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, defenseless 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 rabbited 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 sizzled, 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 neighborhood, 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 authorized 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 paralyzed 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 sniveling 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 galvanized 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 practice 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 rabbited 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 traveled business class and who traveled 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.
Bewertung
(0 Bewertungen)Zum Bewerten bitte einloggen oder registrieren.
Du musst eingeloggt sein um Kommentare schreiben zu können. Klicke hier um dich jetzt zu registrieren.
Impressum