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From: nobody@flame.alias.net (Anonymous)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Diana Pulls It Off
Date: 25 Aug 1996 13:21:58 GMT
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Diana Pulls It Off

(C) Diana Rhodes, 1996. 
Email me at na522623@anon.penet.fi


First, let me explain that this is fiction. A story by Diana Rhodes. It 
didn't actually happen, I made it all up. I wouldn't do a thing like 
this, but it's one of my fantasies, especially when my boss is nasty to 
me. 

If sex and violence isn't you, then don't read it. Also, if you're a 
minor don't read it. 




I quite like my job, I'm Nigel's assistant. Nigel's the main drawback of 
my job - Nigel is Something Important in the city, I've never quite 
understood why he's Important, he isn't very bright and I can't see what 
skills he has. He's got a computer on his desk, and as far as I can see 
all he's ever done on it is play golf, and he has to get me to help him 
get even that started. To do his email, he gets me to print it all out, 
and then I have to type in any answers. 

His wife doesn't understand him, or so he tells me. Sometimes he gets 
quite maudlin about it, and then he puts him arm round me, but I just 
spin out of it and move away. It's embarrassing, but I don't think he 
means any harm by it. He doesn't really need an assistant, all I ever do 
is book lunches for him, and arrange his travel. And answer his letters 
for him. And start up Golf. 

I'm not important, well, I'm important to me, but not to Nigel. I'm 
Diana Rhodes, and I inherited my grandmothers characteristics, 
especially her amazing strength - Gran was a famous strong woman many 
years ago. She could do things like lift two big men at once, bend thick 
steel bars, and so on. She showed me once how to break six inch nails, 
and I love doing that. I do a dozen each day, and when I'm nervous or 
frustrated, I can get through a whole pound. I find it soothing, 
reassuring. It gives me a feeling of power, knowing that I can break 
something that ordinary men can't even bend. 

Every morning I get the tube to work, and I see this dishy man. We've 
got as far as nodding to each other each day; another few months and 
maybe we'll give each other a little smile? I wonder if he really 
notices me, or if he just automatically nods back at anyone who nods to 
him. Sometimes I dream about him, and if he knew what I dreamed, he'd do 
a lot more than nod. 

Nigel isn't dishy. He's portly from all those lunches, and he often gets 
back tipsy, and then he's impossible for the rest of the day. He's got 
this thing he calls "dictation", which consists of me sitting with a 
pad, and him rambling on while he stares at my breasts, which aren't 
that prominent, I don't think, and I'm supposed to write it down and 
make sense out of it. By the next day, he's usually forgotten what it 
was supposed to be about, and I don't think that's the point of 
"dictation" anyway. 

When I get home, all I want to do is kick off my shoes, get into 
something comfortable, and work off the frustrations of the day on a 
batch of poor, defenceless six inch nails. My local ironmongery shop 
must wonder what I do with them. The shopkeeper asked me once, and I 
told him I used them in cooking, they add iron to your diet, which is 
good for your blood. I think he believed me for a moment, and then I 
grinned at him, and he laughed. He never asked me again. And then I 
settle down with a book, I read a lot of books. I know I ought to go out 
and get a social life, but it's all so fraught. 

I've got a routine, really. I suppose everyone does. I go through life 
mostly on automatic, except when something different happens, like the 
rape in the park. Did you read that? You can get it from the same place 
you got this. I expect most people are the same. 

Each year I go away in summer, to Cornwall. I go for walks, I sit on the 
beach and read books, I watch the sea. I can't swim, I can't seem to 
stay above the water, and I've given up. I don't like sunbathing, 
because I don't like wearing a bikini, my shoulders are too broad and my 
belly is too wide. My arms are OK, I mean, you can't see that I can 
break six inch nails and crush apples. And I'm quite pleased with my 
legs, I can wear short skirts and look good. But I do love reading. 

Nigel called me into his office. I grabbed my "dictation" pad in case we 
were going to do some more staring at my breasts, and went in. "Sit 
down, Diane". I sat down, squaring my shoulders, I can be quite a tease 
when I want to. "We're doing a deal in America, and I have to go over 
there for a week." "Don't worry, sir, I can hold the fort." "No, Diane, 
I want you to come with me. I'll need an assistant." 

Golly. America! I've heard so much about it, it sounds so foreign and 
exotic. They talk through their noses, and use funny words, and there's 
Hollywood, and New York, and Disneyland ... I brought myself back to 
here and now. Nigel was telling me where and when, and gave me a fax 
from the people we were visiting so I could make all the arrangements. 

That evening, I phoned Gran up and told her all about it. She's been 
everywhere, of course, and she did a tour of America once. "They have 
different customs", she said. "Complete strangers talk to each other. 
The food is great." Gran told me that the steaks you get in America are 
100% better than what you get here, and both of us love steak, very 
underdone, even steak Tartare, with raw egg and pepper livening up the 
raw steak. I think I eat too much. When I'm being completely honest with 
myself, I know I'm a few kilos overweight. 

And that night in bed, I told Roger about it. Before you get the wrong 
idea, Roger is a large stuffed dog, who comes to bed with me each night, 
it's so nice to have someone to cuddle and talk to as I go to sleep. I 
tell Roger everything, he's so good at keeping secrets. I tell Roger 
things I wouldn't even tell myself. And sometimes I overhear things I 
wasn't meant to know. 

We flew to America, Nigel in business class, me in economy. Nigel's 
Something Important, you see, and I'm just an assistant, and he never 
stops reminding me of the difference. He didn't offer to help me with my 
bags, of course, and I briefly thought of helping him with his, but he 
wouldn't have noticed the irony, so I didn't bother. 

We flew to California, to Los Angeles, which you call Elay. Elay was a 
big city, maybe even as big as London, but without the interesting bits, 
like no river, no palaces, no Exhibition Road. The people were as 
friendly as Gran had said, and helpful. We were staying in a motel 
outside the city, and we checked in, and Nigel went straight to his 
room, to sleep off the huge amount of alcohol he'd drunk on the plane. I 
was much too excited to go to bed, so after I'd unpacked and got Roger 
comfortable (yes, I'd brought Roger, I wasn't sure if he'd be all right 
if I left him alone for a week) I went out and had a look around. I had 
a steak, and Gran was dead right about the steaks, so I had another one. 
Then the time difference caught up with me, and I went back to my room, 
snuggled up to Roger, told him about the steaks, and fell asleep. 

Next day we had free, to recover from the journey, so I took a taxi in 
to Elay and walked round the shops. I'd expected everything to be more 
expensive than back home, but it wasn't, things were really cheap here, 
I was surprised. I bought a cashmere sweater for myself, and a pair of 
gloves for Gran, and I even found a hardware shop and bought some six 
inch nails to keep me going, I'd forgotten to pack any. Some people like 
fiddling with paper clips, some people knit, I like breaking nails. 

I didn't see Nigel until the next morning at breakfast, and you haven't 
lived until you've had an American breakfast, with New York steak, and 
corned beef (which isn't the same thing as what they call corned beef 
here), and as much coffee as you like, and eggs, and browned potatoes, 
and crispy bacon, and scrambled eggs that are fluffy, not slimy, and 
fried eggs with all sort of lovely names like sunny-side-up, and bagels-
with-lox (lox is smoked salmon). So I pigged out while Nigel nibbled on 
a croissant and looked bleary-eyed. 

I knew this was an important meeting for him, so I dressed carefully. 
Nice crisp white blouse, pearls round my neck (they aren't real, but you 
can't tell). Tailored suit, charcoal grey pinstripes, just like Nigel 
wears, except I think it looks a lot better on me, I've got the figure 
for it, he hasn't. The jacket sits well on  my shoulders, broad 
shoulders are good with tailored jackets, I like wearing those, and I 
never need shoulder padding. The skirt was below the knee, you can never 
be too modest in this sort of situation. Dark stockings, high heels. 
Businesslike, but just a little bit sexy. Nigel wore his usual city 
suit, and the bright red braces that he affects, I think it's supposed 
to be his idea of individuality. Except all the brokers in the office 
wear them. Nigel told me how to behave. "Don't say anything, Diane, just 
take the minutes." "Taking the minutes" is another of Nigel's things. It 
means sitting in on a meeting and writing down anything important that 
anyone says, apart from the cricket scores and what happened at golf 
yesterday, and the office gossip, while the entire meeting stares at my 
breasts, which honestly are nothing special, I don't even really need a 
bra. 

And they play a game called "Actions", which means that someone gets 
stuck with actually having to do something, and I write that down, and 
Jimmy's got an Action, and everyone laughs, it's like forfeits. Then at 
the next meeting, they go through the Actions, and no-one has ever done 
any of them, so they laugh again, and bring them forward, until 
eventually they decide that the Action isn't needed any more, so I 
cancel it. I expect you know the game. 

Well, this meeting wasn't like that at all. I was quite surprised. They 
had a list of things they wanted to get through, they called it an 
Agenda, I've never been to a meeting with an Agenda before, it sounds 
like a good idea, we should do the same. And there was one person at the 
meeting, whenever people started getting off the topic and talking about 
football he shut them up (I don't understand football, but even I could 
see they were talking about something different from the football that 
men all talk about here). When I say I don't understand football, what I 
mean is that I understand the rules, they're simple enough, but I can't 
understand why anyone would play such a silly game, let alone watch 
other people play it. Anyhow, they called him the chairperson, what's 
wrong with chairman? He also stopped people from breaking up into little 
private conversations, and when he did it to Nigel, I could see Nigel 
getting quite cross. 

I can tell when Nigel gets cross, he frowns and breathes heavily. And I 
could see that he was about to say something stupid, I can tell when 
Nigel's about to say something stupid, he sticks a finger in the air and 
opens his mouth. Well, Nigel's my boss, and I'm supposed to look after 
him, so I leaned back and let my jacket fall open, and that distracted 
him enough to shut him up. Then I squared my shoulders, and he 
completely forgot whatever silly remark he was about to make. 

But there's a limit to how much I can do. I didn't really understand 
what the meeting was all about, and I could see that Nigel didn't 
either, but that never stops Nigel from joining in. And eventually, 
after one contribution from him, there was a long silence, and I knew 
he'd said something completely idiotic, and the other people there 
weren't tolerant of fools like Nigel. Nigel rabbitted on, obviously 
trying to retrieve the situation, and obviously digging himself deeper 
into the hole. I couldn't really follow the meaning of what people said, 
but I could understand the tone of voice, and they were treating Nigel 
like he was a fool. Which he is, but he's used to people pretending he 
isn't. I've never understood why. There's a lot of things I don't 
understand, and who's going to explain them to me? 

By the end of the meeting, I could see that he was really upset, so like 
a good little assistant, I tried to boost his ego a bit. "They didn't 
understand what you meant, did they sir?" I asked. He glared at me. "No, 
Diane. They aren't very bright." "It was all too complicated for me, but 
I thought they should have listened to you better, you've come all this 
way to talk with them." "Yes, Diane, they should." "Well, it's their 
loss, isn't it sir?" He smiled at me, he was bouncing back nicely. "Tell 
you what, Diane. You can come out to dinner with me tonight. We'll go 
somewhere decent." Oh, great. I get to work unpaid overtime and listen 
to him whine about his unhappy lot. Part of life's rich tapestry, Diana, 
and I smiled and said that would be wonderful, and he said to meet him 
in the lobby at eight. 

I dressed for dinner. If Nigel was taking me somewhere decent, I wanted 
to look right. I wore my blue velvet dress, low cut round the neck (but 
not unduly so) to show a bit of cleavage, my fake pearls, and I 
carefully put on a bit of mascara and a touch of perfume. High heels, 
they make my legs look better, and stockings with a pattern, to draw a 
bit of attention to my legs. A ribbon always looks nice in your hair, I 
think, so I wore a blue one to match my dress. 

I waited in the lobby for Nigel, and ignored the admiring glances I got, 
well, I didn't altogether ignore the looks, a girl can enjoy being 
admired, can't she? I enjoyed it. One guy tried to pick me up, and I 
have to say that I was tempted, but I'm not the sort of girl who stands 
a guy up, so I explained I was waiting for Nigel. 

Nigel turned up ten minutes late, and looking grumpy. "Come on, then, 
let's get going" he said, and I tried to keep up with him, high heels 
aren't my forte, and my skirt wasn't very full. I tottered after him, 
and caught up with him just as he was getting into the taxi. 

The place we went to was really classy, so I was very glad I was wearing 
my posh velvet frock. The meal was lovely, the cabaret was fun, and even 
though Nigel wasn't much company, I enjoyed the evening. Nigel divided 
his time between staring glumly into his drink and drinking it. He must 
have got through two bottles of white wine; I had a glassful for 
appearances. Which meant, by the time we were ready to go back to the 
motel, he was sozzled, pie-eyed, and merry as a newt. I helped him get 
into the taxi, where he sank into the seat until we got back to the 
motel. The journey must have disagreed with him, because he was too 
wobbly on his feet to get back to his room, so I half-carried him to the 
building, and as soon as we were inside, I said the hell with this, 
kicked off my shoes, and just slung him over my shoulder and carried him 
to his room, which was easier than trying to pretend that his legs still 
worked. He rewarded me by throwing up over my lovely blue velvet dress. 
Oh, god. I dumped him on his bed and practically ran back to my room and 
spent the next half hour under the shower, scrubbing, trying to get rid 
of the smell. My dress was ruined, of course, and it was my best posh 
frock. I left it in the bath to soak with a big splodge of shampoo, but 
I didn't really think I'd ever be able to wear it again. 

He turned up next morning at breakfast looking like death. I brightly 
and loudly said "Good morning, sir!" and was pleased when he winced and 
groaned. I poured him a cup of strong coffee, and he said "Unh" and 
sipped it while I tucked in to steak, mushrooms, eggs, toast, marmalade, 
bagels and lox, and watermelon. I do like American breakfasts. Nigel 
just looked green. 

We went back to the office to continue the meeting. I was dressed very 
demurely, wearing my best silk blouse, open at the neck, with a thin 
gold chain, and a dark blue suit, with a pleated and flared skirt. I 
wore a big floppy hat to keep the sun off, and looked the very picture 
of an English gentlewoman. Nigel was quiet and subdued, listening rather 
than participating. I tried to take notes, but I couldn't follow most of 
what they said, they spoke so fast and in that funny nasal accent. It 
was all about some mega deal they were planning to do, or maybe they 
weren't. Nigel perked up over coffee, as of one whose mouth was a bit 
less like the bottom of a dead parrot's cage. After coffee, he started 
making comments in the general discussion, but they ignored him, I think 
they'd decided that he was irrelevant. I took more notes then, paying 
special attention to anything Nigel said, as I knew he would want that 
recorded. 

Lunch was a buffet, with fried chicken, small sausages, bits of fish, 
quiche, sandwiches, with orange juice and Californian Liebfraumilch to 
drink. I've never seen orange juice like it before, so thick you could 
barely pour it, lovely. Nigel, of course, opted for a hair of the dog, 
then another hair, then another. I kept an eye on him, but there was no 
way I could do anything about it, except worry about what he might get 
up to this afternoon. But then I was totally distracted by an approach 
from a rather dishy Texan, I could tell by the boots and the accent. 
When I say an approach, I mean an Approach, if you know what I mean. I 
mean, nothing too obvious, although he was admiring the gold chain round 
my neck, or something in that neighbourhood, but it was clear to me that 
if I dropped a hint like saying I was at a loose end tonight, I soon 
wouldn't be. So I squared my shoulders and let my jacket fall open a bit 
more, I can be quite the madam when I want to be. 

But then I thought of Nigel, and I'd probably be expected to go out with 
him again tonight, and be vomited over, so I didn't drop any hints, and 
my dishy Texan was just another might-have-been. 

 Back in the meeting after lunch, Nigel got more voluble and loquacious, 
the wine having loosened his tongue. And after we had afternoon coffee, 
he started speaking with that loud braying sound he gets when he's 
excited, and I think he got into an argument, but it's rather hard to 
tell with Nigel sometimes, because he often gets excited for no apparent 
reason, and he stood up and banged on the table, and I thought "Shut up, 
Nigel", but I'm much too junior to say anything like that, so I just 
crossed my fingers and leaned back in my chair and breathed in deeply, 
but not even that got Nigel's attention, and before I knew what had 
happened, he shouted at someone there, and stormed out. 

There was a silence, and everyone looked at me. What was I supposed to 
do? Was this just a ploy? No, Nigel isn't subtle. Would he come back? I 
don't know. So I smiled, and then thought, wrong move, Diana. So I let 
the smile fade, and bit my lower lip and tried to look helpless. I 
wished I could dig into my shoulder bag and get out a six inch nail to 
comfort myself with, but I knew that wasn't on. After a while, one of 
them asked me if I was authorised to speak for the company, and I just 
shook my head, no. So then they all looked at each other, and I knew 
that Nigel had blown it big time. There was an embarrassed silence, then 
one of them started talking about baseball, and then they all did, and 
then they talked some gossip about people I didn't know, and I wondered 
if Nigel was coming back, because I hadn't the foggiest idea what to do. 
Five o'clock came, and still no Nigel, so I asked if someone could call 
me a taxi, and I went back to the motel. 

I went straight to Nigel's room, to see if there was anything I was 
supposed to do. I knocked on the door, and he answered, and called me 
in. Then he went straight into a diatribe about how rotten they all 
were, and how it wasn't his fault, and straight away I knew he must have 
done a really bad blunder, because he was trying to excuse himself to 
me, of all people. So I didn't say anything except to agree with him, 
yes sir, no sir, you're quite right, and he got more and more worked up, 
and started pacing up and down, gesticulating. He stood next to me, and 
said "It's all very well for you, Diane, you don't have to worry about 
these important matters", and I thought no, and I don't get paid a tenth 
what you get. And then "You stand there looking so cool and unworried, 
can't you see what they're trying to do?" and I was worried, I really 
was, because I could see Nigel was in hot water, and he's an 
inconsiderate pig, but he's not too bad considering. And if he gets 
fired, what happens to me? So I said "I am sorry, sir, I'm really sorry 
for you" and he said "I don't want your sympathy, you condescending 
little cow", and that was uncalled for, and I wanted to cry, or at least 
explain that I wasn't being condescending, so I said "But..." "and don't 
answer me back," and he gave me a little push, and I was standing near 
the bed, so I fell back onto it, and he stood over me, looking down, and 
said "You know, I've always fancied you, Diane", and I thought "Oh no" 
as he fell on top of me and started to pull off my blouse. So I 
struggled with him a bit, but he was a lot bigger and heavier than me, 
and he had the advantages of weight, size and surprise and I could smell 
the whiskey on his breath, he'd been at the bottle. So I tried to 
wrestle him off, but he was all over me, and I heard the ripping sound 
as my best silk blouse was reduced to a rag. Then he grabbed my wrists, 
and said "You be a good girl, now, or I'll get you fired" Oh great. I'm 
not a lady of independent means, and if he got me fired, that stigma 
would make it harder to get another job, because I wouldn't have a good 
reference. So I stopped trying to resist him, I decided if he wanted to 
kiss me or something, I'd let him, it wasn't worth the hassle. I think 
they call this sexual harassment. 

So he stood up and took his trousers off, and I knew this wasn't just 
going to be a kiss, and there's no way I'm lying still for this, thank 
you very much, so I started to get up, which just meant that he could 
tear the rest of my blouse off me, plus my bra, and he looked down at me 
and said "Nice tits, Diane", and they aren't tits, they're my breasts, 
mine, and you shouldn't be looking at them, and my name's Diana, you 
bastard, you don't even know my name and you think you're going to rape 
me, and I thought about what happened to the last man who tried to rape 
me, and I knew that I didn't have to take this, no way. The worm turns, 
every dog has his day, and you can only push Diana Rhodes so far. So I 
reached up and took his hands in mine, and squeezed. 

I've already explained that I can break six inch nails with these hands, 
and I never use an orange squeezer to make orange juice. Nigel's hands 
were soft and flabby from sitting in the office and lunching too well, 
and when I crushed his hands in mine, they really did crush. I could 
feel them squeezing like a wet sponge, I could feel the cartilage that 
held the bones together give way, and I could feel the little bones 
slither and slide under my grip. I stopped before I broke anything, but 
you don't actually have to break the bones in a hand to leave it useless 
for a long time. I ground his hands in mine as Nigel gasped, he was too 
surprised to make any more noise than that. And I pulled him down so 
that he was kneeling by the bed that I was sitting on. He looked up, 
pleadingly. He looked like a little lost boy, and I felt so sorry for 
him, he'd lost this big deal, and now I wasn't even going to let him 
rape me. "I'm sorry, Nigel, you got me so frightened when you ripped off 
my blouse." "I should think so too, Diane, I think you've done something 
to my hand." Well, of course I have, you were trying to rape me, 
remember? But I said "Sorry, Nigel." I mean there I was half naked in 
his bedroom, did I still have to call him "sir"? Then the bastard just 
reached out and took one of my nipples in each hand and twisted, and 
that hurts, what did you think? So this time, instead of taking his 
hands in mine, I took his wrists, except that I put a thumb on the 
inside of each wrist, and then when I had him securely, I dug my thumbs 
in to the inside of his wrist. 

If you don't believe how much that hurts, try it gently on yourself. Now 
imaging someone doing it as hard as they can to you. Now imagine someone 
with thumbs as strong and hard as mine, thumbs that I use to break six 
inch nails, those thumbs digging into that soft, delicate place. 

This time I was really angry, he'd hurt my nipples, and he'd done it on 
purpose, and I wanted to give him that pain back. My thumbs dug into his 
wrists, into the veins and tendons on the front, where it's soft and 
your thumb sinks in if you press really hard. It's like stabbing a red 
hot dagger in to the soft flesh. So I really pressed my thumbs in hard, 
and he began to moan with pain, and when I thought he'd had enough, I 
let go and sat there, watching him. 

"You're really in trouble now, Diane Rhodes. That was assault, I really 
can get you fired now." You mean you couldn't before, you were lying? 
Oh, thanks. "Yes, you'd better start trying to make up for it." Does he 
never give up? "No, Nigel, you're wrong. You're the one in trouble, 
you're the one who needs to get worried." I pulled my shoulder bag over, 
pulled out a big nail, and rolled it in a Kleenex. Then I bent it, back 
and forth until it broke with a crack. Nigel looked amazed as I did it, 
then I told him, "You've already felt my hands on your hands and wrists, 
now you know what I can do, I can handle you like a little kitten." "You 
wouldn't dare, Diane. Anyway, you're just my assistant, you've got to do 
what I say" Oh no I don't, you arrogant bastard. Time for a lesson, I 
think. "Sweetheart, my name isn't Diane, it's Diana, like the goddess, 
can you remember that? If you can't remember that, maybe you can 
remember this" and I reached forward, putting my thumbs under his 
armpits, my legs on either side of his waist. Then I brought my ankles 
together and locked them, so he couldn't back away, and I thrust my 
thumbs hard up into the place where the nerves cluster, where the big 
blood vessels join together, into the place of maximum pain under his 
arms. 

I love that place. I love being tickled under there by someone I like, I 
love tickling people there, and it's the best place in the world to 
inflict the greatest possible pain without making a mark. I once totally 
subdued a rapist with my thumbs in that position, and I knew that Nigel 
wouldn't be able to take the agony for long. 

I held him tight with my legs as I buried my thumbs in his armpit, 
pushing up, pushing in, wiggling my thumb around to find new places that 
needed to be hurt. I just kept on digging, and the pain paralysed his 
arms, so he was unable to fight back. I pushed my thumbs deep into his 
most sensitive spot, and I moved them around to find more places to 
inflict more pain, and he was making lots of noise and sobbing. I shook 
his body slightly to increase the agony, and I knew I was doing well 
when he started crying. "Please, please stop." I kept on pushing, 
digging, doing as much damage as I could. "Please, you're hurting me too 
much, please Diana." He remembered my name, at last! So I relented, and 
took my thumbs out of his armpits. His arms just hung down by his sides, 
he couldn't move them, I'd done so much damage to the nerves. 

The tears were running down his face, tears of pain and misery, and I 
thought of all the misery he'd caused me over the years, and I felt my 
thumbs yearning for the soft, bruised flesh of his underarms. He 
collapsed forward, his head on my lap, arms dangling uselessly by his 
sides, and cried and cried. It was like a dam had burst, and let the 
unhappiness out. "Diana, you don't know what it's like for me. I know 
I'm not very clever, and all the other guys know what they're doing, all 
I can do is pretend." Didn't I know it, I've been covering up for him 
for years. "I don't understand all this financial stuff, I just know a 
few words and phrases, but I don't know what they mean. People just 
assume I must know what I'm talking about because I dress in a suit." 
Not me, Nigel, not me. "And when they started laughing at me today, and 
I didn't even understand why, and I've lost the deal now, and I'll lose 
my job, and then my wife will leave me. Oh, Diana, my life's ruined, 
just kill me now with your strong hands, just put me out of my misery." 
Sure. Grip his head in my hands, twist back and round and snap the 
spinal cord, easy, he won't resist, he can't with what I've already done 
to his arms, and then it's a life sentence for murder. No thank you. 
I've got a life to live. "Oh, Diana, you're always to capable, so 
competent and you're so strong, please help me." Why should I help this 
snivelling wimp? 

Because it could get rather good if I do, that's why. If he loses his 
job, so do I, but if he's suitably grateful, he could get me a raise, a 
big one, a decent chair to sit in, a company car - yes, this could be 
rather good. If I had Nigel under my thumb, if I offered him the carrot 
of getting him out of this jam, and the stick that my hands would 
represent, then this could be rather good. 

So I gently put an arm round his body and held him while he kneeled in 
front of me, his head on my lap, and I stroked his hair, and said "There 
there, Nigel, don't worry, Diana will take care of you. Come and sit 
down here, next to me." I helped him stand up, his arms still didn't 
work. I sat him down next to me on the bed, and put my hands inside his 
shirt. I pressed his body with my thumbs, not too hard, just enough to 
give him a few bruises, just enough to hurt a bit. I moved my hands up 
to his neck, and gently explored the soft, tender, vulnerable areas 
while Nigel sat still, afraid of what my hands might do to him. I 
squeezed gently, showing him how easily I could cut off his air, but I 
let him breathe after a few seconds. Then I moved my hands up to his 
face. "I'm going to mark you, Nigel, this might hurt a little bit." 
"Please, Diana, don't hurt me, your hands, I'm scared of your hands." 
"Yes, you're right to fear my hands, Nigel, but don't call me Diana, 
call me Miss Rhodes" I moved my fingers to the top of his cheekbones, 
and pressed hard, massaging the flesh in small circles while keeping up 
the pressure. He moaned and whined, but it didn't actually hurt enough 
to make him scream, and after a few minutes, I'd finished for now. "From 
now on, Nigel, you and I are going to have a completely different 
relationship. You'll call me Miss Rhodes, in public and in private, and 
I'll call you Nigel. When I tell you to do something, you'll obey me at 
once, without question. Do you understand?" He nodded, miserably. "But 
don't you see, Miss Rhodes, I'll be sacked for losing this deal." "No 
you won't, Nigel, I'll sort things out." He looked at me, hope in his 
eyes. "Oh, Miss Rhodes, could you? I'd be so grateful." "I don't care 
whether you're grateful or not, Nigel, you'll be doing what I tell you 
anyway, won't you?" "Yes, oh yes, yes I will, yes Miss Rhodes, yes." The 
bruises were beginning to form under his eyes, he would have lovely 
shiners soon. "Now explain to me what you know about this deal." 

It wasn't that complicated after all, they just dressed it up in a lot 
of fancy words. Company A wanted to buy company B, and they were just 
haggling about the price. Well, I do that all the time when I'm buying 
clothes. A lot of people don't do this, but after you've decided what 
you want, you don't have to pay the price on the label, you know. Most 
shops will give you a 5% discount if you just ask, and a bit of 
persuasion will put that up to 10%. And at car boot sales, prices are 
just a starting position, you haggle. I know how to haggle, the numbers 
were bigger, that's all. "Are we selling or buying?" I asked. "We're 
buying, we can go up to 120 million, and we keep 10% of each million we 
pay below that." Well, that  isn't so hard, I expect they used 10% 
because you can work it out in your head. So if I could negotiate a 
price of 100 million, the firm would get two million, not bad for a few 
days work. 

"Anything else?" I asked. "yes, there's lots more, but I don't 
understand it. Oh Miss Rhodes, do you really think you can get it back?" 
"Yes, of course I can" I said confidently, but I wondered whether all 
the other stuff that Nigel didn't understand was important. Probably 
not. When you buy something, the price is the main thing, if you can get 
free delivery, or batteries included, or that sort of thing, it's nice, 
but not really really important. Probably the other stuff was like 
batteries included. "There's a folder full of stuff in my briefcase, but 
I couldn't read it." I rummaged through his bag and found the folder, 
I'd have a go, anyway. Nigel hadn't even tried. I went back and sat on 
the bed, next to Nigel, who was lying down, and said "Another thing, 
Nigel. From now on, you don't drink alcohol or smoke. Cold turkey. Got 
that?" You have to keep things simple with Nigel. He didn't say 
anything, so I put my hands on his body, sliding my fingers round to 
rest under his arms. That galvanised him into action, and he started 
nodding "Yes Miss Rhodes, of course, anything you say, I've been meaning 
to give it up anyway." "Of course you have, Nigel. You know it makes 
sense. Now let's talk about my job." I kept my fingers under his arms, 
so that he wouldn't forget our relative positions. "You can keep your 
job." I smiled at him, he really was totally dense. I applied a little 
pressure with my fingers, not much. "I know that, Nigel. I wanted to 
talk about my salary." "Sure, you can have a ten percent raise if you 
get this deal." That wasn't just dense, that was a complete non-
understanding of the position. "Nigel, if I don't get this deal back, 
you're out of a job. If I do, you're under my thumb." and I pushed my 
fingers into his soft flesh to show what that meant." He gasped and 
whimpered, and I pushed harder, rubbing my thumbs into the places I'd 
already damaged. "No, please, you're hurting me again" and he started 
crying. After a few minutes, I stopped and let him recover. "Nigel, what 
about my salary." He opened his eyes wide and looked at me. "Double?" he 
whispered. Now he was beginning to see sense. But I wasn't done yet. 
"Lets do a few sums, Nigel. Suppose I bring this deal in, and the 
company makes a million out of it. Suppose that makes me worth, say ten 
per cent of that. What would I be worth?" Even Nigel could work that out 
in his head. "A hundred thousand pounds?" "Good, Nigel. Well done!" My 
thumbs stroked his armpits gently, touching the mangled flesh, and 
reminding him of the pain they could bring him. "Say it again, 
sweetheart." "A hundred thousand pounds, Miss Rhodes. But you can't pay 
an assistant that much ..." My thumbs pressed in, not hard, just enough 
to get his full attention. I had a difficult concept to explain to 
Nigel, and I needed him to be listening. "You'll have to promote me, 
sweetheart. You'll have to say something like, without my help this deal 
wouldn't have happened, and you're promoting me to be an executive." He 
nodded, frantically. "Yes, yes, anything you say. Oh Diana, do you 
really think you can pull it off?" I gave him a hard prod with my 
thumbs. "What did you call me?" "Miss Rhodes, Miss Rhodes, oh, Miss 
Rhodes, do you really think you can pull it off?" I smiled at him, and 
dropped my hand to rest in his lap, and was surprised to notice that he 
had an erection, in spite of all the pain I'd been giving him. "I feel 
sure I could pull it off, sweetheart." I felt his penis shrivel as he 
understood my words. "Now, we'll both get a good night's sleep, and I'll 
see you at breakfast, eight o'clock sharp, understand?" He nodded. "Now 
you're going to sleep, sweetheart" and I moved my hands up to his neck, 
found the big carotid artery, and pressed my fingers into it, blocking 
the flow of blood to his brain. After a few seconds, he blacked out, 
quietly and painlessly. 

I went back to my room, and read the folder. It wasn't very complicated, 
Nigel just hadn't read it. For a moment, I wondered whether he actually 
could read, but then I shrugged, it didn't matter really. I was right, 
it was a batteries included job. You know how when you buy a TV, they 
offer you easy finance terms? This was the same, loans from the seller 
to the buyer to help finance the deal. There was also a lot of 
incomprehensible legalese, just like on the form that you sign to buy a 
TV, and I assumed that someone had done their job and got that right, 
like one does. There was a date and some incomprehensible words, and the 
date seemed to be pretty important, so I guessed that was the delivery 
date. It all seemed pretty simple, really. So I put the folder away, 
changed into a nightie, and broke a couple of nails. Some people 
practise deep breathing or meditation, I just like breaking six inch 
nails, OK? Then I cuddled up to Roger, and told him how wonderful it 
would be if I could do this deal tomorrow, and he told me that he had 
every confidence in me, and I fell asleep. 

At breakfast, Nigel looked terrible. Two big black eyes, and he moved 
slowly and carefully, as of one who is bruised all over. His arms 
worked, I noticed, but he didn't use them much. I told him what his role 
would be at the meeting. "You keep your mouth shut and you say nothing, 
nothing at all, understand Nigel?" He nodded "Yes, Miss Rhodes, I say 
nothing." If there's something that needs signing, you sign it when I 
tell you to, got that?" There's always a piece of paper you sign when 
you buy a TV. We went into the meeting. 

My strategy for getting this deal was very simple. Men have three main 
things that turn them on, sex, money and violence. If I could give them 
two of those, they'd be happy. If I could give them all three, they'd be 
delirious. We walked into the meeting room and sat down; they were 
already there. "Nigel got beaten up last night, I'm afraid, so I'll be 
doing all the talking today." That was true, but I didn't mention that 
it was me that beat him up. There were lots of sympathetic noises, and 
"That's Elay for you" from the Texan, and I wondered whether he was free 
this evening. Nigel grinned ruefully at them all, until I frowned at him 
and he subsided. 

They started talking about the deal. After a few minutes, I held up a 
finger like Nigel used to, to get attention, and the chairperson said 
"Yes, Diana?" Time to do my pitch. 

I stood up, and took off my jacket. They had already removed theirs, it 
was quite warm in Elay. But they didn't have what I had underneath. Sex, 
money and violence. I had my second-best silk blouse on, Nigel having 
destroyed my best one. And nothing underneath. That's right. No bra. 
Until I took my jacket off, you couldn't see that, but without my 
jacket, and with my shoulders squared back, it was blindingly obvious 
that I was braless. I acted like I went like that all the time, like it 
was nothing, but they clearly didn't think so. And I smiled at them, and 
did the thing you do with your shoulders that make your breasts jiggle 
slightly, and I had their full attention. 

In my experience, you have to keep things very simple if you want men to 
understand. They even have trouble with concepts like "No" and "stop 
that", often misinterpreting them as "Yes" and "keep going". 

"Here's the thing. We represent company A, you represent company B. A 
wants to buy B. We're offering 100 million. What are you asking?" One of 
the guys tore his eyes off my breasts, and looked at me. "150". I sat 
down, and pushed my shoulders back. I know how to do this. "OK, here's 
the deal. We agree on 110, which gives us a million in commissions, how 
much commission do you get at the price?" "Half a million", said another 
guy, and a few of them frowned at him. "Right, then if we can agree on 
110, we'll split the two commissions, giving us three quarters of a 
million each." I sat back and let them digest that, talk about it, or 
look at my breasts. Most of them stayed with the third option. "Is that 
legal?" "Sure it is." "But can we do it?" "Client won't mind, it's 
inside his parameters" "But isn't it corruption" "No worse than paying a 
finders fee". They rabbitted on and on, trying to justify doing what 
they already wanted to do. Sex and money. Oh, I nearly forgot. 

While they were talking, I looked over at Nigel. He looked at me like I 
was a goddess, open mouthed. He actually understood what was going on, 
for once, and it was obvious that it was working. I smiled at him, and 
dug into my handbag. 

I pulled out one of my lovely six inch nails, and played with it a bit. 
I expect they were wondering why I carried it around with me. Then I 
rolled it up in a sheet of the yellow paper they had provided, and 
started bending it, straightening it, bending it, straightening it, 
until inevitably it broke, and I unrolled the paper and let the two 
pieces roll onto the table. Sex, money and violence. 

"Jesus. Did you see what she just did?" Discussion of the deal stopped 
dead. I pulled a few more six inch nails from my bag, and put them in 
front of me on the table. Then I looked up and round at the big strong 
men present. I didn't say anything, but the challenge was obvious. They 
looked at each other, at me, at my hands, and at my breasts. Why do men 
keep staring at my breasts? Well, I suppose I was asking for it today. 
The guy from Texas stood up and walked round to where I was. He picked 
up one of my nails, and stood holding it. 

I could see he was trying to bend it; he tried really hard. But he 
wasn't used to this, and he couldn't even dent it. "Here, let me have a 
go" said another one. "Let me". They handed my iron nails round, and all 
had a go. As they came back to me I broke them one by one, until they 
were all done. One of them said "Diana, could I keep one of those?" 
"Sure", I said, broken nails aren't much use, really. So they all 
grabbed for one, and there weren't enough to go round. I reminded them 
why we were here, "How about the arrangement I suggested? Have we got a 
deal?" They looked round at each other and nodded. The guy from Texas 
offered me his hand;  I took it and we shook hands on the deal. I 
gripped his hand a bit harder than I needed to, and he pulled his hand 
out of mine rather quickly. I smiled up at him. 

Nigel said "Ah ...", so I looked over at him, coughed, frowned, and 
wiggled my thumbs, and he shut up. "Can we break for lunch now?" I said. 
While we were lunching, I had a quiet word with Nigel. "What is it, 
sweetheart?" "I just wanted to say a few words about how this would lead 
on to a brighter future .." "Shut up Nigel. You're a pompous ass, and I 
told you to keep your mouth shut. Do I need to show you what happens 
when you make me annoyed?" "No, Miss Rhodes." "Good." 

As I was munching my way through a chicken leg, the guy from Texas came 
up to me. "That was pretty impressive, Diana. How did you do it?" "I'm 
stronger than I look. What's your name?" "Clint" "You're winding me up." 
"What?" "You're joking." No, he wasn't. Apparently, that's a common 
American name, well how would I know that? Anyway, he wanted to know how 
I did that trick. "Tell you what, Clint, you take me out this evening 
and I'll show you." He opened and closed his mouth a few times, I guess 
he wasn't used to being asked for a date. Then he tried to recover "What 
time shall I pick you up?" "Eight o'clock, in the lobby of my motel. 
I'll dress up, I expect you'll be taking me somewhere nice." He nodded. 
I smiled up at him (he was rather tall) and lifted my hands up to fluff 
up my hair, which has nice side effects inside my blouse. I can be a 
complete minx when I want to. 

We all sat down again after lunch, and started hammering out the 
details. I really wasn't bothered, we were down to talking about whether 
there would be three spare batteries or four. I let them have most of 
what they asked for. Then we had a big ceremonial signing session, and 
at last Nigel was useful, being able to write his own name where he was 
told to. Finally, we were finished. The deal was done, at 110 million, 
and we got three quarters of a million commission, I'd given away a 
quarter million. Worth every penny, I thought, especially as it wasn't 
my money. Then we all shook hands again, and I was ever so gentle, 
except with Clint, who I thought needed to feel just a little bit of 
pain, to remind him about our date, and Nigel and I took a taxi back to 
the motel. 

"Diana, you were brilliant." I sighed and turned towards him, and took 
one of his hands in mine. "Nigel ..." "Miss Rhodes, Miss Rhodes" he said 
hurriedly. "That's a good boy", I said, stroking his hand. "Now, what's 
my salary?" "A hundred, Miss Rhodes, I haven't forgotten, you've done a 
fantastic job, I don't really understand how you did it, but you were 
magnificent." I smiled at him and leaned back in the seat. I was quite 
pleased with myself. "Now, Nigel, you stay in the motel tonight, I'm 
going out with Clint. And no drinking." "Yes, Miss Rhodes. No smoking 
either." I stroked his hand again, he really was being very sweet. 

When I got back to my room, I threw myself down on my bed, and hugged 
Roger like he'd never been hugged before. "Oh, Roger, it's perfect. 
Nigel's behaving himself, he's doing everything I tell him, we've got 
the deal, I'll be on a hundred grand salary, as an executive, and now 
I'm going out this evening with Clint. What do you think I should wear?" 

My posh velvet frock was ruined, totally, beyond redemption. And it was 
the only decent dress I'd brought, I wasn't expecting Nigel to vomit all 
over it. Ah, Nigel. I phoned him up. "Nigel, we're going out shopping, I 
need a new dress, bring your credit card and meet me in the lobby right 
away." It was nice that he didn't start arguing or asking why. 

We took a taxi out to the mall, and I found a nice boutique. I told the 
saleslady the sort of thing I wanted, and she measured me, and we found 
some suitable things. Nigel sat quietly while I tried them on, and the 
saleslady remarked on how patient he was, so unlike most men. I smiled, 
"Yes, he's ever so sweet but I had to train him a bit." Eventually, I 
decided on a pretty off-the-shoulder scoop neck silk dress, all flummery 
and summery. I like the feel of silk next to my skin, what girl doesn't? 
And it clings to me and flatters my figure. Nigel paid without a murmur, 
I did have him well trained. 

Back at the motel, I sent him back to his room, and got ready for my big 
date with Clint. I knew what I'd be wearing, I'd only just bought it (or 
rather, Nigel had). The big question was, should I wear a bra, or should 
I leave them free? I decided, since he'd already seen me without, it 
would be a big disappointment if I covered them up. When in doubt, leave 
it out. High heels, every woman should wear high heels, it makes your 
legs look better, adds to your height, and makes it harder to walk. 
Black stockings, because they're sexier, and my new flowery summery silk 
dress, with no bra. A dab of perfume behind each air, a dab in each 
hollow of my neck, and a big dab in my cleavage. Clint wasn't going to 
know what hit him. 

He was bang on time in the lobby, and opened doors for me all the way to 
his car, which was a little open-top two seater. And then, voom. We went 
to a smashing little place out in the desert, and the only flaw in the 
evening was when two guys started arm wrestling, and Clint started 
asking me if I'd join in. So I told him that nice girls don't do that 
sort of thing, and anyway I didn't want to hurt them, because I couldn't 
see how I could win without taking the strength out their arms by 
crushing the bones in their hands, and that isn't a nice thing to do in 
a friendly match. As I explained this to Clint, his eyes just got bigger 
and bigger, and his breathing got noisier, and I began to get very 
optimistic about how this evening would finish. 

Clint invited me back to his place for a night-cap, and I'm old enough 
to know what that means, so I accepted, and tried not to look too eager. 
But by the time we got back, I was practically orgasmic with 
anticipation, and when he asked me if I wanted a drink, I thought, this 
could take ages, let's cut to the chase, so instead, I just stood in the 
middle of the room, unzipped my dress, and let it fall in a puddle round 
my ankles, wiggling my hips slightly to help it get past them. 

At that point, I could have been in a very embarrassing position, if I'd 
read the situation wrongly. Well, if I had misread the runes, the sight 
of my naked body must have made the difference. "Jesus H Christ, Diana." 
Clint said, looking at me. Hey, you're not suppose to just look. You're 
supposed to have an Action. I looked demurely at my feet, although 
actually I had my eyes on the front of his trousers, and we had an 
Action, I could see it. I walked slowly towards him, holding out my 
arms, and moved into his arms, turning my face up to his. 

He knew what to do, and we kissed, then kissed again. Then, just as I 
was starting to wonder where the bedroom was and how we were going to 
get there, and whether I was going to have to take the lead on this as 
well, he picked me up and carried me there. 

He laid me on the bed, and lay down on top of me. I stroked his back, 
and then slipped my hands under his armpits to caress the nerve clusters 
there that are so sensitive, the place that Nigel knew so well, although 
in a rather different way. In no time I had him bucking and squirming 
with pleasure, while his hard erection pushed at my thighs. I opened 
them to welcome him in, and his manhood pushed at the gates of my 
femininity. He lifted and thrust, and a small explosion of delight burst 
inside me. 

His hands were on my nipples and his prick was deep inside me, pushing 
aggressively forward, bringing with it sweetness and delight. A fire was 
raging inside me now, consuming my belly and breasts as his body did the 
things that men have always done to women. I encouraged him as much as I 
could, with my hands, my tongue and my cries of joy. He started to moan, 
and I knew it was time for me to start my orgasm, so I stopped trying to 
hold it back, and let it crash over me like a wave breaking on the 
shore. 

The contractions of my vagina brought him off at the same time, and the 
clenching of my internal muscles squeezed him and milked him, pulling 
spasm after spasm from his body as he came, long , hard and repeatedly. 
His spasms triggered more contractions in my vagina, and my contractions 
milked more spasms from his prick. Our bodies triggered sexual responses 
in each other that certainly he'd never enjoyed before in a woman's 
arms. Even after he stopped orgasming, after I felt his penis go limp 
inside me, I held on to it by clenching myself around him, and continued 
the milking action, more for my own benefit than for his. He was 
completely drained, but my climaxes continued to arrive. His body went 
limp on top of me, and rather than buck him up and down, I twisted us 
around so that I was on top and he was below. In that position, I could 
more easily control our lovemaking, and there was no resistance from the 
man underneath as I continued to fuck him. 

A soft prick isn't as good as a hard prick, but it's better than no 
prick at all, which was what I was used to. Roger was never half as much 
fun as this. I continued to draw him inside me, then let him slide out; 
it wasn't the same as being fucked by a hard male organ, but it beat 
cuddling Roger hollow. 

After a while, I came again, only this time my orgasm didn't last quite 
so long, but it got a lot of noise and fuss out of Clint. And then I 
asked Clint if he'd lick me off, which he said he'd never done before, 
but for me he was willing to have a go. So I turned round in bed, 
getting my vagina close to his head, and he pulled out a very creditable 
performance, considering he'd never done it before. I had another couple 
of orgasms that way, and then Clint said he really was exhausted, and 
could we rest for a bit? "Please? Please please please, Diana? Diana, 
you're really a lot of woman, you know. A hell of a lot. Too much for 
me." "No I'm not, Clint, you're the most man I've ever met." He grinned. 
"There isn't a man alive would be enough for you, Diana." 

So we held each other and murmured things. I made sure I thanked him and 
told him what a terrific fuck he was, because I'm a well brought up 
girl, and well brought up girls always say thank you. Then he told me 
what a terrific fuck I was, and I thanked him again. I ran my hands over 
his body and admired his muscles, which was a bit of a mistake, because 
he started asking me about breaking iron nails, and I had to hop out of 
bed to get my bag so I could demonstrate it again. He wanted to know how 
I did it, so I explained about the paper again, and showed him again, 
and he had another go and couldn't, so I told him he should probably 
work on his grip a bit, and he said "Diana, you know you're a remarkable 
girl." Which is nice to hear. So then I slid my hand down his body and 
told him that I wasn't sure if I could handle a second round, which was 
a blatant lie, and he said that he wouldn't dream of forcing me, so I 
said "Then persuade me", and I persuaded him, and he persuaded me, and 
we did it, and it was even nicer the second time. Not so explosive, but 
I felt it more and it lasted longer. 

Then he asked me if I'd done many deals like that, and why I'd kept so 
quiet and let my assistant screw things up, and I thought "shall I tell 
him who's supposed to be the assistant?", so I just said "Well, you know 
what men are like", which is a good multipurpose line. "Your idea of 
splitting the commissions was brilliant" he said, and I thought it was 
pretty obvious really, and he said "and you looked absolutely stunning 
in that blouse today", and I knew he didn't mean the blouse, but what 
was inside it, which made me want to kiss him, so I did. And one thing 
led to another, and pretty soon we'd completed round three. 

"Diana, are you by any chance looking for a job? We could pay you 
$100,000 if you came and worked for us." I held his cock in my hands and 
stroked it gently, and told him I'd certainly bear that in mind if I 
ever needed a job, but I was currently on about twice that, and he 
looked thoughtful. I didn't ask what he made, but I guessed it was less 
than my new salary. "You really are amazing, Diana. Has anyone ever told 
you that?" I smiled back at him, and thought no, not really, except 
Roger, and he doesn't count. And we curled up together and went to 
sleep. 

Next morning we woke up, fucked, showered together, fucked again, had 
breakfast, fucked a third time, and then Clint drove me to the motel. I 
woke Nigel up and told him to pack, then Clint helped me to pack, and we 
had a last goodbye fuck, and then Clint took Nigel and I back to the 
airport. I kissed Clint goodbye, and by rubbing my body against his I 
was able to leave him with an erection, and I knew I'd always have a 
welcome in Elay. I gave him a broken six inch nail to remember me by. 

Guess who travelled business class and who travelled economy? And it was 
Nigel's idea to swap, not mine. I got home, took Roger to bed, and slept 
most of the day and well into the night. Now I was back home, I had to 
become gentle, demure, cool, virginal Diana Rhodes again, butter won't 
melt in my mouth. 

Back at work, the first thing I did was walk into Nigel's office, close 
the door, and stand in front of him with my hands under his arms. I 
needn't have worried, he was completely docile. My job title was now 
"Negotiations Executive" and my salary was 100,000 pounds as promised. I 
wanted a company car like Clint's, and they let me have a little soft-
top Jaguar XK8. And although nominally I reported to Nigel, in practice 
he did whatever I told him. I liked that, and moreover he liked it too, 
because at last he didn't have to pretend he understood anything, and I 
did all the difficult bargaining stuff, while he just took people out to 
lunch, and to the grouse shoot, and to the cricket, and to Wimbledon, 
and all the other things that I wouldn't touch with a twenty foot barge 
pole. And occasionally, I'd walk up to him, slip my fingers under his 
arms, and give him a brief reminder of the power of a woman's hands. 

A good deal all round, really. And Diana Rhodes had pulled it off. 

Diana Rhodes, 
email me at na522623@anon.penet.fi
Or via alt.amazon-women.admirers





This story, and many others, are available via DREAMS, Diana Rhodes
Efficient Amazon Mail Story-Server.

What you do, is you send an email to na644546@anon.penet.fi. This will 
show your "From" email address, of course. The subject of that email 
should be "Request story". The content of the email should be like this: 

X-Story-code: Diana1
X-Story-code: Diana2
X-Story-code: Diana6
X-Story-code: Diana5
X-Address: <<put your email address in here>>
X-Declaration: I am over 18 years old

Then stories "Diana's Rape", "Diana pulls it off",  "Diana's Revenge" and
"Diana's Domination" will be emailed to the address you gave.

Common mistakes:

Treating DREAMS like a person who can be intelligent, instead of a stupid robot
that needs exact syntax.

No X-Address, so DREAMS doesn't know who to email the story to.

Leaving out the age declaration, or rewording it.

Get the story codes right, or else DREAMS just won't send you what you wanted. 
I suggest you use cut and paste to get it exactly right.


Here's what's available
right now:

Help file: Help01  (that's this file).
Index to all stories: Index01
Diana's Rape: Diana1
Diana Pulls It Off: Diana2
Diana's Mugging: Diana3
Diana's Therapy: Diana4
Diana's Domination: Diana5
Diana's Revenge: Diana6
... There's LOTS more! Get INDEX01 for a full listing


