Conquer the world as your sex slaves

None can blame you for a lack of ambition. But with these powers, who can stop you?

You immediately take a bus down to Washington DC and head for the White House. The guards get a bit pissy at you rending open the steel grated gates with your bare hands. You show them their place by forcibly removing their guns, twisting and molding them over your jutting prick and blowing them to smitherines with a single jet of cum.

Head up high you march onwards, undeterred by shouting and gunfire, only occasionally stopping to toss a few officers who get too cocky through the nearest wall. It's a miracle that the flimsy building is even standing by the time you storm the Oval Office.

The President however, isn't here. Seems that word got ahead of you, and Mister Big Tie got evacuated. Then, leaning your superhuman ears towards the window, you hear rotor baldes running.

Sophie: "A helicopter!"

A high-grade military osprey, flying away at 200 miles per hour, to be precise. Unimpressed, you plow through the Resolute Desk and situate yourself squarely at the center of the large window.

Sophie: "Good thing I can cum at 400 miles an hour."

You focus and launch. The massive load crashes through the window and portions of the wall like a pressure washer through paper, flying towards the osprey much faster than it can possibly dodge. You take out both of the right side engines with a single strike, forcing the crew to launch off in ejector seats and parachutes.

Before they've even properly landed, the evacuated staff is greeted by yours truly standing above the President's head legs spread wide and the tip of your length casting a terrifying shade onto his face.

Sophie: "Your reign of feigned democracy is pathetic and unamusing. I'm taking over with a reign of honest and upfront dictatorship."

Substituting it for a gun, you *cock* your still dripping penis and bend it down towards the President's face.

Sophie: "Unless, of course, you'd rather want me to *blow* your head off."

President: "..."

You lean in towards him.

Sophie: "What say we?"

President: "-o-okay..."

Convincing the Congress to vacate their sorry asses to the unemployment office takes a bit more effort. By the time you're done there, the military has been properly informed of the situation and is willing to co-operate. Disappointed, you order them to fire missiles, tank rounds and nukes at yourself anways.

By the end of the day, you've become the totalitarian ruler of the United States of Sophie.

Of course, this is only step one of your plan: there are still 194 sovereign countries hanging about all un-conquered, and that's no bueno. You board a plane to UN headquarters in New York to showcase footage of your self-inflicted skirmish with the military.

UN spokesperson: "... naturally, after reviewing the presented film material we were rather sceptical of its authenticity. However, the recent developments in DC and the testimony of Pentagon have changed out minds."

The spokesperson looks down at his papers and clears his throat. His message is broadcast to all independent nations of the world, to billions of viewers.

UN spokesperson: "As of now, there are no weapons in existence to defend or offend against supernatural powers. We have **** but to surrender unconditionally. I hereby st- HEY!"

Sophie: "Outta my way, geek!"

You take the stage by tossing the spokesperson into the rafters.

Sophie: "Now see here. I'm not exactly the tyrannical type. I just want me some big ol' dicks and tits to party with, and... good food and booze. And you know, a palace and whatever, and also like a private jet. You know what, just... everyone does what I says but like, don't expect me to say anything. All else is business as usual."

As your words echo through the massive hall, all eyes are expectantly on you. It's a bit awkward, to be honest. You hadn't expected tyranny to garner so much idiotic gawking. Better have someone else speak for change.

Sophie: "Any questions?"

A brave journalist stands up from the audience.

Journalist: "What will become of the United States?"

Sophie: "That's *Queen Sophie the Mighty* to you, insolent worm! But I hadn't announced my title yet so whatever... As for the states, like, who cares? I think I'll just have Canada and Mexico rock-paper-scissor them."

And rock-paper-scissor you did have them. From that day on, human morality hinged on your irksome whims, and thus you could do no wrong. Living recklessly and outright self-destrucively under the safety of your immortality, you indulge yourself in the most opulent of ways: arranging massive orgies on a daily basis, commissioning full-length triple-A porn films from famous directors and animaton studios, or just having your way with anybody you encounter on the street.

Attempts on your life are frequent, but completely futile, as you are equally unharmed by chemical, biological and immunological weapons. Even after some bolsterous buckaroo manages to send an antimatter bomb into your mail, you're without a scratch. Rumours begin to circulate that you are of divine make - rumours which you embrace. A full-blown fanatical religion spawns in a matter of months, celebrating your visage and the gift of your hermaphrodite seed. Pilgrimages are arranged in hopes of being blessed with even a small sight of you. Sometimes to *really* rile up these congregations, you unload a week's worth of pent-up spunk into the crowd to fight over. Vials of your sperm are kept as relics.

As you sit atop a silk-laden gold throne, masturbating to the sight of an orgy held by the ten thousand of your favourite concubines while slurping down a soda liquor cocktail from The St. Edward's Crown, you can't help but think where it all went right.

ENDING 47 -Dick-tator-