Milena's Diary Chapter 8
Written by conceptfan :: [Wednesday, 01 September 2004 08:55] Last updated by :: [Saturday, 22 September 2012 11:35]
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!
Thursday 17th May 2001 - 12:00 am
It’s amazing how much I can accomplish in four hours now that I’m “super”. This evening, I've made this lovely house feel much more like it's mine, got the cops off my back and enjoyed a wonderful meal out. I'm having so much fun I don't ever want it to end. It seems there's nothing I can't do now and nothing I can't get if I want it.
As usual, I'm getting ahead of myself. I really need to put my thoughts in order or else I think I could go crazy. I've got to pause and absorb everything that's happened since I wrote the last entry. Writing it all down should help. I'll start with what I did immediately after closing this diary last time... It was about quarter past eight in the evening and I'd just dealt with a bunch of guys who were trying to rob my new home...
I was wandering around the house, going from room to room, checking it all out. I must say, my dear old Uncle has exceptional taste. The furniture is a mixture of wonderful antiques and stylish modern pieces and all the rooms are expensively decorated. The door knobs alone must've cost T. a fortune. I was furious with myself when I grabbed one of them a little too firmly and it squished like play-doh in my hand. I tried remoulding it, but although it was no trouble at all shaping the solid metal with my fingers, I just couldn't restore it's original perfect roundness.
I decided I would be better off going out for a while and continuing the exploration of my new property later. After all the time I'd spent hiding in caves and little shacks in foreign woods, I thought a meal in a nice restaurant would be a pleasant change. I'd just made my mind up when I suddenly remembered that I didn't have any clothes to wear. Now, I know from reflections and the reactions of men that I look pretty good in my "magic" invulnerable vest and panties, but the kind of place I fancied eating in requires slightly more formal dress. I had nothing suitable.
I considered the idea of forcing the staff of whichever eatery I finally chose to serve me in my underwear. But I wanted a good, comfortable meal in pleasant surroundings. So I walked into each of the three bedrooms in this place, opening the cupboards and wardrobes carefully so as not to rip the doors off their hinges. But all I found were my uncle's things - suits and sports jackets and certainly nothing that would fit me.
I started thinking about all my clothes back at my house, picturing a couple of outfits, either of which would have been ideal. From there, I started imagining all my things and wondering where they would go in my new place. So much stuff! I was planning on calling a removal firm first thing in the morning when another thought crept into my head: aren't I better equipped now to handle the move than any bunch of men? I mean, I tossed that huge oak table around easily enough after I'd seen two guys struggling to lift it off the ground...
Popping over to my old place and seeing exactly what I wanted to bring seemed the next logical thing to do. That was when I remembered the last time I was there and what had happened (I killed two policemen by banging their heads together) The place was probably still crawling with cops. Of course, I wasn't afraid of what they might do to me - since I met the genie there's nothing I enjoy more than being shot. It was more a case of not wanting to draw too much attention to myself.
But, I realised that I'd have to deal with the law sooner or later if I was going to live comfortably in this big house and I'd already set my heart on doing just that. I reckoned that I might as well get it over and done with sooner rather than later. I took two steps towards the stairs, planning to leave by the front door when I stopped and burst out laughing. I'd forgotten that I don't need to be on the ground floor to leave a building any more. I went over to the nearest window and opened it. Then I tensed the muscles in my arm, feeling my feet leave the floor, and just floated out into the night.
It felt so good to be flying that I went quite slowly over towards my old house, taking my time and travelling on a curved path instead of a straight line. Nonetheless, I was hovering over the roof, looking down at the hole I accidentally made practising standing jumps, in about two minutes. It was dark, but my super eyes made light work of identifying the squad car parked outside. Not to mention the other two vehicles stationed nearby. The cops were indeed on the scene. I decided to investigate a little further before confronting them.
All that flying practice in the woods really paid off as I made a perfectly silent landing on the roof. Immediately, I heard voices coming from below. I concentrated and was able to tune into the conversation instantly - just another reason why it's so great being super. I listened to what was being said.
"...you're new 'round here. We have our own local way of dealing with this kind of thing." the first voice stated.
"What's that mean?" enquired a younger man.
"You should leave this to me."
"Because her uncle is Tony Alto? Is that what you're saying? Two of your men get killed in her bedroom and you're not even going to investigate because she's someone's niece!?!"
"I didn't say that... Look, the coroner here has already said that whoever did this used a hell of a lot of force to smash those men's heads together. Isn't that right, Alfonso?"
"A hell of a lot, Chief." This third voice must've belonged to the coroner. Now I knew that the older sounding guy was the local Chief. He spoke next.
"Right, so we know it couldn't have been her who did it. But seeing as it took place in her house, she might be able to give some info that will lead us to whoever did. I just don't want you charging in with accusations so she doesn't want to talk to us or worse, goes crying to her Uncle."
"So it is about her uncle."
"Like I said, you've not been around here very long. Dealing with the Alto family is...complicated. They have... friends... in some very high places and some pretty low ones too, if you know what I mean. Getting on their bad side can make your life extremely difficult. Let me deal with this. I've got.. experience." I almost laughed out loud. He obviously had no idea what he was really up against. If he'd known about my transformation then Tony's (admittedly impressive) connections would have been the last thing he was scared of.
"OK, OK." The younger guy, who I guessed was from out-of-town, was yielding. "It's your patch. You're in charge here." That was my cue.
"No, I'm in charge here." I announced in a loud and strident voice through the hole in the ceiling directly above the three men. I must have sounded pretty arrogant to them, but I was completely sure of myself and I didn't see any need to hide the fact. Not with my amazing abilities. Anyway, I don't know whether it was the the tone of my voice that caused it or the sight of my superhuman figure leant over the improvised sky-light but there was no response bar stunned silence from the trio below.
Putting all the flight skills I'd gained up to that moment into practice, I floated up about ten centimetres off the roof. Then I moved a little sideways through the air until the soles of my feet were directly over the hole in the ceiling. One of the three guys down there gasped in amazement, and it was all I could do not to smile at the reaction. I think I managed - somehow - to keep the stern, emotionless expression on my face as I lowered myself very slowly and smoothly through the broken roof. If the gap had been wide enough, I'd have had my hands on my hips, but I had to choose between keeping them by my side or smashing another bit of ceiling and I went for the first option.
As my eye-line lowered into the room below, I caught my first proper view of the men. Two stood facing each other close to where I was about to "land." One of these was an attractive young man in a modern-looking suit, the other a middle-aged overweight wreck in police uniform. I realised that this was the pair whose conversation I'd overheard. The third member of the group - the coroner - was crouched over a dark stain on the ground where the men I killed fell. He was the oldest of the group, his white hair matching the colour of his long lab coat.
All six male eyes were fixed on me as I leisurely descended. To be precise, they were fixed on a part of me just below my neck. Why are men so obsessed? I couldn't even tell for sure if the three guy's mouths were hanging open in shock at seeing me fly or in wonder at the glory of my chest! When my feet were less than half-a-meter from the floor, the points where my nipples dramatically stretch the fabric of my magic vest passed right in front of the faces of two of the men, only about a meter away from the closest of them. At that moment, the pair's eyes bulged and their heartbeats went into overdrive. At least I was certain that I had their complete attention.
My feet soon came to rest silently on the carpet, but none of the guys were looking down there. I put my hands on my hips, slightly emphasising the area they were so interested in and looked at each one in turn. I let the silence drag on another moment before finally breaking it with a courteous but unsmiling "Good evening, gentlemen." No-one took the opportunity to respond so I went on "Perhaps one of you will be so kind as to tell me what you're doing in my house?"
At last, one of them - the coroner - recovered the power of speech. To my annoyance, he didn't use it to answer my question, but instead to make a garbled enquiry of his own: "What... How... How did you..." I turned to face him and glared.
"I asked you a question." I chided him, sternly. He looked confused and fell silent, leaving it to the youngest member of the trio to do the talking:
"We're investigating the murder of two policemen in this room." the young man declared, sounding confident but avoiding eye contact with me. Again, I couldn't work out if this was because he was reluctant to move his gaze from my cleavage or because he was afraid to meet my stare. I continued to glower at him as I addressed the group. "Who told you that you could enter my property uninvited?"
The well-dressed fellow took it upon himself to be the spokesman once more: "We don't need permission to access the site of a murder."
"You do if the site is on my property." I snapped back. That finally got the Chief to speak up, his tone of voice much like a teacher who is correcting one of his pupils.
"Actually, the law is quite clear on that point. The police are fully entitled to enter any premises on which a major crime has been committed. We need to conduct a thorough examination of the scene and, if you don't mind, we also need to ask you a few questions ma'am."
"What if I do mind?"
"It won't take long," said the fat man, "and it is absolutely necessary."
"Well, I'm not in the mood for questions or company, so you three had better leave immediately."
"I'm sorry, we can't do that." The Chief sounded genuinely apologetic. "Not until we've completed our search and taken a statement from you. Now, is there somewhere we can sit down for a few moments?"
"No. Now get out." No-one moved to leave but the guy in the suit did give the Chief an angry look. The fat man stared back at him, as if the two were engaged in a silent argument using only their eyes. After a few moments, the younger man seized the initiative.
"Listen lady" he spoke to me, his gaze now on my face for a change, "I don't care who your Uncle is. You can't talk to a police officer like that. Kindly show some respect for the two men who died here and co-operate with us."
I glared at him. "I'm started to get annoyed with you and, believe me, you don't want that to happen."
"Are you threatening a police officer?" asked suit-man, his tone of voice carrying a considerable degree of warning.
"I mean it." I told him, coldly. "I'll deal with you like I dealt with your friends." My casual "confession" to the killings brought sharp intakes of breath from each of the three men. It was the Chief who regained his composure first.
"Are you saying that you are responsible for the deaths of those men?"
"What of it?" I demanded impatiently.
"Two men are dead! Stop playing games and tell us exactly what you know about it!" shouted the young man. What little patience he possessed had clearly been exhausted.
"I warned you." I said, quickly stepping forwards and reaching my left hand up towards him. I got my fingers around the knot of his tie before he or the other two could even begin to react. Then I used that hold to pull him close, lowering my hand sharply so that I yanked his face right down to the exposed upper portion of my chest. He was barely touching me, but the intimate contact had an instant effect on him, quickening his breathing and pulse and confusing him for a moment. I used that moment to reach my free hand inside his jacket towards his holstered pistol. I was standing with my back to the Chief, obscuring the fat man's view and I think that was why he didn't seem to react straight away. Either that, or he was in shock. Or perhaps he was just too unfit to move with any speed.
Meanwhile, the coroner began to climb to his feet. The awkwardness of his movements betrayed his age. I ignored him as I curled my fingers around the cool metal of the young man's firearm.
"Is this a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?" I asked as I withdrew the weapon.
"Mmmmummph Mmmmnnn." he replied, his voice muffled by my breasts. I could see he was trying to pull his head back away from me, but of course I couldn't actually feel his efforts, even when he placed both his hands on my naked shoulders and started struggling to push me away. The sweat beaded on his forehead and quickly formed big drops, one of which fell into my cleavage, trickling over my flawless skin as it ran down to my belly before dripping onto the floor. Not a single particle remained to taint the perfection of my body. I guess the guy wasn't too worried about his wayward perspiration because he continued his useless struggling unabated.
"What's the matter?" I teased him. "From the way you were staring earlier, I thought you liked my chest."
"That's enough, ma'am." That was the voice of the Chief, still behind me. I turned around, keeping a tight grip on the young man's tie. With his face still touching the bare shelf of my breasts, my movement actually lifted him on to the tips of his shoes and then dragged him on his toes in a wide semi-circle around me as I rotated to face the fat man. At no point was the contact between the suited man's sweaty forehead and me broken and he kept on fighting in vain for his release. I found it ridiculously easy to move him with me as I spun around even thoughI was holding him with just a single hand, all the while holding his gun in my free palm. When I'd completed the turn, the youngster's heels came back to the floor so that he was now directly between me and the Chief.
I watched the overweight buffoon for a moment. The surprise on his face was a delight to behold, and the way his eyes kept shuttling from his colleague's trapped head to the weapon I was holding was hilarious. But I kept a straight face as I made a show of disinterestedly examining the gun. The Chief took a very audible deep breath as if trying to reassure himself of something before speaking in a soft, well-rehearsed "negotiating" voice.
"OK. It's alright. There's no need for this to go any further. Just put the gun down very slowly."
Ignoring the frantic efforts taking place below my face, I spoke over the suited man's head to address his superior. "Who do you think you are, breaking into my house and then telling me what to do?"
"I'm Chief of Police in this town." he answered, not sounding as confident as he would probably have liked. All the while he kept glancing nervously between the gun in my hand and his colleague's increasingly desperate attempts to free himself. At that moment, the young man was actually trying to sink his teeth into my left breast. His whole head shuddered as he clamped his jaws with all his might, his mouth almost filled by just a small portion of my mound. I could see the strain of his efforts making the tendons in the back of his neck stand out but, far from the wounding he sought to cause, he actually inflicted nothing more than extremely mild pleasure.
Although I enjoyed the sensation of the breeze-like caressing of my womanly flesh, I was all too aware that I had business to attend to with the fat man. I realised that I had been presented with an excellent opportunity to get the local police force off my back once and for all and I didn't intend to let it slip through my fingers. I just needed to ensure that I was negotiating from the strongest possible position to be certain that my demands would be met. To achieve that, I realised that a little demonstration of my remarkable abilities was required. Something to make the Chief understand that my way is now the only way.
I started by quickly transferring my hold on the suit-man from the knot of his tie to the back of his neck. I lifted him (I thought) fairly gently off the ground but he screamed as I moved him. Looking at him I saw his mouth was full of blood. There was plenty of red liquid on the top of my chest, too. I'd forgotten that he was still trying to bite my breast when I pulled him away - I guess the feeling of his teeth gripping my mound was so slight that it went out of my mind altogether. The result was that most of his dental-work was torn roughly from his gums by my unyielding soft flesh as I lifted him. The floor at my feet was sprinkled with dislodged teeth and blood. His white shirt did its best to soak up as much of the bleeding as it could, a dark red stain spreading rapidly through the material. By contrast, my chest and vest quickly dripped completely clean.
Letting the younger man moan and bleed as he hung helpless from my one-handed grasp, his feet level with my shins, I turned back to the Chief just in time to see him pulling his pistol from its holster. I couldn't tell if the look on the fat guy's face was one of confusion or fear, but he certainly wasn't calm. He was having trouble pointing his gun at me because of the way I was holding his colleague between us so I made things easier by moving my arm and dangling the guy in the suit about twenty centimetres to the side, allowing the Chief to line up the barrel of his weapon with my forehead. All the while, my free arm hung by my side, the young man's pistol secured in my hand but pointed at the floor.
"So, are you just going to stand there or are you going to shoot me?" I asked the Chief.
"Please release the officer." was his only answer, his voice quivering as he spoke.
I said simply "No." Then, after a pause I added "Are you going to shoot me now?"
"No-one's going to be doing any shooting." The fat man's words carried little conviction, but he persevered: "Now release him, please."
I had no intention of carrying out the request. Instead I shook my left hand a little - a tiny, effortless gesture on my part, but enough to make the young man's entire body move violently from side to side. A splash of fresh blood burst out of his mouth as he screamed and splattered the fat man's face and uniform. I waited a moment as the Chief wiped his face on his sleeve and the suited guy's yell died down into a whimper then I said "And now? Are you going to shoot me now?"
"Look... I don't know what's going on here lady but I-"
I was running out of patience with the Chief. "If you won't shoot me," I interrupted him, "then maybe your pal here will." So saying, I brought my free hand around to the young man's side. He was still complaining and thrashing his legs a bit so I had to practically place his gun in his hand before he grasped it. But once he had taken possession of the firearm, he wasted no time. He was certainly less reluctant to shoot than his colleague. Perhaps that was down to the fact that I had already trapped his head against my chest, caused him to lose most of his teeth and then lifted him into the air with a single hand on the back of his neck before shaking him around like a child's doll...
He fired a single shot at my ankle, no doubt hoping to force me to drop him without actually killing me. The bullet pinged loudly from my bare leg, bouncing away to tear a large hole both in the carpet and the floorboards below. I rewarded him with another easy shake that made him yell out in terror. As soon as he was relatively still again, he squeezed his trigger for the second time. This one smacked into my unprotected hip. The ricochet actually travelled as far as the coroner, striking his leg hard enough to knock him down and make him cry out in pain.
Clearly terrified now, the young man dangling from my hand twisted his body around to shoot me in the stomach just below the bottom of my vest from point blank range. At the last moment, I realised that the bullet was going to bounce off me and probably kill him, so I let it strike my exposed midriff and caught it with my free hand before it reached him. I held it up between my thumb and forefinger in front of his bloodied, panicky face.
"I think you just dropped this." I said nonchalantly.
"Oh, fuck, no!" spluttered the young man. I did nothing to calm him as I casually brought my finger and thumb together, crushing the remains of the steel bullet until a trickle of molten metal ran down my hand. I let it fall to the floor.
I reached down and took the young man's pistol hand in my own, bringing it up so that the edge of the barrel was just a few centimetres from my big, obvious left nipple. I could tell that he was fighting for all he was worth to regain control of his hand and the gun it contained, but it could not have been easier for me to move him around. I just positioned his hand and the weapon exactly where I wanted to and then held them in place without any conscious effort on my part. I ignored the pathetic efforts taking place directly in font of me and the confused, fearful look on the Chief's face as I spoke:
"Do you get it now, guys? I'm not the woman I used to be anymore." I slipped my finger over the suit-guy's own as it rested on the trigger of the gun and continued the lecture. "For starters…" (It was time for some practical lessons)
"…I'm…" I pushed my digit down gently, just enough to force the younger man to fire his weapon directly into the centre of my left breast. Heavenly! (But over too quick) The rebounding slug just missed the suited man's shoulder, making him wince.
"…completely…" I moved his hand and the gun over to my other nipple and made him shoot again. Oh, so nice! This time the ricochet grazed his arm, tearing his suit and a chunk of his flesh, too. He screamed.
"…utterly…." Now I brought the gun and the arm holding it up until it was directly in front of my face, pointing right between my eyes and pushed his finger against the trigger once more. Clang! The shot crumpled up almost flat against my far-harder-than-steel skull, pinging away over the heads of both the bleeding man and the fat guy standing a few meters away.
"…bullet-proof." I smiled, satisfied that I had proved my point. The Chief just stared, his jaw hanging open, his gun trembling in his podgy hand. The younger man hanging from my grasp began to weep. "Oh…fuck….oh….no…." he mumbled as the blood continued to ooze from his toothless mouth and torn upper arm.
"Be quiet!" I chided him. "I haven't finished. As I was saying I'm bullet-proof and…" I stretched my arm upwards, lifting the crying cop until his chest was level with my face.
"…I'm also…" I pulled the gun with total ease from suit-guy's hand and held it away from him in my free hand in full view of the Chief. I slowly closed my fingers around the weapon until the metal began to groan.
"..very…" I made sure the fat man could see the steel deforming in my hand, my dainty, pretty fingers reshaping it as if it was modelling clay. The three remaining bullets in the chamber exploded under the huge pressure I was exerting, but I contained the triple explosion in my palm without any discomfort. I dropped the red-hot mangled remains of the pistol at my feet.
"..very.." Slowly, I bent my other elbow, drawing my arm and the man whose weight it was so effortlessly bearing closer to me. Then, I snapped my arm straight, releasing my hold on the young man at the same time so that he flew from my hand, his body upright with his feet about half-a-meter above the floor the whole while until he hit the far wall with a damp crunch, leaving a large sickly red stain as he slid lifelessly into a messy heap on the carpet.
"…strong." I planted my hands triumphantly on my hips as I concluded my brief demonstration.
The Chief only glanced at the horrible scene on the far wall for an instant before he turned back and immediately opened fire at me. Nonetheless, I had more than enough time to move away from the path of his shots or even to pluck them out of the air one by one. Instead I chose to stand perfectly still with my palms resting on my hips and a slightly bored expression on my face as the first bullet bounced off my cheek-bone, the second off my nose, the third off my upper lip, the fourth off my chin, the fifth off my neck and the last one off my shoulder. The gun clicked a few more times, but it had ran out of ammunition, even if the Chief was refusing to accept the fact.
Finally, the fat man finally stopped squeezing his trigger. His face was as white as milk, his eyes wide in disbelieving terror. Other than a distinct tremor in his hands, he seemed utterly paralysed. I was distracted from the rather pathetic sight of him by a scuffling sound coming from my left. I turned at my leisure to watch as the coroner ran at me as fast as his ageing legs could manage. In his fist he was holding a syringe filled with a yellowish liquid.
I kept my hands on my hips as he almost leapt at me and tried to stab me in the neck with the steel point of his injection. The needle snapped in half against my silky skin, the broken end spinning harmlessly away as the old man's momentum carried him, uncontrolled, into my body. With my arms bent out at my sides, there was nothing to prevent a full-on collision between our chests. Of course, his tight, masculine pectorals never stood a chance against my soft, feminine breasts.
The first thing I heard was his yell of shock - presumably at the unexpectedly solid nature of the impact. That yell was quickly cut off as the next sound reached my ears - the noise of the air being sharply forced from his lungs as his body yielded to mine before bouncing off. Next, there was a brief pause before the "Thump!" that was his winded frame collapsing at my feet. He lay there, gasping for breath as I looked down on him impassively. My hands had remained unmoved on my hips throughout.
Realising that the old man wouldn't be disturbing me again for a while, I turned back to the Chief who was fiddling around, frantically trying to reload his gun. I cleared my throat loudly to get his attention and when he looked up - his eyes full of fear - I started tapping my foot impatiently. He responded by jamming his fresh clip into his gun and pointing it at me once again. I showed what I thought of it all by casting my gaze exasperatedly at the ceiling for a moment.
He squeezed three shots off in rapid succession, clearly aiming for my heart. My left breast tingled delightfully as each bullet struck, momentarily dimpling its rounded perfection for the briefest of instants before crumpling up and pinging away, leaving both my vest and the flesh it covered completely untouched. Meanwhile, I didn't flinch or move my palms from their resting place on my hips. I didn't even let my face betray the mild pleasure of his hot bullets smashing futilely into my chest.
The fat man paused for a second, as if trying to comprehend what was happening. Evidently, he still hadn't worked out the exact meaning of the word "bullet-proof", because he then me shot twice more. I don't know where he was aiming but the first bullet hit me right in my eye, making a pinging sound as it impacted and stinging me a little. It didn't hurt at all, but it wasn't a millionth as enjoyable as its three predecessors. The next one felt far more pleasant as it struck and then crumpled up against the bridge of my nose before rebounding from me and hitting the floor at the Chief's feet.
He stared down at the misshapen lump of metal as if it could provide him with some vital piece of information that he was lacking. After a while, he raised his head and his gun once more, preparing to shoot yet again. At that moment, I decided that enough was enough. I moved too quickly for him to react - probably too quickly for him to even see - as I took two steps towards him and reached for the gun, pulling it out of the fat man's grasp with utter ease. His first yell told me I had damaged his hand extracting the weapon. His second cry revealed his shock when he suddenly realised that I was now standing just a few centimetres from him, holding his gun in my hand.
While the Chief rubbed his injured palm and fingers with his good hand, I slowly lifted his pistol to my face. I made a little show of slowing parting my full lips before sensuously pushing the end of the gun's barrel into my mouth. The fat man's eyes grew huge as he gawked at me. I bit down on the steel tube, my teeth slicing through the metal as if it were ice-cream until my jaws closed and the pistol was cut in half. Then I began to chew the section that was still in my mouth like it was merely gum, the machined-steel no match for my molars.
I couldn't blow a bubble with the lump of metal, so instead I turned my head to the side and just spat it out. The chunk flew across the room too fast for the Chief to follow, but he did look to see the rough, golf-ball-sized hole it tore right through the brick-and-plaster wall of my bedroom. When he returned his gaze to me, I let him see me compressing the rest of the gun to a ball of scrap between my two hands. The remaining bullet exploded in my palms, making the fat man jump but not even tickling me as red-hot, razor-sharp shards of steel bounced around the prison of my hands.
Having reduced the thing considerably in size, I opened my mouth once again and popped it in. I bore my teeth down on it for a while, grinding it into a series of little bits of metal with even less effort than the man in front of me would need to eat a doughnut. Then, I ostentatiously swallowed it all down. It didn't taste particularly nice, but it was extremely effective as a demonstration of my power. When I had finished, I leisurely licked my lips before opening my jaws to show my companion my now empty mouth.
The Chief's eyes, already bulging, seemed about to burst from his skull and I didn't need to use my new abilities to see that he was trembling. His forehead shone as sweat trickled down from his receding hairline. My sensitive ears could clearly detect the furious palpitations of his heart. He was just staring at me, his expression now one of pure, unadulterated terror. My demonstration had been completely successful and, having now clearly established the position I would be negotiating from, I was ready to open talks. I stayed standing very close to the fat man, invading his personal space, and put my hands back on my hips to symbolise my dominance.
"I've got a little proposition for you, Chief." I said. There was no reply. I could hear the elderly coroner slowly drawing himself to his feet over my shoulder, still breathing heavily. I ignored him as I spoke to the fat man. "You may not be aware, but my Uncle Tony has decided to take a long foreign trip and I'm going to be looking after his business from now on. I believe Mr. Alto had a long-standing er, shall we say "relationship", with the local Police and I'd like to continue that. With a few changes of course. Are you interested?"
The Chief remained silent. I don't know if he didn't want to reply or if he was finding it hard to talk, but when I repeated the question in a stern tone "I asked you if you were interested." and added the command "Answer me!" he mumbled something along the lines of:
"Yes... please... yes... I'm interested... please... don't kill me..."
"Well," I said, "that's more-or-less what I'm offering. Here's the deal: You, and all your colleagues will keep out of my way. You will not interfere with me, my work or my business interests. You will not approach any of my properties unless expressly invited. Additionally, you will use whatever influence you have to ensure that the National Police..." I nodded in the direction of the remains of the young-man from out of town - "...also respect my privacy. In short, I will do as I please and the Police will not get involved unless I give orders to the contrary. In return, I will let you live. So, what do you say, Chief? Do we have an agreement?"
Once again, he seemed to be having trouble forming words. I was surprised to hear the silence broken by the coroner's voice drifting over from the other side of the room. "Who... who are you?"
"This doesn't concern you." I snapped at the old man without bothering to break eye contact with his boss. "This is between me and the Chief." After a short pause I added "Well, Chief?" His lips were moving alright, but even with my super-hearing I couldn't make out an intelligible reply. I decided to give him one last prompt.
"Of course, you're free to decline my offer." I said, softening my glare to the point that I was almost smiling. "It's your choice, Chief. Either you accept the deal and walk out of here, or you turn it down. It's completely up to you. Incidentally, here's what will happen to you if you do choose to say 'no'." Keeping my body straight and my hands on my hips I turned my head towards the coroner. The old man was standing about three meters to my left and slightly behind me so I had to crane my neck just a little. I studied his face for a second or two, taking in the look of confused anxiety in his life-worn features.
I gave the coroner a quick wink. Then, I exaggeratedly pushed out my lips towards him and blew at him. It was just a short burst of air - an absolutely effortless exhalation on my part - but the force of my breath picked the old man off his feet and threw him violently across the room to impact with the far wall with enough force to dislodge a large chunk of plaster. When he hit, I had already closed my lips, but the initial strength of my easy puff meant that his body was still nearly a meter off the floor. It slid lifelessly down into a heap in the corner and I turned my face back to the fat man.
"So," I said calmly as if nothing unusual had happened, "do I take it that we have a deal?" Instantly, the Chief started nodding furiously. He was trying to voice his acceptance, but maybe his mouth and throat were too dry or perhaps his vocal chords too tight - whatever the reason, he simply couldn't talk. It's a syndrome I'm getting used to seeing. I think I should call it the "Milena Effect".
I couldn't help but smile. I'd gotten the deal I wanted to keep the Police from bothering me in my lovely new house and I had the added satisfaction of reducing their local Chief reduced to a quivering voice-less wreck. "Well done!" I gloated, smugly. "You've made an excellent decision. Now, it's time for you to be running along. I guess I won't be seeing you for a while. I'll let you know if I need you." The fat man's eyes were oscillating between me and the door that was the only way out. I suddenly realised he was unsure what to do, so I helped him out.
"Go!" I commanded. Immediately, the Chief of Police turned and walked quickly to the door without so much as a backwards glance at me or his two dead colleagues. He reached the top of the stairs and then broke into a run. A few seconds later I saw him through the window, sprinting as best as his huge frame allowed to one of the cars parked outside. A few more seconds and he was roaring away, his foot doubtless pressing the car's accelerator to the floor.
Once the sound of his vehicle had faded even from my super-hearing, I found myself alone in what was, until a few days ago, my bedroom. The familiar room bore witness to the incredible changes that had occurred in the meantime. Two corpses, one of them especially revolting-looking, lay on the floor. There was a large hole in the ceiling and another smaller one by the window. It just didn't feel like "home" to me anymore. I thought of the lovely big house I had claimed for my own and remembered that I had originally come just to pick up a few things to take back there.
As I started to list everything I wanted to move to my new residence, I realised that there was actually quite a lot of stuff that I was going to take. Having pulled large trees out of the ground with relative ease, I didn't have any doubts about my ability to physically carry everything, but I wasn't sure how I was going to carry so many bulky and odd-shaped items. I mean, I couldn't tie everything - clothes, furniture, ornaments and the like - into a big bundle without ruining half of it. And I didn't want to have to make several journeys - that was too much like a "normal person" would do.
I quickly worked out that what I really needed was one big - no, huge - container to place everything in. But I didn't have anything I could use. They certainly don't make suitcases the size of buses and even if they did, I didn't have one. Then, out of the blue, an image slipped into my mind. Something I'd spotted from the air when I was flying over from my new house. I hadn't paid it much notice at the time, but I wasn't looking for something to serve as a giant container then...
I ran over to the broken window and leapt out, immediately tensing my muscles to activate my flight powers. I suppose I should have been impressed with myself given how quickly I'd mastered that ability, and how effortlessly and - even if I say so myself - gracefully I went from running to jumping to flying, but at that instant, I just did it without even thinking. In a few seconds I was thousands of feet over the town. It took about another minute to spot my target and only a dozen or so seconds more to descend, landing immaculately on my feet right next to it.
I was outside an abandoned factory. I think they used to make toys there, but I'm not sure. I don't think the place has been in use for ten or fifteen years. But I wasn't visiting to satisfy an interest in local industrial history. What had drawn me to the spot was the presence of a cargo-container. It's one of those standard size rectangular metal boxes for shipping - six meters long, 2-and-a-half meters wide and 2-and-a-half meters tall and made of steel. Over a decade of punishment from the elements had done no favours to the faded, peeling paintwork, but I couldn't see any obvious signs of critical corrosion. It was just what I needed.
I walked around to the end of it, where the doors are and found them padlocked shut. The lock, unlike the container, was rusty. It crumbled to powder when I squeezed it in my first. I'd have thought that the bar holding the doors closed would have become stiff through fifteen years' lack of use, but I encountered no resistance when I flicked the three-foot metal slab off its latch with my index finger. I was careful not to rip the heavy steel doors off their huge thick hinges as I pulled them open and took a look inside. There was nothing in there but dozens of giant sheets of yellowing paper and empty polythene bags. Walking to the back of the container, I cleared all the debris out of it with a gentle puff of breath, the paper and plastic billowing out as if in a hurricane - which, I suppose, it was.
Now I had my giant suitcase all I had to do was take it to my old place, fill it up and get it to my new house. I came out of the huge metal box and turned to face it. I bent low and forced my fingers into the ground, underneath the very edge of it. Then I straightened up. I don't know how much an empty container weighs, but I lifted the end of it over my head as easily as I would have lifted a comic book. I found I could even twist my wrists so that the far end of the thing also came off the ground. Supporting the weight with all the laws of balance against me wasn't any noticeably more difficult, so I just floated up into the air, carrying the entire container horizontally out in front of me as I flew back to my old home. I made it back almost as quickly as I had come.
I landed in the garden, taking care to set the massive steel case down quietly so as not to alert all the neighbours and, to save time, just flew in through the upstairs window. Opening my big wardrobe, I was about to start selecting which clothes I wanted to take when I had a better idea. I flew back outside and floated in the air in front of my big partially-damaged bedroom window. With my hands, I carefully pushed in the still-intact portions of glass so that they landed inside, making less noise. Then I removed the metal frames of the window with a casual tug of my hand until I had created a huge opening in the bedroom wall.
After that, I floated back inside, lifting the entire full wardrobe by holding it with one palm on the doors and the other on the back. The weight - surely more than two strong men could lift together - was as nothing to me as I carried it out of the opening I'd made, down into the garden and inside the container where I set it down. It was all so easy! I made about ten more trips between the house and my giant case, carrying everything I wanted to move to T.'s former residence and packing it into the container within five minutes. When I finished the box was almost full. I didn't even need to pause for a moment to rest before I closed the big doors and threw the bar across the latch to secure them.
I was a little concerned about the considerable extra weight I had added, but when I crouched by the doors and lifted the near end of the container, I was only aware of a slight difference in the way it felt. I'm sure I could have lifted two, three or four times as much without any problem! My stuff was sliding around inside, so I carefully rotated my hands until the far end rose smoothly into the air and the big box was parallel to the ground once more. Again, I could tell that it was heavier than when it was empty, but not much.
I took to the air, my slender arms carrying the contents of my old home in a giant steel sea container out in front of me as if I had been performing such amazing feats all my life. I had to keep my speed down and avoid any sharp turns to prevent my possessions from being damaged, but I still felt magnificent as I contrasted the sight the huge object with the comfortable feeling in my muscles. I would make a fortune in the removals business!
If anything, I got to my new home too quickly. I felt as if I could have stayed in the air all night, carrying that gigantic, heavy cargo. But, I had things to do - like unpacking for a start. I set myself and the container down in the gravel in front of my residence, marvelling at the way my arms didn't even feel in the least bit tired. How I love being "super"!
To avoid attracting any undue attention from my new neighbours, I opened the container's doors the manufacturer's recommended way rather than merely tearing them from their hinges and tossing them over my shoulder. This house has a huge front entrance and a beautiful, wide staircase so I didn't need to make any structural adjustments before bring my things inside. It took about four minutes in total to empty the huge metal box.
The last time I moved house, it took me hours to sort out my clothes when I arrived. This time, all I had to do was carry my full wardrobe upstairs - it might as well have been weightless to me - and put it down in the biggest bedroom. That was it. Half an hour after I started packing at the other house, I had moved and installed my possessions in my new place. I wasn't tired, or out of breath. Nor had a single drop of sweat had appeared on my wonderful "new" body.
The last thing I wanted to do at that point was rest. I thought of the meal in town I had promised myself and set about the process of selecting something suitable to wear for an evening out. Remembering what happened the one and only time I'd tried on clothes since my transformation, I knew I'd have to find something I could wear on top of my special vest. After all, it wouldn't do for my nipples to tear strips out of all my dresses.
In the end I selected an elegant black dress that comes down to just above my knees and is low-cut enough to reveal a fair portion of my amazing cleavage whilst not being so low-cut that it doesn't hide my vest. I hadn't worn it since my encounter with the genie and when I saw my reflection in a full-length mirror the way my figure filled the dress to perfection nearly took my breath away. Even I could see that I looked stunning.
I put on a pair of black high-heels that go well with the dress and stared for a while at the majesty of my long, shapely legs which was further accentuated by the shoes. I'd never felt so confident getting ready to go out. Moving over to the dressing table that was part of the furniture I'd just carried over from my old place, I sat down and stared at my face in the mirror. No matter how hard I studied myself, I could not discern a single imperfection in my features or my smooth complexion. I found myself smiling at the sight of my face and saw the reflection of my flawless teeth. Again, I searched and searched, but couldn't find any faults.
After a few more moments when I lost myself in my own beauty, my mind shifted back into 'preparing for a night out' gear. Over the years, I'd sat in front of that mirror to get ready for a evening out thousands of times and I'd developed something of a routine. I'd always start with applying some foundation cream and, even though I'd just spent a couple of minutes admiring my “new” complexion, I nevertheless followed my tradition. Scooping a handful of cream from a little pot I'd brought over in one of the dresser draws, I applied it to my cheek.
Or rather, I tried to apply it. My skin didn't seem to be absorbing the balm in the usual way. I tried to rub it into my face, but the volume of cream remained the same. When I stopped rubbing it fell in big drops from my cheek and my hand. A puddle formed on the dresser and I could see it contained exactly as much cream as I had taken from the pot. I realized that I was “immune” to face-balm in just the same way as blood and other muck won't stick to me. I decided that my complexion was too perfect to need foundation, so I threw the pot of cream into the waste-bin.
The next step on my usual routine was my eyes. Although the genie's transformation gave me beautiful, long thick lashes like the “after” picture from a TV commercial, I still located my mascara brush nonetheless. But, it was as useless as my face-cream. The viscous black dye just rolled off my lashes like rain off a window, splattering onto the face-balm stains on top of the dresser. No matter, my lashes look great undecorated. I smeared the mess on the table with my finger-tip. I could “paint” the varnished wood alright, but when I lifted my digit, not a trace of colour was visible on it.
I was beginning to realise that my days applying make-up are well and truly over. More out of curiosity than anything else, I pulled a jar of rouge from the dresser and dipped a brush into the reddish powder. When I pressed the brush to my cheekbones, the powder trickled down my face to add to the increasingly complex tableau on the table. Grabbing a particularly shocking-coloured lip-stick, I pushed out my lovely thick “new” lips and rubbed the stick on them.
Of course the lip-stick fell in little, greasy flakes and not a trace of it remained on my mouth. Experimentally, I drew the colour over my chin. The result was the same. More mess and absolutely no change to my appearance. I tried writing on my arm, but I quickly stopped when I saw that the little bits of lip-stick that slipped off my skin were going to mark my black dress. I pushed out my lips as if about to kiss the mirror and checked the reflection. Fortunately for me, I concluded, my lips didn't need any extra help to look stunning.
Defeated, I collected up all my pots and jars and sticks of make-up from the draws of the dresser and tossed the whole pile into the bin. I wiped the table off with a towel from the bathroom, making a mental note to thank my Uncle next time I see him for leaving a set of towels out. After a couple of wipes, the dresser was still smeared with colour and a little greasy. A table is a lot harder to keep clean than my face! I didn't keep wiping as I was afraid I would accidentally break the dresser.
The last thing I used to do before leaving the house was brush my hair. Turning back to my new friend the mirror, I couldn't see any tangles in my long, straight dark brown hair. In fact, it looked shinier and thicker than I'd ever seen it before. The lack of tangles was confirmed with the first stroke of the brush - it passed effortlessly through. I would have thought after all I'd been through since I last washed it that my hair would have been a complete mess, but like every other aspect of my appearance, it was faultless.
Before the genie, I could spend up to ten minutes brushing my hair. I don't seem to need to own a brush now, which is just as well. I ruined my old one in a playful experiment to see how fast I could wield it. I just started pulling it through my hair faster and faster until smoke began to rise and an unpleasant smell reached my nostrils. Thinking I was burning my hair I pulled the brush away from my head, just in time to see it burst into flames. The nylon bristles melted, dripping hot liquid onto my hand. It just rolled off me like everything else - no stains, no marks, no pain. When I checked my hair, it was as perfect as before. Only the brush had burnt. I threw what was left of it away with the make-up.
I had totalled failed in my attempts at beautification. If I wasn't so utterly stunning to begin with, I would be irritated. But, every time I see my reflection, I know that no make-up could ever improve on my natural appearance. I'm gorgeous. Perfect, even. And now when I go out in the evening, I won't have to spend any time messing around with potions and face-paint. I don't even need to look after my hair any more! I love the “new” me.
No wonder I felt so terrific as I flew slowly out of the bedroom window into the night. I knew I had to be very careful not to damage my dress, so I didn't indulge myself by flying fast or turning too many mid-air summersaults. Soon enough, though, I was hovering over the centre of town where the good restaurants are. I watched the evening strollers moving through the streets below me and realised that I was going to have to be extremely discreet with my landing if I didn't want to attract the whole town's attention.
Locating an un-lit, narrow alley, I examined it from my lofty vantage point. Despite the darkness down there, my eyes had no trouble determining that the side-street was deserted so I descended towards it feet-first, as quickly as I thought my dress could withstand. I had to control my flight carefully, coming to a stop in a very short distance, but I've already got the hang of that now. I dropped to the pavement and strolled out of the alley like a “normal” - if amazingly beautiful - woman would do, my high heels click-clacking with every step.
The side-street comes out on the big pedestrianised area in the centre of town. My favourite place to eat, Luigi's, is on the opposite side of the square and I made a bee-line towards it. Everybody I passed stopped to stare at me - the women almost as much as the men. I took in the expressions on their faces, enjoying myself hugely. The couples were the best; the male part would gawk at me, tracking me from feet to face and back again, usually settling on the low-cut top of my dress, whilst their female companions narrowed their eyes in a hatred born of jealousy.
I went through a small group of teenaged boys, almost laughing as their conversation suddenly halted when they saw me. Their jaws practically dropped and their eyes bulged as they just stared at the exposed portion of my deep cleavage. I listened to their panting and their quickening heartbeats. When I smiled at one of them, he almost fainted. I winked at another with similar results. Keeping a low profile isn't easy when you're as attractive as I am!
I was only a few steps from the door to Luigi's when I suddenly remembered that I wasn't carrying any money or cards or anything that I could use to pay for my meal. I decided that I could work something out later, and walked straight in. Immediately, all the diners and waiters were engaged in a game of trying to stare at me without me or their companions or clients noticing. The maitre d' came over, his eyes flickering every so often from my face to check out my chest. I ignored his poorly-hidden lewdness and asked for a table for one.
Even though I'd eaten at Luigi's a hundred times before, none of the staff seemed to recognise me post-transformation. I followed the maitre d' to my table, sat down and waited for him to stop gawking at my legs and hand me the menu. In the space of about two minutes, five different waiters came and asked if I was ready to order, or if I would like anything to drink. The service has always been good there, but I knew the extra attention was purely down to my “new” appearance. I smiled as I studied the selection of dishes on offer.
As I looked down the list, I was confused. After all, I hadn't eaten much - excluding the Chief of Police's pistol, that is - since the night before I met the genie and reading the descriptions of the various offerings should have triggered the usual hunger sensations in my stomach. But I simply wasn't hungry. The thought of the food was appetising, alright, but I didn't feel as if I needed the nourishment. I just fancied it.
When I was ready to order, I looked up from the menu and almost instantly three waiters started to rush towards me. The two who realised they wouldn't get to me before their colleague backed off, obviously disappointed, whilst the winner took out his pad and pencil and stood by my table, gazing down the prominent valley between my breasts. I gave him my selection - a starter and main-course and a bottle of my favourite local wine and he reluctantly took his eyes off my cleavage and took the order to the kitchen.
For my own amusement, I concentrated my super-hearing on the room behind the big double-doors where my waiter had vanished and heard him telling one of the chefs: “…like nothing I've ever seen! I'm telling you she's got the face of an angel and a body like a dream - I mean tits you would die for! You'd better make sure she leaves happy - that's one customer I'd love to become a regular.” Needless to say, I was not unhappy at the thought that I was going to get top-class service from the kitchen as well.
Normally, I used to always get a half-bottle of wine when I ate alone, but I felt celebratory so I went for a whole one. When it arrived, I tasted the first glass and discovered that my transformation has given me an incredibly powerful sense of taste. I could detect all the flavours I love in the wine, but much more vividly than before. In addition there was a raft of new tastes that I'd never noticed before, all of which combined to make the drink far more delightful than I remembered.
I drained the first glass enthusiastically and poured another. That went down pretty quick, too. I picked up the bottle to re-fill once again, when something occurred to me. Two large glasses of wine, on an empty stomach, would always have made me slightly tipsy in the past. But as I poured and drank my third and then my forth, I realised that I was staying stone cold sober. The bottle was empty and my starter had yet to arrive so I just looked up and instantly I caught a waiter's eye and he came scurrying over. I asked him for another bottle. He practically broke into a run to fetch it for me.
Realising that alcohol no longer seems to get me drunk, I savoured the second bottle and made it last. The starter arrived and I tucked in. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever eaten. Until the main course came. Something about my enhanced sense of taste means that I appreciate food, and good food especially, much, much more than before. I polished off everything on my plate and then chose a slice of rich chocolate cake from the sweet trolley. I've always liked chocolate, but now, it was almost an emotional experience as the flavour melted into my mouth.
I finished my meal all too soon. I wasn't even full, either. Despite the fact that I wasn't hungry before I started, I still felt as if I could have eaten the entire meal again. I don't know how my metabolism works now, but it's awesome - I can eat as much as I like, or nothing at all, and I just feel terrific!
I'd been sitting at an empty table for about ten minutes after my emptied dessert plate and drained coffee cup were removed, when one of the waiters came over and enquired if I would like to see the bill. I had completely forgotten that I didn't have any money on me. I could have just run - or even walked - out without anyone being able to stop me, but I formulated a better plan instead.
“That was wonderful.” I said to the waiter smiling. “I'd love to be able to thank the Chef and his staff for their fantastic work.”
“I'd be delighted to pass your comments on.” The waiter informed me.
“I think it would be nicer if I could thank them in person.” I said.
“I'm sorry, Madame. We don't allow customers in the kitchen.”
“Are you sure,” I said, softly, leaning back a little to make my chest even more prominent, “that you couldn't make an exception - just for me?” The waiter hesitated, so I went on, fluttering my eyelashes, pouting my lips and keeping my breasts thrust out, “I'd be ever so grateful.”
“Well… perhaps I can make an exception… Follow me, please, Madame.” I stood up and let him lead the way through the double doors into the kitchen. All work ceased as I walked into the room and every pair of eyes in there came to rest on me and my anatomy. I walked slowly into the room, allowing the half-dozen men to track my every movement.
Passing a stainless steel work-counter, I picked up a knife. There was a sharp intake of breath from each observer as I stuck out my tongue and slowly drew the length of the sharp edge of the blade across my supposedly soft glossa. The scrapping sound of my tongue blunting the knife impressed even me and I made sure that my entire audience saw what was happening.
Now that I had everyone's attention, I made a show of holding the knife out in front of my face and turning it in my hand so that it was pointed downwards. I lowered the long blade vertically into my cleavage, taking care not to damage my dress. Then, I gripped the exposed handle and pushed it hard to the left. The steel was unable, of course, to lever my breasts apart so the knife bent dramatically and finally snapped noisily in half. I extracted the handle-less blade from the valley of my chest and crumpled it into a ball in my fist like those watching would have crumpled a sheet of paper (but probably with less difficulty). I tossed the little ball of steel over my shoulder and heard the crash as it smashed deep into the brick wall behind me.
“Hi there, fellas.” I said, casually. “Sorry about the knife. I wanted you all to know that I've just had an absolutely wonderful meal and I've decided that I'm going to be eating here regularly. The only problem is…” I reached up and took a large copper saucepan that was hanging from a hook on the ceiling, “…I don't want to have to pay.” Adjusting my grip on the pan, I placed a palm on either side of its wide circumference and pushed my hands together. The metal groaned and squeaked as I made light work of reducing the heavy cooking implement into a misshaped ball of shiny copper.
I tossed the ball underarm at the door of a huge refrigerator on the other side of the kitchen. The chunk of copper smashed into the metal fridge like a cannon-ball, ripping a hole in the door and the back of the cabinet and embedding itself in the brick wall behind. One of the kitchen staff collapsed on seeing my little demonstration of my strength. The others looked from me to the busted refrigerator and back again in fear and disbelief. Planting my hands on my hips for effect, I took advantage of having their complete attention to ask “Do any of you have any objections to me eating here for free whenever I like?”
A middle-aged man in a full white coat and kitchen hat took this as his cue to step forward and confront me. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here with your conjuring tricks and demanding free food?” Over his shoulder, in the far corner of the room, I spotted one of those large, rectangular open waste bins. Noticing that it was half-full of vegetable peels and uneaten meals, I realised it represented an opportunity that was too good to miss.
I made up the ground on my challenger and told him to “Conjure this!” as I brought up my left hand and flicked him in the stomach with my little finger. My aim was good, my strength once again fabulous. That little tap - so effortless for me to do - was enough to lift his nearly two-metre frame off the ground and send him flying over a work-counter to crash down ten paces away. At least his landing, rump-first into the kitchen waste, was soft, even if it was accompanied by an undignified squelch as he landed amongst the peelings and half-eaten food. His eyes were closed, but I could see he was still breathing. The others looked at him before turning back to me, shifting nervously where they stood.
I put my hand back on my hip. “Does anyone else have any objections?” There was a chorus of quick “No”s and “Of course not”s. I smiled in satisfaction. “Great. Well, thanks for tonight's meal.” I turned and walked about half-way to the door before twisting my head slightly and adding, over my shoulder, “Incidentally, if I ever get asked to pay for anything here again or if you ever give me anything to eat that isn't up to tonight's standards, it won't be a fridge I put a hole in. Understand?”
As one, the conscious contingent of the kitchen staff answered with a firm “Yes!”.
“Goodnight, then.” I said, cheerfully, strolling out of the kitchen across the dining area and out into the street without looking back. I did however, hear the various sighs of relief from the kitchen once the staff in there thought I was out of earshot.
I was about to cross the square back to the alley where I had landed before diner, when I noticed another side-street running down the side of Luigi's. It was the kind of narrow, dark passage that I would have been terrified of a week ago. Now, of course, I don't need to fear anything. I strolled down the alley and found it turned a corner, running immediately behind the restaurant. I was walking past the back door to the kitchen I had just been in, when I picked up a one-sided conversation that made me stop and listen.
“…saucepan like it was tin-foil!” I overheard. “She threw it right through the door of the fridge! And she tossed Enrico across the room like something out of a movie....Yes, definitely sure…. No, I haven't had a drop to drink….Yes, I'll hold…..” Then there was a long pause before I heard “Describe her? Well, she's about one-eighty tall, incredible figure, dark brown hair, er… I'm sorry?.... What?!!...You won't come and see our kitchen?... What do you mean, 'Not worthy of police time?'… Let me speak to the Chief…. Oh, you arethe Chief. And you won't come and take a statement? Well, thanks for nothing!” That was followed by the sound of a telephone handset being smashed down.
I was delighted. The Chief of Police seemed to be holding up his end of our little arrangement nicely. I left the staff of Luigi's to clean up the mess in their kitchen as I soared up into the air, accelerating as much as I dared to get out of sight quickly without generating enough friction to set my dress on fire. In no time at all, I was floating into my new bedroom through the window I'd left open.
Then I slipped out of my black dress and stored it back in the cupboard. Wearing only my special vest and panties once again, I paused in front of the mirror to admire my own reflection before sitting down to write this diary entry. It’s past midnight now, but I still don’t feel tired. I’m looking forward to tomorrow when I can try out my new-found negotiating skills some more. After all, I did so well with the Chief of Police and the guys at Luigi’s…
Conceptfan, September 2004.