Sandy Comes Good

By The Mole

With thanks to Paul Smith for the use of one of his wonderful characters.

Part 01

The city breathed a sigh of relief yesterday as former super-criminal Sandy Pherson began her extraordinary month-long sentence of community sentence.

Until just two weeks ago Miss Pherson was the terror of every bank and every security company in the city.

Then Superwoman, Caroline Everson, stepped in and, rather than engage in a battle which would undoubtedly have caused catastrophic damage to the city, successfully negotiated a solution on behalf of Mayor Joseph Williams.

Sandy’s first task was a morning spent clearing up Oak Tree Park, which has sadly been the target of mindless vandalism in recent weeks, and has been left strewn with the remains of cars abandoned by irresponsible owners & joy riders.

As the assembled reporters and cameramen watched, the super-strong, super-busty blonde ex-con, dressed in a tight-fighting T-shirt & denim shorts, used her awesome strength to pick up the cars, two at a time, and load them onto the back of a double-decker car transporter, provided by the city to take the wrecks to a local scrap yard.

Members of the press watched in awe as the muscular Miss Pherson handled even the largest of saloon cars with ease, loading them one handed onto the back of the transporter, until it was at full capacity.

“I have one more yet,” Sandy called to the driver of the huge transporter. “Can’t you take it?”

The driver explained that there was no more room, but the blonde powerhouse would not be put off. “That’s okay,” she explained. “I’ll get it on.” This should be straightforward enough, she thought to herself.

Sandy walked around behind the transporter, casually swinging the final car around in her left hand. She dropped it to the ground and walked up to the car at the back of the transporter’s lower deck, grasping its rear in both hands. Then she began to push...

The air was filled with the screech of metal as car in Sandy’s hands scrunched up against the car before it. The irresistible force behind it then drove that car forward to crunch up against the car in front of that one. So it continued until the car at the very front hit the back of the driver’s cab, causing it to begin to buckle.

“Stop! Stop!” The driver of the transporter jumped out screaming. “You’re destroying my truck!”

“Ooops!” Sandy held her fingertips to her mouth in embarrassment. “I’m not used to being delicate with these soft toys. I usually just pick up an armoured car, rip it in two and take the cash. Nice and simple...”

“Well...” the driver was feeling less brave now that the immediate urgency was over, and what damage had been done was done... “It would be much better if you’d try to be a bit more careful, please, Miss.”

“I know,” Sandy’s face lit up with inspiration. “I’ll make it fit, and I’ll save those boys at the scrap yard some time too.”

No one made a sound as Sandy took the already battered saloon in both hands and slowly began to fold it in half. As if folding a sheet she had to flatten down occasional wrinkles, but the huge automobile offered no appreciable resistance. From there, the already-flattened car was folded in half again and again until it was moulded into a block of metal about the size of a suitcase.

“That should do it,” Sandy looked proudly at her handiwork. “I need to get on with the rest of my work.” And she casually threw the dense metal block onto the back of the transporter in the space made by scrunching up the other cars. The whole truck shook as the heavy metal crashed onto its rear.

“Can you see me back out please,” the driver asked, not wanting to risk reversing out onto the busy street unassisted.

“I can do better than that,” Sandy smiled. “Get into the cab and strap yourself in.”

Once the driver indicated that he was buckled up, Sandy stood at the point where the huge transporter’s cab joined to its trailer and put a hand underneath each part, selecting those areas that looked to be the strongest. Then she tentatively began to lift.

There were gasps of amazement from the assembled press behind her as both halves of the immense vehicle began to rise, accompanied by some loud groaning noises - not from Sandy, but from the tortured metal frame of the transporter, which was not designed for this kind of stress.

For a moment Sandy wondered if she’d bitten off more than she could chew by lifting the huge transporter. The weight wasn’t the problem - it was fairly negligible really - but the hold she had on the trailer was putting a huge strain on it and she wasn’t sure it would hold. She moved her hand as far along as she could, as she continued to lift. After all she couldn’t back out now, not with all these people watching. They’d think she was weak!

She’d just have to lift and hope that it held...

The groaning and creaking from the trailer increased as Sandy lifted the whole thing above her head - but it held!

Not wanting to tempt fate, Sandy turned quickly round - but not so quickly that she’d give any impression that it was too heavy for her, before gently settling it back on the ground, facing toward the front gate.

“There you go,” Sandy stepped up onto the cab and flashed a final smile at the slightly dizzy driver. “Drive safely.”

The cab driver waited until he regained his senses, and then drove off with a trailer full of cars and a story to tell his grandchildren that they just weren’t going to believe!

Sandy’s final job at the park was to remove an old oak tree, damaged beyond saving by fire after being hit by a joy rider.

All attempts so far to remove it had failed. Although dying, the old tree wasn’t quite ready to give up its place in the centre of the park.

Ready or not, however, it popped straight out of the ground after Sandy wrapped her arms around it and pulled. Walking backwards she began tearing out the roots of the tree until it was fully free of the ground.

Sandy lay the tree down and walked down its sides, pulling off all the branches and laying them by the side so that it would be easier for the city authorities to take away. Some would be turned into firewood and there were even plans to put some pieces in the local history museum...

Sandy took a moment to look around the nice tidy park and admire her handiwork, but the effect was a little undermined by the large number of cars and TV vans parked up, their passengers watching her every move. No matter, she thought. I’ll come back when it’s quieter and have another peek.

Part 02

Miss Pherson’s second act of restitution to the people of our city began with a trip to Greenford Police Station. Assembled at the station were all the weapons seized in recent months from local gangs and awaiting deactivation & destruction.

Representatives from the media were not allowed to watch Miss Pherson destroy the weapons, but a statement issued by the police described the event as “an astounding success.”

Sandy was looking forward to her afternoon duties. After doing what she considered to be little more than light housework - or should that be parkwork, she smiled to herself - it sounded like a fun way to spend the afternoon.

She was greeted with some trepidation by the duty sergeant and shown to a strongroom which contained a huge metal table. On the table were a huge array of weapons - knives, pistols, assault rifles, sub-machine guns, and even a small box of grenades.

“Normally it would take us days to deactivate these,” the sergeant explained. “And then we send them off for destruction. We would appreciate your assistance if you could speed the process up.”

“Oh, I think I can improve on that,” Sandy smiled as she picked up a knife and effortlessly balled it up into a steel-coloured putty-like mass in her hand. Dropping it with a clang onto the table she picked up a second and began to work on that one too.

The sergeant just watched in awe as Sandy squished and moulded the knives and pistols into little balls of steel. Then she started work on the rifles and SMGs - tearing away the stocks before giving them the same treatment.

“There...” Sandy smiled as she stood back and admired her handiwork. “Do you think anyone will reactivate those?”

“Uh...” the sergeant muttered nonsensically as he shook his head. Then he pointed at the box at the end of the table. “Er... duh... der grenades?”

“Mmmmmm...” Sandy licked her lips. “I’ve saved the best until last. Now, how can I dispose of these safely? I wouldn’t want to hurt your nice little police station...”

The sergeant gave no response and just looked at Sandy blankly.

“Hmmmmm... When I squeeze them, they’ll probably explode,” she pretended to think the problem through. “I need to muffle the blast somehow. I wonder how I might do that...” As she pondered, Sandy idly moulded and re-moulded the corner of the huge metal table - its steel frame flowing through her fingers like putty.

The sergeant was still blankly staring at Sandy when she appeared to come up with the answer.

“Of course!” she cried with an excited giggle and picked up the first grenade. Pulling out the pin she quickly stuffed the grenade down the top of her T-shirt. Then, ignoring the alarmed look she got from the sergeant, she pulled out her hand and grasped her breasts from the outside, pushing them together in what the sergeant thought to be a very alluring way.

In fact it was so alluring that the sergeant temporarily forgot about the grenade until he heard a tiny, muffled whooshing sound come from the front of Sandy’s T-shirt.

“N... no... way...” he uttered, his eyes by now on stalks.

“Yes, way,” Sandy laughed as she popped another pin-less grenade down her T-shirt and they heard another muffled roar. “Feels kinda nice, actually... Wanna see how it’s done?” And she pulled up the bottom of her T-shirt for a moment to let a few tiny bits of scrap metal fall out.

Not waiting for an answer, Sandy continued lifting the T-shirt, over her head, revealing her huge, luscious breasts, and laid it on the table beside her.

“You see I take a grenade,” she explained as she followed the process through once more. “I pull out the pin... pop it into my cleavage... hold my boobies around it... and then... poof!”

The sergeant found himself going weak and the knees and leaned over against the table for support as he watched Sandy strip off her T-shirt to reveal the largest breasts he’d ever seen. As he gawped, the beautiful blonde calmly picked up a grenade, removed its pin and pushed it into her enormous cleavage. Then she took hold of those wonderful, wonderful breasts and moulded them around the lethal explosive device like it was some new adult toy.

Sandy’s breasts were (easily) large enough to smother the whole grenade and soft enough to form a perfect seal around it. Yet when the explosive detonated a few seconds later they were hard enough to contain the entire blast without hurting her, and allow only the faintest of sounds to escape...

“It’s that easy!” Sandy declared, suppressing a giggle.

Sandy continued to work her way through the box until only one remained. Then a thoughtful, maybe even devious, look passed over her face for a moment as she realized that she was about to run out of toys.

“You know erm... that’s a lovely poster...” Sandy glanced at the crime prevention poster on the wall behind the Sergeant. “I’m sure it’s very... erm... helpful to people.”

The sergeant turned his head for just a moment to see what Sandy was looking at, but not for long. He wanted to get back to staring at those spectacular domes of delight on Sandy’s chest.

When he turned back, Sandy was adjusting her shorts with one hand while she held her breasts together with the other.

Moments later came the usual whooshing sound, only this time it sounded a little different - quieter, a little deeper perhaps? And it caused quite a different reaction in Sandy.

“Oooohhh, yeeeaaahh!” she cried, a grin a mile wide on her face. “Woowweeee!” Then she coughed, settled herself, and a slight look of embarrassment crossed her face. “Ahem... I... er... was just pleased to have finished my work...” She coughed again.

Sandy quickly replaced her T-shirt and made her way to the entrance. “Oh...” she turned back to address the sergeant once more before leaving. “If you get any more of those lovely grenades to dispose of, please let me know. Actually, you wouldn’t know where I could buy... er... no, I suppose not...”

As Sandy left the building, the sergeant was left with the strangest feeling that something unusual had just happened. Then he laughed to himself. The whole thing had been an impossibility anyway. Surely? He’d wake up any moment to find that it had all been a dream...

An army of journalists were waiting for Sandy outside and the moment she walked out of the door they rushed forward with their questions.

“How does it feel to be on the right side of the law for a change?” one asked, thrusting a microphone at her.

“I’m very pleased to be putting my talents to a constructive use now,” Sandy spun them the tale they wanted to hear. “And I want to thank Superwoman once again for clearing things with the authorities so that I can now live an honest and worthwhile life.”

“Of course your amazing strength has helped you make that change?” another reporter cried out.

“Well, we all have our own talents and skills,” Sandy replied. “If I hadn’t been gifted with these amazing powers I would have er... taken up computer programming or something.” That sounded better than porn star, she thought to herself.

“So you’re pleased by this sudden change in your life?” called out a third.

“Very pleased,” Sandy wished they’d all go away and leave her alone.

“So it appears I can safely say that Sandy Pherson has come good in the end,” another reporter spoke into his microphone while looking into a camera.

“Oh, I came, all right,” Sandy muttered to herself. “And it was very very good.”