Looking for a Story

24 Jan 2015 19:55 #40002 by AlbertC
Looking for a Story was created by AlbertC
Hello guys, I'm looking for a story which was a girl called Heather, where she hovers over a ship and takes it out of water creating vacuum, but I don't remember if I read on yahoo groups or other site, does anybody know which story is this?

I think it called "Getting the best of Heather"but I'm not sure

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24 Jan 2015 22:34 #40009 by Sarge395
Replied by Sarge395 on topic Looking for a Story
Hey there, my name is Heather.

How's that for introductions? Good, let's move on.

A few weeks ago, an interesting thing happened to me in a bar just outside of downtown Los Angeles, something that has never happened to me before. A few weeks ago, a man actually got the best of me. No shit.

I’d just gotten out of class at USC, where I major in screenwriting, and I needed a stiff drink. Some professors, man, they think we’ve got eyes in our boobs or something. Plus, I saw my ex-boyfriend Paul parking his car in the garage on the other end of campus, right next to mine. It was clear that he was waiting for me to show up so we could have some kind of “serious chat” about “what lies in front of us.” Thankfully, I can see what lies in front of me for hundreds of miles so I didn’t have to deal with this talk. By now, he should know there’s no future for “Us,” no matter how much time he spends practicing what he wants to say in front of the mirror (which, with some popcorn, made for great entertainment last night as I watched in my apartment a few blocks away). Instead, I ducked behind a corner, stood up on the balls of my feet, arched my back and slowly lifted into the sky. You’d be surprised by how few people look up in Los Angeles. And really, apart from a beautiful flying girl, there’s not much to see.

I touched down a minute later in an alleyway next to Double D’s, this bar I’ve been going to since I was about sixteen. Some homeless guy was there, but I didn’t really worry about anyone taking a bum seriously. He just watched, mouth agape, as the dust cleared in a circle from the wake of my dainty feet touching the ground, toes first. I smoothed out my little skirt, let my hair fall out of my ponytail and walked inside.

I really like Double D’s. Apart from the name, which I really wish they would change (you have no idea how many cheeseball guys try and start conversations about my breasts in this place), you can meet all kinds of interesting people. I didn’t really feel like striking up a conversation today, and luckily the bartender knows me well enough to know when to just slide me my drink and let sleeping supergirls lie (though, if he knew who I really was, I'd probably get my drinks for free -- tempting, but not worth blowing my cover). I took my first gulp of beer and it felt nice.

But then this thing happened. A man, about 6 feet, disheveled, sweaty, and steaming mad, burst through the door of Double D’s, brandishing a gun. Everyone else took a second to notice his threatening presence and they took to ducking under their seats. Me, I could’ve seen him in the reflection of the half-full beer mug at the other end of the bar, and I didn’t flinch. Of course he marched straight up to me.

He breathed heavily, in and out, sweating like a track star just inches away from my body. I was about to turn to him and explain my no-talking policy, but then he just went right ahead and spoke.

“I found you, you worthless cunt. It took a while, but I found you.”

I rolled my eyes. This guy was clearly not the fastest horse in the stable. He kept on jabbering.

“You ruined everything I had. You took away my job, my future, almost my life.”

I recognized the evil creep just before he said that. I suppressed a small laugh. Yeah, how was he doing after that little boat accident? Well, I guess I knew now.


Let me go back further. My job, outside of school, entails keeping the crime rates level. Part of why I love screenwriting is that it involves the analysis of people, and I really gravitate towards the miscreants, the gang members, the addicts, the dope dealers. Frail, mortal, powerless, angry, frustrated, ugly, vengeful people fascinate me to no end, and rather than use the gifts I’ve been given for complete good per se, I do what it takes to keep the murder rates, the robberies, the what-have-you in check. I’m not some evil cop-killer mind you, and I don’t want my beautiful city overrun with trouble as much as the next girl, but there’d be nothing interesting to write about if I kept the streets spotless. It warmed my heart when, just as a local gang was nearly overrun by their rivals, my heat vision melted the guns off their enemies from miles away. They praised God for keeping them alive, which I just thought was precious.

I don’t want too many of you little crimelords running around doing what you want down there, but the status quo is kind of important to me. And good citizens, save your breath and don’t hate me for it, you were fine with it before you knew.

Anyway, there was a drug cartel that I had kept a close eye on for some time, and with finals getting in the way last semester, not to mention all the knock-down, drag-out, normal-speed conversations I had to endure with Paul (triple ugh), I let them get much, much too powerful. They bought out the police and they drove a major cartel out of business, one that I was writing my screenplay about. It was a great script, and now I had no third act. That was the nail in the coffin. Admittedly, I got a bit carried away. So did the boat.

This cartel’s base of operations was mobile, as most cartels tend to be, but they were going old-school with this boat, doing deals out in non-US waters, dumping bodies overboard, etc. Not to mention all the excess lives they were wantonly destroying, I was more than a little incensed about my story being so rudely and permanently interrupted that I decided to display my authority in a similarly abrupt fashion.

Opening the window to my apartment on Figueroa, I let the noonday sun wash over my naked body. I was practically humming with excitement at what I was about to do, my body began to glow just the faintest shade of gold. If you got very close to me, you could probably hear my body vibrate. I spread my arms out to either side, felt my pert, full breasts fill and lift upward, and then came that sensation I absolutely can never get sick of…my feet losing contact with the ground. I hovered in the air on the balcony for a while, humming and glowing with an obscene amount of energy. I saw a man in the apartment building across the street cum in his pants just at the sight of me, before I took off for the Pacific. Poor guy saw too much for him to handle. I’d erase his mind a bit when I got back. I’d been testing it out on Paul last summer and it really works.

In no time I located the boat, though to be honest, locating your missing car keys from my balcony wouldn’t have been any more difficult. It was a humongous fucking boat, that’s for sure, with a cargo capacity of 50,000 tons by my estimation…I would’ve liked to investigate how the little ants managed to run an operation so necessarily covert in such an enormous ship, but they had to pay for getting so powerful.

I was about 1500 feet up in the air, and anyone who looked up couldn’t possibly see me, since I made sure to obscure myself in the (I’m suppressing a giggle right now) “blinding light” of the sun. They may not see me, but they were about to feel me.

The boat’s propellers stopped chugging and churning through the ocean waters. Most of the crew onboard went down into the hatches and sealed them shut. Excellent. I casually interlaced my fingers and cracked each of my knuckles with enough strength to liquefy steel, but to my invulnerable hands they merely yielded a satisfying set of pops. I tossed my long blond hair behind my bare shoulders and readied myself. Slowly, I opened my full, sexy lips and began to draw breath. I poured on the strength second by second, gradually upping the ante as my lungs only started to expand. The air around my mouth reverberated with loud whirrs that grew louder and louder. The radius at which being near me would be deafening expanded and expanded as I drew my breath faster and harder. My hair began to snake up in the air in long, silky tendrils. I was exerting an incalculable amount of force on the atmosphere around me, any object that got too close would surely be whipped up and come screaming toward my body, at hundreds of miles an hour. That hypothetical figure got larger and larger.

I started directing where I wanted this force to suck from by pursing my lips and angling my tongue. With the added influence of my mind, it was only a matter of time and adjustment. Telekinesis isn’t something I’ve gotten down pat yet, but I’m working on it, and coupled with my endlessly expanding lungpower, it would be enough. The lapping, churning water near the boat started rippling more violently. Sprays of water began rising from the surface, like a thousand wild sprinklers turning on. I’d never done something as bold like this before...I'm typically a behind-the-scenes, no-fuss kind of enforcer...but to discover that yet another impossible feat would surely be made possible just by the powers of my mind and tight, curvaceous little body, I got more and more turned on, which served to pour on the strength. The sprays turned to crashing waves, rolling and reaching higher, like watery hands stretching to pray towards me, clamoring for my touch. The boat began to rock and sway and shudder.

I quit with the foreplay and utterly let loose. My eyes began to emanate a soft golden haze as my mind expanded to cover the weight and payload of what lay so far beneath me. With a thunderous crack, the tunnel of wind I had grown went supersonic. And the boat, prow first, keeled and groaned up, rising higher and higher out of the furious waters, as it to began to pray toward me. It looked for all the world like the Titanic was getting a hard-on, but I made sure to keep from laughing.

The massive ship was drawn into the invisible tunnel, inexorably lifting, hovering higher and higher to meet me in the sky. When the last of the thousand feet in length emerged from its ocean bed, I turned on the juice just that much more, and gave it everything I had. At the same time, to keep the structure of the boat intact, my mind had to press on the sides without crushing it like a coke can. For whatever reason, multitasking like this didn’t pose the slightest problem for me. Finally, the ship took off like a rocket, hurtling toward me at Gs strong enough for what I wanted. It looked like the very tip of the prow would be angling straight for my incomprehensibly powerful mouth. Perfect.

Boat, meet Heather Regnier. Heather Regnier, meet boat. I think about a hundred different types of steel, iron, wood paneling and copper must’ve slammed into my naked body, and once their brutal, cold hardness matched up against my flesh, they literally exploded into fragments, from fragments into dust, from dust to nothingness, including the evil little men inside, most of whom were compressed against the back of the hull, broken, screaming, or passed out. As soon as they met up with my lustful body, I can assure you, there was not such variety in their respective conditions.

The last of the ship crumpled before me, my mind reshaping the reinforced steel with my mind to meet me at my level and my size. With a final, rollicking boom, everything had been reduced to particles.

In the streams of wind, the sounds of crunching, keening, snapping and bodies bursting echoed faintly, soon obscured by the overpowering gale force between my lips, which I then softly closed. I luxuriated in the feeling of the dust of the ship’s components, not to mention all their precious cocaine, swirling around me in a fantastic, spiraling wake. The water from all that way down below had met me as well, splashing against me, drenching me from head to (dainty) toe, trickling over the rise of my breasts and inbetween my deep cleavage, gushing over my abs, dripping off my cute ass. In this moment, after having used my power to blink a ship the length of three football fields and the lives of the pusher-men inside to non-existence, after getting so many thousands of tons of water and cargo to pray to my might, I couldn’t help but celebrate a little. So I spun in mid-air, in the same exact place I hovered since before I opened my mouth, with enough centrifugal force to create a kind of tornado with the water around me. I stopped then, and unpointed my legs to draw them up to me in a yoga sitting position, as I watched the water swirl up in a cone around me for my benefit. It lasted for a few seconds of hangtime before falling away from me, falling falling falling back to the still-raging, molested ocean from whence it came.

And for the first time in two minutes, I breathed out. I could’ve held it in for hours, but it felt right to exhale after all that had transpired.

My eyes caught a lone man, paddling with all his strength to stay afloat in the waters below. There’s always somebody who lives, dammit. Must’ve jumped off the boat before things got, erm, heavenbound. I decided to reward his quick intuition by letting him drown in the Pacific, and I swooped away from the site of the world’s most fantastic nautical disaster to go deal with the tenant across the street from me.

That poor guy has seen me charge up in mid-air on at least a dozen occasions, cumming half of the time, but every time I do my little blue-glow, temple-touching thingy, it works like a charm. "Technically, the procedure is brain damage, but on par with a night of heavy drinking. Nothing he'll miss." Seemingly every loose end was tied up by the end of the day.

That had been a month ago. Now, impressively enough, Mr. Intuition was standing right in front of me with a pistol drawn. I’d have given him a gold star for being such a good little swimmer (and honestly, I really don’t know how he made it to this day), but I carry very little with me when I fly.

“…you think you can do anything. But I’m about to prove you wrong.”

I smiled. How this thug, clearly without the good sense to stay the hell away from a girl who sucked his boat up like coke through a straw, could prove me wrong at anything truly remained to be seen.

He drew his gun at my heart and pulled back the hammer. I was busy thinking about just how to angle my chest so that the bullet could bounce perfectly between his eyes and spare everyone else, when he turned the gun up to his chin and pulled the trigger, spraying his grey matter all over the ceiling of Double D’s.

His arm, mind you, moved in slow-motion to me. Laughably slow. Like, Solaris slow. Before he got halfway to his head, I knew he was going to kill himself. It was only the implication of what he did that came to me moments later, as the shrieks in the bar died down and the last of the smoke wisped away from the barrel. He kept me from being able to extinguish his life.

He helped to amass a fortune on cocaine, ruined my script, survived my onslaught, died on his own terms, and called me a cunt (!) inbetween, making him the only person to ever do that to me and not die by my hands. Worse, I wasn’t able to catch on to his plan before he executed it. I couldn’t very well bring him back to life and start over. I’m not that kind of super. I actually caught myself thinking about it for more than twenty seconds. I was that struck by his quiet brilliance. After I inhaled his whole ship, he checkmated me with a bullet to his brain.

“Umm, I’ll get help,” I said as calmly as I could, hopping off the stool and rushing out behind the alley again. But as I took off into the sunny skies of Los Angeles, flexing my gorgeous bod with hypercharged power, all I could think about was how a crawling little drug-pusher ant, married to the pavement of this big city I call my Personal Screenplay, actually got the best of me.


Because of this, I want to tell my new guy Matt about me, about what I can do, about what happened that day in Double D’s so I could get a second opinion, but I’m not sure he’d understand. He’s got a better head on his nice broad shoulders than any of my previous guys, and he’s not even close to being hung up on my beauty or my talents in school or anything. And man, for a college boy, he really knows how to touch my body. He’s a good guy, Matt. Keeps me grounded, even though literally I’m anything but. He might be the one to enhance, but we’ll take things slow.

Anyway, some of you folks out there really do have the power to surprise me every now and then. Thought I’d let you know.
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25 Jan 2015 00:57 #40012 by AlbertC
Replied by AlbertC on topic Looking for a Story

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