Blogger's Archives

May 2005



Tuesday 3 May 2005 17:21 BST (GMT+1)

So, I guess you're all wondering what a beautiful, superhuman babe like me got up to over the holiday
weekend.

Sorry to disappoint, but it was nothing special. Friday night, still under the effects of that weird sun-ray, I broke into a warehouse which is owned by a major construction company. The double-doors were only sealed by several yards of two-inch thick steel chain fastened with a massive solid chrome lock, so entering was a breeze. I merely squeezed the chain between my fingers, letting the metal ooze out of my grasp until the links snapped.

Once inside, I helped myself to half a dozen pneumatic drills and an industrial compressor. It would have taken three men half an hour to move the haul, but it took me ten seconds to do it all by myself. It was hard carting the load home (not because it was heavy, of course, but because I didn't want any unwanted attention).  Somehow I made it back unspotted. My theory is that the four or five men I passed on my way were too busy looking at my chest to notice the small-car-sized bundle on my back.

Once at home, I set up the compressor in the flat upstairs. I spent the rest of the long weekend trying to please myself with the pneumatic drills. The first one broke trying in vain to put a scratch in my left breast. The other five succumbed to my sex without any of them actually succeeding in entering me properly, despite the fact that I did everything in my power to help them.

Yet again, I found myself using my fingers to achieve something that men and their toys just can't do...



Wednesday 4 May 2005 17:29 BST (GMT+1)

When you're as powerful and invulnerable as I am, life can become a little bit predictable sometimes. That's why I was quite happy to receive an unexpected visitor this morning.

The knock came about 11 in the morning. From the sounds of the breathing coming from the other side, I could tell that the visitor was young, male and previously unknown to me. I opened up to check him out, and found him to be very much in the "not bad" category.

"I'm from the council," he explained. "There's been a complaint about noise over the weekend." So, someone had overheard me playing around with those pneumatic drills, and instead of just ringing the doorbell and asking me to keep it down, they rang the council!

"Who's the complaint from?" I asked.

"That information is not available." he claimed. Thirty seconds later, as he gulped down air and nursed the three fingers I'd just broken, the information had miraculously become very available.

An hour after that, he was limping gingerly out of my flat, his clothes partially torn, his chest badly bruised by
repeated contact with my breasts and his groin severely battered. Despite his injuries, he made sure he thanked me most profusely for my time, and promised that I wouldn't be troubled any further by his department.

Now I'm off to deal with the idiot who made the complaint in the first place.



Thursday 5 May 2005 23:01 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I've dealt with the mystery complainer. I can guarantee that he won't be contacting the council about any
noise I might make in future. Not after I paid him a little visit.

He opened the door and I brushed past him, knocking him off his feet into a wall. He came to about twenty
minutes later, just in time to see me crushing an antique grandfather clock to sawdust by hugging it against my chest. I strolled over and picked him up with my arms around him.

He might be a rather overweight middle-aged man, but he felt as light as a feather to me. I gave him a little
squeeze till he turned blue and asked him if he wanted to join his clock in pieces on the floor. He shook his head vigorously. I told him he'd better withdraw his complaint, and, unsurprisingly, he agreed.

I squeezed him again until a rib popped, pressured well beyond its tolerance by my big, round breast and tears flowed from his bulging eyes. Then I informed him that any future interference in my business would be very, very painful for him. After that, there was nothing left to do but give him a tiny hug, snapping two more ribs and sending him into dreamland.

I dropped him where I stood and calmly walked out. When I got back into my flat a minute later, I went straight to my stereo and played records at full volume all night.



Monday 9 May 2005 17:42 BST (GMT+1)

OK, people. I've been lifting up men with just one of my dainty fingers, scattering them like autumn leaves in a hurricane with my breath and crushing metal against my sexy body then writing about it all for your pleasure for well over half a year. Now it's time for you to do something for me.

My educational project "Encyclopaedia Bloggerica" is now up and running - see the link on this page. I want- no, scratch that- I order you to send me your definitions for inclusion in this soon-to-be-invaluable information
resource. As a little incentive: if I receive enough submissions, I'll tell you all what I got up to over the past few
days. Here's a little teaser-clue: it involved a customised truck and a very, very big gun.

Send your definitions to: blogger@conceptfan.com



Tuesday 10 May 2005 17:43 BST (GMT+1)

I've had a few suggestions for my encyclopaedia but not enough for me to tell you about that customised truck and the very, very big gun.

I know that most of your are just men and therefore thinking is hard for you, but you'll have to do better. Check out the new entries by clicking on the "Encyclopaedia Bloggerica" link above. And then email your own suggestions to: blogger@conceptfan.com.



Wednesday 11 May 2005 16:22 BST (GMT+1)

So, I got a few more submissions to the encyclopaedia. Check them out by clicking on the Encyclopaedia
Bloggerica link.

I hardly need to say, however, that it's still not enough to make me spill the beans about the truck and the very, very large gun. Come on, boys. Try harder not to be so pathetic! Send your definitions to:
blogger@conceptfan.com.



Thursday 12 May 2005 16:06 BST (GMT+1)

Now we're getting there. I've almost received enough submissions for my magnificent encyclopaedia...

Almost enough for me to tell you all about my encounter last weekend with a truck and that very, very big gun.
If I get a couple more in the next twenty four hours, then tomorrow, I'll post the full story. So, here's what to do
now: Check the new entries by clicking on the Encyclopaedia Bloggerica link. Then (those of you who have not yet done so) send your own suggestions to: blogger@conceptfan.com. Don't worry, I won't publish your email (or even your name if you request anonymity.)

I think you all should know that I'm extremely proud of this academic work. I'm sure it's just a matter of time
before it becomes the reference work in schools and universities across the globe.

Incidentally, for those interested in these things, no animals have been harmed in its compilation to date (apart from a couple of dozen men, but they don't count).



Monday 16 May 2005 14:52 BST (GMT+1)

Let's start today with a short extract from an email I received over the weekend.

"Sincerely great girl Blogger,

I am learning since three years at speaking to the English language. I am finding your encyclopedia most very a useful thing for the revelation of what the vocabularies are signifying. Please be in the continuing to give an increased number of words in order to make better the learning."

I think this proves what a vitally important work my Encyclopaedia is to the advancement of human knowledge.  Improve your own mind. Check out today's new entries by clicking on the "Encyclopaedia Bloggerica" link near the top of the page. And, for the sake of thousands of students like my correspondent, keep sending your definitions for inclusion to: blogger@conceptfan.com.

Oh, and remember the story I was going to tell about the truck and that very, very big gun? That's in the next
update.



Tuesday 17 May 2005 21:48 BST (GMT+1)

Let's go back to the weekend before last...

Remember that foreign "top security" installation I, er, visited/destroyed a while back? Well, I paid an
(uninvited) return call to the area. Not for unfinished business, but just for a spot of fun. Last time I was out
there, I heard a rumour about the president's son (a typical psychopathic dictator's offspring). I was told he likes to spend his weekends riding around in a custom-built all-terrain vehicle, hunting down daddy's political
opponents.

The rumour was, of course, completely true. The secret police would hand over prisoners with the president's blessing, and Junior would set them "free" out in the semi-desert. That freedom would last until he drove them down and executed them. I think the young man liked to pretend he was a wild west bounty hunter... Anyway, ten days ago, his regular "hunt" was interrupted. By me.

I was up on a hill that looked down on the area where he liked to play cowboy. My superhuman eyes had no
trouble spotting the lone figure running rather pathetically through the dust, let alone the huge shiny off-road
gas-guzzler two miles behind. I jogged down the steep side of the mound, taking it easy (probably going no
faster than the big jeep-thing) and ran up to the solitary runner.

He looked shocked to see me (perhaps because I'd chosen to dress for the occasion in a matching lacy bra and panties). "Is this some kind of sick joke by our president?" he asked, looking me up and down, whilst trying, unsuccessfully, to catch his breath.

"Oh, no. I don't work for him. Or his son." I answered.

"Who are you then? What are you doing here?"

"I'm a tourist."

"You're working for another government? Help me, please! Hide me!" he pleaded.

"I'm not with any government. I'm just a tourist." I reiterated.

He didn't believe me. "Please, the bastard's son will be here soon and he will kill us both! You must help me." I reached for him, grabbing him by his upper arm, and pulled him close. He thrashed about, trying to escape my casual grip, with the usual total failure. He did manage to hurt his right hand trying to punch me in my exposed stomach, but other than that his struggles had absolutely no effect.

With my free hand, I started to tear his clothes from his body in strips. "What are you doing? Who are you?"

"Getting you naked. And I'm the girl who's going to fulfil your wildest dreams." I replied to both questions.

"What? Not now! He will come and kill us both!"

"One thing I can tell you for certain," I informed the terrified guy as I forced him down onto the ground with the
tiniest of one-handed pushes, "he won't kill me."

There was some more protestation and futile resistance from him, but within thirty seconds, I was straddling
him and beginning to bounce on his groin with his surprisingly large, erect shaft inside me.

Next time: When Blogger met Junior.



Wednesday 18 May 2005 16:14 BST (GMT+1)

There I was, riding away happily on Junior's fugitive "prey". Now, I can be fast (the fastest thing on Earth, if you want to know) but I was taking my time. Firstly, I wanted to extend the pleasant feeling of the big erection caressing my love-canal. Secondly, I was enjoying the mixture of lust and pain in the face of my lover as my body repeatedly battered his. And finally, I didn't want to crush his middle to paste as that would have made me all dirty.

Of course, if the guy on the ground beneath me had his way, he'd have finished within seconds. I'm just too
gorgeous. No man is able to control himself with me. I have to use my own, infinitely superior, muscle control
to prevent them shooting their loads before it suits me. Which is what I did on this occasion. My intimate grip
made him squirm and allowed me to let a tiny orgasm build within me.

I could hear the ever-nearing president's son in his monstrous vehicle. I could have released the squeeze of my vaginal muscles and let the fugitive cum inside me, perhaps even triggering my own release, but instead I opted to put things "on hold". I tightened the grip of my intimacy on the base of his shaft, and waited for the huge jeep-thing to arrive.

In a crunch of tire on loose stone and a cloud of displaced dusty ground, Junior finally arrived. The driver's side door opened, and out climbed a young man wearing designer jeans, a ridiculous-looking white shirt with necktie, large mirror-shades and a hat that might have been used in the filming of Dallas. There was quite a drop from seat to ground, and the heir-to-the-presidency made it look especially awkward.

Once he'd regained a secure footing, he reached back into his overgrown buggy and, with difficulty, started to pull something out. It must've been heavy (for him) because he really struggled. Eventually I realised what it was: some kind of rocket launcher.

I don't pretend to be the world's greatest authority on psychology. I am the world's greatest in enough fields,
anyway. But, looking at the weapon, the main part of which consisted of a four-foot long, six-inch diameter
cylinder, and the way in which it was being brandished, I'd say that Junior had some serious inadequacy issues.

He also needed a few lessons in politeness. "Move aside, whore!" he barked at me. "I don't want you to die when I kill that man. I don't like f**king dead whores." That sealed his fate.

"You can't kill this man." I informed the doomed, badly-dressed jerk.

"And why not, whore?" he asked, attempting to sound like a lion momentarily amused by the mouse he is about to kill.  In fact, he just sounded like a jerk.

"Because he's mine." I replied. I didn't bother to add "For now, until I get bored with him."

Before Junior could think of a response, I pushed out my lips and blew a short, sharp gust of superbreath at
him. The force of my lungs produced a wind strong enough to shove the dictator's son backwards, lifting him
off his feet and sending him flying into the side of his giant car. He slid down from the point of impact, to finish lying in the dirt by one of the huge tyres. I could hear from his slow breathing that he'd been knocked
unconscious.

"How... how did you?..." came a confused voice from beneath me.

"Save your breath." I answered, placing a single finger across the fugitive's lips even as I recommenced my
rhythmic bouncing on him.

"No..... not..... now...... Got..... to..... get..... away......" he spluttered between my downward thrusts. But it
wasn't long before my orgasm built once more and I finally relaxed my hold on him and let his seed squirt in
urgent spasms into me, the feeling deep within pushing me over the edge of my own ecstasy.

I have to say, he was one of the best I've had. In other circumstances I'd have taken him again and again until
he fell apart. But, my sensitive ears detected the sound of Junior beginning to stir. I let the fugitive slide out of
me as I stood up. I guess I'd winded him or something, because I'm sure he'd have got to his feet and ran off if he could have done so. Instead he just lay on his back, gasping. I ignored him as I turned in the direction of the despot's offspring.

You can find out just how I "thanked" Junior for calling me "whore" next time.



Thursday 19 May 2005 17:25 BST (GMT+1)

Where was I? Oh yes, about halfway between one man (the fugitive who I'd left, naked and lying on the ground, trying to recover from a gentle sex-session) and the other man (the dictator's son who I'd left, lying on the ground by his monster truck, trying to recover from being tossed backwards by a very gentle gust of my superbreath)....

Junior was just beginning to stir as I approached him, my hands on my hips. He opened one eye then the other, immediately making a grab for the huge rocket-launcher he'd pulled out of his ridiculous car. I stopped walking and waited for him to climb, uneasily, to his feet. Once again he held the launcher tube out in front of his body like a substitute penis. "What the hell did you do to me, whore?" he demanded.

"Nothing compared to what I'm about to do." I responded, truthfully.

"Enough of this!" The young man was clearly not used to people answering back to him. "Die, whore!" he said calmly, activating the launcher.

Now, as regular readers know, I'm a girl with strong principles. There are rules in life, which must be respected at all times. One of those rules is "Never call me a whore." The penalty for breaking this rule can vary, depending on the perpetrator and my mood at the time, from severe pain through amputation to death. Like I said, I'm a girl with strong principles. In this case, I felt only the maximum sentence was applicable. The problem was that he had called me "whore" five times. Tragically, I couldn't kill him five times...

Meanwhile, a large rocket-propelled grenade was on its way towards me. With my superspeed, I saw it just
floating lazily towards me. I could have reached out and grabbed it with ease. Normally, I'd have just stretched up a hand and, with a single finger, flicked it back where it had come from. But that would've been too quick an end for Junior.

So instead, I just kept my hands on my hips and let the rocket complete its tortuously slow journey. I could see the tip of the warhead crumpling slightly as it tried and, naturally, failed, to dimple my left breast just before it detonated. I was surrounded in warm fire, and caressed by a million pieces of flying shrapnel. Of course, the explosion left not a scratch anywhere on my perfect body.

I'll never forget the look on Junior's face as the smoke cleared. I couldn't quite be sure if he was staring at my
chest more out of pure lust or more out of amazement that it had proved indestructible. Laughing at him, I
began to walk towards him, making sure my breasts jiggled nice and sexily with every step.

Reaching out with one arm, I grabbed the rocket-launcher from his grasp, ripping off a couple of his fingers in the process. Whilst he screamed in pain, I carefully inserted the tube portion of the weapon into my cleavage. Hugging myself to squeeze my breasts together, I crushed the rocket launcher's thick steel cylinder almost flat before pulling the now useless weapon away from my chest and tossing it over my shoulder. Quite a few seconds passed before my sensitive ears detected the clang! of it coming back to ground.

I grabbed the still yelling dictator's son by his right upper arm and closed my fingers until I heard the crunch! as every bone in there splintered. His cries of agony renewed. Ignoring them, I released his upper arm and
crushed the bones of his forearm. Then I repeated the gesture with both ends of his left arm.

He was looking at me in painful, terrified shock now, tears in his eyes. Smiling I grabbed him by the neck,
pulling his mouth to mine. I let him scream into my throat as I kissed him deeply, letting my lips pulverise his
as my tongue methodically knocked each of his teeth from his gums.

Putting him back on the ground and pausing only briefly to admire the complete mess I'd made of his lower
face, I turned my attention to his legs. A graceful tap from the pointed toes of my right foot brought him
crashing down on his backside, a new scream filling the semi-desert all around us. I lifted my other foot and
slowly replaced it on top of his prone, but still unharmed, right ankle. I pressed down slowly, making sure that
everything under my sole was slowly ground to paste.

Removing that foot, I made a show of lowering it towards his groin. He was in so much pain by then that he
couldn't even protest properly. He just looked up at me through tear-filled eyes, features contorted in suffering.   Seeing that he was moments away from slipping into unconsciousness, I quickly stepped down between his thighs, feeling the skin, muscle and tissue yielding to me as I emasculated him.

Happily, he held on just long enough to be aware of what I had done to him and to feel the extra pain. That
pleased me greatly, even if, a few moments later, his heart finally gave up the struggle. I cleaned my foot on a unbloodied area of his designer jeans before turning around and starting to walk calmly away.

"Hey!" called a weak voice from over my shoulder. "What about me?". It was the fugitive, still lying on the
ground where I'd left him.

Putting my hands on my hips, I turned, raising an eyebrow. "Would you like me to do the same thing to you?" I enquired.

"No, no, please...." he panicked.

"Then shut up." I told him, turning my back once more. I didn't hear another peep as I strolled away.



Friday 20 May 2005 16:27 BST (GMT+1)

I see from the superwomenmania forums that my irresistible charms are having their inevitable effect on Ultragirl.

She's talking in terms of "reconsidering our relationship" - an obvious sign that she's finding it too hard to deny her true feelings. And, to be frank, who can blame her? Not me.

And not the three young men I walked past in the park this morning. You should have seen the way all six of
their eyes grew huge as they practically popped out of their owner's heads to get closer to me. It was just as
well the effects of that solar-ray have worn off, otherwise I'd have raped all three of them there and then.

Instead, I settled for a carefully released waft of superbreath. Just enough to push the trio off their feet onto
their rears and envelope them in a cloud of warm pheromone-saturated breath. All three of them were so
overcome with lust, they came immediately in their clothes whilst I strolled on.

Men are so easy! Too easy. I need my Ultragirl!



Monday 23 May 2005 18:29 BST (GMT+1)

I was walking home last night (about 2 a.m.) when I passed a group of four young men wearing expensive-
looking suits. With my superhearing, I was able to listen to their conversation long before they saw me. I
gathered that they'd been out, celebrating some business deal or other, and they were all very, very pleased with themselves.

They were strolling side-by-side, completely blocking the pavement. Eventually, their feeble eyes spotted me
walking towards them. Again. my sensitive ears picked up the various crude comments that my stunning
appearance inevitably inspired. Those comments didn't really fade when I got within a "normal" person's hearing range. Nonetheless, I pretended not to have heard.

As I got close to them, I waited for the group to part to give me room to walk between them, but they did not.
Judging by the exchange of glances between them, they had obviously come to a group decision to force me to step into the road to get around them. Angered, I stopped still just a yard in front of them and put my hands on my hips.

"Move aside!" I commanded them.

"That's no way to talk to a senior assistant broker," one of the idiots answered.

"Yeah," said another, "I could buy you fifty times over and still have change for a private helicopter."

I didn't bother with a witty reply. Reaching forward, I grabbed one of the speakers by the throat, lifting him off
his feet and holding him there. With my free hand, I got hold of another by the end of his tie, using it to tug
him forwards. Then I fastened his neckwear to the expensive silk tie around the neck of the one I picked up first.

Dropping that guy, I ignored him as he rubbed his neck and started the usual "What the hell...?" and stretched out, snatching one of the other two by the wrist. While the first pair tried in vain to undo the knot in their ties, I joined the third man's neckwear to theirs.

"What's going on?" the last guy asked as I pulled him hard by the sleeve towards the others, and quickly added his tie to the party. Now all four men were attached to each other by the thin strips of flashy material around their necks.

Giving one of them a gentle shove in the chest, I was rewarded by the hysterical sight of him falling over and
dragging the other three down on top of him. They collapsed in an awkward heap. Try as they might, they
could not co-ordinate themselves sufficiently to stand up. They tried loosening the big knot that bound them,
but needless to say, they couldn't manage it.

One of them tried to tear his tie in half to escape the others, but he was just too weak to do it. I left them
struggling uselessly as I walked over to a nearby lamppost. Balling up my fist, I punched it clear through the
outer steel casing of the street-lamp. I put my hand through the hold I'd made, grabbed hold of the cable inside and yanked on it hard.

With a shower of sparks that covered my body and made a few burn-marks on my tight T-shirt, I pulled the
thick electrical flex from the lamppost. Another tug tore the length of cable free from the ground, the second
burst of sparks not effecting me in the slightest either.

Now I had a twenty-foot length of strong flex. Strolling back to the stumbling men, I pushed them all back
down and bent over them to attach one end of the cable to their conjoined ties. That done, I walked away from them, keeping the other end of the flex in my hand until the cable was nearly straight.

A gentle flick of my wrist made the cable go taut and pulled all four men a yard towards me amidst a cacophony of yells of surprise, pain and, no doubt, humiliation. Encouraged, I played with them a little like that. Every little movement of my hand was transferred along the length of the cable to jerk or pull the quartet around, completely at my will.

After I while, I decided to try something else. I flicked the cable hard, like cracking a whip, and was delighted to see I'd put enough force into it to actually lift the other end of it. The four men rose violently into the air,
dragged upwards by their ties which were still attached. They screamed and I laughed.

With a careful puff of superbreath, I kept the party airborne. I kept a good grip of my end of the flex, otherwise, my exhalation would have carried them all well above the tops of the buildings all around. But by using just a gentle blast here and there from my lungs, and clinging on tightly to the cable, I was soon able to "fly" the four men like a stunt kite.

In no time at all, I mastered my new toy. I did loop-the-loops, dives and figure-eights, listening to the
diminishing cries and sobs from above me until, sadly, all four men slipped out of consciousness. After than, the fun really went out of it.

I could have just stopping exhaling and let them fall from the sky like a stone onto the hard street. But I'd had
good fun with them and was feeling kind. So, with my new-found expertise, I let go of my end of the "string"
and controlled the "kite"'s decent by gently blowing at it so that all four idiots landed in a large, half-filled refuse container about a hundred yards from me.

I couldn't resist theatrically brushing off my hands and laughing before continuing my journey home.



Tuesday 24 May 2005 17:17 BST (GMT+1)

Ever get the feeling you're being watched? I've had it a few times lately. Today I got an email which might
explain it, but I'm not going to say anything... yet. (I have my reasons).

Well, well. I didn't realise the local news did comedy items, but apparently they do. Check out this headline from this morning: "City High-Flyers Foil Gang Robbery." Yes, you read that right. And it goes on!

"A quartet of rising stars from the banking industry were recovering in hospital last night after beating off a
gang of would-be muggers. The men, only two of whom are believed to be conscious enough to talk to police, were attacked on [CENSORED] Street at 2 o'clock on Monday morning. A gang of around ten youths approached the businessmen, demanding money. When they refused to comply, a full-scale fist-fight broke out in the course of which three of the victims were knocked out and callously thrown into a waste container. By then, most of the gang had fled. The fourth victim remained standing long enough to see of the last of the attackers, who subsequently escaped on foot. Bizarrely, nothing was stolen in the attack.

A police spokesman said "The seriousness of the injuries sustained by the four men indicates that this was a ferocious attack by a large group of vicious thugs. The victims displayed great courage in putting up a fight but ultimately they were outnumbered. As yet, we have been unable to get a firm description of any of the gang members, but we will be continuing to interview the victims, as and when the doctors believe they are fit to talk to us."

Obviously, someone didn't want to admit that he (and his friends) were beaten up by a girl. What a pathetic
bunch! All I did was blow at them a bit, and now they're all lying in hospital in such a state that the police think
they were worked over by a street-gang. I'm going to have to pay them all a visit, individually, to remind them
who really was responsible. I'll wait until they're out of hospital first, of course. It's always more fun to injure a
male just as he's almost recovered from his last encounter with me...



Wednesday 25 May 2005 16:27 BST (GMT+1)

Ultragirl!

She loves me, she loves me lots...

But... it's almost as if she's ashamed to tell anyone else or do anything about it. Why? Who wouldn't be drawn to me?

Maybe I need to give her a little encouragement. How about this: in 24 hours' time, I going to publish the email she sent me in which she admits her true feelings. Unless either of the following things happen. Either 1) she goes public or 2) she gives me a damn good reason not too.



Thursday 26 May 2005 15:43 BST (GMT+1)

Here it is, in full and unedited. Just the way I received it from Ultragirl:

I can't help it! You just have such an effect on me. What is it about you?! I hate you for it, but I just can't get the feeling of your body out of my head. Your power is amazing. I guess, in some way, I wish I could have the freedom you have. Another part of me won't let it happen. You no doubt realise by now that I've been watching you. Those stupid men deserved it! I love watching you "perform". Sometimes, I fly naked above you imagining...

I implore you. You cannot tell anyone about this! The consequences will be dire for you, Blogger. I wish I knew your name.

Love,
Ultragirl


It's what I always knew. I'm irresistible. Don't worry about that "dire consequences" bit, by the way. I think
we've established now that I can handle her without too much trouble.

Meanwhile, there was another piece of business I had to take care of today. Ultragirl vets all membership
applications to her yahoo group, so I've been logging on and reading her posts using Cf's password. When I
instructed him to give me the password, I made it quite clear what would happen to him if Ultragirl ever found
out. Well, it seems she's found out....

I found him on his way to lunch. Standing behind him in a deserted street, I called out "Hey, Deadmeat!"

He spun around as fast as he could (slowly) and went crazy as he saw me. His eyes were flickering between my face and the upper portion of my torso and his expression was oscillating like a cartoon character's between fear and lust. I fought the temptation to laugh at him and lost, throwing my head back in hysterics for a few moments.

Stupidly, he tried to use those moments to run away. Run away! From me! I caught up with him inside two
seconds without even trying to go quickly. With a disinterested sweep of my left hand, I swatted him completely off the pavement into the wall of a building. He slid down to the ground. His shoulder bag had cushioned the impact. That was why he was still conscious.

Even though he was hurt and doubtless very afraid, when he squinted up at me he couldn't help staring at my
chest. "Are... are... y... y... you g-going to rape m-me?" he asked.

"In your dreams!" I told him, roaring with laughter. Bending down I grabbed him by his T-shirt and lifted his
whole body off the ground, holding the (considerable) weight by just a handful of cheap material in my fist. A
little flick of my wrist sent him sailing about twenty yards down the street. He rolled for another five yards
before coming to rest.

He was face down. I walked slowly over to him and flicked my toes under his shoulder which flipped him
completely over onto his back like a giant, ugly, misshapen pancake. He was only just clinging on to
consciousness, his face cut and bruised, breathing laboured. Smiling down at him I lifted my foot high over his chest and held it there for a moment.

"Please. I..." (cough) "..I really..." (cough, splutter) "...really think you're..." (cough, cough, cough, wince)
"...gorgeous...." (splutter, wince) "...but I can't..." (cough) "...take any-"

"Shut up." I told him. I'd had enough. I got ready to put my foot down on him for the last time. Ever. A second
later,


Well, I'll leave that for next time, I think. Tense isn't it? Ha ha ha!



Friday 27 May 2005 13:01 BST (GMT+1)

Recall the scene where I left off last time, if you will. Me, standing tall, comfortable and dominant over Cf's
pathetic, wounded, prone lump of a body, my foot raised ready to stamp down and rid the world of a fanboy...

Now, a brief aside: As the most powerful being on this planet (perhaps in this universe), leading a low profile
life has a lot of advantages. It's not that anyone could subdue me, or force me to undergo experimentation or, worse, do "good" deeds. It's just that they might try. It could end up with me being followed or tracked all over the world with millions of tons of munitions being wasted in futile attempts to hurt me. If I know one thing for certain, it's that I don't want to live my life like one of the characters in Cf's awful stories, with my wonderful
chest constantly providing target practise for tanks. Plus, my clothes would keep getting ruined.

There are two main disadvantages to keeping that low profile. Firstly, I can't simply just take over the world (as I probably should) and enslave the entire human race, forcing them to build giant statues of me and worship me in their millions around the clock. The second disadvantage is that I can't do anything that might jeopardise my incognito status. What that means in basic, day-to-day terms is this: No witnesses. It's a simple rule, but I can't break it if I want to continue enjoying my current lifestyle. And I do enjoy it. Very much indeed, thank you.

All of that is by way of an explanation for this: Cf had just finished screaming out "Oh, shit, no! No!" as his
testosterone-muddled brain finally computed my intentions. I was just about to (a split-second later) plant my
foot onto and through his torso. And that's when my magnificent hearing drew my attention to the sound of a
car engine. I recognised it instantly (with ears as sensitive as mine, identifying cars by the sounds of their
motors is easy) and I also recognised that it was about to turn the corner onto the street where we were.

It would not have been good to have been spotted, sexily-shaped-ankle-deep in fanboy guts. Especially by the occupants of a police patrol car. I had no choice. I had to stay the jerk's execution.

Worse followed. The two coppers did spot me, and also him. They slowed and pulled over to the side of the
road. The one nearest me opened his window and leant out in my direction. He spoke, addressing his questions, as men so often do, to my breasts. "Is everything OK here?"

"Oh, yes, yes." I smiled back. As if he would even bother to check out my face! His loss, anyway. My face is
stunning.

"Is the.. er... gentleman on the ground alright?"

I nearly answered "That's no gentleman, that's a jerk." but stopped myself.

"Yeah, he's fine." is what I actually said. "He's just had a few too many for lunch. Never could handle it..."

The policeman grinned at my chest. "Are you looking after him?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. I'm looking after him alright." I said, trying not to laugh.

"Looks like he could do with a coffee." The window wound up and the car began to move on.

Through the sealed glass, above the noise of the engine, I could clearly hear the copper muttering to his
colleague "Lucky bastard. Imagine having that to nurse you after a heavy session."

"If I had a bird like that," his colleague answered, "I'd give up drinking. And working. And getting dressed. Just spend all day in bed..."

I cursed. There's no way those two will ever forget the sight of me. If I went through with my intentions and
finished Cf off, the pair of them would be able to provide the most accurate description of a suspect in the
history of policing. The one who talked to me would probably be able to portray the way my large round breasts deformed the front of my T-shirt to the millimetre. There was nothing I could do, without getting involved in the sharp end of a murder enquiry.

"Cf, that copper was right. You are a lucky bastard." I told him. I still gave him a parting kick in the ribs. Not a
fatal blow, sadly, but enough to make him scream and to snap a couple of fragile bones. Not unexpectedly, he passed out immediately. I snorted and walked away. My low profile is still intact. Unfortunately, so is Cf.



Tuesday 31 May 2005 16:55 BST (GMT+1)

I had a lovely holiday weekend. I even managed to do some community work. Not really, of course. But I did spend a little of my precious time visiting the sick.

Hospitals can be dangerous places. I mean, the news is full of stories of diseases that spread through the
corridors. There's less about physical injuries that occur on the wards, but there probably was an article or two in yesterday's papers. I myself know of two such "accidents" that happened on Sunday morning. Both at the same hospital, in fact.

Remember the four jerks in suits that I met on the street the other week? The ones I turned into a human kite
when they annoyed me? Remember how they had told the police that they were attacked by a vicious street
gang, rather than a lone, unarmed (and very beautiful) girl? And remember how I said at the time that I was
going to pay them a visit to remind them of the truth?

It wasn't the greatest challenge I've ever faced to find out which hospital they'd ended up in. As part of my
investigations I had to seduce an ambulance driver and a hospital clerk. That was two minutes' work. I also had to physically intimidate a couple of receptionists, which took all of twenty seconds. After that, it was easy.

I discovered that the two I was seeking were in a luxurious private hospital, their care paid for apparently by
their employers. I still didn't know which rooms they were in. I could have gone through the entire hospital door by door until I found them, but I didn't need to. I just fluttered my eyelashes and showed a little bit of
superhumanly firm cleavage to the bisexual head nurse and she told me everything I wanted to know.

"Are you a colleague?" she asked, breathlessly staring at the valley between my breasts.

"Oh, no. More of an acquaintance." I replied.

"A friend?"

"Definitely not."

"Good. I've had more complaints about those two from my nurses than any other patients we've had this year.  They're a pair of sexist pigs. They keep touching my girls even though we've asked them to stop." said the head nurse.

"I'll tell you what," I said. "If I can persuade them to keep their hands to themselves, will you forget seeing me
or having this conversation?"

"I could never forget seeing you," she confessed, her gaze still fixed on my chest, "but I could pretend."

"That'll do fine." I smiled. She almost fainted when I leant over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

A minute later I walked into the first room, without knocking. "Remember me?" I asked as the fellow in the bed sat up awkwardly.

"Oh god, no!" he spluttered. "Please, leave me alone!"

"I will in a minute." I said, grinning warmly. "I just wanted to apologise for what I did to you." The fear
evaporated from his face immediately. I walked over to his bedside. "I'm sorry." I told him, reaching for his
hand. I held it gently, pulling it carefully towards me. "I truly am. From the bottom of my.." I placed his palm
softly over my left breast. The contact with my femininity (albeit through my T-shirt) made his heart-rate
double. I could see him becoming erect under his bedclothes. "...heart." I said, still smiling.

Then slowly, my grin unchanging, I pressed his hand against my mound. At first he just winced. Then he
groaned. Then he yelled, By then, I'd crushed most of the bones in his palm to little pieces against my firm
breast. Only then did I let him go. As I walked away, leaving him with tears of agony in his eyes, I said, over
my shoulder, "Only joking. I'm not really sorry. See you around, arsehole."

I strolled into the second jerk's room and found him asleep. I sat on the edge of his bed, picking up his hand
and gently laying it between my thighs. "Wake up, jerk!" I hissed. He opened his eyes and stared straight into mine. He was confused for a moment, but then recollection seemed to kick in. "Wha... what do you want?" he asked, trembling.

"I want to say how terrible I feel about what happened to you." I told him, my voice laden with sympathetic
tones.

"Really?" he asked, in pleasant surprise.

"No. Not really." I replied, closing my legs together, trapping his hand between my smooth, round thighs. I
squeezed it gently to begin with, just enough to bruise him and make him cry. Then I did it properly, enjoying
the lovely mixing of the sound of his scream with the noise of his bones crunching. I had to be careful not to get blood all over myself, but I managed to hurt him badly without actually breaking his skin. "Well, it's been fun." I pronounced, slipping off the bed. "Catch you soon!"

And with that, I walked calmly and unnoticed out of the hospital. I felt a lot better after that. It's always good to, er, lend a hand to the sick.