Diana's Bouncer 
By Diana the Valkyrie
Introducing Fiona the Valkyrie, bouncer 


This is a work of fiction, a story, one of the Sagas of Diana the 
Valkyrie. The idea came out of a discussion with Dreadnaught. If you 
think you recognise the fictional character in this story, you're 
mistaken, I made up all the names, and if anyone in this world does have 
this name or a similar name, then it's a coincidence. 

(C) Diana the Valkyrie, 1996. Email me at valkyrie@thevalkyrie.com


Fiona walked into the casino, dressed in her bouncers outfit. She was a 
great success at the job - her powerful Valkyrie muscles and aggressive 
attitude made her ideal for the occupation. 

She look very sexy in the uniform she'd put together. The five inch 
spike heels, to raise her 5-11 to a commanding height, and give her a 
weapon that, if stamped down hard on a foot, would instantly end any 
fight. She planned not to use them, of course, on account of doing 
permanent damage to the customers was bad for business. But it was nice 
to know they were there if needed. 

Her long legs were covered in heavy duty black nylon tights, which 
shimmered and glistened with a metallic sheen in the bright lights, 
making them look hard and solid like blued steel, two hard columns of 
muscle capable of crushing any resistance, able to enforce the wishes of 
the gorgeous woman who stood on them so proudly, her legs apart as if 
they were waiting for some helpless prey to be trapped between them and 
crushed to mush. 

Her skirt was short, and you could see the large, heavily muscled, 
intimidating thighs that no man would dare to get between unless 
commanded to by the sexy female, and even then would do so in fear and 
trepidation of her intentions. Fiona was well known for her enjoyment of 
the anguished cries of a soft man defeated by the power of her legs. And 
between Fiona's thighs, all men were soft and weak, weak and helpless, 
helpless and in terrible, terrible pain. 

The skirt was navy blue, and pleated, coming down to mid-thigh. It was 
obvious why; if gave her the freedom to kick without ripping the skirt, 
kick as high as she liked, as high, maybe, as a man's head. And looking 
at the power of her legs, and the muscles of her thighs, you could 
imagine a powerful kick tearing a man's head off his shoulders, sending 
it spinning through the air like a football, bouncing slightly when it 
fell to the ground, and rolling across the room. 

Round her waist, she wore a five-stranded belt made from the penis and 
hide of a bull, a bull-whip, capable of flaying the skin from a man's 
back. She used this to emphasise her neat waist, and to control the silk 
blouse that the movement of her breasts constantly tried to pull loose. 

That silk blouse accentuated rather than concealed the two weapons 
mounted on her chest. Weapons that could take a soft man and make him 
hard, weapons that could turn a hard man to mush. She was clearly aware 
of the power of her two cannons, and flaunted them aggressively, her 
back straight, her shoulders proud. 

Her breasts proclaimed her gender, loudly and clearly. They said "I'm a 
woman", and they made you think of battering rams, saying "Get out of my 
way or I'll smash you flat", and their size and solidity made you take 
their threat seriously. 

But at the same time, a woman's breasts are for warmth and comfort, for 
nurturing and healing, and you could imagine a man in pain and suffering 
being cuddled gently to her bosom, being comforted and healed. 

You could just see those shoulders under the silk, as it clung to her 
skin; big, hard, solid shoulders like a linebacker. You wouldn't want to 
be in the line when those shoulders struck. 

But it was her upper arms that made you realise the peril you'd be in if 
you got in her way. Great writhing snakes of muscle, bulging upwards and 
downwards, looking more like a woman's legs than her arms. When you 
asked her how big they were, she'd make a fist and flex her biceps, and 
say "This big", and the fist looked so big and hard, and you thought 
about it being driven into your face or belly by those powerful arms, 
and you simply didn't feel like pursuing the subject. 

She had lovely hair, long, flowing and blonde, and people would stay 
late until closing time, just to watch her unbind the plaited bun that 
kept her hair under control, watch her shake it down around her 
shoulders and down her back, and brush it into a rippling mane halfway 
down her back. 

But while she was working as a bouncer, she kept it up in a bun, so that 
no-one could use it against her, and that also added to her height. She 
wore a long, silky blue ribbon in her hair, woven into the plaits and 
done up in a bow at the back. If necessary, she could reach up and pull 
out six feet of nylon ribbon, suitable for tying a man's hands behind 
his back, or even as a garrote. And there was a rumour that the brass 
hair ornament she wore there was actually a brass knuckle duster, but 
no-one ever saw her use it. Between the heels, the woman and her hair, 
you had six feet seven inches of violent femininity. Very violent, and 
very very feminine. And somehow, this didn't seem strange; with Fiona it 
seemed entirely natural. 

As the casino began to fill up, Fiona put on her leather jacket. She 
would explain the reason for this, if you asked her. "It's terrible 
getting bloodstains out of silk. Him Back Home says if I come back one 
more time with a blood-splattered blouse, I can jolly well wash it 
myself. So the leather jacket protects my nice blouse from blood 
spraying out of a man's nose." And it was a plus that it also protected 
her breasts to some extent from the sort of cad and bounder who would 
punch a woman there. 

Fortunately for the customers of the casino, she left the jacket 
unzipped normally, and her proud breasts pushed it forward and forced it 
open, revealing the breath-taking view within. 

Many people misunderstand a bouncer's job. Her task isn't to win fights, 
it's to prevent them. And although obviously you need to win any fight 
that starts, the fact is, once a fight has started, the bouncer has 
failed in her job. Because a bar fight will ensure a major repair cost, 
and many customers will find somewhere safer to drink. The task of the 
bouncer, then, isn't to fight. Her view is to see the customers rather 
like a flock of sheep, and her job is to protect them, which is why a 
Valkyrie is ideal for the job, Valkyries like to protect men. And Fiona 
was a Valkyrie. If you don't know what a Valkyrie is, go to 
http://announce.com/dvalkyrie and read it. 

She walked among the tables, smiling at the men playing dice and cards. 
One of them, engrossed in the game, didn't realise who she was, and 
asked her to get him a drink. She reached down to him and put her hand 
on the front of his neck, squeezing his Adam's apple, gently. "Sure, 
sweetie. How about freshly squeezed apple juice?" He looked up and 
realised his blunder. "Oh, ah, um, Fiona, oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't 
realise it was you, I'm sorry". She pulled his forehead back and stroked 
the front of his neck delicately with her small, strong, hard hand. 
"That's all right, sweetie. Don't make that mistake again, will you? Do 
you know what I could do to the soft, vulnerable front of your neck with 
this little hand? There's so many fragile things here, your larynx, your 
trachea, your pharynx, your Adam's apple. So soft, so easy to crush. I 
have to be so gentle with you, sweetie, or you'd need weeks in hospital. 
And I wouldn't want to hurt you, sweetie, would I? But since I've got my 
hand in the right place, let's just have one quick squeeze. Like this!" 
She squeezed his neck gently and walked on, leaving him coughing and 
spluttering over the table. The rest of us followed her with our eyes, 
not daring to utter a word. 

Then she sat at the bar on a high stool, relaxing with an orange juice, 
her jacket off, the men in the casino trying hard not to look at her 
legs, her breasts, or at those impressive arms. she sat, sipping her 
drink, watching over her flock like German Shepherd watches her sheep, 
looking out for drinkers that might become drunks, arguments that might 
turn into fights, and any other kind of trouble. A bouncer's main 
weapons aren't her fists and legs, she mostly uses her eyes and brains. 
The ideal way to deal with a drunk is to stop serving him booze before 
it's too late, and Fiona had the authority to cut off the supply of 
alcohol to anyone she thought had had enough. "That's his last" she 
might say of someone approaching inebriation, and from then on, he would 
only be served non-alcoholic drinks. 

"Lets have some nuts, Mike" she said to the bartender. He kept a bowl of 
walnuts just for her, and he brought them out and put them on the bar. 
"And fill this up". Mike would run the orange-pulper, and a big glass of 
thick orange juice and pulp was refilled for her. She offered the 
walnuts round, there were a few new guys in tonight. One of them took 
one, then said "Where's the nutcracker?" Fiona laughed. "A big strong 
guy like you doesn't need a nutcracker, chum!" She took a walnut and 
casually cracked it in her fist, and started picking bits of kernel out. 
She looked up and smiled, watching the newbie struggling to do the same, 
and ultimately giving up. "Hey, that must be a toughie - here have 
another." They swapped nuts, and he struggled with the new nut, while 
she cracked the "toughie" and started eating it. "I guess you must be 
doing it wrong" she said.  Us old hands, knowing her from way back, 
tried hard to keep straight faces as the newbie tried to do what the 
pretty girl found so easy. "Tell you what, chummie. You want me to crack 
it for you?" "Yes please." "OK. What would you like me to use?" "Huh?" 

And us regulars started to make suggestions. "Between your thighs, 
Fiona" "Knees" "Biceps" "Between your tits, honey" and there was a 
silence. Fiona broke the silence. "OK, limpdicks. Who's the wise guy?" 
We looked at each other, shaking our heads. None of us would be so 
stupid as to say a thing like that. Of course, it was one of the 
newbies, "Hey, no need to get your knickers in a twist, honey. I was 
only joking." "There's that word" again, she said, sliding off her 
stool. She stood up, her heels and hair making her look several inches 
taller than any of us and walked over to the newbie who had offended 
her. She walked behind him, stretched one arm round his throat, and when 
his arm came up she took his wrist and twisted it up behind his back. 
Then she leaned his stool back to the point of toppling, and spoke 
softly into his ear. "Don't ever use that word to me again, sweetie" she 
said. "Jeez, honey, I'm sorry, what do you want me to call them?" She 
twisted his arm even higher. "You call me honey one more time" said 
Fiona, and I'll tear this thing right off you. Say 'Yes' if you 
understand, sweetie." and she heaved his arm up higher" "Yes, yes, aw 
Mommy, guys, help me." "I'm not your Mommy and no-one's going to help 
you. Are you, guys?" We all shook our heads, go up against Fiona just to 
get some newbie out of trouble? She tightened the neck hold, twisted his 
arm some more, and then just released him and walked back to her stool. 
Without her support, he toppled over backwards and landed in a tangle on 
the floor. He lay there, in pain and winded, sprawled over the floor 
while Fiona cracked another walnut and popped bits into her mouth. 

"Anyone else want to call me honey?". There were no takers. Fiona 
demanded respect, and she made sure that she got it. You could treat her 
with deference, as a superior, and you could treat her as an equal. But 
try to condescend, try to treat her as an inferior, and you'd find that 
the muscles on a Valkyrie aren't just for display. 

She tossed her hair back and took another pull at her orange juice while 
the rest of us admired the view and watched the lame newbie climb 
painfully to his feet. "I'm sorry. What should I call you?" She ignored 
him, so I clued the guy in. "She likes to be called Valkyrie, you 
pronounce it Valk-ree. If she knows you, she might let you call her 
Fiona. If you mention her in conversation, you'd call her 'The 
Valkyrie', unless you know of any others?" He shook his head. "I've 
never seen anything like her before, what a woman!" "Don't let her hear 
you say that." He looked at me. "She's a Valkyrie." 

She stood up, finished her drink, and started to prowl round the casino 
again, like a big cat patrolling her territory. She smiled at each 
croupier as she passed, and got a smile in return. Some of the customers 
obviously knew her too, "Hi, Valkyrie" they'd call out as she walked 
past, her high heels clack clacking on the polished wooden floor. She'd 
acknowledge them with a nod or a brief smile as she passed. 

There was a small band playing at the far end of the room, not loud, and 
nothing too fast, with a small dance floor in front of them. I watched 
her walk up to the band, and wondered what it would be like to dance 
with two metres of sudden violence, my face on a level with her neck, 
and her strong arms round me. I could guess who would lead and who would 
follow, and I began to get aroused thinking about the Valkyrie. 

Then that band started playing her favourite Beatles songs, and I 
thought, hell, she isn't going to be angry with me just for asking, so I 
slid off my bar stool and almost ran trying to get over to her while she 
was still there, and I stopped in front of her and said "Er." 

"Great opening line, Harry, but is that it?" "Er, Valkyrie, er." I'm not 
usually shy with women, but she was so intimidating. She waited while I 
stuttered; this wasn't how I'd practiced it. "Er, Valkyrie, would you 
like to dance?" She put her hands on her hips and laughed. "Oh, Harry, 
you are confused, aren't you. Go ask one of the drinks girls, they do 
dances, $20 per dance. I'm the bouncer here, you know that." She walked 
on, and I trotted after her. "Fiona, honey, I want..." she stopped and 
whirled, facing me, frowning. Oh shit. Three mistakes in four words. How 
could I be so dumb? In one movement, she moved towards me, pulled me 
against her body, and reached out one long fingered hand, down inside my 
trousers. Oh no. The hand that could crack walnuts had my genitals 
nestling softly in her grip, and although she wasn't squeezing, my eyes 
started to water in anticipation. Well, there's only one way out of this 
situation, only one way to break the grip of a Valkyrie on a man's 
balls. "Uh, please, Valkyrie, I surrender, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, 
I'll do anything you want." "Call me 'honey' one more time, Harry, And 
tell me what you want. Your balls will crack a lot more easily than a 
walnut." Oh, I know, I know. 

"Please, Valkyrie, don't hurt me, please. I didn't mean it, I forgot." 
My eyes were watering copiously now from the pain of her gentle grip, 
and I knew she was still being gentle, because I was still standing. She 
looked down at me. "Aaaw, little man is crying, is he? Big strong 
Valkyrie has him by the balls and there's no way out? Well, little man 
should have treated the terrible Valkyrie with a bit more respect. 
Here's a little something to help you remember." 

A violent jolt of pain shot through my body as she gave me a parting 
squeeze and stalked off. I sank to my knees on the floor and doubled 
over as the pain flowed through me. I crouched there for several 
minutes, waiting for the agony to subside, until eventually I was able 
to breathe again. I looked up, and there She was, sitting at the bar, 
laughing at something. 

I picked myself up, and staggered over to the bar, I needed a stiff 
drink. As I passed her, she reached out an arm and pulled me towards 
her. "Aww, sweetie, no hard feelings, huh?" I didn't resist her pull, I 
let her tug me into her hard body and against her breasts, not quite as 
hard as the rest of her. "No, no hard feelings, Valkyrie" I lied, 
because in spite of the pain, there was part of me with a very hard 
feeling. She sensed it, and looked down, laughing. "Well, that little 
thing looks hard, sweetie!" 

How come she can call me sweetie and I can't call her honey? If I were 
making the rules, it would be the other way round. I'd call all the 
ladies "honey" or "hun", The trouble is, Valkyries seem to operate under 
a different set of rules to everyone else, and you just have to fit in 
with them. 

Then a couple of big mean looking types swaggered in, bellied up to the 
bar and started abusing Mike the barkeep for not attending to them 
straight away. And I could smell trouble, there was no way the Valkyrie 
was going to let them behave like that. I saw a few other guys shuffle 
nervously out of the way, not wanting to be in the line of fire, as it 
were. 

"Hey, sweetie" she called out in a sexy tone of voice. One if the men 
turned round, and saw a pretty girl sitting on a bar stool, smiling and 
beckoning to him. "Wanna drink?" he said to her. "I want more than a 
long cool drink, big boy. Something long and hot, something big and 
hard. You got anything like that?" He walked over to her. "Sure I do, 
honey." We all waited for the explosion, but the Valkyrie just looked 
sexier and fluttered her eyes at him. "What you got for me, sweetie?" 
she asked. "Long and hot, hard and deep, honey. I've got exactly what 
you want." "How long?" "Plenty long." "How hard?" "Real hard." 

"Talk talk talk. Them's just words, sweetie. I'm from Missouri, so show 
me." "What, right now?" "No time like the present, sweetie." "In front 
of all these people?" "Ashamed, huh? All talk, like I thought. Cheerio, 
sweetie. Nice talking to you." And she turned away back to the bar. 

We all stood quiet and watched, every man jack of us stiff as a board 
and wishing we were in that guy's place. Jesus, an invitation like that 
from the Valkyrie? I've never heard her come on so strong before. And I 
guess it had the desired effect, because the guy pulled down his zip, 
hauled out his schlong, and held it out, big and hard, for her to see. 
"Hows about this then, honey?" he said proudly. 

She glanced sideways and took a peek. Then she took another peek, and 
then she swiveled round to face him, her twin cannons aimed at his 
popgun. "Maybe if I could see it properly, sweetie, I might be 
interested. Drop your pants, let's have a good look." 

He undid his belt and let his pants drop round his ankles. The Valkyrie 
watched, a small smile on her face. "Hmm, not bad. OK for length, a bit 
skinny for thickness, nice head, like the veins. But can you back it up? 
What's the storage tanks like for that thing?" "What?" I heard a low 
moan off to my right, some guy just got there. "Let's see your balls, 
sweetie. Let's see what drives that sweet little dick of yours. Drop 
your underpants, sweetie, and let's have a look." 

By now nothing existed for the guy except his dick, his balls and the 
Valkyrie. His underpants fell round his ankles, and he lifted his shirt 
to show her. She reached out her hand, and he shuffled forward awkwardly 
to meet her, and my erection exploded into my underpants, just from 
watching them. And from what I heard around me, I wasn't the only one. 

She reached her hand gently down and curled those lovely long fingers 
round his balls. Then she looked up and around the red faces gazing at 
her in total attention. "I hope I haven't messed too many of you guys 
trousers," she said with a sexy smile. Yeah, sure. She knew exactly what 
effect she had on us. Then her fingers tightened, and the expression on 
the guys face turned from untrammeled lust to agonised shock, as he felt 
the grip of those fingers that could crack walnuts. The pain deflated 
his erection immediately, and I would guess he didn't really hear what 
she said next. 

"Sweetie, this is my territory, and the guys here are under my 
protection. You talk nice and you talk polite, or I'll show you the 
Valkyrie man-crusher. You understand?" With pain like that, I seriously 
doubt he could understand anything. He didn't reply, so she kept her 
grip on his balls, and pulled him towards her, and lifted. He went up on 
tiptoe, and she gently put her other hand on his throat, wrapping her 
fingers around it. "Now you heard what I said; I don't expect an answer, 
I guess you're not up to talking right now. But you have a little lie 
down and think about what I said." 

She pulled his balls forward again, and pushed his throat hard back with 
her other arm. His upper body swayed back, and only her grip on his 
testicles held him up. Then she let go, and he began to fall, tried to 
stagger back, tripped over the pants round his ankles, and stumbled, 
crashing to the ground, where he lay, stunned and in terrible pain from 
his half-crushed balls. 

The Valkyrie swivelled on her stool and picked up her orange juice. Then 
she turned and faced us. "Any more macho types here?" 

"Bitch!" What? The other big guy must have had a death wish. That is 
*not* the correct way to address a Valkyrie. But he rushed forward to 
avenge his friend in what the rest of us knew was a futile attack. 

She didn't bother to stand up to meet his charge; she didn't even put 
down her drink. I couldn't see exactly what happened, but her foot 
seemed to embed itself in his groin, stopping him dead and bugging out 
his eyes. Then her fist arrived to complete the job, smashing straight 
into his nose, and crushing it into a shapeless flat mess. He collapsed 
in a heap at the base of her stool, groaning in pain. 

"Oh shit" she said. "Look what he's done." We all looked where she was 
pointing. It was a place I often looked at when she wasn't watching, 
either that place or the other one on the other side. "Do any of you 
guys have any idea how difficult it is to get bloodstains out of silk? 
This is awful. Quick, Mike, warm soapy water. Harry, give me a hand." 

"Glad to," I said. You know, there certainly are dangers involved in 
hanging around a Valkyrie, but occasionally she'll do something that 
makes it all worth while. I helped her take off her clingy silk blouse, 
and managed to brush my hand against her back a couple of times, 
accidental-like. She dunked it in the bucket that Mike handed over, 
explaining "If you get it in right away, it stops the bloodstains from 
setting." The guy whose destroyed nose had splattered her with blood 
moaned on the floor, his body curled up too late to protect his balls, 
his hands over his smashed face. And after she'd taken care of her 
blouse, she glanced down at him, turned to me, and said "Harry, you call 
a meat wagon for this guy, he needs treatment." "You're all heart, 
Valkyrie" I said, and tearing my eyes away from the stunning sight of a 
Valkyrie in a lacy beige bra, went to call an ambulance. 

By the time I got back, she was looking decent again, and Sam had a 
silly grin on his face as he put his jacket back on over his naked 
chest, and we all agreed that his shirt looked far better on the 
Valkyrie than it ever had on him. "Thanks, boys," she said. "Walnut 
anyone?" 





Diana the Valkyrie 
Email me at valkyrie@thevalkyrie.com
Or via alt.amazon-women.admirers