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- Birth of the Undead – Staying Alive 9
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Me, Myself & I
Blogger & the Football Team (feat. Conceptfan) Part 4
Written by Totally Kyle :: [Thursday, 02 December 2021 16:37] Last updated by :: [Friday, 03 December 2021 14:13]
Blogger and the Football Team, Day 4
The bold text was written by Conceptfan. The regular text was written by me. This was completely improvised.
My gorgeous eyes are drawn to another pair of fleeing men running side by side a short distance away. I feel like I've already made the point of how fast I can run. So I decide to catch these two by showing off how far I can jump, or rather, how far I can jump without even making the tiniest bit of an effort. I don't even need to bend my long, shapely legs in order to do it. I just use my ankles to leap over two hundred yards to where the two fat defensive linemen are trying to flee, significantly more slowly than the already slow offensive players who were trained to run, not to block. Even as my flawless body glides through the sky overhead to land directly in front of their path, I can see their eyes slowly register the fear in their faces as I eventually let gravity take hold of me so I can descend. They actually try to change course once they realize that I'm about to land right in front of them, but that proves to be very ineffective on account of the fact that I can fly. A simple change of course lands me right in front of them anyway, no matter how much they tried to dodge me. Also, they are completely unprepared to stop themselves from slamming into me, even though I landed a full ten centimeters in front of them. I could have stopped in less than a single centimeter while also dragging an entire freight train behind me, but that's men for you. So, the first man slams into my chest because he's too slow to stop himself, and the second man is stopped by me simply reaching out my hand.
The one who struck my chest has the air squeezed from his massive body before he is sent backwards by the energy of the collision which failed utterly to dislodge me, or for that matter, to even temporarily flatten the perfect curves of my breasts. He falls on to his rear about two steps from me, completely winded and in a state of panic. His friend, meanwhile, ran into my far harder hand, rather than the comparative softness of my bosom. He actually cracks a rib as the momentum of his huge weight pushes him briefly against my little hand. His yell is cut short as the breath is forced out and he staggers half a step back, in obvious pain and shock.
It never stops being amusing watching men hurt themselves by simply running into me, especially when you add in the weak and feathery feeling of them slamming into me that is so weak that I need to concentrate in order to feel it. That sight and that feeling is just as addictive as the sight of the men instantly getting hornier than they've ever been in their entire lives just from looking at me, despite the fact that one of them was injured and the other was even more injured. And even though I can definitely understand their desire, and I know how desperately they want me, the two overweight men weren't attractive enough to be worthy of the privilege of being forced to satisfy me. I was just about to get back to shooting more hoops with them, when I suddenly remembered that I had made a mistake.
"Wait…" I start musing out loud. "I just remembered that you're supposed to dribble the ball when you play."
The one nearest me, still on his feet, is the easiest to pick up. Not that a man, or a bus load of them, or a train-load for that matter is ever difficult to pick up, but I only have to move one of my legs to reach him, grabbing him by the left shoulder tightly enough to lift his whole frame off the ground. He still hasn't recovered enough wind to scream, but he does make some amusing grunts of protest as I effortlessly raise him until his feet are dangling by my knees. No, wait, not dangling. He's furiously trying to kick me, but I didn't notice his blows at first. I wait a while until he bruises himself and runs out of energy. It's not long of course.
"Let's see how well this ball bounces," I say, once he has calmed down. Naturally, he tries to start thrashing around again in response to my words. I merely open the fingers of my hand, releasing my grip on him, and letting him fall to the dusty ground. He hits with a pained "Ooof" and is instantly fighting for air again. "Aw," I pretend to be disappointed, "it didn't bounce at all. Maybe I didn't do it right. I probably should try again."
He was lying helpless on his back as I bent at the waist to reach down for his shoulder. That meant my breasts were briefly hanging directly above him. I could hear the quickening of his heart-rate, even as he started to wheeze "no… please…
Geoff was about to go into shock. He still wasn't sure why she was referring to him as a 'ball' or why she was insistent on making him bounce, but he was too preoccupied with lust and fear to think about it. He only knew two things: This woman wanted to throw him into the ground repeatedly, and this woman was the single most sexy specimen of feminine beauty that he ever had the privilege of seeing naked. Even as her fingers dug painfully into his shoulder like a metal claw and lifted him back up into the air like an industrial crane, he was barely paying any attention to his attempts to free himself and how her slender arms mysteriously never budged a single inch no matter how hard his much bigger, tree trunk-sized arms tried to move them. Because he was face to face with a pair of alluring breasts that were bigger than any porn star he had seen and more round than the breasts of a fictional woman who was drawn by an artist to be as perfect as possible. They didn't even sag a single millimeter. It's like her chest was just as strong as the rest of her body and it kept her incredible melons aloft. And each breast of course had a swollen pink nipple protruding proudly out of the center of each one. He was too entranced to notice that he was actually drooling.
But despite that, his brain, practically functioning on autopilot without any emotion or energy, still managed to realize that he had no way to physically stop her from killing him right there, so it managed to force his mouth to say "Please… Please spare me…"
Despite the fact that his broken ribs, his tortured shoulder, and his bleeding face were all crying out in absolute agony, he isn't sure if he's being genuine when he says those words.
"Hmmm," I say, enjoying his confused pleading. I realise that holding him with his face dangling just inches from my chest is causing his brain to malfunction, so I just keep him there for a while longer as I pretend to be deep in consideration. He probably thinks I'm considering whether to, as he puts it, "spare" him. I suppose I could, I mean I've got so many of these toys to play with right now, I probably could spare one of them. But I'm not even thinking about it. I've already decided he's mine some time ago. No, what I'm pondering - or pretending to ponder - is something else, which I reveal once I think he's had long enough to stare at my incredible tits and wait for my answer.
"Maybe if I throw it down a bit harder this time, it'll bounce properly."
"No! Please! Don't!" he croaks, blinking away tears - no doubt so his view of my breasts isn't distorted.
Geoff can do nothing but beg. He's seen enough of this impossible woman to know that he couldn't oppose her even if his entire team had his back. He was feeling hopeless. But more than anything else, he was upset by how this gorgeous, powerful mystery woman thought so lowly of him that she is now actively playing with him like a toy. And at this point, he is pretty sure that she has every intention of throwing him into the dirt until every bone in his body is broken.
"Puh-please…! Your majesty! My queen! My Lord!" he resorts to every form of flattery he can think of to save himself from being smashed into pieces by this sadistic monster. "I don't bounce, honest! Please don't try!"
With tears of hopelessness and fear running down his face, he looks up at this cruel, mysterious higher being and begs for her to spare him. He even manages to occasionally pry his eyes away from her chest as he desperately awaits her response.
"You can call me 'Goddess', I inform him. He seemed a bit confused on that score, so I was kind enough to help him out. But not kind enough to change my mind over my next experiment. "Now let's see if you bounce this time."
I didn't throw him down hard. I merely let go and used just two of my fingertips to gently assist gravity, causing him to hit the ground maybe half as hard again as the previous time. Of course he was already bruised so I made sure that he landed on exactly the same side of his body. There was a nice "Crack!" when he hit the dirt followed by a loud, if hoarse, scream.
"Nope. Still no bounce," I observed.
"Auuuggh!!" this woman used to much force that Geoff's nose easily breaks against the hard ground, and so does yet another one of his tortured ribs. His vision is getting blurry from the sheer pain of being thrown around by such an impossible powerful arm. "I'm sorry, Goddess! Just stop, please! I'm begging you, Goddess!" he pleads, latching onto her prefered name like the last life raft he has. He can only pray that she's satisfied with his obedience and she'll put an end to this nightmare.
I bend over him, teasing him sexually with my chest even as I torment him physically with my hand. He sees me slowly reaching for him yet again and begins his tearful pleading. "No more! Please, Goddess! I don't think I can surv-"
"Silence, ball!" I command. He obeys as best he can, stopping mid-sentence and reverting to quiet sobbing. He shudders with pain as I lift him by his now badly discoloured shoulder. Of course, I didn't NEED two failed tries to know he wouldn't bounce. I just thought it might be fun to have a go. And, as ever, I was right. It has been fun. Now, though, I'm ready to play with the next toy.
Of course, it wouldn't have been very proper of me to start playing with another toy before I'd tidied away the current one. I used an almost-thoughtless flick of my tiny wrist to toss him, screaming all the way, towards the bus. He fell under gravity's spell just as I intended, falling perfectly through the hole in the roof and landing with a thud that finally silenced him. Before he'd hit the deck, however, I'd began strolling over to my new playmate: the one I'd stopped in his tracks with my hand.
In a fit of blind panic and pure adrenaline, Carl charged at the naked woman with all of his substantial might. Standing at 2 meters tall and weighing in at 270 kg, there is absolutely nobody who can withstand a tackle from him if he's putting everything he has into it, and that's assuming that he isn't fighting for his literal life. He wraps his tree trunk arms around the naked woman and hugs his body tightly against her like he had been training his entire life. It was a perfect tackle.
Two things happened. First of all, the woman who was only about a third of her size didn't budge a single centimeter. It felt like he was trying to knock over a woman who was rooted into the ground itself. It felt like she was made out of steel underneath her smooth skin.
The second thing that happened was that his chest started getting hugged tightly against hers. And even though he was fighting for his life and his broken rib was crying out in more and more pain, the feeling was so erotic that he soon found himself grunting in pleasure as well as grunting with the strain of fighting her. They felt so soft and firm at the same time. He didn't even notice that he was subconsciously squeezing himself against her as hard as he could to savor the magnificent feeling of her creamy smooth curves as best as he could. His brain was split between the feeling of trying to tackle her as hard as he could or trying to hug her seemingly indestructible, flawless body as hard as he could. As his vision turned red and the muscles in his arms and legs were being painfully stretched to their absolute limits, he still found himself moments away from cumming.
I could tell that this latest creature was becoming overwhelmed by the erotic magnificence of my body. I could feel his fully erect organ throbbing against my thigh. I could even smell the subtle changes in his sweat that serve as a prelude to orgasm.
There's a moment, when a male is so utterly overcome with lust like this guy is, a very precise moment when he is on the verge of involuntarily releasing his seed, when it is possible to send him over the edge in such a way that he can never recover. He just orgasms and orgasms until he is left screaming in agony, convulsing, over and over until, inevitably, his puny masculine heart gives out. For a moment, I think about seizing that special moment with this hopeless man, perhaps gently pushing his face down onto the shelf of my breasts and watching him shake and spurt and shake and spurt to death.
Instead, I use a single hand on his throat to pull him off me. I don't notice any resistance because he's just a man and the strongest male's strongest resistance falls beneath my notice. I hold him out, at arm's length with his toes only just clear of the dust by his neck, placing my other hand dominantly on my hip. "I didn't say you could touch me," I point out.
The pathetic male's behavior barely changes. I can see the big guy still struggling with all of his might to tackle me as hard as he can, even if his motives for doing so have changed completely. The only thing that changes is his expression. He instantly goes from having a look of pure, orgasmic ecstasy from touching my breasts to having a look of pure, unfiltered panic when he realizes that I'm not going to let him touch them anymore. In fact, he's wearing the exact same facial expression that's usually reserved for a man that I'm robbing of air rather than one that I'm robbing of contact with my massive chest. Although it's not surprising that some men might find that kind of contact to be just as important as air to them, especially if they already helped themselves to a taste of it without my permission.
I force the massive chunk of fat and muscles down to his knees by putting my index finger on his shoulder and pushing down. His knees instantly buckle immediately with no resistance… well, none that I can feel anyway. I also take a little step back so that my slender arm continues to be just as straight as it was before. The end result is that the tall, disobedient male's face is now more level with my tits than they were when he was standing, and it's just as impossible for him to reach me.
I forced him onto his knees for one reason and one reason alone: So he can have a better vantage point as he watches me play with myself.
Once I'm sure that I have his undivided attention, I use my free hand to grab one of my breasts and squeeze it slowly, parting my perfect lips and my perfect teeth and moaning in delight as my fingers dig into the deep pillows of flesh on my perfect chest in the same manner that every male would fantasize about before learning that their digits are too weak to even dent them. But my fingers are more than strong enough to give me proper stimulation. As I continue to squeeze, I press one of said fingers into a nipple that is currently hard enough to cut diamonds. I moan even louder as I stimulate myself with my left hand, all while my right hand is wrapped around roughly 20% of my male's fat neck, but still having no difficulty keeping him right where he is and forcing him to watch.