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- Age of Mackenzie
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- Ultra Lucille – Chapter 2
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- Alexis' Desire
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- Kiraling – Part 27 (Chapter 198-215)
- Birth of the Undead – Staying Alive 10
- Birth of the Undead – Staying Alive 9
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Me, Myself & I
Blogger & the Football Team (feat. Conceptfan) Part 1
Written by Totally Kyle :: [Sunday, 07 November 2021 02:22] Last updated by :: [Monday, 15 November 2021 17:22]
This story requires context. So, Conceptfan (the creator of the "Blogger" character) was using a roleplay account where he would occasionally talk to me as Blogger. One day, I suddenly sent this message to the "Blogger" account:
“You're walking down the street on the morning after a stormy night when a bus that's transporting the regional football team drives through a puddle next to you and splashes you.”
About an hour later, Blogger responds. And from that point onward, the two of us went back and forth in a completely impromptu writing session that went on for several days. Sometimes it's a roleplay and sometimes it's just a story that we take turns writing for. We just kept going back and forth with zero planning and almost zero communication and just kinda figured it out as we went along. This is the first day of these writing sessions. The bold text was written by Conceptfan. The regular text was written by me.
Everything you're about to read was written in the span of 3 hours and 1 minute.
With my superspeed and reactions, I froze the splashed water solid before it got anywhere near me. Of course the driver would not have known that I have powers, so to be fair to him, I would deal with his bus and its contents as if it had actually splashed me. With a single arm almost casually waved at my side, I grabbed a hold of the passing bus, my pretty fingers noisily wading up a section of its side as my vastly superior strength brought the whole vehicle to a halt. The engine whines, and the tires spin, but it’s going absolutely nowhere. That one-handed grip is all I need to hoist the entire bus, driver, twenty passengers and all, into the air. For amusement, I'd give it a little shake, the easiest movement of my delicate-looking feminine wrist. Inside the bus, grown men are thrown out of their seats and tossed around helplessly whilst I giggled at them. A carefully executed extra shake dislodges the driver, sending him hurtling through the front windshield. Now the tires stop spinning and the engine dies. I'm not careful putting the bus down, I just open my fingers where I stand and let it drop the two feet to earth, scattering the men inside once again as it bounces hard.
The passengers inside, consisting of 20 overweight offensive linemen, one even more overweight bus driver, and 20 fit and athletic defensive players, all of who you can see more clearly than if an average man looked at every square inch of the scene under a heavy magnifying glass, all scream in panic and confusion as all of their mortal bodies are thrown around the bus, bouncing amusingly off of the walls, floor, and ceiling of the vehicle and quickly amassing a sizable number of cuts and bruises.
As if lifting a bus is nothing to me (because, believe me it IS nothing to me) I just stroll around to the front where the driver is lying, hurt on the road surrounded by broken glass. It was his fault that I nearly could have been splashed!
The bus driver groans in pain, writhing around on the ground in so much agony that he hasn't even noticed your presence.
Swerving the bus to avoid the puddle and keep me dry might have risked toppling the bus and killing everyone on board, but he should have taken that risk. I stand above him now, looking down contemptuously, over the magnificent swell of my chest, at him. My hands on my hips, and a sneer on his face. He's so weak compared to me, so vulnerable.... I could kill him instantly in a billion different ways. But I don't. Not now while he is writhing in pain unaware of my presence. I tap my bare foot impatiently on the road. My sexy toes slam into the tarmac with so much force the surface cracks and the ground for a hundred feet in every direction shudders. Even the bus rocks behind me.
The bus driver flinches and instinctively curls into the fetal position to try and shield his body from his still unknown attacker. The forty men in the bus all start a new round of terrified screaming when the bus rocks.
Shocked, the driver groggily looks up. The moment when he finally focuses on my perfect ankles is hilarious. His face morphs from shock, to confusion, to arousal, to bare, naked lust as his eyes make their way up my body to my chest. "You could have made me a bit damp!" I tell him, although it's hard to not keep the fact that he is not worthy even of my words from my voice.
"S- S - S- sorry?...." he stammers. Is he apologising for his actions, or just confused by my statement? Either way, his fate is sealed. I raise the same foot that had caused a mini earthquake a moment ago. But this time, instead of slamming it down hard on the road, I place it down carefully on his chest. He starts to moan and struggle under my toes, even though I'm barely pressing down at all. Yet. Slowly, I start to increase the pressure, staring down at him and his pathetic struggles as I do. He's using his hands now, trying to pull my dainty ankles away. He might as well be trying to pull out the core of the Earth with his two puny hands.
He's having the most conflicting emotions he's ever felt. He was still in shock from whatever the fuck happened to the bus. But now he's being stared down by the most unbelievably sexy bombshell of a woman he had ever seen. But now... she's complaining about getting wet? And she's pinning him to the ground with nothing but her toes?
And now it is starting to hurt him.
Things get even worse when those dainty feminine feet start to press into him with an inhuman amount of pressure that shouldn't be possible. He cries out in pain and tries to wrestle this woman away from him. And that's when things get even weirder. She is completely immovable. Even though she is quite literally a third of his weight, he can't get her painful, crushing foot off of him no matter how much strength he puts into his meaty hands! "S...stop...!" he screams, but even that's hard to do because the air is being painfully forced out of his lungs.
"Stop?" she chuckles. "Make me." and she grins the most gorgeous dazzling smile just as the pressure on his chest increases to the point he cannot make sounds at all and is beginning to get scared. She sees that in his eyes, right away of course, and it only makes that smile somehow even broader. She is not just enjoying his suffering. She seems to be getting off on it.
His bones are starting to bend from the completely impossible strength of the monster on top of him. He's putting 100% of his strength into trying to save himself from being crushed to death by her little foot. He tries to cry out for help, but his throat can only produce strangled gurgling noises. Suddenly, one of the less injured football players climbs out of the wreckage. "Hey!" he yells at Blogger. "What the hell are you doing?"
She calmly turns to the new arrival, the grin unchanging on her face, the pressure unchanging on the driver's face. "Wait your turn." she instructs him, before giving him a wink that promises so much without specifying what. Then she turns her attention back to the man literally at her foot. Her sensitive ears can hear the sound of his ribs beginning to creak. It's a familiar sound to her, but it hasn't lost any of its ability to thrill her. Through his struggles, he blinks away tears of desperation, and just catches sight of her prominent nipples swelling very slightly underneath the absurdly tight fabric of her T-shirt. He cannot help but respond to the incredible eroticism of the sight. Despite the pain, the terror, the exhaustion from fighting so desperately and futilely against her little foot... he starts to get hard. And she sees it straight away. And makes a show of flicking her gaze that way for a moment before locking her eyes on his with a special glint that makes it clear. "I can see your erection for me!" her eyes tease.
The football player was about to intervene when the mystery girl winked at him. Suddenly, he found himself unable to move. He briefly forgot about the horrifying bus accident that he just survived. He forgot that about a dozen men were seriously injured and he forgot that the bus driver seemed to be in trouble (somehow) right before his eyes. He couldn't help but stare at her magnificent tits that threatened to burst through the fabric of her shirt, as well as her fantastic ass and gorgeous face. That single wink made him completely paralyzed for a brief moment. But after a while, and with a great deal of effort, he started to move again.
"L-leave him alone," he demands, marching towards the struggling bus driver who seems to somehow be struggling against a girl who could very easily be one of his team's cheerleaders.
She does not break eye contact with the driver. At that moment, her dominance over him is so total, she wants to savour it. The idiot who crawled out of the broken windshield is threatening to disturb her entertainment before she is ready to move on to the next act. As soon as he lumbers within reach of her long, shapely, smooth arm, she extends her hand and flicks him, gently, with her index finger. Although she hasn't bothered to actually look up at him, she can hear exactly where his body parts are from his heartbeat and his breathing. She catches him perfectly under the chin with her effortless single digit flick because that is exactly where she wanted to strike him. The finger, with the laziest of easy movements behind it, would end any boxing match in history instantly. The athlete is knocked upwards off his feet for a moment, but he's already unconscious before he hits the ground again, collapsing in an unmoving heap. The girl's face has not changed throughout. She has not stopped staring into the driver's panicking eyes.
The driver is now more terrified than he ever has been before and likely ever will be again. He thought that all of this might have been a strange dream. But then, when he saw the woman send the team's wide receiver flying through the air WITH A FLICK OF HER FINGER, he realized that this isn't a dream. It's a nightmare. But despite all of this, he is still getting harder, even as he's being forced to live out such a horrifying scene, brought to him by a deceptively beautiful woman... His vision is starting to go dark...
She slows down the relentless, unstoppable downward movement of her foot. Just enough so that she can prolong, with an expertise borne of superhuman control and vast experience, the moment when his ribs finally go. With her exquisitely cruel judgement, the sound is more Ccccccccrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkk than the usual short, sharp bone break. No, this is the sound of bones not fracturing so much as being tortured into submission. His eyes grow huge with panic and terror, and then bulge as if being squeezed out of his body by the power of her pretty little toes. Then, too quickly for her, but inevitably for him, they suddenly dim. Without thinking, she gently rubs her palms over her body, brushing her now millions-of-times-harder than diamond nipples as her perfect teeth subconsciously part slightly and her eyes close for a moment.
Then she steps off the dead driver and strolls, happily, past the man who dared interrupt her and had to pay the price, up to the front of the bus. She does not climb in through the broken windshield. She walks around to the doors and jams her hands through the partition as if it was made of tissue paper. It's not, it's solid steel and the sound she makes thrusting her hands through it is like a gun being fired. Casually, she pulls her hands apart, ripping the doors open, compressing the metal on itself and then forcing the dense hydraulic arms to bend with her unopposable strength. She's not making an effort, of course, but the screams of tortured metal, and the ease with which she removes steel are terrifying. The silence once she decides she's made enough of an opening and relaxed her arms, is shocking. She meanwhile, unhurriedly strolls through the new doorway as if she were merely boarding the bus via conventional means.
"Hi boys," she smiles at the nearly four dozen pairs of male eyes that lock on her body in a mixture of confusion and desire. "It looks like this bus is going to take a diversion... to pound town."
Despite their pain, confusion, and fear, every single monkey-brained man on the bus gives off the all-too-familiar reaction of instantly going from 'scared' to 'horny' at the sight of her. Even though some of them are bruised and many of them are bleeding, they forget all of their pain and stare at her chest, as if she had psychic powers that completely hypnotized all of them (maybe she does) into being unable to look away. But finally, one of the players, who happened to be too rattled to even register her words, finally speaks. "D...did you happen to see what caused this accident, ma'am?" he manages to squeak out, while all of the other fit, well-trained athletes just stare at her like a starving dog looking down at a fat, juicy steak.
She chuckles. "Yeah, I caused it. I reached out with one hand like this-" her hand flashes out, grabbing a guy to her left by the collar of his jacket. "And picked it up like this - " she bends her arm, causing the man in her hand to be lifted off the ground. He starts to struggle and kick but she ignores him totally. "And then I shook it around a bit like this-" she moves her wrist, causing the man to flail around wildly, arms and legs smashing around. When she stops shaking he seems to be unconscious. "And then I dropped it like this-" she opens her fingers and the man collapses into a pile on the floor at her feet.
Hilariously, there is absolutely no response. Every man on the bus watches the display, showing various levels of shock and a little bit of fear underneath their overwhelming lust, before the poor linebacker in her grasp is dropped to the floor. Every single man stares blankly at her (or rather, her chest) as they visibly struggle and then fail to understand what she just said. "...Buh...?" the man who spoke answered dumbly, knowing that there's no way this girl seriously lifted their bus and then shook it around.
"Oh, and then I killed your driver. Like this-" Now that she has everyone's complete attention, even those at the back of the bus hear when she places her foot on the torso of the man at her feet and crushes his ribcage until blood spurts from his mouth.
That snaps all of them out of it. You can make out every detail of every man's unique but similar reaction to their teammate being crushed to death right before their eyes.
"What the fuck!!"
One of the offensive linemen, a massive chunk of muscle and fat, (probably one of the guys who was the most confident that he could overpower her) runs towards the slender woman and tries to tackle her to the floor of the ruined bus.
He dives at her, throwing his arms around her waist like he has brought down hundreds of big men in games and in training. It's his speciality. His skill. He is built for it, practised in it and very very effective at it.
The first shock is how tiny her waist is. He could wrap his arms around her twice. She looks so... so weak! The second shock is that she does not fall over backwards. She doesn't move at all. It's as if he's tackled an iron statue that is secured to the ground in a house-sized block of concrete. The third shock is that her skin under that incredibly over-worked T-shirt is warm and firm. Like a layer of heated velvet on top of... on top of... solid... marble? granite? steel? The momentum of the tackle carries his face forward towards that flat, unmoving belly until with a crunch his nose breaks on her navel.
The second-largest man on the bus runs in to help his friend. Now, they can be certain that she certainly isn't going anywhere. That's for sure. Conveniently enough, both of them are wearing oversized shirts that would make it very easy for her to grab both men at once with one hand.
She has to stoop slightly to scoop up the tackler's shirt as he bounces off her, and carries his whole body with her as, in the same, fluid movement, she brings that arm out to the other side of her body to snag some of the second man's shirt with her spare fingers. She raises that hand, lifting both men helplessly towards the roof whilst she dominantly places her spare palm on her hip.
The two men, each about 2.5 meters tall and weighing about 180kg, struggle and thrash around in the grip of the single slender arm that's carrying them up towards the ceiling with no signs of difficulty. All other eyes on the bus look on at the impossible sight with shock, followed by a horrifying understanding that this woman might actually be exactly as strong as she claimed to be. The two men quickly get more frantic and panicked at how such a small woman could overpower both of them so easily! It just wasn't possible. What the hell is she??
Casually, she starts to rock her wrist, making the two men suspended by it swing like a huge pendulum. She times the opening of her fingers to perfection, sending both men in an arc the full length of the bus to crash down on the back seats as the men already seated there dived out of the way. "They didn't wait their turn, so now they're at the back of the queue," she explains. "It's not a good idea to be at the back of the queue, by the way. I tend to get rougher as I go along. Statistically, there's a significantly higher chance of survival if you're at the front'' she went on, before adding, after a pause during which she seemed to be reliving happy memories. "You have no idea how many bus-loads of mathematicians I had to rape to get a decent sample size for that study."
Everybody on the bus is too terrified to react in any way aside from crippling, paralyzing fear.
She uses the moment to remove her hand from her hip and pull off her T-shirt. She's not wearing a bra. Her breasts are as firm and upstanding, not to mention as large and round, as they appeared when covered. They are beyond what anyone might imagine possible on Earth. She's also not wearing any underwear beneath her tight black jeans. She levitates from the ground like the goddess she is so that she can remove them more easily. She stands before them, in all her glory. And she is glorious. Celestial. Unworldly. Super.
"It'll hurt a lot more if I have to rip your clothes off you myself," she points out. "I might even rip off a dick or two along with the pants. Not like I haven't done it before. So, you boys had better get naked quick!" A few start to comply, hesitantly at first. Perhaps they are still stunned by the amazing vision of feminine perfection in front of them. Perhaps they are scared. "OK. Let's try this a different way," she decides. "Last one to get his clothes off dies horribly."
Her threat is, unsurprisingly, very effective. Each man manages to swallow his pride and get himself naked as quickly as possible. Everybody complies, out of the pure fear of what she would do to them if she didn't. Everybody immediately obeys, except for the one brave man who pulls out his phone and tries to dial 911.
Nothing escapes her gaze. Small features on the surface of the moon, microscopic specks of material, old 50s nuclear weapons at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean... Again, nothing escapes her. She spots the mobile phone immediately. She can even see that the first two digits he manages to dial are "9" and "1". He is about to press "1" again, when he screams. She has narrowed her eyes on the phone, and allowed a little energy to build up so that she can fire it through her pupils. It's a narrow beam, not intended to be powerful, not with enough effort to be anything like its hottest. And she only fires the beam for a tenth of a second. It's more than enough though to melt the phone into a horrific sticky mess that burns the skin from the holder's hand and slides down his forearm, permanently scarring that too.
"OK," she says, calmly, above the sound of his screams. "I know I said the last one to get naked would die horribly, but this guy deserves it for trying to use his phone." So saying, she re-ignites her eye-lasers, aiming them at his feet, and amputating him at the ankles. A second later, she removes everything from below his knees. Then she zaps away first his burnt arm and then the other one, his last remaining limb. He's still screaming when she finally vaporises what's left of him. "Oh, and the last one to get naked was actually YOU." she says, pointing to a man three rows back. "A promise is a promise," she smiles as she walks towards him.
The (fortunately for her) tubby and unattractive offensive lineman is visibly shaking in fright as she gets closer. In sheer desperation, he tries to climb out of the broken window next to him. But he's far too big to fit through it. All he gets are some additional cuts from the broken glass.
She catches him by his big ankle. A gentle tug pulls him flying towards her, but she extends her arm at right angles to her body so that he ends up dangling upside down from her hand, her dainty fingers not long enough to curl completely around his muscular ankle, but able to grip him so tightly, their smallness is irrelevant. She held him away from her body as if he was a bag of foul-smelling kitchen garbage.
"PLEASE!!" The massive man screams and flails around pathetically in the grip of the terrifying woman who is only half his size but somehow much, much stronger than him. "PLEASE SPARE ME! I'LL GET NAKED, JUST DON'T KILL ME!!"
She rolls her eyes. If nukes won't scratch her, if she can lift the biggest tanks with a single hand (and the answer to both is 'yes') does this pathetic creature really think that begging is going to have an effect? "Those are your last words?" she asks, her voice full of mockery and undisguised contempt.
When begging doesn't work, he resorts back to desperate fighting, thrashing around wildly in her somehow unbreakable grip with so much power that it would take five average police officers to restrain him, a fact that he knows very well from a regrettable night of drinking a few weeks ago. And yet, somehow... she doesn't budge. This can't be possible, he tells himself as he struggles even harder to free himself from this sexy, beautiful monster. The fact that she is completely naked makes it even more clear to him that there is no way that a woman with that kind of body should be this strong. It also has the unintended side effect of making him moments away from cumming in his pants. But he has to break free. He has to, or he might die!
She ignores his useless, pitiful struggles. If she wasn't looking at him, she wouldn't have known he was struggling by feeling alone, so weak was he, and so invulnerable was she. She crushes his ankle and then lets go. He falls on his head, screaming in pain, desperately scrabbling on the ground, but unable to stand or even kneel because of the agony coming from his destroyed ankle.
The pain! THE PAIN!! How the fuck did she shatter his ankle like that?? "Wh-what the fuck are you?" he asks with a mixture of both fear and defiance, fighting through the tears streaming down his face.
"Oh, did you hear that everyone?" she taunts him. "We have some new last words." Then she looks down at the pathetic creature writhing beneath her. "Not much of an upgrade, if you ask me," she told him. "That ankle looks bad. Let's put it on ice." She purses her thick, sexy lips, making an irresistible pout as she oh-so-effortlessly exhales a blast of near-absolute-zero breath that instantly freezes both the man's lower legs. Only an emergency amputation could save him now. If she wanted, she could perform that amputation with her eyes, with laser accuracy, sealing the wound perfectly. But she isn't in the mood to play doctors and nurses.
Not only are his legs frozen solid, but so is his sperm, right as he started to cum from being around her naked perfection for too long.
His heart begins to thump as it tries to push frozen blood. His groin aches as it tries to convulse and ejaculate. The cold triggers billions of nerve endings, spreading from his legs into his back. His mind explodes with horror, the pain. Still, a part of him is trying to orgasm, muscles grinding against frozen sperm wounding him internally even as the agony from his legs is now fully unpacking. She smiles at him and shrugs, making her awesome breasts bounce. "I did say you'd die horribly," she reminded him, matter-of-factly.
Indeed she did promise that, and she was certainly delivering on that promise. His legs felt like they were on fire. His groin felt like it wanted to literally burst open, but yet another one of this woman's terrifying abilities made it so cold that it wasn't allowed to. Everything was so cold that it burned. At that point, the only thing that his broken mind can think of is how desperately he wants this to end. "Kill... me..." he gasps so quietly that he doubted she even heard him.
When her smile grows suddenly, he knows she did hear him. She can hear anything! She can do anything! She languidly lowers herself to a crouch, leaning her beautiful face over his terrified, agonised features. A strand of her lovely hair spills over his cheek. Her lovely lips part for a moment, so very erotic. "Sssshhhh!" she says softly. He feels a new burning pain in his lungs. Every breath hurts now, as well as his legs and his groin. He tries to cry out but somehow, he has been completely, and permanently made silent. He can only feel pain. More and more and more pain. She stands up, leaving him, dying slowly and noiselessly on the ground.
"That's the foreplay done," she announces, cheerfully.