Written by WhitePaw :: [Wednesday, 11 January 2006 13:08] Last updated by :: [Wednesday, 19 December 2012 14:48]
Clouds hung scattered across the sunset like a loosing hand of G_d’s solitaire, just before folding over to darkness. She dangled a slender leg over the high platform bars of the transmission tower, high up on Telegraph Hill, wondering what she was all about and how she was supposed to fit into the metropolitan civilization sprawled across the desert at her feet.
The day had started off promisingly enough: the odd, nonreturnable package delivered to her door had unwrapped to reveal the old genie’s lamp like the winning lottery ticket she’d never really purchased. The big rashakan genie had been gracious in his old-world chivalrous ways, but claimed to be new, something about setting his predecessor free and needing to earn his turban or some such. He insisted that she wish big. They’d spent the remainder of the morning in her apartment, together scheming up the absurdly fantastic.
It took all three of her wishes at once, but she wished it.
The genie bowed respectfully, and vanished with the lamp.
The rest of the afternoon she’d spent in one long rush of bliss. She’d simply walked on set unannounced through a major porn film production, disrobed before the stunned crew, personally gave each of them the performance of the century, picked up her outfit and walked absently away – leaving a studio-wide swath of stammering vegetables in her wake. The stadium-full at the monster truck rally didn’t get quite the view, but they got their admission’s worth in crunched-up and burned-out monster trucks – and nobody complained.
Then there was that little incursion in a bullet-torn West African jungle she snuffed out over tea. She sorely wished for faster tank and artillery gunners, but had used her wishes already. At one point she did brush aside a dozen or so gun crews just to fire the rounds faster, and then rush over to bounce the rounds around when they arrived but she soon tired of the one-sided sport.
It was the various bits of shopping she enjoyed most, walking stark naked like a lioness into the ritziest lingerie shops on three continents, and then the trashiest adult shops she could locate. The looks on each of the customer’s faces and especially on every sales clerk face were all unique, and all priceless. She’d command them in her most authoritative voice to clothe her in their finest, and then wallowed in bemusement as they stumbled about trying to best fit her impossible proportions. She especially enjoyed stuffing herself into the various brassieres they brought her and tearing out of them before their eyes – without using her hands. She usually moved on to another store once the clerks started sprouting nosebleeds from just watching.
All the other super powered beings in the world came to her party of course, some to crash it and some to just enjoy the ride. She wasn’t sure which she enjoyed more. The woman stuffed in the bronze corset for example put up quite a pillow fight with her fists and made the best attempt yet with her rope to constrain, but mashed like a teddy bear against a mountainside and swooned painfully to the advances of unstoppable hands and tongue until she finally passed out and slid into the shrubbery below.
Moments later the big steel guy stopped by and hefted the whole mountain with obvious intent to smash her flat. He’d obviously strong feelings for the bronze bra’d woman he promptly forgot in the midst of a titanic, shorts ripping erection at the sight of the newcomer.
She’d pounced him with equal enthusiasm.
The first guy she could put some small grip on proved to be an earthquake that sifted debris from cities world-wide and sunk tsunamis into the oceans that were still rearing up over coasts deep into the following night. But he was too polite, too gentle. It was his darker clone that really laid into her with all his unrestrained might.
Tickling her was all he could manage for all his veined foaming wroth.
Perhaps if the sum of the crowd of them that came had all jumped her at once they could have raised a decent orgy of her, but as it was, she left them all feeling the same: small and powerless, unable to merely amuse her for more than a moment, much less satisfy her. None harbored any delusions of overpowering her by the time she had her play. Their powers were all laughable ants to the mountainous sum of hers. Even the greatly feared pan-galactic leech boy had popped like an infected zit before she even seemed to notice suckling at her actual invitation at one of her breasts.
So she sat, alone and untouchable at the top of the tower, dangling her legs over the city far below, gathering what had happened. She’d searched the world for the lamp, but it was gone. The old rashakan genie had sharked her. He was no rank amateur out to use his endowments for good despite his nature. He’d cursed her in the end far worse than he could have by twisting her words. He’d given her straightforward everything she wanted and more – and doomed her to a life of unfulfilled solitude, and the whole world to tremble in the darkness of her shadow forever.
No. Some small good must come of her powers, even if not unto her.
In an instant she appeared, legs straddling both rails of the tracks over her next-door neighbor’s small kitten that’d caught its paw under the ballast chasing a cockroach. She overheard her neighbor on the phone to his mother, oblivious in the apartment above. “Yes, I’ve enough batteries and water to last a week, but mom, the whole world’s ending! Earthquakes, the super league’s busted up, tidal waves – what if the world ends tonight?”
The oncoming heavy freight train rumbled with it’s building-shaking five engines and seven miles of bulk commodities – but nothing to stop her from cracking it off the tracks like whipping so much vacuum cleaner cord one-handed.
“Holy sh – ” He gripped a door frame. “Gotta go Ma, aftershock!”
She scooped up the kitten and laid it curiously innocent in her now cavernous cleavage. By the time her neighbor regained his feet enough to answer the doorbell, she stood in his door frame in the laciest of the outfits she’d gathered that day, his kitten pawing at the straps.
“Holy – ” Jack Daniels shattered on the floor.
“The world might end tonight, Davie. Anything you’d like to ask me?”
And she screwed him compassionately to just shy of stripping his threads – and so on the next day.