Diana the Valkyrie

First, let me explain that this is fiction. A story by Diana. 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 someone is nasty to 
me. 

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


Nigel can't type, and I don't think he's bright enough to be able to 
Type type, typety type. I hate typing, it's so boring. The trouble is, 
I mustn't grumble. Nigel's my boss. Actually, I'm his boss, ever since 
learn. Still, I wouldn't be where I am today without good old Nigel, so 
the trip to Elay (read "Diana pulls it off"), but we don't tell anyone 
isn't my name anyway, it's Diana. And I call him Nigel, which sounds so 
about that, and it works fine. The way we work it, is he pretends to be 
my boss, except he calls me Miss now, instead of Diane, which 
much better than the "sir" that I used to use before he learned that it 
my big strong hands, either. 
would be much better for him if he did what I said instead of the other 
way round. I got the deal back after he screwed it up, and he won't 
forget that. And he won't forget what I can do to his big soft body with 

fingers. I can't really explain why it's so satisfying, but sometimes, 
You might not have read the previous stuff, so I'd better explain. I'm 
the grand-daughter of a very famous strong woman, and I've inherited her 
abilities. And I got really addicted to breaking six inch nails with my 
just knowing that at any time I could take an iron nail out of my 
they wouldn't be able to even dent the nail (I give them one so they can 
handbag (I always carry a few around with me), and break it in half, 
gives me a lift. Especially when someone's being unpleasant to me. And 
if I do actually do it, in front of a man, it completely transforms his 
attitude to me, from dominant to submissive. You see, they know that 
see that for themselves). Whereas I, a soft fluffy girl (well, that's 
playful little squeeze, just enough to hurt just a little, and with the 
the image I strive for) have such strong hands, I can bend it back and 
forth until it breaks. Then they look at my hands with awe, and some of 
them even ask if they can touch my hands, and then they feel how hard 
they are, which they hadn't noticed before, and then I give them a 
promise of plenty more where that came from. 

And it goes in a circle. I love breaking the iron nails, so I do it a 
great to reveal my power to some man in private, because of the reaction 
lot, and that makes my hands stronger, which makes it easier for me, 
which makes it even more enjoyable, so I do even more. The man at the 
ironmongery shop once asked me what on earth I did with all the six inch 
nails I was buying, so I told him I was making a model of Tower Bridge 
out of them, but I don't think he believed me. You see, although it's 
I get (I'll tell you more about that in a minute), I really don't want 
do, maybe stroke their hands a bit with mine, and so far, it's been kept 
it known publicly. Because then, how would I get dates? Who would ask 
out a girl who can break iron nails with her hands? Gran never got 
married, her friends used to say that marriage to her would be suicide, 
which is a foul canard, but a reputation like that can ruin a girl's 
life. So, when I do show someone, it's in private, and I make them 
promise not to tell anyone, and I hint what might happen to them if they 
a secret. 

forearm in my hand, and warned him not to get all macho about this, and 
The reactions. Well, they range from straight disbelief, which maybe 
takes me a few minutes to dispel, all the way down to abject worship, 
which isn't as nice as it sounds. The disbelief I can handle, because I 
just let them play with another nail, see they can't even bend it, and 
then I break it while they watch. Sometimes, not even that convinces 
them. Last time that happened, with a chap called Michael, he was 
convinced I was prestidigitating, doing a magic trick. So I took his 
force, and said "Are you sure? I don't want you to be in any doubt.", 
to tell me as soon as I was hurting him, and then I slowly increased my 
grip on his arm. You can't hurt anyone very badly that way, it isn't one 
of the soft vulnerable places, like the inside of the wrist, or under 
the arms. He held out much longer than he should have; I've a fair idea 
of how much I must have been hurting him. And he very casually said, 
"OK, I'm convinced now", but I could hear the tremor in his voice. And I 
can be quite a minx when I want to be, so I kept on increasing the 
when we rolled up his sleeve there was a big bruise, so I had to kiss it 
and he said "Yes, yes, I'm sure, you can let go now." And I pretended to 
be puzzled, and kept on squeezing, and by now it was really hurting him, 
and I said "Because I wouldn't want to have to do this again" and he 
tried to pull his arm out of my hand, which was a total non-starter, of 
course, but he was pulling and tugging desperately trying to get his 
flesh away from my fingers, and then I said "Say please" and he 
immediately said "Please, Diana, you're hurting me." So I let go, and 
better, and then I had to kiss it better again, and then he had to kiss 
never had a sexual encounter with a woman who is a lot stronger than you 
my hand, and then ... well, you know how one thing leads to another. 

The abject goddess-worship bit isn't as much fun as it sounds, because 
goddesses are for worshipping, not for kissing and cuddling and all that 
sort of thing. I'd rather be cuddled than worshipped any time. I'm not 
really into having my feet kissed, either. But then there's all the 
reactions in between, and some of them lead to nice things, nice for me 
and nice for the man, and if you don't believe me, that's because you've 
are. Believe me, there are things I can do to a man that no ordinary 
talked about work a bit; I had a couple of deals on the simmer. Well, 
woman could do. For example, imagine what it feels like to have the 
hands that can crush an apple to pulp, curled gently around your 
genitals, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you, completely beyond your 
control. Now you can maybe see why I like having such strong hands. 

Anyway, I was typing up a storm, wondering if I should tell Nigel to get 
me an assistant, and thinking that a nice helper-boy would be a great 
convenience, when this new guy in the office called Julian came up to my 
desk and said "Hello". I looked up, frowned, smiled, and helloed him 
back. Typing is so boring, any diversion is a good excuse to stop. We 
have to do to break it, is hit it hard with the top of some man's head. 
Nigel and I pretended that it was actually Nigel, but he didn't have a 
clue, and was very glad that I was coping with them. We made a good 
team, Nigel and I, Nigel acting as front man, and taking people out to 
lunch, and off to golf, and on the river, he was good at that, and me 
doing the business stuff. And as far as the world could see, Nigel was 
the sharp business executive, with me as his 
secretary/assistant, and no-one knew that I actually took home a bigger 
salary than he did, on account of the arrangement we'd agreed between 
us. They say that there's a glass ceiling for women in business; all you 

Anyway, Julian was clearly trying to make time with me, and I was 
and what a fan I was of the TV series, and how I wondered if the film 
encouraging him in the way that you do, you know, fluttering my 
eyelashes, and giving him the long adoring stare, and acting like there 
wasn't anything half so important in the world as what he was saying, 
and all the time I was wondering how long it would take him to get up 
the courage to ask me out, or did I have to make the running here? And I 
shouldn't have yawned and stretched and put my hands behind my head, 
because I know full well what that does at the front of my blouse, but a 
girl has to use whatever weapons she has, doesn't she? Anyway, I could 
see that he was rabbiting in circles, so I mentioned the new Bilko film, 
could possibly be as good as the old 50's episodes, and eventually, it 
important to femininity. So I wore a long swishy skirt, tartan, with a 
dawned on Julian that he could ask me out to see it, so I acted like the 
idea had never occurred to me, and said I'd love to, that's ever so nice 
of him, and I wondered if I could get inside his trousers on the first 
date, or whether he was the kind of slow mover that took months and 
months. Which also has advantages. 

He picked me up at home on Saturday night. I'd dressed carefully, your 
clothes make a statement. The statement I wanted to make was, I'm 
single, over 21, available, and know what it's about. I didn't want to 
go the whole hog and wear a fuck-me outfit (ultra short skirt, tight 
blouse with cleavage, spike heels, lots of make-up). I like to be a bit 
subtle about things, to have a bit of mystery. I think mystery is 
cards and my "fuck off" money. You know, you never know when you might 
big broad belt. I wore a silk blouse, which would have left very little 
to the imagination, except that I wore a tailored jacket over it, so you 
only got glimpses of what was inside. High heels, yes, but not so high I 
couldn't walk. Some make-up, blue on the eyelids and a touch of 
lipstick, but at my age, a girl doesn't need to wear much makeup. And a 
touch of subtle perfume, nothing too striking, but if you got close to 
me, your nose would get a sexy sensation of musk. A dab behind the ears, 
and a dab between my breasts, that's all it takes, plus a little bottle 
in my handbag in case I need to refresh it. I put a few six inch nails 
in there as well, because you never know when you'll need one, credit 
have to say "fuck off" to a date, and then how are you going to get 
he was amazed. 
home? I washed my hair and conditioned it, brushed it till it shone, 
then did it up in combs and ribbons. Tortoiseshell combs, real 
tortoiseshell, Gran gave them to me, and they're my prize possession. 
You might say that's cruel to tortoises, but I expect they killed the 
tortoises first, and anyway, they're antiques. Victorian. And simply 
beautiful. And a cream satin ribbon to match my cream silk blouse. I 
checked myself in the mirror, and I said "Diana, if that doesn't turn 
him on, you're wasting your time anyway". 

Julian's reaction was very satisfying. He'd gotten used to seeing me 
dressed as a secretary/assistant, you know? Business dress; low heeled 
shoes, business-like blouse, below-the-knee skirt, hair in a bun. The 
"Miss" look. Now Julian was seeing the "stunning Diana" look, and 

people in it, and ate there, and that was fun, as well. Julian and I 
You know how women can completely change their appearance to suit their 
moods? Men can't seem to do this, they always look the same, just about. 
I have a few other looks in my repertoire; "pretty Diana" with a silk 
dress, no makeup or perfume and a bonnet, and "sexy Diana", with my hair 
round my shoulders, and not much else, and no bra, and which you don't 
usually see for very long, because things happen rather fast, and "angry 
Diana", which is something you really don't want to see. 

So we went up the West End in his little car, and saw the film, and you 
might like it, but I was a bit disappointed, because Phil Silvers was so 
good as Bilko, I think, how can anyone follow that?. And then he asked 
me if I'd like a Chinese meal, so we went on to Lisle Street, and found 
a place that seemed to have more than the average number of Chinese 
hitting Julian in the chest. Julian went down to the pavement. I did 
talked about things in the office, and he talked about his brother, and 
I explained about how my job wasn't exactly what it seemed to be, but I 
couldn't tell him all the details about how I'd pulled off the deal, 
because he wouldn't have understood how a woman breaking six inch nails 
with her hands, can totally dominate a room full of men. 

Then we left the restaurant, and then as we were walking back to 
Julian's car, a man came out of an alley, and walked up to us in the 
dimly-lit street and swung an iron bar at Julian, hitting him in the 
shoulder and arm. You don't expect a thing like that, not in the middle 
of London. Julian yelled to me to run for it, and tried to wrestle with 
the man, but he could only use one arm, and he was helpless against a 
man with a big iron bar, and the man just swung his weapon again, 
think of making a run for it, but I wouldn't have gotten far in my heels 
one pull; it practically disintegrated, silk blouses aren't made to 
and long skirt, and anyway, I couldn't just abandon Julian to be smashed 
up by this brute with the crowbar. I opened my handbag, and offered him 
my credit card and "fuck off" money, which he took, then he grabbed my 
wrist and pulled me towards him. 

Oh. I think I've been in this situation before (read "Diana's rape"). 
Well, I thought, if that's what he wants, and I let him pull me towards 
him. "Please don't hurt me", I wailed, pretending to be terrified. "You 
just be a good little girlie, and you'll be fine", he said. Julian was 
lying on the pavement, barely conscious. He could see what was 
happening, but I guessed he had a broken arm and shoulder, and several 
broken ribs from the iron bar. The big brute held one of my wrists in 
his hand, and pulled me into the dark alley. Then he dropped his iron 
bar to grab the front of my blouse. He ruined my best silk blouse with 
stand up to that sort of treatment. He obviously liked the look of what 
dick, and you'd better make it good, or I might get angry" I've never 
he saw; I hadn't worn a bra this evening, relying on the jacket to play 
peek-a-boo with my breasts behind the silk. I don't really need a bra, 
I'm not that big, and I'm firm enough not to wobble, just jiggle 
slightly when I want to. So then he used his free hand to start taking 
his trousers down, there in the middle of the alley! Still, I suppose it 
was very late by now, and there didn't seem to be any people around. 

Well, I knew roughly what I had to do, but I hadn't decided exactly how 
to do it. My hands can reduce a strong man to weeping and pleading in 
minutes, but I wanted to punish this brute for what he'd done to Julian, 
plus try to discourage him from any future activities in this area. The 
courts can put people in prison, but there's nothing as educational and 
corrective as getting badly beaten up by a pretty girl. 

His trousers were round his ankles when he said "OK, girlie, suck my 
sucked dick before, and I wasn't about to start now, especially with 
He was bent double, and moaning "Oh Jesus, you've castrated me" 
this geezer, who looked bad, smelled bad and clearly had a bad 
character, as my mother used to say. The only question was, exactly how 
to begin. On the other hand, by dropping his trousers and exposing 
himself to me, he'd suggested something that would be rather fun. So I 
came closer, curled my hand softly round his genitals until he had an 
erection, then slipped my hand further down to cup his balls. Then I 
took his prick in my hand and squeezed. 

I should think a normal girl could inflict quite a lot of pain that way. 
A normal man might have a grip twice as strong, think about that for a 
moment. Now forget that, my grip is several times stronger than a normal 
man. There isn't anything hard down there, no bones, everything is soft 
and squishy. I felt it go squish in my hand, softly. I ground my hand 
around a bit, but there wasn't really any resistance there any more. 
Lots of blood, his erection had pumped up his blood pressure down there. 
So I let go and wiped my hand on his shirt. 

reaching the nerve cluster immediately, paralysing his arms and sending 
Technically not true, and I explained this to him. "No, castration is 
where I crush your balls to a gooey mess, what I just did is called 
emasculation". But he wasn't really listening, he was too busy moaning. 
"Hey, don't be such a cry baby, that didn't hurt very much." He looked 
up at me from his bent-double position. "You bitch", he said, 
demonstrating an poor grasp on reality. You say words like that to the 
woman who just emasculated you with her bare hands? Then he demonstrated 
an even greater degree of stupidity by taking a swing at me. I could see 
the punch coming half an hour before it arrived, so I just moved out of 
the way, letting his fist connect with the brick wall behind me. 

Time to get to work, Diana. I ignored his smashed-up fist and took his 
other hand in both of mine, and cracked it like a coconut. Then I moved 
closer, trying to ignore the smell, so I could get my hands under his 
arms, where they could do the most good. My thumbs dug into his armpits, 
pain like white hot fire into his body. I pushed in hard with my thumbs, 
pinching there, digging my fingers or thumbs in wherever it thought it 
and moved them around, probing for the soft vulnerable flesh under his 
arms, rupturing blood vessels, destroying nerve tissue and converting 
his arms into two useless lumps of flesh. 

I did this to the guy who tried to rape me in the park, and it's a very 
satisfying feeling, knowing that my fingers and thumbs were ensuring 
that this brute would never attack anyone again. But his arms would 
recover, eventually. Surgeons can do wonderful things with transplants 
these days. I had to penetrate to the tiny brain inside, to change him 
psychologically so that he would be a good citizen in future. 

Now, I've read the Sandi Stone stories, so I know that pain, fear and 
humiliation are the key. Pain to get his attention and cause the fear of 
more pain, fear to hold his attention long term, and to provide his mind 
with worse alternatives than the humiliation, and humiliation so that he 
would never forget the time a woman held his life in her strong hands. 

As he lay on the ground, I moved my hands over his body, squeezing here, 
would help. After a while, he stopped kicking and squirming and just lay 
hurting so much. "Please don't" he begged. "I won't ever do this again". 
there, letting me work on him. After a few minutes more, I stopped, 
because he didn't seem to be feeling any pain. I sat cross-legged next 
to him, waiting for him to recover so we could continue. After a little 
while, his eyes fluttered open, and we chatted. Well, I chatted, he 
listened. "You've been lucky today. I've emasculated you and hurt you 
badly, but I'm not going to kill you. I know lots of girls who would 
have wrung your neck for what you did to my boy friend." He whimpered, 
and I put my hands on his neck to demonstrate how easy it would be for 
me to wring it, like you might a chicken. I stroked the side of his neck 
as I explained some more. "You see, I don't tell everyone how strong I 
am, and there are lots and lots of girls like me. You've been lucky so 
far, you've never met one of us. You can't tell just by looking, can 
you?" He just groaned, so I squeezed his neck a little, to get his 
attention. "Can you?" "No", he whispered. "You see how easy it is for me 
to control your body?" I said, running my hands over the places I'd been 
"I know you won't, sweetheart. I know you won't. Whenever you see a 
terrified. "Where do you want it?" I asked. Well, it was his iron bar. I 
woman now, you'll wonder if she's like me, if she has hands so strong 
that they can do this ..." I dug my thumb into the front of his wrist. 
"Or this..." and I moved my hand down to cup his balls. "No, please, 
lady, please, I'll be good, honest I will". He was crying now, 
humiliating himself, begging me not to crush his balls in my hand. I 
gave them a little squeeze, a friendly squeeze. "Unhh", he gave a high 
pitched whine. "Now you just wait there a moment", I said to him, not 
that he could move anyway. 

I found his iron bar, not far from Julian. I checked him, his pulse felt 
strong, and his eyes watched me as I touched his wrist and stroked his 
hair. "Just a few more minutes, love" I said. I picked up the iron bar, 
and weighed it in my hands. It felt heavy, but I thought I could do it. 
I put the middle over my thigh, and pressed down the ends. I had to push 
really hard, but I felt it begin to give. I pushed harder, and the bar 
bent under my pressure. When I had it bent at a right angle, I went over 
to my new friend, and helped him sit upright , propped against a wall. 
"I've got a present for you", I said, smiling. He looked suitably 
hurt to be a possibility, leaving only Roger, a furry stuffed dog who 
touched his balls, and he moaned in fear again. His cock looked 
terrible, like it had been through a mincing machine. I touched his 
thighs, his belly, his chest, smiling, talking gently to him. Suddenly, 
there was a bad smell and a gush of liquid, as he lost control of his 
bladder. Fear does strange things to a man. I put the bent bar over his 
neck, and started to press the ends together. Doing this makes my 
breasts stand out erotically, but he didn't seem to appreciate them now. 
The ends of the bar came closer and closer together, until they almost 
met. But I kept on pushing, making them cross over, so that his neck was 
caught in the loop. As I continued to bend the bar, his neck was 
gradually being crushed in the loop of iron, until it was crossed and 
his neck was so constricted he could hardly breath. 

When I had finished his iron necklace, I stepped back to admire my work. 
Then I sat down on his thighs, and pulled his head down to my breasts, 
and rubbed his face against them. It felt nice, a bit scratchy because 
of his stubble, but quite pleasantly erotic. I started getting aroused, 
but I really didn't fancy getting off on him, and Julian was too badly 
him; after all, when someone hits you with an iron bar, it isn't very 
sometimes helps me out a bit when I need it. I wasn't sure, maybe I'd 
get off on him after all, but at that point, he decided for me, because 
there was an absolutely appalling smell, as he lost control of his 
bowels. No thank you. So I put my jacket back on, which at least gave me 
some decency, and called an ambulance for Julian. 

The ambulance arrived, and I went in it to the hospital with him. I 
didn't bother to tell them about the other guy, let him work out his own 
destiny. Julian had a broken shoulder, broken arm, several cracked ribs 
and he was in a state of shock. Poor boy. They asked me if I was all 
right, and gave me a cup of tea with too much sugar in it, thinking I 
must be in shock too. Actually, I was in a state of high sexual 
excitement, and wondering how I'd get down from there. This was the 
first time I'd beaten up a man without getting myself brought off, and I 
hadn't realised how randy it made me. I went home and went to bed, 
cuddling Roger, who is soft and fluffy, whereas I wanted something hard 
and rigid. 

Then next day, I went to visit Julian in the hospital. He started off by 
apologising to me, for not being able to handle the situation. I forgave 
someone, so I volunteered to look after him until he was better, and he 
likely that you'll be able to deal with what follows. "But you were 
magnificent, Diana. I watched the whole thing. I thought you were going 
to get raped, and I was wishing you'd run for it, like I told you, but 
then you just waded in and smashed him to pieces. I've never seen 
anything like it. He didn't stand a chance! And then you wrapped that 
iron bar round his neck, I don't understand how you did it, but I think 
you're wonderful." All of which was very nice and flattering, but it 
just made my horniness problem worse. I talked with Julian for an hour 
or so, and he told me that they might be willing to let him out in a day 
or two; apart from the broken bones, he was fine. 

I thought that was pretty brave of him, and told him so. "Not as brave 
as you, going for that bastard, Diana." Huh? What's brave about beating 
up a guy that's got half my strength, or less? Still, I didn't see the 
need to argue. I had a chat with the nurse, and she said yes, they don't 
usually keep someone in once they've been splinted and plastered, 
there's no point, as long as there's someone to look after them at home. 
I talked to Julian about this, and he optimistically said he'd find 
protested, and I just overruled his protests. He didn't argue very hard. 

I stood facing him, so he could get a good look. Then I got into bed, 
So, the next day, I picked him up in my car and drove him to my flat. 
"You can stay here for the next few weeks, Julian." As you can imagine, 
I had a few ulterior motives. I was still as randy as a goat from 
Saturday night, it wasn't going away. I got him settled on my best 
armchair, brought him coffee and the TV remote, and we watched a video. 
Then we went to bed. 

I think Julian was a bit surprised, because I've only got one bed, and I 
wasn't about to sleep on the settee, and in his condition, I wasn't 
going to ask him to. So, we would be sleeping in my bed together, but I 
explained to him "Julian, you're in no condition to start anything, and 
even if you were, you're not getting anywhere with me unless I want you 
to. So don't worry." That reassured him, I'm glad to say. It didn't 
occur to him that I might feel like raping him! I introduced him to 
Roger, and explained that he'd better not try to seduce Roger. I helped 
him get undressed for bed "Don't worry about being naked, Julian, I've 
seen plenty of naked men before." 

But he'd never seen me in my "sexy night Diana" outfit. It's silky and 
diaphanous, it flows and flatters, and it's utterly impractical. Thank 
heaven for central heating, especially in summer. Before I got into bed, 
told him how my day in the office had gone. Which was a bit unkind of 
said "Good night, Julian", and spent the next few minutes kissing and 
cuddling Roger. I had the impression that there was a raging erection 
not a couple of feet away, and I was tempted, very tempted. I could do 
something so nice for Julian, but I knew that it would leave me in a 
state of total incoherent randiness, with no prospect of dealing with 
it, because sex with a man with a broken arm is dicey enough, but broken 
ribs too? I didn't want to kill him. So I took it out on Roger, as much 
as I could. Trouble is, Roger is totally soft. Still I whispered to him 
what I'd like to do to him., and I think Julian must have been 
earwigging, because I heard groans from the other side of the bed. 

Before I left for work next morning, I made him some sandwiches, got him 
comfortable in my best armchair, made him a flask of coffee, and put the 
phone nearby in case of emergency.  But he was fine when I got home that 
evening. At work that day, I explained the situation to Nigel, and how 
the fight had made me horny, and could he help me out. "Of course, Miss, 
what would you like me to do?" Nigel's a dear, but he can be so 
thick sometimes. 

By the time five o'clock came round, Nigel had recovered enough to be 
able to get home, so I thanked him nicely, and went back to Julian, and 
have to ask me what I wanted, he'd heard me explain that to Roger 
me, because I think he'd hoped to be able to help me out himself that 
way. So I explained how I didn't think he'd be up to it for a few weeks, 
but that then we could see what he was capable of. 

Julian spent the next few weeks living with me. I was a dreadful tease, 
I'm afraid. I've always been a bit casual in the way I dress at home, 
but I took this to extremes. I suppose it wasn't fair the way I kept 
coming out of the bathroom wearing nothing except a towel. Wrapped round 
my hair. And I do love wearing sexy nighties. And I always tell Roger 
how randy I feel, and what I'd like done to me, and Julian couldn't help 
but overhear it. And while Julian was sitting watching TV, I'd sit 
breaking my six inch nails with my fingers, not really concentrating on 
what I was doing. I find it soothing, you know. 

Then, on one of the weekly hospital visits, they decided he could have 
the plaster taken off, and start getting back to normal. And when we got 
home that day, he said "Diana ...". I knew what he wanted, after all, 
I'd been flaunting myself at him for the last few weeks. And I knew what 
I wanted, too. We had unfinished business, started a month ago, 
interrupted by the mugging. 

I let him take me by the hands, and lead me into the bedroom. He didn't 
several times. I lay down, and he mounted me, and it was very nice, 
incoherently, and with tears in his eyes, tears of pleasure, not pain. I 
although not world-shaking. I've had better, although I was far too 
polite to tell him so. But then I decided to show him what happens when 
a girl like me decides to give the ultimate pleasure to a man. 

I rolled him off me, and trapped his arms between my thighs, just to 
stop him from struggling too much. Not that he could, with his ribs 
still giving him a lot of pain. I took his balls in one hand, and 
tightened my grip to the point just short of causing pain - I heard him 
gasp, and I slackened off slightly. Then I took his penis in my other 
hand, and gripped it tightly, much harder than he would have wanted. 
Then I loosened my grip, tightened it, and so on.  Meanwhile, I was 
moving my other hand over his genitals. 

He lay there, helplessly, while I brought him close to orgasm. I could 
tell where he was by  the sounds he was making. As soon as I got him 
close to the edge, I'd clamp down with my strong hands, and deny him 
release. Then, after he'd subsided a bit, I'd bring him back to the 
edge, hold him there as long as I could without letting him come, and 
again let him subside a bit. For the next four hours, he was never very 
far from orgasm; if he cooled off, I'd bring him on again, and if he got 
close to coming, a combination of pressure and just a tennsy weensy bit 
of pain would stop him. By that time, he was begging me, rather 
from my attentions in a week or two. He was perfectly capable of looking 
thought how similar this was to what I'd done to the mugger and the 
rapist, except I was being a lot more gentle, and Julian wasn't going to 
need hospital afterwards, just a good long rest. 

Then I let him come. I did it, by bringing him close to the edge again, 
but instead of controlling his orgasm, I actively encouraged it, and 
forced it to be bigger and stronger. His screams must have made the 
neighbours wonder what we were up to. I got Roger to muffle him a bit. 
Afterwards, he told me how wonderful I was, and how much he loved me, 
and lots of mushy stuff like that. Gran warned me about this, if a 
strong woman has sex with an ordinary man, he's usually hopelessly in 
love with her by the time the night's over. Anyway, I hadn't finished 
with him.  One orgasm shouldn't be enough. I worked on him for a few 
more hours, except that now, instead of trying to stop him from coming, 
I was trying to make him come as much as I could. I counted, to see if I 
could break my record. I got twelve orgasms out of him that night, 
although the last few were rather small and feeble. So I didn't break my 
personal best, which was eighteen. Gran told me she got twenty once. It 
gives you a tremendous feeling of power to be able to do that to a man. 

Next day, I took Julian back to his place. He was fully recovered from 
the mugging (apart from what I'd just done to him), and would recover 
invite a boyfriend back with him there? 
after himself. And I needed him out of my flat - after all, how could I