room.
Glass smashed against the walls as a dozen bottles shot around the room, splashes of alcohol soaking anyone who hadn't already lost their footing. A lot of beer cans burst open too, their contents spraying like sprinklers on a summer lawn. Canopes splattered on the expensive clothes of the terrified people.
I saw at least four guests getting speared by cocktail sticks, but I was moving so fast, their faces were only just beginning to contort in pain and their mouths barely starting to change into scream-shape. It would have made for a wonderful photo, but by then, I was already leaving the room.
I passed the bathroom. The door had been left open and I could see that the bath had been filled with cold water in which ice cubes, beer cans and four or five champagne bottles floated. I blew a very quick blast of hyper-cold superbreath at the tub, freezing its contents into a solid block. I imagine it'll take two men with chisels and hairdryers about six hours to get at the booze. They'll find it ruined, anyway.
I maintained the high pace of my charge through the flat. In the kitchen I found the host with a group of his cronies. They'd been startled by all the noise are were just starting to look up from the work-top they were crowded around. My neighbour hadn't yet had time to remove the rolled up banknote from his nostril.
If I didn't already know what they were up to, I got a big clue as the wind of my passage blew a cloud of white powder up into the air. I sucked all the cocaine into my lungs, making sure not a grain remained on the table before snatching the money out of the host's nose. I must've done it a bit roughly, because I tore the end of his nostril and had to remove a little piece of flesh that was stuck to the note as I pocketed it.
After that, I reached the back door, kicking it down as I ran without breaking my supersonic stride. I raced down the fire-escape stairs far too quickly to be seen, let alone followed, chuckling to myself.
About a quarter of an hour later, I walked casually and calmly back into the building through the main entrance and went up to my flat. I couldn't help but notice the two ambulances parked outside and the men carrying laden stretchers down the stairs. The bemused party-thrower was standing in the corridor, blood flowing in a cascade from his nose as a paramedic tried to examine his wound.
"Good party, was it?" I asked him. He didn't reply.
Monday 11 April 2005 17:38 BST (GMT+1)
"Do you mind if I can ask to buy you a drink?"
That was the overly polite chat-up line used on me by a cute, well-built young man in his early twenties who approached me in the City wine bar where I was hanging out last Friday evening. I made a show of checking him out from head to foot and back again (pausing both times at his groin) before answering "What if I do mind?"
"Then, I'm sorry," he said, "but I had to ask. I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you." I gave him a "yeah, sure, I get that all the time" look (which didn't require much effort on my part). Unperturbed, he went on "Seriously. You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen." I pretended to suppress a yawn.
"I'd like to spend the rest of my life worshipping you." he blurted, clearly seeing how ineffective his speech had been up to that point. I smiled, perhaps too broadly.
"That can be arranged." I said simply. Being just a man, he missed the meaning of both my words and my smile. When I stepped back from the bar and instructed him "Follow me", he got up immediately. Half an hour later, we were walking up the steps to the entrance to my building. We went upstairs, past the door to my flat, and on, to the floor above.
I flung open the door to my playroom. He gasped in surprise as he looked around. I had to give him a shove to get him inside, my gentle push enough to lift him off his feet and send him, yelling, to sprawl momentarily against the padding on the far wall before he slid down to the soft mats on the floor.
"What's going on?" he asked, suddenly sounding scared.
"I'm making your wish come true." I explained. "You're going to spend the rest of your life worshipping me." I grabbed an iron rod with one hand and both of his wrists with the other, making short work of binding his hands to one of the many metal rings high on the wall. Leaving him hanging like a piece of meat in a cold-room, I locked the door on my way out.
Next time, I'll reveal what happened when I went up to see my guest on Saturday morning.
Tuesday 12 April 2005 17:44 BST (GMT+1)
"On your knees, male!"'
That's what I commanded my guest, just after I'd gone into the playroom on Saturday morning. I lifted him down off his hook with one hand and tossed him, with a flick of my delicate-looking wrist, clear across the room to bounce off the far wall with an "Oooof!".
He started to stand. "What the hell's going on? I'm going home!" he wheezed. In a second I was standing in front of him. A tiny touch with my index finger on his shoulder pushed him down onto his rear.
"I said, 'On your knees!'" I repeated.
"How the fuck did you-" he never finished his question. I took a half-step, keeping my bare foot raised. Pointing my toes, I pressed them down, lightly, on his chest. Just enough to drive all the air from his body, depriving him of the ability to speak. Or make any intelligible noise. Almost immediately, his face began to turn blue.
I increased the pressure on his upper body, stopping just short of breaking a few of his ribs. "Next time you speak out of turn, I'll break something. Do you understand?"
There was no response. I pressed my toes down a tiny bit more and was rewarded with the familiar creaking sound of part of a man's fragile skeleton about to snap. The skin of his chest beneath my foot was already bruising impressively. "Answer me!" I ordered. "Do you understand?" He nodded furiously.
I lifted my foot and he gulped down air enthusiastically, rubbing the blackening area of his upper torso. "Now, on your knees!"'
"I... don't.... want.... to.... play.... this.... game," he spluttered between laboured breaths.
"Game?" I responded, almost laughing. "This is no game!" I bent down, grabbing hold of his arm just below the shoulder with my left hand. As I stood, he came up with me. I continued to raise my hand, lifting his entire body with it until he was on tiptoes, his weight completely supported by my unbreakable grip and my slender arm. Then I raised my arm a bit more so that he dangled, utterly helplessly from my hand.
I tossed him upwards so that he bounced hard off the padded ceiling before crashing down with a yell onto the mat-covered floor. There were a couple of big, new bruises on his body. I think he was on the verge of crying. I stepped towards him. "No! Please! No!" he cried as I reached for him once more.
Ignoring his pleas and his yelps of pain, I picked him up by his ankle, swinging him around my head a couple of times before releasing him and letting him fly across the room and impact with the far wall. I was standing over him before he even crashed down. Now, he actually was crying.
"On your knees, male!" I commanded for the third time. This time, however, I was obeyed. Despite my pupil's obvious pain, fear and confusion, my lesson had, at last, sunk in. "Now, worship me."
He didn't know what to do. I saw the wonderful panic on his face as terror took over. He was desperate not to displease me, but completely clueless how he could manage it. Then, he seemed to reach a decision.
Staying kneeling, he bowed his head placing his chin just an inch from my feet, his eyes straining to look up at me, seeking my approval. I kept my face expressionless as he started to kiss my feet. Emboldened, he continued to press his lips repeatedly on my toes. After a couple of minutes, he paused, his neck clearly stiff.
"I didn't tell you to stop." I said. He immediately continued his ministrations. I let him go on for about a quarter-of-an-hour. Then, without warning, I just lifted my foot slightly as he went to embrace it once again. That tiny movement was enough to lift his head so high, his body flipped over, leaving him lying on his back. He was out cold. His nose and lips were bleeding, and he had lost quite a few teeth. Just from a flick of my dainty toes!
I picked up his comatose form and hung him back on the wall to sleep it off. In fact, I didn't go back to see him until the evening. Next time, I'll tell you what we got up to then.
Wednesday 13 April 2005 21:06 BST (GMT +1)
So, Saturday night I woke my guest from his slumber only to have to listen to him moaning about how the cuts on his face hurt, how he thought his nose was broken and how he wanted to go home now.
"Have you already forgotten what I told you this morning about speaking without permission?" I asked, tapping my foot impatiently whilst my hands rested dominantly on my hips.
"Please let me go home." His words were pathetic and croaky.
"Evidently you forgotten." I said. I reached up to bring him down off the hook his bound wrists were hanging from but instead of placing his feet on the ground, I chucked him over my shoulder. He hit the wall about five yards behind me hard enough to reopen the wounds on his face. He left a small red splash where he impacted on the padding and another on the gym mat on the floor where he landed.
I walked over to where he was lying in a heap and with a gentle touch of my toes, knocked him over so that he was lying on his back. Of course even that insignificant contact made him cry out. I could see tears beginning to flow from the corners of his eyes.
"What are you crying for, you big baby?" I demanded. "You said you wanted to worship me for the rest of your life. Now I give you the honour of doing just that and all you can do is blub and moan!
"I... I'm sorry." he sniffled. "Please don't hurt me a-" I didn't let him finish. Another tiny, effortless flick of my pretty toes sent him rolling, out of control until he bounced off the wall on the far side of the room.
"When will you learn?" I asked, in a patronising tone. "Don't speak out of turn!" Unsurprisingly, there was no reply. I made my way to the corner where he was lying. As I approached I heard the sound of his blood pumping in his veins and smelt the excess sweat that revealed his increasing fear. His face when I stopped, looking directly down on him, was a portrait of sheer terror (well, a portrait of sheer terror streaked with a mixture of dried and fresh blood). It was hard not to laugh when I saw it.
He was obviously expecting more pain. He was confused for a moment when I slowly started to remove my clothes and toss them aside. Then the usual male reactions started. The rapid breathing. The growing bulge in his groin... I ignored them, continuing to strip.
When I was completely naked, I stood with my legs slightly apart, my hands on my hips and my chest slightly thrust out. My prostrate friend's eyes looked ready to burst from his skull as they struggled to take in the sight I was offering them. "Kneel before me." I commanded. Without any hesitation (just winces of pain) he obeyed.
"Now, praise my beauty and my strength." There was a pause, the instruction clearly catching him by surprise. I saw in his eyes the frantic search for appropriate words that was taking place in his brain.
Finally, he began. "You are the most physically perfect being I have ever seen. Your body is a work of art that surpasses all human endeavour. In all the universe there is no sight that could compare with the vision that I now behold.." he glanced up at me, scanning my face for any sign of approval or disapproval. I gave him none.
He went on: "It is an honour far beyond what I deserve to be allowed to look upon your glorious body. Your beauty is greater than anything anyone has ever -"
"You already said that." I interrupted. "Speak of my strength now."
"Your strength is greater than any person. It is the match of any-"
I stopped him mid-sentence with a derisive snort. "You cannot compare my strength with that of mere men!"
"Sorry... Your strength is greater than the mightiest river. Your power exceeds anything I can imagine. There is nothing that could challenge you in this-"
"Enough. Your pathetic words are boring me. Show your devotion by masturbating at my feet." If he was shocked by the order, he hid it well. In fact, he complied with alacrity. Within half-a-minute, he had splashed the floor in front of him with quite a few blobs of his juice. "Now, lick it up." I commanded. And he did. Every drop.
When he was done, I bent down, grabbing hold of the iron hook that was wrapped around his forearms. With one hand, I lifted him completely off the ground, letting him dangle from my fingers as I carried him over to the wall. Then I hung him back on his hook, turned and left.
I was in a good mood after that. It's always nice to be complimented.
Thursday 14 April 2005 19:03 BST (GMT +1)
Just back from Evening Service, and feeling great.
That's the evening service in my honour, you understand. My little friend upstairs has shown a growing creative ability since the weekend, thinking up a whole variety of new ways to praise me. So much so, that I've decided to keep him around for the time being. Normally, of course, I'd have become bored with the same male by now, but, like I said, this one appears to have a decent imagination (for a mere man).
Admittedly, he has an incentive (or two). He knows he gets badly hurt when he disobeys me and he knows he doesn't get his bread or his water if I don't like one of his prayers to me. I see it like this: it's enough of a chore keeping a pet what with letting him use the toilet once a day and having his blood and other bodily fluids soil my playroom. The least I can expect in return is a couple of half-hour sessions each day of him worshipping me.
Besides, as he's just hanging on a hook with his wrists bound in iron the rest of the time, he's got nothing better to do than think up prayers to offer his gorgeous, superhuman goddess. At least he does it fairly well.
Sadly, the time will soon come when I'll have to make a decision. The poor, pathetic creature seems to be getting weaker by the hour. Either I'll let him fulfil his ambition to worship me for the rest of his life or I'll set him free to crawl off to a hospital. As I don't really care enough either way, I think I'll toss a coin...
Friday 15 April 2005 17:44 BST (GMT +1)
Today was a cold, wet one here. The sort of day I like to take advantage of the lack of potential witnesses to acts of vandalism in the park...
When I went around ten in the morning, the place was absolutely deserted. The teahouse, which only recently reopened after I destroyed it by throwing trees on to its glass roof, was shut, with a sign on the door (which I read from two hundred yards away) reading "Tues 12th April: Tea room closed due to illness. Business as usual tomorrow." Obviously, someone had been more ill (or lazy) than they had originally planned to be. I also spotted the three CCTV cameras that have been set up to overlook the building.
As there was no-one about, I didn't have to take care. I ran towards the first camera at superspeed, leaping from twenty yards away to land on top of the lens unit, which was attached to the side of the building, about fifteen feet above the ground. A gentle tap with one of my fingers reduced the electronic eye to fragments. Immediately, I jumped down and, as fast as only I can, took out camera number 2 by casually tossing a pebble at it. For those interested, that easy flick of my wrist turned the small stone into a supersonic missile probably capable of downing an aeroplane...
The third camera exploded in shards of glass and plastic about a hundredth of a second later when, standing underneath it, I tilted my head back and spat. That liquid missile was only slightly less powerful than the pebble had been. Anyway, the result was that I managed to destroy the surveillance system before it could even register my beautiful image on a single frame of recording.
After that, I could take my time. I started by walking up to the side wall. I just kept strolling, hands nonchalantly hanging by my sides, as if the cement and brick barrier wasn't there. For all the effect it had, it might as well not have been. My body just ploughed through the bricks, effortlessly pushing some aside and reducing others to powder. A huge pile of displaced bits of wall crashed into the inside of the building, announcing my entrance.
I kept on walking in a straight line. Anything in my way (four tables, twelve chairs and a concrete pillar to be precise) was smashed, broken, crushed or just knocked away by my harder than steel legs, groin, belly, chest and head. It was fun! I reached the counter and watched as the thick wood splintered and snapped against my waist without even altering my stride.
A huge metal coffee urn that was in my path flattened as if it was made of aluminium foil as it became trapped between my flat abdomen and the wall behind it. A second later, much of it just vaporised under the tremendous pressure I was exerting before the bricks it was being mashed into gave up their pointless resistance and surrendered to my advancing body.
The wall burst away from me, leaving me, two steps later, standing outside the tea house once more, my feet buried up to the ankles in smashed brick. My next stride brushed the debris from my path. Over my shoulder, I saw the path of destruction through the building that I had created. It made me feel proud to see the devastation I'd caused, especially when I contrasted it with the unscratched perfection of my body. After that, I made my way, unhurriedly, home, letting the rain wash the brick and plaster dust from my hair and clothes.
Oh, and if anyone's interested (I know I'm not) the coin came up heads which meant I carried my worshipper out of the flat last night, having made sure he was good and unconscious by just giving him the softest of hugs. (It really was just a little squeeze, and I was amazed that a couple of his ribs broke against my breasts, but that's men I guess...) Anyway, I dumped him with the rubbish sacks outside. He wasn't there this morning, so I assume he woke up and managed to crawl away. Or someone took him away. Who cares anyway!
Monday 18 April 2005 17:18 BST (GMT+1)
There was an interesting headline in my local paper at the weekend: "'Haunted' Historical Tearooms To Be Bulldozed."
Yes, once again, the best the press could come up with as an explanation for my activities was the supernatural. According to the article, after 140-odd years of excruciatingly boring history, the cafe in the park has "recently been the scene of a series of bizarre, unexplained phenomena, culminating in last week's horrendous destruction. Now local officials want it pulled down permanently."
There was a nice description of my handiwork: "The building looked as if a small train had been driven through it at high speed." No, guys. It wasn't a runaway express. It was something vastly more powerful (and better looking... and harder to control).
No doubt, it'll take a whole gang of men weeks to complete the demolition work. I'd do it myself in about two-and-a-half seconds with a puff of breath, but it'll be more fun to wait until the all workers are on site before I pay my next visit to the scene.
Hopefully, they'll start this week sometime. I could do with the amusement. Last weekend was as tedious as any I can remember. The only fun I had was with a guy who approached me on the street trying to sell me tickets to some concert. That was over far too quickly. (Not the concert, but the fun.) Two minutes after I met the guy he was naked, unconcious and bleeding in an alley and I was forty yards away with his tickets, wishing he'd managed to give me more than one tiny orgasm before he passed out. I wasn't even that rough with him.
Tuesday 19 April 2005 17:52 BST (GMT+1)
Picture the scene if you will. A deserted road on the outskirts of town at around 1 am last night. There's me, strolling along the pavement, as gorgeous as ever in a tight white sleeveless T-shirt and jeans, impervious to the near-freezing night time temperature.
In the distance, the sound of a motorbike. You can't hear it because your ears are about a thousandth as sensitive as mine, but trust me: it's there. The sound is getting louder. If I turned around, I would be able to see it, despite the dark. You, of course, still can't see or hear anything.
Eventually, the two-stroke engine gets close enough even for a normal person to notice its sound. I don't turn around. The noise becomes almost deafening. The bike draws level and, unsurprisingly given the fact that the rider is male, slows down to crawl as it passes me. The guy on board twists his neck as far as he can to stretch the moment when his eyes feast on my figure.
He's clad completely in not-very-tight black bikers' leathers. His helmet is black, the visor shaded. In truth, the only way I can be absolutely sure of his sex is by his smell. Until he speaks.
Are you picturing the scene? OK, this is what happened:
To my shock and disgust, he made a proposition: "Hey babe, I'll give you a ride if you suck me off."
"You pig!" I said, and took a step angrily towards him. In a flash, he hit his engine and roared away down the road. He'd have been out of sight of an ordinary person in three seconds. But for me, he was well within sight. And well within catching distance. I set off at a jog, in pursuit.
In no time at all, I was closing the gap between us. The racket of his motor was in stark contrast to my silent barefoot steps. Plus, the engine was working at its full capacity while I was taking it easy. As I got really close, the rider must've spotted me in his mirror. He turned around, perhaps to confirm that he wasn't hallucinating and that he was, indeed, being chased by a babe doing eighty-miles an hour.
Then he righted his body to concentrate on the road ahead, gunning the bike and leaning forward. He accelerated about another twenty mph, meaning I had to put a tiny bit more effort into my casual jog to catch up with him. I wasn't even short of breath (in fact, I sighed theatrically as I sped up).
I grabbed the back of the bike with the fingers of my right hand and stopped it dead in its tracks as easily as I would have stopped a slowly rolling beach ball. Of course the abrupt deceleration of the motorbike (from 100 to zero in 0.001 seconds) was not shared by its rider. He sailed over his handlebars, flying down the road as if trying to continue his journey without a vehicle.
I knew his passage through the air would be short lived and would end badly for him. Letting go of the bike, I sprinted beneath him as his reached the peak of the arc of his flight. As he started to come down, I had turned around and was waiting for him, hands on my hips.
Letting him crash into me head first would have been even worse for him than hitting the tarmac. His helmet wouldn't have helped one little bit. I was tempted (very tempted) to let it happen, but took another course of action instead. At the very instant of the first impact, I started to step backwards, keeping my hands on my hips but moving my body to absorb the worst of the collision.
He hit me square on the chest. His head would have been pushed completely into his body if I hadn't backed away so expertly. As it was, he was knocked out instantly, my large breasts proving too hard, even for his helmet which cracked badly where it slammed into me. I allowed him to slump to the ground, deeply unconscious but still alive.
Walking down the road, I retrieved his bike, lifting the heavy machine with a single hand and carrying it back to its owner like it was as heavy as a bag of chips. Then I set to work, remoulding it. The steel yielded noisily, but easily to my petite hands. In less than a minute, I had reduced a state-of-the-art motorbike to a football-sized sphere of junk metal.
I placed the new sculpture on the chest of the sleeping rider. Although I hadn't even noticed its mass as I worked it between my hands, the weight of the lump of compressed metal pressed down on him, restricting his breathing slightly. I walked off without giving him or his ex-bike a second glance.
Wednesday 20 April 2005 17:36 BST (GMT+1)
Today there was some lovely spring sunshine in town. I had planned to go shopping in the West End, but even I am not immune to the charms of spending a few hours lying on the grass, soaking up a few rays.
Of course, I don't tan. I don't even get warm walking through fire. More than a few times, for various reasons (usually the pursuit of a good time), I've climbed inside an industrial furnace. The thousand-degree height feels warm, but not uncomfortable. And, even after a couple of hours, there isn't a mark on my skin. The one time I did it clothed, there was nothing left of my garments but ash, but I was still fine. So, a little bit of sun certainly couldn't change my skin-tone.
By the way, there's probably at least one idiot reading this thinking "yeah, Blogger, you survived a conventional oven, but what about a microwave?" Well, don't waste your precious brain cells. Someone's already tried it. A guy who seriously thought he could "get rid of me". He hatched a mega-complex plan which involved luring me into a badly-disguised, custom built, giant microwave cooker.
Of course, I realised what was going on well in time to do something about it, but I went willingly into the huge radiation chamber just to prove a point. (And also because I thought it might be a laugh. It wasn't.) The microwaves did nothing much for me, and they certainly didn't hurt. As for my would-be assassin.... well, watching me burst out of the thick steel sides of that over-sized oven was the last thing he ever did.
Anyway, compared with that, I shouldn't even feel the sun, but it's strange. I can definitely feel the warmth of Earth's star in my body and I always feel even more great than usual when I sunbathe. I'm always fresh, so I can't be refreshed, but that's what it's like.
Some years ago, shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I broke into a government research institute and took a couple of scientists hostage. It was mostly just fun (I forced the experts to try and invent something that could hurt me. Of course, they couldn't) but I also asked them a few more serious questions.
Amongst other things, we discussed the particular way I feel in the sun. One of the two men suggested that it might be because my superhuman body is powered by solar energy. Unfortunately, a gentle (as far as I was concerned) bout of love-making left him in a coma and he never got to run the tests he was planning. After that, I didn't bother much more with scientists.
I never got my answer. Thinking about just how good I feel right now after a few hours in the sun, maybe I should try and find someone else to do those tests...
Thursday 21 April 2005 21:43 BST (GMT+1)
Where does a girl like me find a scientist with access to a really well-equipped laboratory? Not easy, is it? I mean, the kind of guy I'm looking for doesn't hang out in bars...
In the end, I went to the one place I knew my search would succeed. A lab. Not just any lab, of course. A top secret government lab that "hardly anyone" knows about. Fortunately one of the very few people who is aware of it is a top-ranking civil servant I met about six months ago. He's a strange old man, but he was more than happy to share a dozen-or-so State secrets with me in exchange for the honour of getting close to my body. Later, he shared several dozen more secrets in exchange for me allowing him to get away from my body before it crushed his out of existence...
Anyway, I just walked up to the inconspicuous gates and waited to be noticed. Soon enough, a large man in a security guard's uniform appeared and called out to me. He asked me what I was doing. I told him, taking off my T-shirt, that I was looking for a man to show me a good time. Thirty seconds later, he was lying on the ground, his clothes in torn strips hanging off his body or littering the dirt around it whilst I bounced happily up and down, taking his impressive erection in and out of myself at about double the "normal" human speed.
Needless to say, he came quickly. A light tap of my little finger on the top of his head left him in extended dreamland before his weedy male orgasm had completely subsided. Climbing off him, I took a moment to add to the work he'd done, my fingers bringing me the satisfaction that seems to be beyond the vast majority of men. Then I put my clothes back on, leapt over the ten-foot gate without breaking stride and strolled down the path to the building beyond.
I found the security guards' hut at the end of that path, right in front of a huge steel barrier just yards in front of the only major building in sight. Immediately, another well-built guy left the hut and walked up to me. I mirrored his approach, but kept on going after he'd stopped so that when I finally came to a halt, our chests were almost touching. He seemed awkward about the disregard for his personal space and I didn't exactly put him at ease by making sure my fragrant breath washed over his face when I spoke.
"How do you fancy spending some quality time with me?" I asked him, provocatively. All his vital signs (heart-rate, breathing, sweat glands) showed that he was interested in the proposition. Very interested, in fact.
But, he was a professional. "I... I can't I'm on duty. What about later? I finish at ele-aaaaagh!" I cut off his answer and made him scream by grabbing loosely hold of the end of his ready-for-action erection through his jeans.
"Later's not good for me," I told him truthfully as I kept my grip on him and took a step forwards, forcing him to take a matching step back. I kept on advancing. He tried to push against me for a moment, but his efforts made no difference to me. I could see tears forming in his eyes from the pain I was causing with my thumb and forefinger. Still I pushed him back, carefully steering him into the guards' hut.
Once we were inside, I released his penis and shoved him very carefully in the belly, making him fly, rump-first, into a nearby chair. He remained seated as he regained his composure and his breath. Looking around the little room, I saw nothing unusual. A tabloid newspaper, open on a page containing a large photograph of a topless model (not a patch on me!), a kettle with coffee- and tea-making equipment, a tiny fridge, a bank of CCTV monitors and a PC.
"Hey!" my new friend said, once he had enough air to speak. "You're not supposed to come in here. You've got to go, right now."
"Can't do that." I said. "I've got a couple of things to do first."
"No, you haven't," he contradicted, rising to his feet.
"I didn't say you could stand up." I told him.
"Right!" he exclaimed, as if he'd just come to some sort of a decision. "You've had your fun. Now it's time to go." He reached for me with both arms. I think he was planning to grab me by the waist and pick me up to carry me outside. I grabbed one of his wrists and jerked it, bringing him crashing down, noisily, onto his knees. He cried out in pain. "What...the...fu-?" he started to say.
I interrupted him to ask, casually, with a nod in the direction of the PC, "Does that have internet access?" He didn't answer at first, so I gave his wrist a little squeeze until it started to crunch and he yelled out in agony. "Does that have internet access?" I repeated.
"Yes... yes..." he answered. "Please... let go... you're hurting me..."
"Oh, don't be such a baby." I chastised him. I moved towards the computer.
"You can't use that." my man said, painfully. "Only authorised u-"
Crunch! An effortless application of pressure took care of the rest of the bones in his thick, muscular wrist. "I just authorised myself." I explained, once his shouts died down. I kept hold of his now rather floppy wrist as I sat down at the terminal. There was a window on-screen, requesting a password for access. "What's the password?" I asked.
"I can't tell you. I'm not al-" A simple pull on his busted forearm brought his entire body towards mine, creating fresh cries of agony. With him close enough now, I let go of his wrist and grabbed hold of him by the belt of his trousers. With one hand, I hoisted him over my head, letting his legs and arms dangle either side of my slender upstretched arm. They didn't dangle for long, however. Soon he was trying all the usual helpless-man-tricks; hitting, kicking, pulling. All. of course, in vain. I waited for him to tire and asked him for the password again. "Who... who are you?" he panted.
"That's up to you." I answered. "You could tell me the password and I'll be the biggest thrill of your life. Or," I emphasised my point by lifting and lowering his huge bulk over my head a couple of times, talking as I moved his huge frame around to let him know just how easy it was for me to do, "I could be your worst, and last, nightmare. Your choice, big boy."
"Bart Simpson!" he yelled. "The password is Bart Simpson!"
"Is that all lower case?" I enquired, casually. He answered that without any prompting. Now, three minutes later, he's still folded over my little hand, his body draped over my arm, still suspended in the air above me. I've been holding him there with one hand and using the other to type since I started this blog entry. I've taken my time, as I don't want to damage the keyboard which is, after all, government property. Besides it's not like my arm's tiring or anything.
Now that I'm done, I'll post, then give my new friend his due reward before I set about my main task of finding me a late-working biologist. Needless to say, I'll let you know how it goes next time.
Friday 22 April 2005 17:07 BST (GMT+1)
When I finished last night's entry I was in a security guard's hut, holding one member of the protection team overhead with my spare arm.
Once I'd received confirmation that the post had gone through, I stood up, keeping my new friend suspended at arm's length. With my free hand, I tore through his thick leather belt and the waist bands of his trousers and underwear in an instant. I continued to tear until there was nothing left of the lower half of his clothes but a couple of strips of material. The lightest brushing of my hand over his groin brought him back to a fully erect state. I kept him dangling from my arm as I removed some of my own garments.
Remembering how I'd broken his wrist, I tried not to hurt him too much as I manoeuvred his huge frame down and between my legs. Using two hands, one under his buttocks, the other on his back whilst I spread my legs apart a little, I lifted him into me. Then eased him out. Then thrust him in and pulled him out hard. After about ten seconds of that, he shot his load. I kept going for another minute or so until I got a small orgasm myself. By then, I'd shaken my lover into unconsciousness, so I just removed my hands from his body and let him fall onto his back.
With the external security team taken out of the picture, I approached the huge metal gate that blocked access to the main building (actually the only proper building) on the site. The barrier was well over ten foot high and made of thick steel. I could have simply walked through it and allowed my body to smash a hole. Or used my strength to lift the thing, tearing it from its hinges and tossing it aside. Instead, I just leapt over it with a carefree little skip.
The only door in the front of the building was locked. There was no keyhole, just a card swiper. I made my delicate-looking hand into a fist and banged on the entrance. The thick wooden panel snapped in half beneath the force of my blow and the two pieces of door hung awkwardly from their damaged hinges. I swept them aside with my arm as I walked in.
"Hello?" I called out. "Is anyone home?" No reply.
I was in an entrance hall which contained no furniture other than a coat rack. I could see two overcoats hanging from pegs, so I knew that the place almost certainly wasn't deserted. There were three doors (apart from the one I'd entered through) leading away from the room. I tuned my superhearing into each one in turn, until I detected the unmistakable noise of a man's heart and lungs working behind one of them.
I walked up to the door to the occupied room. Forgetting to knock (or check to see if there was a handle or similar opening mechanism) I just lifted my foot almost in mid-stride, and effortlessly kicked the heavy wooden door in. The area where my toes struck was reduced to sawdust instantly. The rest of the block of wood smashed into about ten rough pieces.
There was a smash of glass from inside the room. Stepping through the now open doorway, I immediately saw the cause. A middle-aged man in a long white lab coat stood to one side of a chemist's workbench. On his face, a look of pure shock. At his feet, a small puddle of green liquid and a variety of scattered bits of broken glass. Clearly my abrupt entrance had caused him to drop a beaker.
"Ah, good evening! I'm glad I found you," I announced, absent-mindedly strolling towards a gigantic floor-based centrifuge. Made of iron and steel, its main barrel must have been over a meter in diameter. I'd guess it weighed a couple of tons (if that illustrates the scene at all for you - anything less than several hundred thousand tons is meaningless to me).
"Who are you?" the lab-coat-wearer asked, still in a state of shock.
"I'm the girl who's been looking for you." I replied, causally bending down and spreading my arms wide, as if hugging the base of the centrifuge. My arms weren't long enough to meet on the far side, but I got a good grip (especially when I leant forward and let my man-luring chest noisily make a pair of deep indents in the three-inch thick metal).
"Wh.. what do you want?" he asked. It seemed his shock was beginning to yield to nervousness. I decided to give shock another go at controlling his brain and stood up, still hugging the centrifuge as I rose.
I should have seen that it was bolted to the floor. The heavy duty steel screws stretched with an agonising groan before, with a serious of loud, sharp, snaps, giving way when they realised that they stood no change against my vastly superior strength. Without the bolts to hold it down, the gigantic metal drum rose easily from the floor, it's weight, frankly, as nothing to me.
I held it like that for a few seconds, then made a big show of calmly, in the most laid-back manner, tossing the entire thing to the side. It flew like a oversized cannonball, hitting the side wall which was filled by shelves stacked with various bottles and jars. The centrifuge smashed everything on its way to breaking through the plaster and even the brick behind it, creating a man-sized (if rough) opening to the adjacent room.
Brushing off my hands, I placed them on my hips, dipping one shoulder and bending one knee slightly and smiling at the guy in white who was now visibly shaking. Having introduced myself, I was ready to find out more about him.
But you have to wait for next time for that.
Monday 25 April 2005 17:35 BST (GMT+1)
Where did I leave things on Friday? Ah yes, I'd just entered the lab and moved some of the furniture...
Whilst the man in the white coat stared at me in a typical mixture of lust, awe and fear, I spoke to him. "Are you, by any chance, a biochemist?" I enquired.
"Er.." The question seemed to have caught him off-guard. "Um.. of sorts, yes."
"Good. I've got a job for you."
"I, er, already have a job. Under the terms of my contract, I'm forbidden from working for any other individual or organisation."
"That's a pity." I replied, "A big pity. For you." In a fraction of a second I moved to stand right in front of him. He wouldn't have been able to see my movements other than perhaps a faint blur, but he certainly did feel the rush of displaced air that nearly knocked him off his feet. He recovered his balance and then jumped in shock when he realised that I was suddenly so close to him.
From that distance, he was unable to resist the temptation to shoot a downward glance at the top of my cleavage once he'd recovered some composure. My low-cut T-shirt gave him enough of an eyeful to trigger the standard irregular breathing and quickening of pulse. I used that second, when he was distracted by pure lust, to grab hold of the collar of his lab coat in my right fist.
Using the cloth in my hand, I lifted the coat, and the man in it, completely off the floor. My single hand held his weight (and could easily have held a hundred more of him) whilst I gently shook him. His attempts to free himself (pathetic slaps on my face, a couple of tries at kneeing me in the stomach) showed that he had spent his childhood reading rather than fighting. I laughed at him, openly.
"OK. Fun's over." I said after a while. "It's time for you to die now." I bent my elbow, as if preparing to launch him into orbit. He screamed in utter panic. "No! No! Please!!"
"Why not?" I asked, smiling. "I mean, if you can't do a little job for me, why should I bother to let you live?"
"Please! I'll do it!! Anything! Please!"
"Oh? You've decided to change your mind?" I teased. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. Yes. I'll do whatever you ask." I opened my hand, dropping him to the ground, letting him fall in a heap at my feet. As he started to gather himself up, I placed my hands on my hips and glared down on him.
"OK. Here's the job: I need you to monitor the effects of sunlight on my-" I moved my hands temporarily from my hips using them to trace the curves of my torso, "-body."
"That's what I said."
"Effects? Um, effects such as...?"
"Are you sure you're a scientist? Maybe I should just kill you anyway.." Those words, meant purely to tease, caused his face to fill with terror. He took a backward step, inevitably tripping over and landing painfully on his backside. I couldn't help but laugh. "Even for a man, you really are pathetic!" I observed, between chuckles.
"Please! I'm sorry." he pleaded.
"Last chance." I warned him. "Now, listen carefully. I'm going to tell you exactly what I want you to do." He nodded vigorously and I explained what I wanted.
"I'll need some equipment we don't have here." he said when I'd finished.
"That's OK, I wasn't planning to hang around here much longer tonight," I told him. With a sweep of my arm, I indicated the wreckage on the far side of the room where I'd thrown the centrifuge through the wall. "This place is a mess, anyway. Here's the deal. Get hold of the equipment you need and bring it to this address on Tuesday morning." I handed him a card with my address, he took it with a shaking hand.
"If you're thinking about not showing, that's fine. It'll be easy enough for me to find another biochemist... after I've killed you." He swallowed hard. "On the other hand," I went on, bending towards him a little and thrusting out my chest, making his heart race, "if you're a good boy and do as you're told, I might even let you touch my tits." He swallowed again, even harder this time.
"See you Tuesday, then!" I said. I placed my hand in front of my lips and blew him a gentle, sexy kiss that knocked him back to the ground once more. Before he could begin to regain his feet, I had turned around and walked out the same way I came in.
On my way out of the building, I passed both the security guards I'd fooled around with. They were both still out for the count.
Tuesday 26 April 2005 16:58 BST (GMT+1)
Just a quick update tonight.
My friendly (and mostly co-operative) biochemist is still with me. We've had a great day. He's been hurt a few times, but men rarely spend a day with me without sustaining injury. Twice he got too close to our experiments and, unsurprisingly, what I couldn't feel proved more than enough to make him scream and leave him wounded.
His other significant injury, a broken leg, happened (almost) by accident when I picked him up by his ankle this morning to encourage him to hurry after he'd hesitated before carrying out one of my instructions. Since I made that point, he's been the very model of obedient efficiency.
Right now, he's focussing the beam of a specialist laser onto the tip of my left nipple. He says that, on another occasion, a temperature of thirty thousand degrees centigrade was recorded at the exact focal point of the beam. That's similar to the surface of the sun, apparently.
All I know is that it tickles a little. But it's nice. It's a just shame he can't make it any hotter. Anyway, I think it's time for our next experiment. More next time.
Wednesday 27 April 2005 17:40 BST (GMT+1)
It's always nice to have visitors, like I did yesterday. It's even nicer when those visitors bring gifts, again, like yesterday.
OK, so my biochemist friend had said that he had to pull a lot of strings and call in every favour he had in the trade to borrow some of the equipment he brought 'round. And he did say that it all had to go back by 10pm yesterday. And he did also say that some of the toys were one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable items. And, yeah, he did beg me, tearfully, on his knees, to let him take them back.
But I considered them gifts anyway. That's why I kept them, despite my friend's pleas to the contrary. I don't really know why he was so distraught about it all. After all, I kept my deal with him. Not only did I let him live, but I also (as promised) let him touch my chest.
I took off my T-shirt and, on my invite (or "order"), he laid his hand over the top of my left breast. He was trembling like a leaf as he did it, and I think he was about to dirty his underwear. As a kind service to him, to prevent his embarrassment, I placed my own hand on top of his and distracted him from his uncontrollable lust by slowly crushing his hand against my big, firm mound.
It worked in as far as he didn't shoot his load. Instead, he made a bit of a mess with his bloody hand and a lot of noise with his screaming. But he didn't hang around after that to argue any more about the return of the equipment, so I'm assuming he was happy to leave it with me after all.
So now, I have, amongst other new toys, the official hottest laser beam in Europe in my bedroom. The only annoying thing is, as I found out last night, it's crap. I mean, I stripped, set the laser to its maximum heat (tens of thousands of degrees supposedly) then I lay down on the floor with my feet in the air and my legs spread wide. I got the beam perfectly aligned with my most intimate "reachable" spot and...
...And nothing. It was a bit warm. Not unpleasant. But nothing special. On a scale of 1 to 10, where 10 is how I felt rubbing my body against Ultragirl, I'd give that laser a 0.2.
Most of the rest of the equipment I broke in my frustration, trying to squeeze a better thrill out of it. I mangled steel and chrome against my erogenous zones, ground diamond to powder and even gave myself massive doses of radiation. Finally, I shoved my fingers up myself and got some proper enjoyment.
Thursday 28 April 2005 23:48 BST (GMT+1)
Today I've been playing around some more with the things my biochemist friend left behind.
As the principal area of investigation was concerned with the effect of sunlight on my body, he had brought along a device which he described as a kind of "hyper-sun-lamp". It's apparently being developped for possible use as a weapon of the future.
I had an interesting time playing around with it today. For starters, half of my furniture caught fire when the artificial solar rays kicked in. I had to use several carefully restrained blasts of cold superbreath to extinguish the flames. Now I need a new sofa and a table.
Apart from the damage to my flat, I don't even need to say that the thing did me no harm whatsoever. But it did have an effect. It made my nipples go hard - really hard. So hard that when I squeezed a diamond against one of them, the diamond started to crumble.
The only other effect seemed to be that I felt horny. I played with myself for hours after that...
Friday 29 April 2005 16:55 BST (GMT+1)
Well, I don't know what's gotten into me. I thought nothing could, but something in that solar-radiation-ray has definitely affected me.
I mentioned yesterday about the unusual effect it had on one particular part of my body. The sight of diamonds breaking against my engorged nipples drove me wild, I can tell you. Even though I did everything I could to satisfy my urges by myself after that, it still wasn't enough.
So after I finished yesterday's post, I went out, looking for some action. In a quiet part of town, I found a youth hostel with a large dormitory full of seventeen and eighteen year old students on some kind of educational trip. I made sure that most of them (I think I got through about twelve or thirteen before I had to leave) got more of an education than they expected.
One by one, I woke them up as I straddled them, keeping them quiet by smothering their mouths with my lips, then pinning their arms to the pillows above their heads whilst I forced myself onto them. I had to keep my speed of thrusting down to only slightly faster than a very fit "normal" girl in order not to make any noise, but the cumulative effect of a dozen young men inside me wasn't bad.
As I finished with each one, I made sure he couldn't warn the others by pressing my chest down onto him until he went limp. I left some impressive bruises! In fact, by the time I left, it looked as if a burglar had beaten up half the room. I bet their teachers had trouble getting them up in the morning.
Now I'm wondering if I should try out that machine again (before I get any new furniture) and see if it has the same effect.