[Fonk]

That is a beautiful, brave chapter. Thanks so much for posting it.

[Fonk]

What an interesting question. I think I would, but only if the character is a villain. As has already been mentioned, the stories we write tend to be "fitness = perfection", and we know that smoking is an enemy of fitness.

Well, you know what I mean.

[Fonk]

She's awesome! Congratulations on a thousand posts, and more congratulations on your ace artwork!

[Fonk]

Argh! A nice explosive start. Cheers!

[Fonk]

Hello again for part 2!

————————-

She moved away from Marco and Nefertiti, passing by her valet, who was completely unable to get up, and groaning. She grabbed him by the neck and lifted him as if he were as light as a feather. She saw his bloody knee and the fractured wrist.

"Waste of space… I don't know why I shouldn't just – "

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and let him go. He fell to her feet. The frightened man looked at the destructive weapons planted in front of him, then up the length of her muscly thighs to her crotch, just about covered by a silvery G-string that disappeared between two muscular buttocks.

"The surgeon will sort you out. You're lucky, imbecile."

"Oh, thank you goddess, thank you for sparing me."

Marco retched when he heard that. This man had accepted that his own life was devalued to the point that it only depended on an instant of caprice from a woman capable of killing him with a simple flick of the wrist or ankle, as one would crush an insect, without even realising it. He knew that Nefertiti, next to him, could do the same. She certainly already had. Who knew how many dream bodies had ended human lives like that, just for the momentary pleasure of absolute and definitive domination? While Cleo left the room at one end, Nefertiti lead him out the other, back into the changing room.

Less than ten minutes later, Cleo joined them. She was wearing a dark red leather jacket, a sort of black leather bra top, a red leather mini-skirt, fishnets and a pair of high-heeled pumps. Her outfit left her washboard abs showing, as well as most of her thighs, where her muscles bulged as she moved. Nefertiti had put her black outfit and boots back on. She seemed horrified.

"Don't you have anything more discreet?"

"Oh, you're never happy."

The door to the changing room opened and the trio found themselves back in Vaud's office. He was stroking a briefcase on his desk as he waited. Their arrival seemed to pull him from the trance.

"Ah, Mr. Muneaux! I see you have had the pleasure of meeting Cleo. Good. Here is the briefcase that you will be taking to Lausanne, to my friend Jean Tinguely. Please pass on my compliments. Bon voyage!"

The two girls escorted Marco to the door, and Cleo left with him whilst Nefertiti stayed in the director's office. When the door closed, she spoke to Vaud.

"Do you think he can do it, sir?"

"Well, Nefertiti, Cleo can! Hasn't she always been able?"

"You are right, sir."

Cleo and Marco didn't exchange a word during the taxi journey to the Gare de Lyon. They entered the noisy building and moved directly to the platform of the TGV to Lausanne. As it hadn't pulled into the station, they decided to have a coffee at the station café. Marco put the briefcase on the table in front of him and looked around at the busy passengers crossing the concourse. He didn't pay any attention to two nondescript men who were talking on the terrace. They turned their backs and seemed to be waiting for a train. Suddenly one of them turned round and with a nimble movement grabbed the briefcase and ran off. His friend followed. Cleo reacted immediately and set off in hot pursuit. No doubt that with her capabilities she would catch them easily. In the middle of the concourse she stumbled and stopped. Marco saw her lift a leg and pull off her shoe, which she examined for a moment: the heel had broken. Whilst removing the other shoe she crumpled the first in her hand like a bit of paper, crushing it completely in her closed fist. When she opened her hand, a ball of compacted leather fell to the floor. She set off again to catch the men.

She arrived at the car park lift just as its doors were closing. In a rage, she gave a punch which dented one of the metal panels. Placing her hands between the doors, she prised them apart and broke the mechanism that tried futilely to keep them closed against her superhuman strength. Cleo let herself slide down to the top of the lift and pulled open the access point. She dropped into the lift at the moment the men were leaving it. They ran towards a Mercedes and gunned the engine, causing the tyres to squeal.

Cleo jumped from car to car to get ahead of the Mercedes, which had to go around the vehicles to get to the exit ramp. Her feet, clad only in her stockings, left dents on the bonnets and roofs of the parked cars. Marco, who had caught up, stared in amazement as suspensions gave way as she passed. He wondered how much she must weigh. He decided she would have to be very heavy, judging by the degree of movement the cars underwent as she ran over them.

She quickly found herself facing the Mercedes and ran towards it. Instead of getting out of the way, she leapt up, right foot forward. Her leg went through the windscreen, hitting the driver's face. Cleo felt his bones being crushed under her foot. The car zigzagged for a few more feet before crashing into a pillar and stopping. The driver wasn't moving. His passenger tried to escape but Cleo rolled on the bonnet and gave a powerful kick to the door that was opening. It folded on half on impact, and the man was trapped against the bodywork. Without letting him catch his breath, Cleo lifted him above her head by the neck and crotch.

"Who sent you?" There was no reply.

"Answer me now or I will break you in half!"

"I… I don't know… we… we had to hand it over here… In the car p…"

"To who, man?!"

"I don't know."

At the same moment, on the other side of the car park, a big BMW with blacked out windows disappeared. Cleo brought her arms together above her head, literally folding the man in two. She continued until she felt some resistance, breaking his spine with a loud crack that went unheard because of the victim's screaming. When she dropped the body, his neck touched his butt. At stomach level, the blood that was quickly staining his white shirt showed that his stomach muscles had been ripped apart. She glanced at the driver: her foot had half crushed his head against the head rest. When that had given way, his neck had broken. His face had been reduced to a bloody mess.

Cleo recovered the briefcase and, taking Marco by the hand, dragged him behind her like a child. They left the car park and dived into a taxi.

"Avenue de l'Opéra, please!"

She made the driver stop in front of Repetto, from which she emerged ten minutes later wearing a pair of black leather ballet shoes adorned with a satin ribbon that she had crossed over her legs.

"If we have to run again…" she said to Marco, with a wink.

She went off towards Saint Honoré market, still dragging Marco along. She stopped at the Audi garage, looking at the cars on display. After climbing into a big A7, she opted for a TT convertible. Ten minutes later the plates had been put on and the little cabriolet shot off into the traffic, heading for the rue de Rivoli. The dealer still can't believe it to this day!

[Fonk]

When I wrote my Doctor Who fanfic (here), I wrote down the music that I was listening to. 🙂

Mostly, it's either Loose by Nelly Furtado (you wouldn't believe how helpful Maneater can be!), or I just go through my MP3 playlist, which contains mostly dance, pop and guitar rock music.

Nice topic. 😉

[Fonk]

Last part. It makes me a bit sad to be saying that… 🙁

The Claws Of Winter – Part 6

Vanessa Keates was imminent. Her towering, bulbous legs covered the ground so quickly that the others had to run at top speed to keep up. Dominique couldn’t manage more than twenty seconds of pace at a time, so the giantess soon left them behind. "Good," she thought. "I won’t have to worry about them for a bit." She arrived at the disquieting chorus of monks and looked around for her enemies.

They quickly revealed themselves amid the sea of tonsured heads, still intoning their manic litany. "Look!" Serena cried, pointing as Fidelius brandished his staff. "The Incredible Hulk grew tits!" Vanessa put massive hands on powerful, flaring hips. "You stop this," she said. "There’s the easy way, or, to be frank, the way I’d prefer." They screeched with laughter. "You cannot harm us!" Serena gasped. "No man-made weapon, remember?"

Vanessa smiled so widely. "Oh yes, I remember," she said, honey smooth. "What about these?" A pair of snakes appeared in her enormous hands. "These," she said, looking from one wriggling snake to the other, "are inland taipans. They are the most poisonous snakes in the world." The Collarwearers exchanged looks of uncertainty. Vanessa was blocking their way forward, and there was no way to get through the monks. In that moment of indecision, the leviathan Ringbearer took a quaking step forward and wrapped the serpents around the pair.

She stood back, smiling. Both Serena and Fidelius grabbed frantically at the taipans, muscle and sinew working double time to remove them, but they were stuck fast to their bodies. The two serpents coiled tighter and started to hiss angrily. "It was a pleasure to have met you," Vanessa bowed, giant breasts jiggling as her abs rippled with use. She ripped Fidelius’s staff from his hands and snapped it over her blocky right thigh. "That is not the source," the Ring intoned, though something dark and wispy flew from the broken wood. The superwoman frowned.

The superwoman stepped past the Collarwearers, who were both writhing on the floor. The insane chant continued as she pushed her way through the crowd of holy men. Somehow, the words seemed less certain of themselves. Vanessa felt as though she was being guided through the mass of men by some unseen agent, but she soon knew her goal: the central pillar, on top of which Fidelius’s throne was still perched. Once there was enough clear space, she ran and jumped at the rocky column.

The rough stone bit into her fleshy breasts, but as she wrapped her legs around it, the rest of her body was impervious. The titaness inched up the pillar, brushing pebbles away from its surface, looking round as more of the monks came into view. Within moments she was at the top. She stood carefully on the ledge and picked up the throne Fidelius had been using. It looked old: ornately carved dark wood with some plush, blood red material set inside. Vanessa threw it to the column’s floor.

A bell jar fell out of the wreckage, the kind of which a chemistry teacher would use to do some minor experiment. It was sealed and resting neatly inside it there was a handful of snow. It seemed to be lit from within. "That is the source," the Ring stated. "Destroy it." Her eyes alight, Vanessa lifted the jar above her head before throwing it into the pile of wood and material at her feet.

The jar smashed, sending the snow into an unnatural flurry. It formed a small tornado and as Vanessa looked on, frowning, it began to intensify. More snowflakes came streaming into the blizzard, which was taking on the form of a man. The Ringbearer shielded her eyes with a thick forearm as the blizzard roared, drawing in snow through the cave. The searing cold brought her nipples to erection, thickening as well as lengthening, drawing several bumps to the surface of her dusky areolae.

The monks broke off their chant, not that you could tell over the deafening whirl of snow. The holy men ran as one for the entrance to the cavern, screaming, shoving and kicking as they did so. Vanessa had a sharp pang of fear for Jean-Jacques and Dominique, who were still making their way down the passage. "Ring?" she inquired. "There is nothing we can do for them," it replied, its physical form turning an enraged purple.

After a minute of the snowstorm a creature had formed inside it. A six foot man made entirely of ice, all sharp shiny edges and spikes. Its chunky arms ended in hands with five long fingers that tapered to knitting needle thinness, making Vanessa think of stalactites. The apparition leered widely, displaying teeth that glittered like diamonds. It was the eye of the snowstorm. "Who dares entrap the spirit of winter?" it demanded, voice as soft as the whispering of the wind but carrying the threat of avalanche.

Vanessa looked down to the chaos below, to where she’d left the Collarwearers writhing with the snakes, but she could not make them out. "It wasn’t me," she said, hoping her sultry voice would quell the spirit. "I just freed you," she added. A fierce grimace settled on the creature’s face as the storm grew stronger around him. "You lie!" it shouted, pushing his palms out toward the Ringbearer. The full force of the blizzard hit her prodigious chest, sending her toppling from the pillar.

The monks had scattered, so Vanessa landed hard on her mighty back. The apparition hovered down to join her on the cavern floor, grinning eerily. "You cannot beat me, mortal," it warned, whipping bitter stings of ice into Vanessa’s face as she stood. "I don’t want to beat you!" she cried, swatting at the balls of ice the creature was sending her way. "I set you free; I just want the world the way it should be!" she insisted, trying not to sound like she was begging.

The monster tilted its head, like a dog that has heard something strange. It closed its eyes – the eyelids were made of the whitest ice Vanessa had ever seen – and stood still for a moment in the midst of the snowstorm. The blonde giantess used the pause to hug warmth back into her body and prepare herself for a fight she could not win. The hollow was empty of the monks now and, as she looked around, Vanessa saw that Fidelius and Serena had gone too. There were no signs of the taipans either.

The wondrous woman was concentrating hard on the apparition, but it kept its eyes closed. Every so often she saw it wince or twitch. A crunch from the cavern’s entrance startled her; she looked round to see Jean-Jacques and Dominique running towards her. Both had regained their Ring-powered bodies but were still naked. They stared in awe at the iceman their gigantic friend was facing off against, and slowed to a halt some distance away.

"Jean-Jacques!" she hollered. He looked up to her, his bright eyes fully focussed. "When it comes out of the trance, convince it we are not the enemy!" The Frenchman nodded. They waited, all tense, for the snow spirit to reawaken. Vanessa stole quick glances at Dominique’s rose-petal pink nipples hardening in the cold atmosphere, and felt a discomfiting wave of arousal. She went back to staring at the apparition.

With a sound like snow falling from a roof, its eyes flicked open again. Vanessa brought her enormous body into a fighting stance, but the creature held up its hand. "I will not fight you," it announced. "You are correct. There is true goodness in your heart – in all your hearts," it continued, turning its head to smile beatifically at the others. "The magic used on our world was borne of a great evil, one which none present are capable of."

The snow spirit hovered up to the roof of the hollow. "I will use my powers to make the world as it should be," he proclaimed. The three Ringbearers craned their necks to watch him, and grinned mightily. Vanessa saw the creature raise its arms, as if in supplication to the heavens, and she knew that they had won. The Ringbearers’ record was intact, and the world was safe again. She walked over to where her colleagues were standing and smiled happily as they each hugged one of her rocky legs. She sniffed back a tear.

Outside things were returning to normal. The snow spirit started its task in those cities of the world which were asleep, making the huge drifts of ice and snow that covered the land vanish. The creature slowly turned on the spot as its focus changed: leaving the white blanket alone in places it should have been naturally, but removing it from anywhere else. The Taj Mahal was slowly revealed to the night sky as, elsewhere, patches of farmland and shanty town buildings reappeared. As morning came round, people danced openly in the streets, hugging strangers and celebrating with relatives.

Back in the cavern, the snow spirit addressed the happy three. "This will take some time," he admitted. "You should leave; I sense that you are in dire need of sustenance." They nodded. Vanessa, who had returned to her usual five foot six superbuilt form, spoke up. "I have a question," she said. The snow spirit smiled indulgently. "Then ask it, my child." She cleared her throat. "Is your name Jack Frost?" The creature laughed, a tinkling sound like hail hitting a car roof. "That is the name you have given me," it admitted. "It… suffices."

She nodded. "Thank you," she said, meaning it. "Thank you, Vanessa Keates," Jack replied. "Goodbye," the three Ringbearers said, waving. Jack waved back, and they turned to leave. Tears of joy ran down Vanessa’s and Dominique’s cheeks, whilst Jean-Jacques grinned like the cat that got the proverbial cream. As soon as they were out of Jack Frost’s earshot, the Frenchman spoke. "My plan worked, then."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

"Wait, wait," Vanessa was waving both hands at Jean-Jacques. They were sitting around a table in the restaurant at the hotel, the one closest to the fire, all clad in warm, dark clothing and eating piping hot chicken soup. "Start again. You can’t possibly have planned that from the start. I mean, we lost our powers, for Pete’s sake!" "Keep your voice down!" he hissed, looking round nervously in case anyone had heard the blonde talk about powers. When he was sure it was safe to continue, he did so.

"The basic plan was for you," here he gestured towards Vanessa, "to get so angry that you grew stronger, kind of like the Incredible Hulk. It’s rare in Ringbearer lore, but there are tales of those who need strength receiving it in that way. There were two problems in the plan that I did not foresee." He picked up his wine glass and swirled the liquid around delicately. "The first was that history is written to glorify the winners. The strength, though it did eventually come to you," here Vanessa flexed her left bicep, stretching her thick woolly sweater to the limit, "was not given in the easy way the stories told."

"We’ll have to make sure we give an accurate account of our adventure," Dominique said, her cheeks and nose flush with alcohol, nodding to the others. Jean-Jacques smiled indulgently. "Yes, we shall," he said, and paused before continuing. "The second problem was that the Collarwearers have now perfected their protection magic and cannot be harmed by a man-made weapon." He sat back. "Here, I must admit, I was lost. I was so consumed by the fact that I would have to change the plan, one I had worked on carefully without your knowledge – knowledges – that I was unable to see a solution."

He raised his glass. "Here we must salute Vanessa, for her quick thinking in battle." Dominique lifted her glass, slopping a little of the wine over the side. Blushing, Vanessa raised hers. "To Vanessa Keates, the muscle and heart of our team," Jean-Jacques proclaimed, and held his glass over the middle of the table. The glasses clinked as they spoke as one. "Vanessa!" The blonde smiled happily.

EPILOGUE

The picture is grainy and flickers occasionally, but it's obviously a news report. A young, smart looking man with overly-styled hair is sitting behind a desk, reading something from an autocue and moving his head around to emphasise certain words. "Scientists have admitted that they are baffled by the sudden disappearance of the snow drifts that have plagued the world since December," he was saying. "Some are blaming global warming, and urging tighter restrictions on the production of greenhouse gases. Some are suspecting something far more sinister, as the snow appears to have simply vanished. Chris Felton has this report."

A disfigured hand pointed a remote at the screen with some difficulty, shutting off Chris Felton's report before it could begin. The hand cast the remote aside and watched it fall to the floor. "Curse those Ringbearers," a raw, scorched voice hissed. "We will have our revenge." The figure fingered its black, spiky collar delicately. "Once we are whole again," it said, looking from its armchair to a hopelessly curled and broken body on the floor, "we will have our revenge."

— THE END —

DVD Extras

So, on DVDs, they have all sorts of extra bits and pieces about how the thing was made, and stuff? I want to do that. Here's where the story came from:

I was walking home from work in January this year, maybe February. It was a few days after we'd had some snow. It had melted away from most places, but in one garden there was a patch of snow remaining, untouched, unmelted. I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be fantastic if, by trapping a little bit of snow like that, you could keep the world covered in snow?" Once I'd had that idea, it was a matter of marrying it to a character.

Once I'd decided on Vanessa, my other ideas for expanding her universe started to fit in nicely. Even before I'd finished on her origin story I'd had the idea of making an enemy for her – collars seemed the way to go. I also wanted to introduce more Ringbearers – to maybe pick up later – to give the idea that there was a network of them around the world. That gives me more possibilities for future stories. At the same time, I decided mid-story to focus on what the Rings actually are and give tiny hints as to how they came about… but that's for a future story. Speaking of, as per all truly great DVDs…

COMING SOON

Miss Morris

Callie Morris has a terrifying condition – she is allergic to sleep. The next time she nods off, she could die. As doctors race to discover a cure, a team of scientists proposes a radical solution… with wonderful consequences for Callie. The young woman grows in strength and confidence… but how much is too much? Find out soon in Miss Morris.

Finally, thanks for reading this story. I hope you've enjoyed it. ;D

[Fonk]

Mmmm, very nice.

[Fonk]

In English! Hopefully I can get the other parts done soon too.

——————-

Nefertiti Part 1

Marco was just on time. He crossed the marble hall of Global Trading Inc. by taking long strides, passing employees and secretaries who made themselves look busy. He rushed into one of the lifts with the aluminium doors and pressed on the button for the eight floor.

The eighth floor was just underneath Mr. Vaud's private floor, and just above the general management's floor. It was on that floor that Mr. Vaud's private affairs were worked on. It was also that floor that dealt with the "borderline" dossiers, as they had become known; those dossiers that would require the use of methods on the edge of legality. However, as Mr. Vaud was known to say, "There is only one law, I respect it, but I will teach others to respect my interpretation of the law."

Mr. Vaud's personal secretary had called Marco and had asked him to come up directly. When the lift doors opened, he found himself facing a corridor decorated with beige material. The floor was covered by a thick ecru rug. Indirect lighting bathed the place in an almost natural light. Just ahead of him, at the entrance to the passage, a female employee sat at a desk made of glass and metal. She indicated that Marco should come towards her with a look. Before he had had chance to say his name, she spoke, smiling.

"Mister Marc Muneaux?"

"That's right."

"Please follow me, Mr. Vaud will see you now."

The young woman stood. She was dressed in a cream suit. The very short miniskirt showed off her toned, well-formed thighs and legs clad in stockings or dark tights.

She went ahead of Marco. He quietly took in her butt, which stretched the fabric of the miniskirt, and worked his gaze down to her heels, which pushed into the thick rug. The girl strutted like a model. She stopped in the middle of the corridor in front of a rosewood door and pushed a button. There was a vibration more than a sound and, almost immediately, a green light went on above the button as the door unlocked mechanically. The girl turned the doorknob and stood out of the way to let Marco pass.

He found himself in a huge room, lit by a picture window that covered one wall. Mr. Vaud was sitting at a rosewood desk in front of the window. The same wood had been used on the two walls next to Marco and covered a large table, obviously used for meetings.

Marco took a step forward and sensed a presence near to him. He turned his head and discovered a woman who seemed tall, despite the fact that he couldn't make her out clearly.

"Come closer, Muneaux, and sit down."

"Certainly, sir."

As he came toward the desk, the woman went ahead and round it to place herself near to Mr. Vaud. She was very tall, and definitely very muscular. Her long, straight, perfect black hair framed a determined face with high cheekbones. Her black eyes were underlined by a thick, dark eyeliner. She was clothed in a black leather leotard with gold facings. Sleeves of black netting meant you could clearly distinguish the muscles in her arms and forearms. Her waist was small and a silk miniskirt covered her solid hips. Her powerfully muscular thighs were clad in black. They were so imposing that she was stretching the leather of her high heeled thigh-length boots.

Vaud didn't bother with introductions, but Marco immediately recognised his boss's personal bodyguard. He had never seen her up close. She looked as if she might be Egyptian, and some said she had inherited some superhuman power from the Pharaohs. She had a reputation for sadistic cruelty and the rumour was that she orgasmed when she killed people with her bare hands. Mr. Vaud could not be better protected.

When Marco had sat in the red leather armchair Vaud spoke.

"You have been working here for five years, have you not?"

"Yes sir."

"And your file tells me that your superiors are more than satisfied with you."

"Thank you."

"It says here that you have a good business brain and will defend Global Trading in any circumstance."

"Er… I do my best…"

"Good, good… I am going to give you the chance to demonstrate your loyalty to the company and, at the same time, prove to you that I have confidence in you."

"Er, thank you, sir, to have thought of me…"

"No problem! I will explain what it's about. It's easy. You only have to transport a document to Lausanne."

"A document?"

"Don't worry about what it contains. It's small. But I don't want anyone to know about its movements. I want you to be discreet. It is possible that people are looking for this document… I'm sure you know how it is…"

"Yes, but…"

"But you are not a secret agent! I know! That's exactly why I have chosen you. You will not attract attention. However…"

"What?"

"However, you will not be making the journey alone. I am going to permit you to have a travelling companion. Two heads are better than one, are they not? I just want you to know, it's simply a precaution. Do you have any questions?"

"Well…"

"I see. In that case, I will let Nefertiti introduce you to your partner."

Before he had had chance to stand, the young woman was already at his side. Even with flat shoes she was more than a head taller than him. Marco was not very athletic: five foot eight and sixty kilos – he looked like a teenager next to her. She beckoned him towards a hidden door that he hadn't noticed in the rosewood wall. It opened and slid into the wall, closing neatly behind them. They were in a sort of changing room, furnished with a chair in each corner. In between the chairs were two white gloss wardrobes. The room had two entrances. Nefertiti sat down and removed her boots. She rolled up the leather like a pair of socks. She threw the boots into a corner, opened a wardrobe and stripped completely. She was naked in front of Marco. He admired her breasts, firmly planted on powerful pectorals; her chiseled abdominals; her well-defined arms and her thighs, whose imposing muscular masses rippled as she moved. She put on a golden microdress which just covered her butt and a golden G-string. She stood in front of him, dressed thus, legs slightly apart, wearing nothing on her feet. The dress was so short that Marco could see the fine fabric of her G-string fight against the bulge of her sex. She stared at him for a few moments before speaking.

"From now on, Mr. Muneaux, you should keep everything you see to yourself. If you mention or even hint to the existence of anything you see, you will not survive, Mr. Muneaux."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and slid the door open.

Nefertiti took great strides across the cold marble and he had trouble keeping up. They passed in front of several doors and for a moment Marco thought he heard a cry or a moan, but the sound was quickly stifled. Finally, they arrived in a sort of gymnasium. The room was huge, littered with machines and lots of impressive racks of dumbbells. A few metres away a young, dark woman was training, delivering high kicks to a punchbag. The blows cracked loudly, giving away the power in her thighs. Each hit brought out a sort of cloud of dust, like fog, from the bag. A man shaped a little like Marco was trying to hold the bag in position. He was having great difficulty – with each blow the bag shook, taking the poor man with it as he clung on. The girl was dressed exactly like Nefertiti, though the G-string and microdress were silver. She turned when she heard the visitors and looked at them for a moment before taking a step back and delivering a powerful roundhouse kick which literally split the bag in half, sending the smaller part and the guy who was holding on flying backwards three or four metres. He fell on his back and the part of the bag fell on top of him. The two slid a metre or two further away on the cold marble before stopping. During this time, the sand left in the large part of the bag – the part which had stayed attached to the ceiling – emptied in a cloud of dust. Nefertiti went towards the young woman.

"This is Cleo, my sister. She will accompany you on your journey."

Cleo was nearly as tall as Nefertiti, but just as muscular. Marco was still shocked by her demonstration of strength. He looked from the girl's smiling face to the guy who still wasn't moving under the piece of the punchbag. He must have got knocked out as he fell. Marco looked at Cleo's foot, the one that had kicked the bag. A perfect foot, with painted nails, stained a little up to the ankle with sand from the punchbag. The young woman held her hand out, and Marco shook it, completely spaced out.

"Hello! Delighted to meet you, Mr…."

"Muneaux, Marc Muneaux…"

Without another word, she walked to an inclined bench to do some curls. The guy under the bag started to move, trying to get out from under it. She spoke to him:

"Instead of staying under there, get me a sixty kilo dumbbell!"

The man got up with difficulty and limped towards a rack from which he took, with great difficulty, the weight she wanted. He tottered towards the group, holding it in both hands. Cleo spoke to her sister:

"And where will I be taking him?"

"To Lausanne."

"Does he need me?"

"Let's hope not!"

"Why don't I ever get a mission with some sexy guys? I always hang around with little girls! Look at him! He's nothing."

"And that's exactly why you'll have to protect him!"

Cleo sighed. Marco went bright red! He was full of confusion between these two goddesses. They thought of him as a kind of sub-human, unworthy of them. Cleo's servant arrived then, totally out of breath.

"Well you took your time! Hand it over!"

She held out her hand, elbow bent. The guy made an enormous effort and, with the help of his knee, lifted the dumbbell to Cleo's hand. She took the weight and began to curl it, all the while talking trivialities with her sister. For them, Marco no longer existed. She effortlessly did five sets with her right arm, and the same with her left. Marco looked on, disbelieving. She was exercising her arm with a weight as heavy as he was! When she'd finished, she spoke again to her servant, who had gone to sit down on a rack.

"Here, take this!"

She put the dumbbell down and put her foot on the bar between the weights. She rolled it around a little, like a footballer working on her control, before kicking it with her heel, sending it at great speed towards the guy. He had enough time to get on his knees and put his hands out to stop the object, but it had been hit too hard and rolled over his hands. The man cried out with pain. They heard the dumbbell stop at his knees with a loud crack: his knees must have broken. He cried a second time and collapsed, crying.

"Oh come on, shut up," Cleo said to him, without even going over to see how serious his injuries were. Then she spoke to the others.

"OK, I'll go and get ready. It'll take five or ten minutes. I'll meet you in the changing room."

[Fonk]

Oi will do my best, arrr.

[Author]

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