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Blogger & the Football Team (feat. Conceptfan) Part 3

Written by Totally Kyle :: [Monday, 22 November 2021 17:37] Last updated by :: [Saturday, 27 November 2021 16:06]

Blogger and the Football Team, Day 3

The bold text was written by Conceptfan. The regular text was written by me. This was completely improvised, except for the noted sections of out-of-character discussion.


The athletes on the bus are hit with a crushing wave of hopelessness the likes of which they never knew. At that moment, they knew that nothing could save them. At that moment, they knew that they might as well have been trying to fight God. The nearly forty men on the bus who were still conscious were so terrified that the few of them who tried to stand, couldn't. Despite having some of the strongest legs in the field, they were too weak to work. Completely helpless, and with the realization that they are completely outmatched, the team of proud, fit, and still frustratingly horny athletes (Why can't they stop lusting for this monster that's going to kill them??) could only respond with a terrified shaking of their heads.

…All except for their 2nd string quarterback, who suddenly remembers that there is a gun stashed in the front of the bus in case of trouble. Without even hesitating, he sprints to the front, unfortunately having to run right past the apparent superwoman. His manhood briefly throbs just from getting closer to her, and he can only hope that she doesn't stop him from reaching their very last hope for salvation…

They all seemed suitably stunned and awestruck by my latest trick. If only they knew how easy it was for me to lift them and their bus into the sky! Only one of them is making any effort to get up. Shame, I'd hoped there'd be three or four ultra-brave types. Those types are always so much fun to tease.

This one climbs to his feet and starts to run. He's quick, for a normal… quick to accelerate and quick when he's in stride. Of course, 'quick' is very much a relative term. He's quick amongst men. He's stationary compared to me. I could fly around the Earth in the time it takes him to run at me… wait… he's not running at me. I can tell from his eyes… they're glued to something at the front of the bus. I spin my head in the same amount of time that it takes for him to move about a thousandth of an inch. There's nothing there except a small compartment where you'd expect a bunch of maps or emergency signals to be stashed. He moves another thousandth of an inch while I, out of pure curiosity, peer with my X-ray vision powers at the inside of the mini-cupboard. Now it all makes sense!

He travels a further 1/1000th of an inch as I spin my head back around towards him. I let him have a whole stride as the grin spreads across my face. There are a million ways I could stop him dead in his tracks, and tens of thousands of ways I could stop him still alive in his tracks. But now that I know he's desperately sprinting to reach a gun, I'm just going to let him get past. But not without a little scare… At a "normal", human pace, I turn my face as he passes, enjoying the way he looks so terrified as he looks at me mid-run. Softly, I just say "Boo!" and he screams, stumbling over his next stride. I can hear his heart going into overdrive. I love having this kind of effect on so-called 'big, strong, brave' men!

He just about regains his feet to make it to the front of the bus. Still holding the whole thing, contents and all, in the air using a combination of my flight powers and my palms pressed against the roof, I stayed in place, watching him over my shoulder in growing amusement and anticipation of the next phase of the game.

"We have to stop her. We have to stop her. We have to stop her." Ryan kept saying the same phrase over and over in his head. His mind was completely blank aside from that one simple, primal instinct to survive by any means necessary. He watched this woman throw two of the biggest men he's ever seen around like they weighed nothing. He watched her rape two of his friends right before his eyes, despite their frantic struggles. He saw her defeat almost forty strong men by blowing on them. And now, he saw her lift their entire bus, with all forty of them still on it, into the sky. And she made it perfectly clear that this was easy for her. As he ran past her and got a closer look at her naked perfection, he briefly considered changing his mind and just letting it happen. He found his resolve crumbling at the sight of her. Then, she playfully yelled "Boo!" at him. He let out a high-pitched shriek of terror that he would normally never let a woman hear otherwise, and then he kept running. We have to stop her. We have to stop her. We have to stop her.

Eventually, he reaches the front of the bus and opens the compartment.

“We have to stop her,” he tells himself

He grabs the gun and turns off the safety.

“We have to stop her!”

If Ryan was thinking clearly, he would have used the gun to intimidate her into putting the bus down. If he was thinking clearly, he would have thought about what would have happened to all of them if he had killed this woman while she was still holding the bus thousands of feet into the air. But he wasn't thinking clearly. He was too scared to think clearly.

Without any hesitation, he starts to unload the entire clip of ammo into her back.

You know what turns my stomach? Bullets on my back! That's an old joke of mine… because, you see, although the sensation of a bunch of bullets crumpling up against the perfect, naked, invulnerable skin of my back and pinging bent and squashed and defeated away is pleasant enough, I find it much more stimulating when they bounce just as defeated from my front. Especially my lovely big breasts.

With that in mind, I needed to turn and face the shooter. There were several ways I could have done that without rocking the bus that was suspending from the inside by my hands. Instead, I chose to just let the bus shake violently from side to side as I spun around and replaced my hands. I giggled at the chaos that unleashed, men falling over, hitting each other. I'm definitely going to have some more fun with that in a while. Now, I'm face to terrified, trembling face with the shooter. He recovers his balance after my trick with the bus and fires off a few more shots.

This is much more like it! A bullet tries to burrow its way into the soft warm outer curve of my left breast. Of course, my tit refuses to yield so the bullet tries to embrace it by spreading out slowly over the flawless curve. It ends up as thick and wide as a coin, but bent, and the last of its energy is spent spinning away from the glorious body-part that conquered it.

Another shot clips my right nipple just off-centre, sending a lovely tingle through my body. The angle of the collision flattens one side of the slug, and deflects it, sideways towards my cleavage. It gets assymmetrically squashed again as it smacks into the side of my left breast, rebounding only to immediately hit the undamageable inner curve of the right one. For a heavenly split second, the bullet is caught ping-ponging across my cleavage, taking turns to stimulate each of my mounds until, all too soon, its momentum is spent and a mutilated, crushed lump of compacted metal falls between my feet.

"More!" I hear myself saying.

His terrified brain doesn't even register the fact that she isn't hurt yet, nor does it stop to think about why she said "more". He just shoots and shoots until the gun goes CLICK.

He gets off another five shots.

The first of these is a little low. I can tell with my super senses it's about to strike me just above the abdomen. So, I need to drop myself down about a foot in the time it takes the bullet to arrive to get the proper benefit. That means when I use my powers of flight to drop so that the bullets smack my areola just above and to the left of my right nipple, the bus, accelerating from a speed of zero at the standard rate of gravity on Earth, is slower than me. So after I've enjoyed watching the bullet crumple in on itself without even momentarily denting the arrogantly proud feminine perfection of my breast before spinning away as if it had been dismissed in disgrace by my magnificent ronditure, I then got to "catch" the bus as it fell onto my palms. Of course that meant everyone else on board suddenly found the floor dropping from under them for a moment. It's fun seeing a few of them lose their footing as a result.

The shooter did well to keep his balance. I'm not sure if he lost his aim, or regained it in the process, but I didn't make any adjustments for the next shot, letting it zoom at me and strike me fractionally above my left eye. Purely because I can, because I love to use my powers to prove my superiority over the world around me, I waited until the moment it touched my exquisite beauty and raised my perfect eyebrow. It's nice to remind myself how even those tiny, insignificant muscles can overpower. My lifting eyebrow struck the bullet tip and knocked it upwards at twice the speed at which it arrived. It punched a neat hole in the roof above me, before continuing to head for the stratosphere.

He was definitely aiming for my face now. The third of the set of five hopeless bullets would probably have just skimmed under my chin before bounding off my neck if I hadn't lowered my face, shaking the bus a bit and, naturally, throwing a few men around. I opened my mouth and carefully closed it as the shot was about to enter, killing its momentum dead with nothing but my perfect sexy teeth. I turned to face the shooter with the rear end of the slug baring between my flawless, pearly-whites and gave him a wink. With the tip of my tongue I gently pushed against the tip inside my mouth, opening my teeth to free the shot and let my tongue fire it, much faster than any mere gun could achieve, with my customary perfect accuracy, so that it flew a tenth of an inch past the shooter's ear before disappearing through the broken front window where it probably travelled for a mile or two before beginning to descend.

He seemed even more terrified after that. I could see his hands shaking. Frankly, I think the fourth bullet could have ended up anywhere. If I hadn't moved, it would have missed me, flying over my left shoulder and probably hitting one of the men behind me. I couldn't have that. Those are my men and only I get to kill them. I had to lower one hand from the roof of the bus to catch the bullet. That left the whole thing suspended solely on a single pivot, so it started to creak and sway rather like a cable car stuck three-quarters of the way to the top of a mountain. I couldn't resist giving the warm metal in my hand a gentle squeeze until it turned to liquid, then fizzed and then escaped through my fingers as plasma.

Bullet number 5 was at least on target. It felt like a light pecked kiss as it slammed into my delicate-looking cheekbone. My porcelain skin is a billion times tougher than a piece of supersonic hot lead and my bones must be a trillion times more resilient. The bullet signed its own death warrant by deciding to go to war on the beauty of my face. Unsurprisingly, my irresistible face destroyed the bullet entirely without sustaining even the most infinitesimally small blemish. To show off just how beautiful and unscratched I remained, I gave the shooter a dazzling smile as I informed him, happily. "All done? OK, my turn now!"

After the gunfire ended with a conclusive CLICK, the tense silence that followed gave everybody the time it took for them to slowly come to terms with the fact that their superhuman tormentor is completely unharmed. Even though everybody saw her catch that one bullet between her fingers, they didn't see what happened to the other seven rounds. Another round of petrified silence begins after the woman's terrifying declaration before one man at the back of the bus says with horror "You missed…" All 35 men standing behind the stunning, naked, flying, superhumanly strong woman are now feeling more hopeless than ever before.

The 36th man standing at the front of the bus is exponentially worse.

After he fired the final unsuccessful shot directly into her face, his brain finally caught up with all of the events that just unfolded. He remembers how she managed to turn around to face him so quickly that he didn't remember seeing her move, and he remembers how each round he fired seemed to bounce off of her skin. Each bullet let off a brief spark signalling that it hit her, and then he heard the telltale sound of a ricochet. Then she asked for more, because she was enjoying it! So he fired all eight shots into her. Several hit her massive tits, one hit her in the face and one hit her in the eye!! The only one that missed was the one that she CAUGHT IN HER HAND and then squeezed between her fingertips until the metal bullet somehow melted down into liquid from the pressure of her little digits!

She's bulletproof she's bulletproof she's bulletproof she's bulletproof-


Ryan just screams. He screams and backs away from her, instantly tripping over one of the numerous corpses she left on the bus and falling onto his rear. He continues to crawl away from her, screaming like he had nothing left, because in truth, he really did. He even throws the gun at her as his completely scrambled brain overloads his body with nothing but the most basic, primal instinct of fleeing in terror. But within seconds, his back is against the front wall of the bus. Still he tries to press himself tighter and tighter against the wall, as if every micrometer he can get between himself and the monster in front of him is somehow making him feel less panicked as he continues to scream in pure, unfiltered terror.

This is what happens a lot of the time with the brave ones. They risk their lives to pull off some desperate resistance - in this case running to the front of the bus to get the gun - and when it fails, and it always, inevitably does, they just can't accept… can't understand… can't believe that their huge sacrifice, all that risk, has been a completely futile waste. I can't be hurt. I'm Super. Invulnerable. Unstoppable…. and whenever they realize that after such a dangerous and valiant effort, a fuse in their minds blows.

How lost, how utterly defeated, does a man have to be to throw a gun? If the bullets didn't scratch me, he surely can't think that something thrown in such a puny manner is going to work… I let the gun bounce off my forehead without blinking. That way, I can catch it in my free hand as it falls without jerking the bus around too much. I'm worried that the roof, especially now that it is resting on just one of my palms, won't hold out much longer.

He's still screaming as I roll my eyes at him. I mean, I appreciate the effort he went to, bringing a fun new toy into my game, but his non stop screeching is beginning to bore me. So I fire a very precise, very accurate tiny blast of heat vision towards his neck. Not enough to burn his outer skin, just enough to vaporise his vocal chords. Now his mouth is open, and his face contorted in a scream, but it's like I've pressed his 'mute' button, as he's almost completely silent.

I turn my back on him making sure I rotate my fingertips with real care under the roof of the bus so I can continue to hold it but facing the crowd. The creaking from above is definitely getting worse. That roof wasn't built to be held in the air by a goddess. I might have to make alternative arrangements soon. In the meantime, I think it'd be fun to put on a final show with the now even-more-useless-than-ever gun. I bring the hand holding the weapon slowly up to my chest and then, in the most devastatingly seductive manner, I slowly push the end of the gun into the deep, fabulous valley of my cleavage. I continue to slide the firearm between my large full breasts until it is almost entirely smothered by my heavenly flesh. When I remove my hand, of course, the gun is wedged, held captive in the sexiest prison that has ever existed. The men could have enlisted the help of a Saturn V engine, and there still would not have been able to dislodge the gun. My chest is far, far stronger than that.

I use my free arm, sliding it under my breasts so that I can cup the far side of my bust with my fingers. Of course, now I am adding the power of my hand to the indestructibility of my tits. The gun groans as if it is panicking. The metal screams in protest as I exert pressure through my breasts that no steel can survive.

The gun turns into a kind of clay, some of it oozing out from the top and the bottom of the space between my breasts. The bulk of it, still trapped between my glorious mounds, is pressured to melting point, and then boiling point, liquid steel flowing over the curves of my chest and dripping over my erect nipples.

I release my hold on myself. My breasts part slightly, revealing a white hot pool of glowing metal that flows down my torso, over my abdomen and collects with a loud hiss on the ground. With two fingers, I idly pick a few bits of cooling steel from the upper curves of my tits before placing the hand on my hip as I face the men, knowing how close to insanity I have now driven them.

Every man on the bus quickly gets more and more aroused by the display, but it noticeably isn't drowning out their fear like it was before. They're just as scared for their lives as they've ever been before. But now they're also getting more horny in addition to that. Every man on the bus has already been erect for the past few nightmarish minutes, but one of them actually cums on the floor at the sight of the woman's breasts melting the gun like that. The only exception is Ryan. In fact, his dick is starting to go soft again because his mind is so far gone from the newfound fear of not being able to speak anymore, as well as the tortuous burning pain that just destroyed his throat.

There's a fresh, higher-pitched creak overhead, and a quick glance with the amazing detail afforded by my super-eyesight reveals that the roof is seconds away from tearing around my palm. Of course, seconds is like an age to me. I use my flight powers in a direct vertical motion, punching my palm and then my head, shoulders, breasts and hips through an ever widening hole.

Without me supporting it, the bus is about to go into free fall. I dive around it in a tight semi-circle, coming around up underneath the centre of the chassis. Then I can extend my arms and let it settle, fairly gently, onto my palms once more.

I descend towards the ground far below, about three times the speed of a commercial elevator. I want the men inside to feel their stomachs rising, to see the clouds zip by, to get just a small sense of some of my power. I stop dead, my soles now about fifteen feet from the road and listen to the sounds of bodies tumbling inside.

I wait patiently, glancing upwards with X-ray eyes, giving those slow, weak, helpless creatures enough time to recover from the rapid descent and the sudden deceleration. It takes a good minute. Once I'm sure that they've all caught their breath as much as they ever will, I slowly lower my right hand under the bus, keeping my left extended overhead so that the whole bus begins to tilt, lengthwise, towards the back.

I hear the panic and scrambling inside, so I increase the angle of the tilt until I hear bodies actually rolling over the floor - and each other. I've got it at about 35 degrees now. I have to bend at the waist to tilt it until it seems like just about all of them have now been dislodged.

I'm deliberate and slow in my movements as I start bringing the bus back to level over my head. It's a bit like exercising with a weight, but a bus with forty heavy men in it doesn't really count as a "weight" to me…. Nonetheless, once the bus is straight, I start to lower the opposite arm, tilting it the other way now. Again, there are shouts and the sounds of men trying to hold onto things and slipping. And then, as I tilt it more and more, I hear thuds. Rolling. Cries of pain.

A quick glance with my all-seeing beautiful eyes shows me that most of the men have rolled into a heap at the front end of the bus, apparently on top of the shooter I muted.

There are eight left at the much higher back of the bus, clinging on to seats to keep themselves from falling into the blob of others. So I start to shake my arms. It's effortless really, the easiest little movements of my gorgeous long, thin arms. But I'm so strong that it's more than enough to throw the men around inside, dislodging their grips, knocking them loose until every last one of them is in the heap at the front of the bus. I'm roaring with laughter now.

With the front end of the bus now close enough to the ground to crawl out, Ryan, against all odds, summons enough adrenaline to force his way out of the mass of men on top of him and crawls his way to the gaping hole where the bus doors used to be. His legs are miraculously uninjured as he just tries to run for his life, not even turning to look at the sexy woman who was holding the back end of the bus up in the air.

Ryan isn't thinking clearly. But the more rational ones suddenly remember that Kevin fled through one of the bus windows earlier and the horrible super girl never chased him. Sure, she was able to catch a bullet, but maybe her legs can't move as quickly! Maybe she is only as fast as an average girl!

With that tiny hopeful thought buried under the overwhelming desire to be back on the ground again, a few more men desperately start to clamber over each other to exit the bus, pushing themselves past the intense pain of all new gashes, bruises, and even a few broken bones, and fleeing in different directions as soon as their feet touch the earth.

Before long, all 36 men (assuming that she allows them, that is. Your call.) are fleeing in different directions.

(Actually, do you want me to try and write for Blogger for a little while?)

(Do you want to?)

(I wouldn't be against it. And it'll actually let me contribute again lol. I really only know what to do if there are individual people I can focus on. So until then… I'll give it a shot.)

(Hell, we can take turns writing as her if we wanted to.)

(Your call then on how many she lets escape and why)

As more and more broken men hilariously stumble out of the bus with dozens of new injuries just from my light jostling of the vehicle, I stop to think about how I'm going to corral all of these men back into one spot again. Not because it was going to be a difficult task or anything (Ha!) but because there were over a thousand different ways I could catch those sluggish buffoons, and I was briefly struggling to decide which one would be the most fun.

But then, I get an idea. I set the bus back down on the ground. Every man on the bus who had just hilariously struggled to get back to their feet was instantly knocked back down again from the simple act of dropping the back half of the bus back down to the ground again. Not a second goes by when I'm glad I'm not as pathetic as them.

I do a little jump, landing on the roof of the bus without even having to bend my knees. Then, once I'm up there, I grab the hole that I made in the metal roof to escape from earlier and widen it. I could go into all the gratuitous details again (the familiar screeching of metal as it's force to fold in on itself like cardboard, the sharp edges that would slice open any man's hand but leaves mine completely unaffected, the loud groaning of the dense material as it is completely overcome by my fabulous strength) but it was probably just as simple as a man ripping a hole into a piece of toilet paper. Actually, it was thousands of times easier than that. So it's not even worth talking about.

Anyways, I widen the hole to the point where it is exactly as big as the largest surviving member on the entire team and not a single nanometer bigger (I could calculate all of his measurements with just a glance) and briefly admired my handiwork as a few more of my rebellious new toys desperately tried to flee the scene, their throbbing manhoods still just as erect as they were moments ago, despite the fact that I just put them through more injuries than even the most prolific football player would experience in his entire career. I look at the gorgeous, muscular men fleeing in abject terror, then I look back at the hole that I created just for them. Then, I can't help but smile.

It's time to see how good my basketball skills are.

Ryan runs. It's what he does for a living. The simplicity, the single mindedness of it - Run! Away from her! - is almost a relief to his tortured mind. His throat stings, but he uses the adrenaline as if he were trying to complete a key play at the Superbowl. He heard the others following after him, scrambling through the hole in the bus, but glancing left and right, he couldn't see anyone alongside him. He's winning this race. That had to be a good thing… even if she came after them, someone else would be more catchable…

The others are running for their lives too. The survival instinct kicks in, and they fan out, running in different directions, gambling, realising that survival chances are greater if they spread out. Surely, if the predator came for one of them, the others would then be too far away to be in danger. That assumed the predator was fast enough to catch up with even one of them. They were professional athletes with massive, powerful legs. She looked like a goddamn glamour model or something, with beautiful long legs that did look like they could run fast…

They are driven by fear, terror even. A glimpse of a possible escape, a survival, just when they had abandoned all hope. They had not risen to the top of their profession by being people who didn't grab an opportunity when it presented itself. They run hard and fast. Most of them shoot glances over their shoulders, horrified at the prospect that they might be being followed.. A few of them lag behind, limping with broken bones, torn muscles and other injuries that make each step a fresh agony. But they all run.

(Oh, you'd rather play as the players rather than switching off with Blogger? Okay, works for me.)

(Oh sorry did not occur… will switch from here on)

(Wait… confused)

(How about we just don’t have specific character roles anymore? We can just take turns writing the story.)

(Sorry. Now understood. That works for me.)

I sit and watch all of the men brokenly hobble away from me. I had to time my attack just right for maximum amusement. If I get them too little of a head start, it doesn't really send much of a message of my overwhelming superiority. And if I give them too much of a head start, their sluggish eyes would just see me appearing out of thin air without even having the understanding of how far I ran (or really, 'leisurely jogged') to reach him.

But once the men are all in optimal capturing range, I wait for one of them to turn around and check to see if I've moved yet. One of the taller offensive players eventually does so, and I can see every single detail of his terrified eyes clearly enough to know that he is looking directly at me. Now's my chance. Let's give him a little surprise…!

I'm careful to keep my speed down. I want him to see me. I want all of them to see me running, faster than them, faster than any car any of them have ever owned. But not so fast that their puny brains can't process it, so that they think it's 'magic'. No, I want them to see me. I know I can run dozens, maybe hundreds of times faster. Or fly thousands of times quicker still. But I don't need to achieve such mind-boggling speeds to play this game. They're only men. Trained, professional athletes, the fastest, strongest amongst men. But only men.

I see the wonderful flicker of terror on his face as he realises first that I am running after him and then the true shock when he works out how fast I'm coming. The gap between us is shrinking with every easy stride, and I feel like I'm barely doing more than a brisk walk, whilst he, filled with a fresh wave of adrenaline, is sprinting for his very life now.

Once I'm in range, I decide that it's only fitting for me to try and tackle him. After all, he's probably spent hours upon hours training himself for the specific purpose of not getting knocked down when somebody hits him. So, I lunge at him and, unsurprisingly, he goes down as easily as if his body was completely and utterly limp, offering no resistance. I tackle him to the ground and he immediately starts screaming in agony from being scraped against the hard ground at a speed that's over seven times what his own legs were capable of. And I was going easy on him! We eventually come to a stop about twenty meters away from where I first made contact. There's a small trail of blood (probably too small for anybody to notice but me) trailing behind the past several yards or so. One he's face down into the dirt, moaning in pain, I straddle my smooth legs over his muscular back and sit on top of him, leaning forwards and whispering into his ear.

"You need to work on being more sturdy than that, sport." I say, briefly pretending to be his coach. "I'll have to throw you off of the team if you can't defend yourself from a woman…" I grin. This is so much fun.

"How are you doing this?" he croaks, shocked, scared, wounded and now humiliated. "And why?"

"Very easily," I reply, honestly. "And because it's fun." I float upwards from his back, gracefully landing on my feet. "Up you get," I command him. He wheezes and huffs as he gingerly gathers his arms and legs, looking up at me in a mixture of pure terror, pure lust and pure awe.

"Seeing as you're no good at football, having just been brought down by a little girl -" I run my hands briefly over some of my more dramatic curves to emphasise the word 'girl', "- maybe we should try basketball instead." He's confused now. I sweep him up with a single arm under his shoulder. He's as good as weightless to me, his large, muscular form hanging from my hand as I move him around according to my whims.

I twist my little wrist, making his whole body turn in the air until I bring my spare hand up under his thigh so that I can hoist him over my head like a dead weight. A dead weight made of hydrogen-filled polystyrene as far as he felt to me. I toy a bit with him, raising and lowering him at the end of my arms as I turn to face the bus some sixty meters away. Then, with the easiest flick of my fingers I launch him, on a long, low arc towards the hole I'd prepared in the roof of the bus. My aim is perfect of course. "Two points!" I laugh. Then I add "Now I need another ball."

Just when Trevor thought that it couldn't get any worse, he sees the gorgeous superwoman catch up to the fastest man on their team in seconds. He should be watching where he's running, as more and more trees start to get in the way of his escape path, but he can't look away from the sight of her naked body tackling him to the ground. He can't tune his ears out of the noise of the poor man screaming as he is tumbled across the ground at eighty miles per hour with the indestructible stranger. And he can't look away from the sight of the woman then lifting him up like he weighed nothing and then throwing the poor man all the way back to the bus, right where he started. He even seems to fall straight through the hole in the roof. Did she do that on purpose? he wonders with even yet another additional wave of fear hitting him. At this point, he realizes that there is no chance of outrunning her. He can only pray that she doesn't go after him. And maybe, just maybe… Chris, who fled from the bus almost twenty minutes prior, managed to find help.

I look to the man closest to my right and I can see every detail of terror in his face as clear as day. He saw every bit of that little encounter, which means that he already saw me move, and he probably thinks that that's as fast as I can run. But I also notice that the idiot is about to run face first into a tree. But right before he does, I notice each individual muscle and tendon in his neck start to move. I can tell that his face is about to start facing forward again. So this time, I actually use, say, one percent of my speed as opposed to one ten thousandth of a percent, which is probably what I was using for the last man. My bare feet kick a huge chunk of earth into the air as I take off, heading in the direction of the next fleeing man at more than double the speed of sound. I watch his face about to start facing forwards again in real time as I close the distance almost immediately. I'm less than a foot away from him before he had even finished the process of looking where he was going, and I instantly match his speed as soon as I get that close, following closely behind him.

"Hey…" I give the best seductive smile I can muster, i.e. the most seductive smile in the history of mankind. He does an actual double-take, completing the motion of his neck to look ahead and then comically looking back to me in shock, then arousal, then pain as he is completely blindsided by the tree that I just made him run into.

"Ooof…" I pretend to wince in pain as I look down at the biggest idiot so far. "That must have hurt. You really should have just moved the tree out of the way, like this…" I suggest simply, swaying my hips as I walk towards the tree in question.

Without breaking my stride, I sashay up to the tree and with a sexy swing of my pelvis, I slam my right hip into the trunk. There's a terrific "Crack" as the strong, thick trunk is totally overwhelmed by the power of my casual gesture. The trunk breaks in two around the height of my knee as I push the top portion of the tree too hard, too fast for the wood to survive. The jolt dislodges a section of roots too, tossing up a few fountains of earth as they tear up through the ground. The newly freed bulk of the tree, branches, leaves and all falls with a mighty crash some ten meters away.

"Imagine being floored by something as fragile as that!" I sneer as he looks at me in renewed terror.

I stroll back to him leisurely. He's still lying on the ground, seemingly still recovering from hitting the tree. It's impossible to have any empathy for a creature as weak as this. I mean, I hit the tree maybe a hundred times as hard and I wasn't even bruised, but he's floored by his tiny impact. I bend over him, hearing the loud gasp as my out-of-this-world breasts briefly hang above his saucer-wide eyes. I grab his left ankle in my left hand and his right wrist in my other palm. I take the minimum amount of care not to crush both bits of man in my grasp to paste as I hoist him overhead in a single, effortless movement.

Holding him like that, with opposing limbs in each of my hands, I think for a moment of just pulling my arms apart and ripping him in half. I've ripped solid steel beams in two that way without noticing much of a challenge. I'd probably barely notice the resistance if I were to do the same thing to him right now. But, I'm not playing that game, I remind myself. I'm playing basketball. So I draw my arms back about an inch to generate the necessary power as I thrust them forward. I throw this one a little higher than the first, just for the fun of it. It's still a perfect shot ending with him dropping perfectly through the roof of the bus, but it takes him a little longer to travel there via the taller arc. "Two out of two!" I announce. "Who's next?"

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