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Milena's Diary Chapter 4

Written by conceptfan :: [Saturday, 01 December 2001 07:56] Last updated by :: [Saturday, 22 September 2012 11:05]



Milena’s Diary




All of my stories have been written for an exclusively adult audience. They contain descriptions of violence, some of it of a sexual nature. They also include other sexually explicit depictions. They are in no way suitable for minors. Furthermore it is against the law in many parts of the world for this type of material to be read, either by minors or by minors and adults. Please make sure you are not acting contrary to local legislation before reading on and please do not read any further if you find this type of material offensive in any way.

This is a work of fiction and any similarity between the characters and events depicted and any people/events in real-life, past or present, is purely co-incidence. A number of the characters and events portrayed are inspired by, or based upon, existing works of fiction. Although I have made every effort to keep plagiarism to a minimum, I must acknowledge a debt of thanks to the many artists and writers who have shared their talents with the public.

I've released my stories to the public domain to make sure that as many people as possible who share my interest in this type of fiction can enjoy them. Please feel free to re-distribute them by whatever means you like, provided you respect the following points: (1) The stories will be re-distributed exactly as they are - unchanged and unedited. (2) No other person will claim authorship of any of these stories or any part of them. (3) The stories will not be distributed for profit, either on their own or as part of a group of other works.

Lastly, thank you for your interest in this story. I hope you enjoy it!




Tuesday 15th May 2001 - 9:00 am


Oh what a night! Being super is just brilliant. I haven't slept in days and I feel as fresh as I ever have in my life. Travelling abroad used to leave me utterly exhausted, but right now I'm ready to go out and start exploring. And I've had the most eventful trip of my life. To think I thought it would be difficult to leave the country! As if anything is difficult for me these days. Well, actually, that's not strictly true. Trying not to kill idiots can be tricky sometimes, as I found out again last night, but then I can't be held responsible for other people's stupidity.


Just because I have this amazing, beautiful, harder-than-steel, faster-than-lightening, stronger-than-anything body doesn't mean I have to spend my life treading on eggshells. I'm Milena. I'm gorgeous. I'm super. I can't help that, can I? I mean, if guys want to try and kill me for whatever reason or worse, get fresh with me, then why should I feel guilty about the consequences? Besides, they're only guys. And I'm entitled to enjoy myself as much as the next girl is. Before I met the genie, I wasn't particularly happy. Now I'm having a whale of a time and I'm not about to stop, thank you very much.

Take last night. All I wanted to do was quietly leave the country. I'd happily have just got on a bus or something, but no, it had to be a big affair with guns and explosions. And blood. OK, the way it turned out was much more enjoyable (for me) than any bus ride, but that's not my point. I didn't start it. So don't blame me for finishing it. I only wanted to get into another country, not kill a bunch of its citizens. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I mean, what did they expect? That I was going to surrender or something? Me? I suppose some guys' brains are so choked with testosterone that they can't think properly. Either that or they're actually born stupid.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. When I wrote the last entry I was hiding out in the cave on the beach where I'd met the genie, having smashed up Uncle Tony's place without actually finding him. As I also killed a couple of cops, wrecked a house and been in an exploding car yesterday, I knew that I needed to get out of town. I thought for a while about how I was going to do it with every policeman and woman in the land seeking me out. Then I realised: the solution was staring me in the face. I was on the beach. Instead of heading back into town I could go the other way - out to sea. I figured that being super and being able to run faster than a car, I would also be able to swim a couple of hundred kilometres to the far shore.


I thought at the time that my plan was perfect - what better way to move to another country undetected than at sea. Without a boat. The only problem was my suitcase. As well as this diary and some clothes, it also contained quite a few little bits and pieces with memories attached. I didn't want to let them go. I was confident that its weight wouldn't be a problem for me - I've lifted vans and a huge iron gate off the ground easily enough, but I was worried that it wouldn't be waterproof. I didn't want my stuff getting ruined. Super or not, I can't fix a salty, wet diary. And I don't want anyone else other than me reading this. Not ever.


Just then, I had a brainwave. Most of the case was a specially-developed plastic - the only non-watertight parts were the join between the bottom and the lid and the hinges. That was no problem for me; I just rubbed the tips of a couple of fingers quickly back and forth over the weak spots until the friction heated the plastic and it became soft. Then I smeared it across the gaps until the case was completely sealed. To cool it back to hardness I just used my super-breath. Although I was extremely careful and blew as softly as I could, almost immediately I noticed icicles forming as my cold puff froze the moisture in the air. I picked up the suitcase, still amazed by how light it felt, and, wearing only my super vest and panties, strolled down to the sea.


It was a cloudy night, no moon or stars, but I had no trouble seeing. The only problem was what direction to head in. My geography told me I wanted to head due East. I decided to just head away from the shore and hope for the best.

As I had expected, I found swimming a piece of cake. Even with a large, supposedly heavy, suitcase in my left hand. I soon discovered that with one arm and my legs paddling gently I could move incredibly quickly. I was confident that fatigue wouldn't be a problem - in fact I haven't felt tired or been out of breath since the genie did his stuff - and that proved to be the case. I'd been going non-stop for hours when I noticed the first hint of dawn appearing on the horizon in front of me. That was good news - it meant I was heading East as I had hoped. Other than feeling slightly bored, the hours spent ploughing through the icy, salty water had had no ill effects on me.

A short time later I spotted a large ship in the distance. My super eyes zoomed in, to reveal that it was some kind of military or at least official vessel - the grey paint was a clue, as were the numerous large guns mounted on its deck. I took its presence as a sign that I was nearing my destination, and continued to swim on, not intending to pay the ship any further notice. The rim of the sun finally rose above the edge of the world, infusing part of the black sky with a staggeringly beautiful range of colours. I didn't realise it at the time, but this increasing light must have been what made me visible to the crew on board. Either way, I suddenly became aware of the approaching sound of outboard motors.


I guess what must've happened was that some sharp lookout on the big ship had noticed something in the water and a couple of motorised dinghies were dispatched to investigate. My fault really. If I had taken evasive action when I first noticed the ship, I'd never have been discovered. My senses are far more sensitive than anybody else's. But I had just kept on regardless. Call it arrogance, but I didn't think I needed to hide. And, in a way, I was right - in the end. But I wasn't so sure when I stopped swimming and trod water as the two small boats approached. In the growing light, I could easily make out two uniformed men in each dinghy. A little while later, with much shouting and pointing, they saw me.


I knew then that a confrontation was unavoidable. I wasn't particularly concerned for myself, but I did worry about my suitcase and its contents. I couldn't see a cheap piece of luggage withstanding any kind of serious impact. If it broke, then all my stuff would be ruined. And, thinking about the situation from the point of view of the guys on the boats, I figured the case would look too suspicious to be ignored. The last thing I wanted was a bunch of hostile foreigners reading this diary and poking about in my private property. I'd experienced that enough times with the cops back home. So, I just let go of the suitcase, my super eyes following its gentle descent even to the thick obscurity of the ocean bed a couple of hundred feet below.

About that time, I was able to spot that all four men were carrying machine guns over their shoulders, although one guy in each boat was busy steering. I remained where I was as the little craft began to encircle me before cutting their engines. One the men shouted something at me, but of course, I couldn't understand his language, so I just smiled. He started motioning with the barrel of his gun, indicating that he wanted me to get on board with him, all the while shouting his unintelligible instructions. I merely shook my head and stayed right where I was in the water. His colleague in the dinghy cocked his weapon and pointed it at me, gesturing franticly for me to climb aboard.


It was at least twelve hours since I'd last been shot at. After my long swim, I figured it was the least I deserved, so to encourage them to start, I stuck out my tongue. Finally, one of them did open fire, but to my disappointment, he aimed over my head. Some kind of warning shot, I guess. That just wasn't good enough. I stuck out my bottom lip to show how upset I was. At that moment, I heard a loud splash behind me. One of the two men in the other little boat had dived into the water. Things were beginning to get interesting. Without turning around, I heard him swimming up towards me. When he got within reach, he slipped an arm around my waist and tried to pull me towards him.


A tiny movement of my submerged foot generated enough power to resist his tug. Instead of him pulling me to him, he pulled himself into me. As his body came into contact with mine, I felt a burgeoning little erection pressing into my rear. Sure, it was nice to note that even underwater and in semi-darkness my new body has an irresistible effect on men, but I was still deeply annoyed by the violation of my personal space. Before I could think of how I was going to express my displeasure, the pathetic pervert planted his other hand right on my left breast. There was no way it could have been an accident. He was copping a feel.

His feeble fingers barely made any impression on my big mound as they tried to squeeze me through my vest with all their might, so that the tendons on the back of his hand stood out. I could hardly feel it, but that wasn't the point. I decided that the bastard had had the last grope of his life. Too quickly for him to react, I brought my right hand out of the water and placed my open palm over his filthy, wandering hand. Then, as slowly as I could, I began to push his palm against my firm breast. His arm started jerking as he tried to pull himself away, but of course I held him firm. I heard his feet kicking madly under the water and then he began to moan.

His other hand left my waist and tried to remove my fingers, with absolutely no effect. Then he tried punching me, first in the head and then in the other breast. As his blows got weaker, I could tell without looking that he'd injured his knuckles on my body. His moans became screams as I pressed his hand ever harder against my chest until I heard the cracking of bone. I merely increased the pressure as I clutched him intimately to me, my "super" tit remaining wonderfully firm as I obliterated his muscle. Still I continued to squeeze him, enjoying myself as his tough masculine hand turned out to be hopelessly mismatched against my beautiful "soft" feminine breast.


The water around my chest turned red as I reduced his hand to nothingness between my delicate palm and womanly mound. Somehow, despite the blood all around, not a single drop clung to my skin or my vest. The genie really did give me an indestructible stain-proof garment. Actually, the same goes for my body too. Busy calculating the savings in cleaning bills and soap that come with being super, I almost didn't notice the amputated perv's screams ending as he passed out. He must've swallowed quite a bit of water, because when I finally released him, he quite literally sank without trace.


That brought his colleagues into life. The lone guy in the boat behind me who had benefited from an unobscured view of his partner's body falling permanently below the surface immediately started firing his automatic weapon. Even though most of his bullets hit the water and lost almost all their effectiveness, quite a few did hit me in the back of the head. Feeling no worse to me than medium rain did before I met the genie, they bounced uselessly off my skull. Nonetheless, I reckoned the hot-head shooting them needed a little cooling down. As the two idiots in front of me weren't doing anything except staring with their mouths hanging open, I turned my back on them to face the gunner.


He was short and stocky, his eyebrows thick and his cheeks dark with stubble. His lips were contorted into a sneer as he continued to spray me with ammo, the slugs now rebounding into the water off my face. Once or twice, he scored a direct hit on one of my eyes, the impacts almost stinging me. Not hurting, you understand, but undeniably veering towards discomfort. Since my encounter in the cave, it was the nearest I'd come to pain. He needed rewarding for his efforts. Forming my lips into an "O" shape, I sent a gentle puff of air his way, almost as if I was extinguishing an invisible match.


It goes without saying that a casual little bit of my breath was far to much for a well-built, fit young man. The wind generated by my super lungs and channelled through my - even if I say so myself - gorgeous lips, lifted him off his feet and threw him rapidly about thirty meters backwards. He yelled as he flew through the air until he plunged into the sea. I guess the shock of it all - or maybe the jolt as he splashed down - was a bit too much for him, because he never re-surfaced. I smiled. One way or the another, the new super me just blows men away!

That left the pair behind me as the immediate threat. The death of another colleague prompted them both to start peppering me with automatic fire. I turned around in the water and tried to raise myself a little higher so that their rain of bullets would do me some good, instead of just being wasted on my face. It didn't really do much good, though. Only a couple of slugs struck my breasts; enough to remind me how good it feels to be shot there, but not enough for me to start enjoying the sensation. Not for the first time, I was left disappointed with the pathetic efforts of men. It was time for me to take matters into my own hands.


A couple of easy strokes speedily carried me the fifteen or so meters up to the side of the dinghy. The changed angle of me to shooters now meant that most of their fire struck the top of my head, bouncing back up again like marbles being dropped onto a hard floor. I tried tilting my head back and thrusting out my chest to get more enjoyment from the bullets. At this point, I should add that some facts are unavoidable and it's pointless to ignore them. Like the undeniable truth that my transformation has given me fantastic tits. Which is why, when I pushed the beauties out, the faces of the two guys standing almost directly above me changed dramatically. I felt as if I was treating them to the best view of their lives.

So, the four eyes and two mouths of the lecherous creeps opened wide, and I got a bit of a treat too, as quite a few of their slugs did smack into the top of my breasts, sending a lovely warm feeling through my entire being. As usual though, I ended up being let down. They ran out of ammo. I decided that was the right moment for me to obey their earlier instruction and join them in the dinghy. I put my hands on the sides of the little boat, intending to haul myself aboard. However, I misjudged the manoeuvre completely. I suppose I've still got a lot to learn about being super, although I'm getting better all the time.


Anyway, I got that particular trick wrong. As I pushed down on my hands I expected my body to rise out of the water. Instead, the side of the boat lowered into it. The force of my push actually flipped the lightweight inflatable craft over like a pancake and then burst it so that it became a useless piece of material floating on the sea. Its two occupants were thrown straight up at least five meters into the air, splashing down next to the remains of their vessel. They both managed to remain conscious, thrashing about as they fought to keep their heads above the icy water. Obviously they didn't possess half a brain between them. Why else would they have decided to swim towards me?


I held my position, waiting for them both to get close to me. Then I held my arms out at right-angles to my body and used little paddling movements of my submerged feet to spin me around in the water. I've seen some pretty sick stuff since I became super, but one of the worst sights has to be my naked outstretched arms decapitating those two, their severed heads flying away to plop down and sink whilst the rest of them slowly fell beneath the reddening waves. I know loads of men have lost their heads with the new me, but not like that. At least they wouldn't have felt much.


I can only assume that while I was unmanning the two dinghies, someone on the big ship had been watching through high powered binoculars. I write that because, a few moments after I'd completed my little spin of death, I noticed something heading rapidly towards me through the water in a dead straight line from the side of the vessel. For half a second, I thought it was someone swimming, but I soon dismissed that idea. No-one can swim that fast. Except maybe me. I zoomed in with my supervision to see what looked like a giant jet-propelled bullet speeding my way. A torpedo!

My first reaction was a thrill of excitement. I remembered (how could I forget?) how wonderful the exploding grenades had felt against my skin in Tony's basement. A torpedo, I figured, ought to produce a much bigger blast. I began to swim towards it, my speed almost matching the on-rushing marine missile. Just before impact, I lifted myself as high in the water as I could, carefully aligning the metallic nose with the centre of my chest before closing my eyes in sweet anticipation of the sensations to come. The next half-second seemed to last an eternity.


Finally, it hit me. Right between my breasts. The explosion was enormous, instantly turning the cold sea water all around to steam and lifting me out of the brine into the morning air, throwing me twenty meters backwards. I hardly noticed that though. I was too busy enjoying the ferocious heat and the phenomenal force of the impact against my sensitive flesh. I was in heaven. As the thick, heavy metal casing of the torpedo blew apart, hot and sharp chunks of shrapnel hit all over my body, only intensifying the wonderful sensation as they bounced away. I was almost out of breath as I plunged back into the water, my breasts tingling deliciously, my very core thrilled beyond anything I've ever experienced in my life.


I wanted another. A feeling that fantastic is too enjoyable not be to repeated. Once I got my bearings again, I faced the ship and waited in anticipation. Whoever was on lookout duty was doing his job well, because he spotted where I came down and that I was still very much in one piece. Either that, or it was my lucky morning. To be fair, every single second has been lucky for me since I caught my foot in that old brass lamp. Even so, that particular instant felt especially lucky. My keen eyes spotted the second torpedo heading my way. My heart leapt for joy while the rest of me was still glowing with pleasure anyway as it neared.


The thing had been well-aimed. I hardly had to move at all to line myself up with it. This time, I bent my spine as far back as I could, grabbing my ankles behind me so that my chest was forced as far forward as possible by the time the collision occurred. I was glad I did. The first explosion had felt good. The second was brilliant. Once again, the torpedo struck me right in my cleavage. Super-heated metal smashed into the exposed portions of my breasts, a caress vastly superior and infinitely more erotic than anything a mere man could manage. As I was forced backwards by the blast, I heard myself crying out in uncontrollable delight. I wish I could live that moment forever!


Sadly, it was all over too soon. The sea around me became cold again, my skin, too, cooled and the wonderful tingles died down. I waited about a minute, but there were no more torpedoes. I swam towards the ship and stopped about ten meters from it, waving my arms and calling "Hey! I'm here! Got any more heavy weapons?" Soon enough, two more uniformed guys appeared from within, machine guns at the ready. They began spraying me with lead. Some of it hit me where I wanted it to, but compared to the aquatic missiles, the puny bullets were a bit of a damp squib. Not only that, but a few hit my eyeballs, annoying me considerably. All in all, I'd had enough of those guys.


I dived down beneath the surface, a few powerful strokes carrying me quickly under the ship. Before the genie, I couldn't swim underwater for more than about five meters. Things have changed now. For starters, salt water doesn't affect my eyes at all. In fact I can see just as well under the sea as on land - in other words further, more clearly and with less light than anyone else alive. As well as that, I felt as if I could stay under all day without needing to come to the surface for air. I still haven't gotten over how great it is to be super. Sometimes I think there's nothing I can't do. Maybe there isn't.

Looking up at the bottom of the thirty meter long ship, I certainly didn't feel limited. I selected a section of hull that was fairly central and well below the waterline. A gentle stroke carried my easily right up to it. Once there, I drew back my hand, closed my fingers into a fist and punched the metal as hard as I could. There was a loud underwater clang followed by the muffled sound of wrenching iron. The hull had been constructed of two thick layers of metal, but my small fist went through them both as if they were wet cardboard. I barely felt the resistance. Pulling my hand back, I proudly examined the hole I'd made.


I could see the water rushing into the new breach. To help things along, I pushed the fingers of both hands into the gap and slowly pulled my hands apart, nearly laughing as the iron yielded to my slender arms. It seemed to me that the vessel had been made of unfired clay rather than metal as it crumpled and tore so very easily in my hands. With almost no effort, I made a hole about a meter across in the bottom of the ship. Now the brine flooded into the hull, the violent flow of water not bothering me as I swam away from it, resurfacing a second and a half later twenty meters from the ship.


I lazily trod water and watched as the big craft sunk beneath the waves. It didn't take long. The whole thing was submerged within a minute. Various crew members appeared on the sea, their heads bobbing on the waves, arms thrashing as they sought some solid debris to cling to. I ignored them as I dived quickly for the ocean bed. Moments later I was deep, deep down where the pressure would have killed an ordinary person. But I'm not an ordinary person. I got proof of that when I scanned a square kilometre of sea floor and found where my suitcase had come to rest within moments. I'd make a terrific undersea treasure hunter. Come to think of it, I'd be terrific at anything. I am terrific. Full stop.


I grabbed my case, my super legs propelling me at fantastic speed as I resumed my journey shore-ward. With the sun now over the horizon, I had no difficulty navigating as I swam about twenty meters below the waves. I stayed at that depth for a few minutes, until I was out of sight of the floundering men behind me. When I resurfaced, my keen eyes spotted the distant coastline. I'd made good time. Despite my journey being so rudely interrupted. I wondered if the grey ship and its uniformed occupants had belonged to the local military or if they were just a well-co-ordinated gang of smugglers. Whatever they were, their ship and most of its crew were now lying on the bottom of the sea having proven little more than a distraction to me.

What I hadn't realised was that although they couldn't fight - well, not against me, anyway - they had been able to use a radio. I would discover that once I was ashore, after I had swam into water that was shallow enough for me to stand. Wading through the sea is no problem when you're super; it felt just like walking on dry land to me. I just strolled up the deserted beach, marvelling at the way the moisture seemed to just slide off my skin and clothes so that I was completely dry in an instant whilst my suitcase dripped salty water onto the sand. I looked around the beach. Then my keen ears detected the distant sound of a car. I assumed I was near a road.

Strolling towards the vehicular noise, I was surprised to see a jeep racing along the sand towards me. There were two soldiers inside, both armed. I stood still and waited for them to see me. They eventually did and stopped their car only a few meters up the beach from me. As soon as the driver cut the engine, his passenger jumped out and came towards me, shouting something in the language I had heard earlier at sea. When I didn't reply he pointed his gun at me, motioning with the barrel that he wanted me to drop my case. What the hell, I thought. This could be fun.

The soldier walked up to my big luggage with its custom water-tight seal and bent over it. Running up quickly behind him, I put an arm around his waist and lifted him off his feet, at the same time using my other hand to easily pull his rifle out of his grasp and casually toss it a hundred meters out to sea. He began shouting again, thrashing about, trying to remove my arm which of course remained exactly where it was. He tried punching me with the usual results of a man who thinks his puny fists can hurt me. His knuckles bled and his hands bruised painfully whilst his hardest blows felt like a summer breeze against my flawless skin.


Whilst that was happening, the jeep driver had climbed down and ran to a spot about ten meters away, aiming his weapon at me, but afraid to use it in case he injured his colleague. I smiled at him as I tucked the other soldier under my arm so that I was carrying him like a rolled-up newspaper. Actually he didn't even feel as heavy as the morning news to me. I just held him fast between the crook of my arm and the generous curve of my breast as I faced his colleague. What that did was present the guy who'd been driving with a clear, free shot at my body. He took it.

The rifle cracked and I watched the big slug heading towards me, pleased to see that the shooter was a good aim. He'd gone for my heart. That of course meant the bullet slammed into my breast, the projectile's reinforced point hitting my vest and dimpling my womanly flesh for an instant before it rebounded harmlessly away, leaving not a trace on my brief upper garment and nothing but a nice warm feeling in my chest. It felt lovely to me, but it was obviously an unexpected sight to him. He recovered his composure quickly enough though, firing his other barrel even as his eyes still expressed his shock that the first had had no effect.


This time, I judged the path of the shot, moving a tiny bit up and to the side so that the shot hit directly on my excited nipple. It didn't even dimple my breast, but it felt fabulous. The bullet ricocheted away as if it had struck a cubic meter of solid reinforced steel, not a girl's aroused nipple. It landed almost at the firer's feet as a delicious tingle spread through my torso, my chest suddenly feeling electrified and my mind was lost in waves of erotic pleasure. Forgetting myself entirely, I brought my hands up to cup my big new breasts. Suddenly, I was interrupted by the sound of the guy who'd just shot me being sick.


Immediately I saw what had caused him to loose his breakfast. When the second bullet hit my nipple I got so turned on that I completely forgot the guy I'd tucked under my arm, so when I reached for my breasts with both hands I had simply crushed his middle between my slender arm and my magnificent chest. Actually, not so much crushed him as almost cut him in two. There was blood and gore all over the two chunks of his corpse and the sand and yet not a drop anywhere on me. I'd been so distracted that I hadn't even felt his body collapsing, neither against my feminine arm nor against my seemingly soft breast, but I'd not only killed him, I'd practically obliterated him.


I had gone through his flesh, his bones, his muscles - everything - as though it wasn't there, merely because my attention had momentarily wavered. I dropped the disgusting remains onto the sand, relieved that my clothes and skin are immune from staining. Having phenomenal strength is brilliant, but there can be a price to pay. For the rest of the world, anyway. I didn't feel too bad about it - he and his pal had tried to kill me, after all. And it wasn't as if I'd been covered in his gore. If his partner was vomiting because of his weak male constitution, well, that wasn't my problem, either.

Sick-boy eventually finished depositing the contents of his stomach on the beach and wiped his mouth with his hand, staring at me in shock and not a little fear. As I walked towards him, he began to back off unsteadily until he tripped over himself and fell on his backside. He craned his neck to look up at me, pathetic tears in his eyes. He kept his hands by his sides and his legs still, making no attempt to defend himself. I stood above him, reaching down to gently stroke his hair like I would a frightened child. At the same time, I smiled down reassuringly at him as he lost himself in the beauty of my face. How could such a helplessly weak creature have been in the military?


I bent low towards him, giving him a grandstand view of my large cleavage as my big breasts strained against my vest. I heard his breathing become more shallow and his heartbeat accelerate as he showed himself far from immune to my charms. I didn't need my enhanced vision to spot the bulge in his trousers, either. I kept my hand on his head, very gently pulling his face towards my chest. He made no attempt to resist. I let his temple rest on the soft, warm exposed flesh of my breasts as if he was a scared child and I was a kindly adult. But he wasn't a child, and I.. well, I'm not kind. Not at all.


There I held him. Without him realising it, I pressed my hand down securely on the other side of his face. Not nearly enough to hurt him, but more than enough to keep his head firmly in place, sandwiched between my palm and the upper part of my two breasts which at that moment must have felt as soft to him as any pillows. If only he'd known. I took a quick, deep breath, making my chest rise dramatically. Naturally, my rising curves lifted him with them. Unfortunately for him, my hand gave his head nowhere to go. So his skull was trapped between my rapidly rising breasts and my unmoving palm.


It all happened so quickly, he probably didn't get to feel it. There was a loud crunch as his head went the way of a walnut in a nutcracker, my petite hands and big, feminine breasts making a mightily powerful vice. Blood gushed from his mouth as I released him from his final embrace and let his corpse fall to the sand. Looking down at him, the experience left me feeling rather pleased with myself. Partly because I'd destroyed a man who was far bigger than me with nothing but the softest, most womanly part of my body. Partly because I'd killed him so easily after he had failed to even scratch me with his weapon. And partly because I'd long before overpowered him with my irresistible sexuality. No wonder I feel like a goddess!


The only problem was that I'd just left one country to escape the attentions of the cops there and before I'd even reached the shore of my new home, I'd made myself a target for the local military. So I grabbed my suitcase and ran quickly up the beach to get myself out of sight before anyone else came along. Where the sand gives way to dry grass I turned back towards the sea. Putting my hands on my hips and leaning slightly forward for maximum effect, I pursed my lips and exhaled a less-than-medium strong blast from my lungs. My super-breath momentarily lifted the top layer of sand off the beach. When it settled again, my footprints had been erased and the two corpses buried. I figured that would buy me some getaway time.


I found myself jogging across a meadow, not running too fast to avoid causing suspicion. Soon, I was in a dense wood. Confident that I wasn't being observed I began to go faster - around the speed of a car. I ran straight ahead, my bare feet and legs kicking any bushes or fallen trunks out of my way without me having to adjust my stride. I ran right through dozens of low branches, my head, chest and stomach smashing the thick wood into match-sized splinters with about as much effort as it takes to blink. Only when my suitcase was in danger did I have to alter my path. After all, the case is only made from a specially-developed material that the manufacturer claims could survive falling out of an aeroplane. In other words, it's far, far more fragile than I am.


All in all, I must have ran like that for about half-an-hour. Even after my swimming marathon, I wasn't even slightly short of breath when I stopped in a clearing by an abandoned cabin. It was small and windowless, its door held close by a severely rusted padlock. I got that off by pinching it between my thumb and forefinger, the metal yielding immediately to my delicate hand. Inside there was nothing but a table and a lot of dust and spiders' webs. I did the spring cleaning by leaving the door wide open, and blowing the crap out through it. I had to take care to do it as gently as I could - I didn't want to destroy the cabin (and surrounding trees).


That done, I closed the door again. My super eyes had no trouble making out even the smallest detail in the window-less darkness. I lifted my suitcase onto the table. Then, I used my fingers to smash through its "tough" material and make a hole big enough for me to get my things out. I reckoned it was time to pause and update the diary. It should be a while before anyone finds me here. Although, it's not exactly the case that I'm scared of being discovered. I mean, sure, I'm a marked woman here, but there are compensations. For starters, the apparent willingness of the soldier boys here to use their weapons might mean I get to enjoy a few hand-grenades or, if I'm lucky enough, torpedoes.


I'm getting a bit excited with that thought. Maybe I'll go out and see what I can find. It's been a great night and morning so far. I can't see why it should end here. I'm not even vaguely tired yet. Not in the slightest.


Conceptfan, December 2001.

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