Turning disadvantage to advantage                                                          
By Wes Vintner    dianestories@gmail.com 
Diane finds a most unusual way to overcome an assailant in an elevator


Just an hour's worth of paperwork to finish before that meeting with the
police first thing tomorrow morning, Diane thought to herself. She'd taken the
weekend off, but there were still a few last-minute details that needed her
attention, so here she was at 9:00 PM on a Sunday night in the empty lobby of
the Andersen Building, waiting for the elevator to take her up to her office,
Kelly Investigations, on the 62nd floor.

As she waited, Diane looked at her reflection in the mirrored wall. My face
has healed nicely, she thought. I suppose I should be thankful. It really
could have been much worse. What about the rest of the damage, she wondered—
how was that coming along? She hadn't checked for a day or so. Diane clasped
her hands in front of her and tensed the muscles in her arms and torso. She
winced. The aching spots were still too numerous to count. Well, that's no
surprise. I really got beaten up. Then she smiled just a bit to herself. But
you should have seen the other guy.

The elevator arrived at last. Diane entered, swiped her card, and pressed 62.
Just as the doors were closing, a big man in a uniform hopped on. Diane gave a
start of surprise before recognizing him as the new security guard, a tall and
well-muscled young man, probably not yet 25 years old. He had been sitting at
his desk near the door when she let herself into the building, and had
remained there as she crossed the lobby to the bank of elevators along the far
wall. He must have come over here in a hurry.

"Is anything wrong?" Diane asked.

"Nah," replied the guard, "I just think I may have... um, left a door unlocked
upstairs when the, uh, electricians did some work this afternoon."

"Oh, OK, I see. You startled me there for a moment. Which floor?"

"Floor? Yeah.... fifty-....fifty-four."

Those pauses seemed a little odd, and he was standing a bit close in a car
that could accommodate two dozen passengers, but Diane duly hit 54, pressed 62
again for her own floor, and the elevator began to rise.

They rode in silence for a few seconds. Diane noticed the guard staring at
her. He'd only been on the job for a short while, but she already had the
sense that he followed her with his eyes every time she crossed the lobby.
Well, he wasn't the first. Even when conservatively dressed, as now, in a
plain white blouse and royal blue skirt, Diane's appearance— indeed, her
entire presence— was striking. Her 5'6" athlete's body moved with a grace and
strength that had always attracted attention. Add to it a face that, at 32,
had attained a level of classic beauty; lush dark brown hair, lately cut
short; breasts full and high enough to turn the head of any man; and, finally,
an almost overpowering aura of assuredness and self-possession— yes, Diane
Marie Kelly had long drawn more than her share of stares. Some men fantasized
about her, and looked on her as a goddess. Others, overawed, masked their
feelings of inadequacy by acting like brutes or fools in her presence. And
some just stared. She could deal with the stares— and with anything else. But
right now, tonight, after everything that had happened recently, all she asked
was an hour's peace to do a little work. All right then, she thought, eyeing
the guard. Look. But please— just look.

It wasn't to be. The guard spoke. "That's a nice blouse." Damn, here we go. He
really did run across the lobby to get in here alone with me. Still, some sort
of civil response was required.

"Thank you. But it's only white. Nothing special."

"It's what's inside that makes it nice. Sexy, too."

So it's a come-on. A borderline crude come-on, at that. Ignore it. Don't
encourage him. Diane faced forward and shot a quick glance at the floor
indicator. 23. Sigh. More than thirty floors to go.

"I mean your tits." Well, that just crossed the borderline, by a mile. File
this guy under brutes and fools. Diane turned to tell the jerk to watch his
mouth when suddenly he was upon her, pushing her away from the control panel
and hitting the emergency stop button. As the elevator came to a halt, he was
already looming over her, reaching for her blouse. "Your tits, I said. Take
'em out. I wanna see 'em. I watch you every day, walking around like you own
the world, with your head up and those tits stuck out in front of you. You
like how they turn men on. Well, I wanna grab 'em. I want 'em in my face. I
wanna cum..."

A slap to his mouth shut him up. The guard stepped back, momentarily shocked.
Diane's trained mind rapidly sized up the situation. We're in a confined
space. There's no way out. The man has to be 6'2", and maybe 225 pounds. But
if he doesn't know how to fight, I'll incapacitate him in less than ten
seconds. If he can fight, that might change things. If he can fight at my
level— no, forget that. If he could fight at my level, he wouldn't be working
the late shift as a security guard. Good thing, too. One fight to the death
against a skilled man twice my size was quite enough for this summer, thank
you. And I'd really rather not kill anyone else if I can avoid it. Besides,
for all his crude talk, he looks a little nervous. Maybe I can just...

Diane heard a distinctive click, and saw the knife in his hand. Switchblade.
Wonderful. The last security guard had gone to prison for assault. Where did
Human Resources find these people? She reassessed the situation. The knife
seriously complicated matters, unless she managed to take it away from him.

"I said I wanna see your tits. Now." The voice was commanding, but his hand
trembled just a bit. She was fairly certain he'd never done anything like this
before. Best to play along for a while, then. No sense in provoking him into
some rash action.

"All right, all right. Please don't hurt me. I'll take my clothes off. But I'm
afraid..."

"Don't be afraid. Just do what I tell you and you won't get hurt."

Diane kept her eyes on the knife as she began slowly to unbutton her blouse. A
plan was forming in her mind. Learn to convert disadvantage to advantage,
that's what one of her martial arts masters had always stressed. Well, this
was a major-league case of disadvantage. A smaller woman against a bigger man.
An unarmed woman against a man with a deadly weapon. A woman who didn't want
to kill against a man who might leave her no other choice. Time to start
converting, then. She would do what he wanted. She would show him her body.
But she would also tell him exactly what had happened— to her, and,
especially, to the man who had attacked her. That should give him something to
think about. Diane addressed the guard. "No, you didn't let me finish. I'm not
afraid of you. I was about to say that I'm afraid you're going to be rather
disappointed with how I look. I'm not exactly at my best right now."

That certainly wasn't what he had expected to hear. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Off came the blouse, revealing a low-cut powder-blue bra. The guard stared.
Diane noticed that he had started breathing through his mouth. His free hand
strayed toward his crotch. No, I really don't think you're going to be able to
handle what's coming, big fella, she thought to herself.

"Well, I have a lot of marks and bruises on my breasts. On my shoulders and
back, too."

Between watching Diane disrobe and listening to what she had to say, the guard
was trying to process more information than his brain could handle. He spoke,
still staring at her cleavage. "Wh— What? How did that happen?"

"I was in a really tough fight." As Diane reached behind her for the clasp of
her bra, the guard, spellbound, lowered his knife just a bit. She thought for
a moment of making an attempt to take it from him then and there. But he
quickly raised it again, and then leaned to his right for a closer look at her
shoulder. Something had clawed her, savagely, though the wounds were healing.

"In a fight? You? With who?"

Disadvantage to advantage, thought Diane. Here goes. She removed her bra,
dropped it casually to the floor, and faced her assailant. Even when covered
with a series of fading bruises, her breasts were beautiful. The sight of her
naked torso nearly caused him to ejaculate on the spot.

"A fight with whom, did you ask? With a man sent to kill me. I had to fight
for my life."

As the significance of what Diane had said slowly penetrated his
consciousness, the guard paled. She looked straight into his widening eyes.
Her unspoken message was plain: Here I am. A smaller, unarmed, bare-breasted
woman, against a knife-wielding, bigger, stronger man. But I am tougher than
you, and more dangerous than you can possibly imagine. I am not afraid. And
you are. So now who is in control here? The feeling of power was almost
tangible. Disadvantage to advantage. Master Kwan would be proud.

When Diane spoke at last, her cool, even voice carried a tone of quiet
confidence. "You wanted to see my tits, tough guy? Well, here they are— still
all banged up from the last man who attacked me. Sorry about that. Now, what
was it that you wanted to do to them?" The guard, his mind a swirl of
confusion and fear, took three shaky steps backward, stopping only when he
bumped against the far wall. "You st-stay away from me!" he shouted.

With pleasure, Diane thought. She wasn't about to rush at him, not while he
still held the knife. And at the moment there was no need. He was frozen over
there. Might as well give him some more to think about, then. "That's right, a
man tried to kill me. It happens sometimes in my line of work. He broke into
my apartment right after I had come out of the shower. I wasn't wearing
shoes." She kicked off her shoes. "Or a skirt." The skirt slid to the floor,
revealing light blue panties, a match to the already-discarded bra. "Or even
any underwear." She let the tension build for a moment, then off came the
panties, too. Her body, despite its injuries, was magnificent. "I was
absolutely naked. And suddenly there he was. A big man— as big as you, I
think— a professional, a man trained to kill with his bare hands. He'd come
for me. There was no escape. I had no choice. I fought him."

The guard moaned.

"It was a terrible fight. I've only faced a few men that strong and that
tough. It took everything I had to kill him."

The knife fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. Terrified, he made no
attempt to retrieve it. Diane walked over, stood directly in front of him, and
carefully pushed the knife aside with her bare foot. Threat abated. She looked
up, straight into his eyes. Her nipples brushed his uniform. He felt his legs
grow rubbery as the commanding power of her presence washed over him.

"I hit him with strikes that would have left a lesser man unconscious. And he
shook them off. He threw me halfway across the room. He knocked three of my
teeth loose with a punch. I dislocated his wrist with a throw and shattered
his kneecap with a kick. It didn't stop him. He just kept coming forward. He
was that strong. But I was hitting him more often than he was hitting me. I
was a better fighter, and bit by bit I was wearing him down. I think he
realized that, because he changed tactics. He grabbed me in a bear hug and
lifted me off the ground. He tried to crush me with brute strength. My arms
were pinned. I couldn't move. I could barely breathe. I found out later that
he fractured two of my ribs. But I had to take the pain. I knew he couldn't
hold me there forever, not with all the damage I had done to him. I had to
tough it out. I had to be stronger than he was. I had to be a woman."

That did it. Her strength, her beauty, her bravery, her will, combined with
his own mounting terror— it was too much for him. The guard broke down. He
began to cry. Some of his tears fell on Diane's breasts. She never took her
gaze from his face as the warm droplets curved along the contours of her body.

"Finally he began to weaken. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. Think
of it. A big, strong man, afraid of me, a smaller, naked woman."

The guard, sobbing, slid along the wall until he sat on the floor. He looked
up at Diane imploringly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please, stop," he begged.

"Oh, no. We're far from finished. As I was saying, he began to weaken. I
wriggled free just enough to pull back and then drive my forehead into his
face. I did it again. And again. And again. Finally, I broke his jaw. He fell
backward. I landed on top of him."

Diane knelt in front of the petrified guard. She put her hands on his
shoulders and guided him down until he was lying on his back. Then she
straddled him. His chest shook as he choked on his sobs.

"He kept fighting. He grabbed my breasts and squeezed them with all his
strength. I don't know if I've ever felt such pain. Here, give me your hands.
Put them on my breasts. I want to see something. Oh, don't be shy. This is
what you wanted, isn't it? Try not to tremble so much. Yes, the fingers go
right there, where the bruises are. And thumbs on the inside. Very good. See?
That's what I thought. He was just your size, with large, powerful hands. Look
how well yours match his."

Now his entire body began to spasm as, panting and gulping for air, he came
explosively in his pants.

Diane waited until he was spent. It took almost a full minute. At last she
spoke. "Would you mind loosening your grip just a bit? Yes, that's better. You
started clutching me during your orgasm, and my breasts are still a little
sore from the fight. No, there's no need to apologize. It's a natural
reaction. By the way, the other man who attacked me ejaculated, too. Not at
this point, though. Maybe he had a little more staying power than you do. But
back to my story. Somehow I managed to ignore the pain in my breasts. Well,
not ignore it, really. I think I used it to focus my strength. I put my hands
around his throat to strangle him."

She placed her hands lightly on the guard's neck.

"As I pressed on his throat, I could feel the cartilage begin to give way
under my thumbs. He became desperate. He released my breasts and grabbed for
my hands. He tried to pull them away. I let him do it."

Diane removed the guard's hands from her breasts. She locked her fingers with
his, extended her arms, and pinned his wrists to the floor. Her breasts loomed
inches from his face.

"Because now I had him." Her voice was soft, and low, and feminine. "He
couldn't stop me. I was going to smother him. With my breasts."

His eyes filled with horror. Diane lowered herself ever so slowly. She ran her
nipples lightly along his lips, emphasizing her control, then allowed her
weight to settle gently, with his face buried deep in her cleavage. His hot,
rapid breaths warmed her flesh.

"He still tried to struggle. But he'd taken such a beating. And even the
toughest man can't fight for long without air. He finally twisted one hand
free and clawed at my back. It didn't help him. I ignored it. And he was
fading fast. That's when he ejaculated. I felt him tensing and twitching
beneath me. Not long after that he went completely still. I stayed on top of
him for a few minutes more, just to make certain that he was dead. I was in
such pain, and exhausted. But I had won. Think of it. My breasts were the last
thing he ever saw. The breasts of the naked woman who had beaten him. And he
came as they killed him."

The guard, blubbering against Diane's chest, shook with a second orgasm,
almost as explosive as the first. Again she waited for his tremors to subside.

"A naked woman just beat you, too. You are completely at her mercy. At my
mercy. I could kill you right now." He was whimpering. "I'm tempted to do it.
But I won't." She felt his muffled sob of gratitude. "But you are going to
face the consequences of what you did here. And you are never, ever, ever
going to attack a woman again. Do you understand me?" He nodded, his face
rubbing against her breastbone. "Not only is it terribly wrong— it's
dangerous. For you. You should learn something here tonight. Never
underestimate a woman. Women are very capable, and far tougher than most men.
I know you men don't like to hear that, but it's true. Look at what I did to
you just by stripping naked and talking to you. Not long ago you were
threatening me with a knife and making me take my clothes off, and now here
you are crying like a baby against my bare breasts. You tell me who the
stronger person is."

It had been a rhetorical question, but from beneath her Diane heard him
murmur, "You are."

"Yes, I am," Diane replied. Then she continued, "The man I killed— his name
was Gallagher. We had fought before, and I had beaten him. He couldn't stand
the thought of losing to a woman. He couldn't admit that a woman was better
than he was. He wanted revenge. He was obsessed with the idea of beating me
with his bare hands, the way I had beaten him. It consumed him. It destroyed
him. I destroyed him."

The guard came once more, gently this time. He hoped she hadn't noticed.

She noticed. "What, again? Someone ate his Wheaties this morning. Whatever you
lack in staying power, you make up for in resilience, I'll give you that. Good
thing, too. You might need it. I have a feeling this night is going to fill
your thoughts for a very long time."

Diane lifted her chest and climbed off the guard. As she stood, he rolled to
one side, weeping softly, and curled into a fetal position. She picked up the
knife, closed the blade, and began collecting her clothes. On went the
panties, the skirt, and her shoes. But not the bra or blouse. She needed the
one, and didn't need the other— at least not yet. Orders from a topless woman
are so much more authoritative.

"You have to stand up now— I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Joe," he replied, sniffling. He felt like a schoolboy.

"Well, Joe, if you could please stand. That's it. Good. Now put your hands
behind your back. Thank you. You don't carry handcuffs, do you? No, I didn't
think so. That's all right. We'll make do with what we have."

Diane took her bra and, with a few deft twists and turns, tied his hands
securely together.

"A little trick I learned a few years ago," she said. "You'd be surprised how
often it comes in handy. And not just in elevators." She put on her blouse,
leaving it unbuttoned for the moment. "Joe, we're going to go up to my office,
where I'm going to call my friend Sgt. Ryan. He'll come here with some
officers and arrest you. You won't give me any trouble in the meantime, will
you?" The guard, looking glumly at the floor, shook his head. "I didn't think
so. Because you should know that if you do..." She caught his glance.
"...I...will...kill...you. Painfully. And you know I can do it."

Joe the guard shuddered. Diane looked at the multiple stains on the front of
his pants. "You'll have to wait to get to the police station to clean yourself
up, I'm afraid," she told him. "I don't really care if you're uncomfortable or
embarrassed. You've put me in a bad mood. Especially since now there's no way
I'll get any work done tonight. I'm going to have to wake up really early
tomorrow morning, and I hate that."

After a moment, Diane continued, "Oh, one more thing. I do not walk around
like I own the world, and I do not stick my breasts out in front of me to make
men stare. I've been very lucky— nature gave me a good body. But I've also
worked extremely hard to keep it in shape. And I've studied for years to learn
how to defend myself. That's necessary, given what I do. Sometimes, for an
investigator, things get dangerous. I've had to fight as many as four men at
once."

Joe suddenly felt very small. He raised his eyes and looked at Diane with a
mixture of humiliation and awe. He thought for a moment that he might
ejaculate yet again, but he was at last out of ammunition.

Diane pressed a button and the elevator began to rise. "So if you feel
intimidated by a capable and confident woman, especially one who's a little
busty, well, that's your problem. Deal with it. Be a man." He reddened with
shame. It was as if she knew the thoughts he had refused to admit even to
himself. She began to button her blouse. "That means learning to accept that
she might be better, and stronger, and tougher than you are. And more than you
can handle. It can be scary to admit that, I know. But it's true. Making her
show her breasts isn't going to change that. And it might just get you
killed."

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.

To those who have read this far, many thanks. This is the first of what I hope
will be an ongoing series of Diane stories to appear on the Valkyrie site. I
have several others in the works, including one dealing with the earlier
events referred to in the foregoing narrative. -WV

Comments welcome at dianestories@gmail.com