Diana's Party 
By Diana the Valkyrie
Diana and her friends destroy the Nazis from within


This is the third story in the main anti-Nazi trilogy. You have to read 
Diana's Prof and Diana's Crusade first. This part is mostly Vicky's 
story. Warning - you might find the whole idea of spanking grown men (or 
indeed children) offensive. Because let's be clear about this - spanking 
is a form of violence. If that thought upsets you, read no further. Oh, 
and there are other scenes of violence here. And some romance. 

(C) Diana the Valkyrie, 1996. Email me at valkyrie@thevalkyrie.com



Michael: 

After a couple of days vigil at Diana's bedside, watching her comatose 
body, I began to get bored. I suppose that sounds callous, but even 
watching Diana the Valkyrie gets a bit tedious when she isn't doing very much. 
And it was pretty uncomfortable there in the hospital, sitting at her 
bedside, even with Judy to keep me company. Neither of us wanted to go 
back to the flat alone, and anyway Judy said that there was no way she 
was going to let me out of her sight, with all the dangerous things 
going on. And there was no way we were going to leave Diana alone in a 
strange place. 

But then I had a brainwave, and I phoned up Freya in Narvik. "Freya, 
Diana needs you." I gave her an expurgated summary of the situation (you 
never know who's listening in on a phone call), and asked her to fly 
down to Bayreuth as soon as possible. She arrived next day, and came 
round to the hospital. 

"Whew", she said, when she saw Diana. "She's been in a fight, for sure, 
hasn't she?". All you could see was a battered face, and arms and legs 
in plaster. I explained the situation - the Berserker rage had left 
Diana in this diabetic coma; she was stable and seemed to be getting no 
worse, but that we didn't want to leave her alone. I explained about the 
neo-Nazi's in Bayreuth, and Freya's face darkened. "Yes, we have the 
bloody Quislings in Norway as well." Of course - Vidkun Quisling, the 
hated Norwegian traitor who helped the Nazis when they invaded Norway. 

"Freya, could you stay here and keep an eye on Diana - Judy and I have 
some things to do." "I bet you do", she said, laughing. "Go on, I'll 
stay with Diana. She'll be fine." 

So Judy and I went back to the flat, showered together, which was rather 
fun, then went to bed. I just wanted to sleep, but Judy wasn't having 
any of that, and forced me to have sex with her. She didn't have to 
force me very hard, of course. And it felt good, in spite of my broken 
ribs, because Judy's a professional nurse, and knows how to keep off 
broken ribs. It felt very good. 

I'm not sure why this is, but Valkyries seem to be especially good at 
giving pleasure to men (and taking it, of course). I have a few theories 
about this. Partly it's the severe sense of helplessness you get when 
you feel how firm and hard their bodies are; that two inch layer of 
muscle they have makes me feel as weak as water. And they all seem to 
want the man on top, even though it's obvious that the dominant partner 
is the Valkyrie. Somehow, being on top makes you feel even more 
submissive. 

More important, I think, is the way they get aroused so easily. One of 
these days, I'll do a proper scientific study of this, using double 
blind experiments. But until then, I can only report the anecdotal 
evidence that I've discovered; call it a hypothesis if you will. But it 
seems that if you rub a Valkyrie's belly, then move up to the undersides 
of her breasts, and then her nipples, she'll get sexually aroused every 
time - you can see their nipples stiffen, and smell the odour of aroused 
womanhood. Of course, we'd have to try this on a sample of Valkyries, 
and then on a sample of normal women, with the man doing the experiment 
kept ignorant of what sort of woman he was with to avoid user 
expectations biasing the result. I thought this would be an experiment I 
might carry out myself some time. Oh, the sacrifices that we scientists 
have to make. I wonder if Judy would allow it? Well, I can dream, can't 
I? 

The next day, we went to meet Vicky, at the headquarters of the WW2SS, 
the World War Two Study Society. In just a few days, she'd worked a 
considerable transformation. The first surprise was when we were ushered 
into her office - she had her two dogs there, Eric and the one whose 
name I didn't know. Except that they weren't dogs, not quite. They 
barked like dogs, they behaved like dogs, but they were actually the two 
men she'd converted back in England. She'd left them with Diana's boys, 
and as soon as she could she'd sent for them. They'd been very glad to 
see her, well, you know what dogs are like, and were curled up 
contentedly round her feet. She stood up when we came into the room, and 
told one of her dogs (Eric, actually) to close the door, which he did 
with his nose. Well trained, those dogs. Well, I suppose it's easy to 
train them to do human-like tricks, it must have been the other way 
round that was difficult. I wonder how she did it? 

She didn't look like a Valkyrie. I suppose I've got used to the look 
that Diana favours, and which Judy seems to have copied; thin blouse and 
short skirt. Vicky was dressed entirely differently; top to toe in black 
leather. She looked rather fetching, actually, although I probably 
wouldn't have thought that if Judy hadn't been close by. I reached out 
and touched her hand, for a bit of reassurance. 

Vicky had a leather jacket, figure hugging and tightly belted around 
her, but you could see the white of her blouse near the neck. Below the 
waist she wore a tight black leather skirt, that came just down to a 
little below her knees. And she was wearing leather jackboots, with 
three inch heels, the boots coming nearly up to her knee. Between the 
boots and the skirt, she was showing a couple of inches of leg, and she 
managed to make it look very erotic. She walked towards me, and then I 
noticed the short whip in her hand. I couldn't help myself, I sort of 
edged closer to Judy. But Vicky wasn't having any of that, and she just 
walked straight up to me, pulled me away from Judy, wrapped her arms 
round me and started kissing me. I struggled a bit at first, because I 
didn't want Judy to get the wrong idea, but there really is no point 
struggling when a Valkyrie is kissing you, so after a little while, I 
just gave up and kissed her back. 

Eventually, Judy pulled us apart, saying "Come on, Vicky, we can't stay 
long. We're just here to see how things are going, and to find out if 
you need any help. Freya's in town, she's with Diana right now, and we 
could send her round if you need assistance." Vicky laughed. "Honestly, 
Judy, Fraulein Ingrid had them all so cowed and frightened, all I had to 
do was to beat up a few of them, put my legs round a couple more, and 
the rest just wimped out. I think getting the dogs round helped quite a 
lot. It's not that they're fierce or anything, I think it's that the 
guys here don't much fancy becoming dogs themselves. Although I've 
noticed one or two looking at me with their tongues hanging out. They 
call me `Fraulein Victoria', and they seem to have pretty much taken me 
as a substitute for Ingrid. A few of them gave me some problems at 
first, but I showed them what a Valkyrie can do to a man, and they've 
settled down." 

"So you won't be needing any help from Freya?" "No, honestly Judy, 
without Ingrid, they're just a bunch of men. I can't see why it would 
take more than one Valkyrie to handle them." I chipped in. "And are you 
getting enough, er ..." "Sex? Well, if I get lonely, I've always got the 
dogs. You'd be amazed how well trained they are with their tongues." No, 
I don't think I would be amazed. "What about the weekly meeting?" I 
asked. Vicky frowned. "Yes, that's going to be a bit tricky. I think 
they've gotten used to seeing a woman killing men with her thighs. I'm 
going to have to be a bit nasty, I think, I can't just change things all 
at once." "But you wouldn't actually kill ...?" Vicky smiled at me. You 
know the way a cat smiles at a mouse? And rubbed my nose with her whip, 
and I was *very* glad that I could feel the solid body of Judy just 
behind me. "No, I'll just draw blood. That should keep them happy. Maybe 
break a bone or two." I feel sure that Diana wouldn't approve of this, 
but I kept quiet. This was Vicky's call. "Well, if there's nothing else, 
we'll be going back to the hospital, to be with Diana." 



"There is one more thing," said Vicky. "What's that?" I asked. "Hold 
him, Judy" and she started to take off her jacket. Judy treacherously 
wrapped her arms round me from behind, squeezing me helplessly in her 
grasp. "Gently, Vicky, he's got a broken rib". Two, actually. Under her 
leather jacket, she was wearing a Valkyrie-type blouse, soft and 
clinging to her hard body. Then she pulled down her skirt, and stripped 
off her panties. I moaned softly, knowing what was about to happen. 
"Please, Judy, no" but she knew I didn't mean it. Judy was holding me in 
the grip I'd come to know rather well, my hands behind my back, legs 
trapped by one of hers, and my back bent so that my groin was sticking 
out in front. It isn't painful, but you feel so utterly vulnerable in 
this position, which is partly why Valkyries love it so much. The sight 
of Vicky and the feel of Judy behind me had given me a raging erection 
by now, so all Vicky had to do was lift one leg onto my shoulder and 
impale herself on my penis without putting any pressure on my broken 
ribs. Then Judy pushed me forward, Vicky pushed me back, and they kept 
up this rhythm until I screamed out my orgasm into Vicky's ear, then 
dissolved back into Judy's arms. 

When we got back to the flat, I told her she'd been a traitor, holding 
me while Vicky raped me. She pointed out that I hadn't exactly 
struggled, and besides, what about all those times that Vicky had fucked 
me without Judy's help. So I said "That was different, you weren't 
here", and she said "I'm here now", and one thing led to another, and if 
you haven't had sex with a Valkyrie, you have no idea what it's like. 
Afterwards, Judy explained that Vicky had not been having proper sex, 
just being licked is no substitute for a hard penis inside you. Judy 
said, I hasten to add. And she thought Vicky needed it badly, and surely 
I didn't begrudge her one measly fuck? "Well, no, but I'd been saving 
that one for you, Judy", and she said "Well never mind, I'll have this 
one instead", and I struggled a bit, but not very much as she made a 
determined effort to turn me inside out again. 

After a while she woke me up, and suggested that it was time to get back 
to the hospital, so we had one more for the road, soft and gentle, then 
filled a bag up with goodies for Freya, and went back to see Diana. 

She still looked awful. Black eyes, broken nose, split lip. And that was 
just above the neck. Her chest was one mammoth bruise, broken arms, legs 
and ribs, and I knew how painful broken ribs were. Did you know they 
don't do anything for broken ribs, no plaster, nothing? They just tell 
you not to get into any fights for a while, or do any strenuous 
exercise. As if you can stick to that when there are Valkyries around. 

We sent Freya off to get some food and sleep and Judy and I sat round 
Diana's bed. My ribs were throbbing, because although Judy had been very 
careful with me, there is just no way you can fuck with broken ribs and 
expect it not to hurt. So I sat there trying not to breathe, until Judy 
noticed that I seemed to be in some discomfort, and asked me what the 
problem was. I didn't really want to tell her, because I knew she'd feel 
bad about it, but she frowned at me, which is all it takes these days to 
make me cave in, and I told her. So she insisted that I come and sit on 
her lap while she rubbed my back, which felt great, and I was nuzzling 
into her hair, when I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye. 

You know, the field of vision is a funny thing. You can only really see 
detail in a very small tunnel ahead of you, but the periphery of vision 
is excellent for spotting movement. You can see why evolution would make 
that happen. And I saw movement from Diana. 

I struggled to sit up; Judy wanted me to keep nuzzling her, Valkyries 
can be a bit of a difficulty when you want one thing and they want 
another. "Judy, Diana just moved." So then she let me turn, and we both 
watched as Diana's eyes fluttered open. I jumped off Judy's lap, and got 
down on my knees by the bed. "Diana, thank god, are you all right? We 
were so worried, you were in a coma, and ..." "Shut up, Michael. Judy, 
what's the damage?" she whispered. I cannot believe this woman. Arms and 
legs broken, four days in a coma, and as soon as she regains 
consciousness, she takes charge. Judy recited the list, from the top 
down. "Broken nose, facial bruising, split lip, possible concussion, 
chest bruising, left arm simple fracture, right arm compound fracture, 
left elbow broken, eight broken ribs, left femur broken, right shin 
broken, right knee dislocated and torn tendons, with broken kneecap. She 
smashed you up badly, Diana." Diana closed her eyes, and said "Mmmh. It 
hurts. Anything permanent?" "I'm worried about that knee, but otherwise, 
it should all heal," said Judy. It's useful having a professional nurse 
around, even if she does keep threatening to give me an enema. "And you 
might not be able to play the violin in future." Diana responded 
correctly to this old joke, "Just as well, since I couldn't play the 
violin before. Mirror, please." 

I shook my head at Judy, but she rooted around in her bag and pulled out 
a hand mirror, and held it up for Diana to see herself. "Ugh," she 
grimaced. "I'm a mess." Judy shook her head. "Don't worry, most of it 
will heal up fine." "Most of it?" "You might have a small scar in your 
lower lip." I chipped in "And your nose will still be too big." Diana 
turned her eyes to look at me. "You wouldn't dare say that if I were up 
and about." I grinned. "But you're not - I can say what I like." "Want 
to bet? Judy?" Judy's arms went round me from behind. Uh-oh. Valkyries 
tend to stick together. "Yes, Diana, what do you want me to do to him?" 
Oh shit, me and my big mouth. "Give him a big kiss, Judy. He saved my 
life." 

Several minutes later, Judy let go of me enough for me to be able to 
talk again, after a fashion. "Unh, urghh." "And when I'm feeling a bit 
better, I'll kiss you myself. Anyway, what happened? I remember the 
terrible rage, it came on just after she said that she'd torture you 
until you went insane. I just wanted to kill and kill. But I don't 
remember what I did. That was the Berserker rage, wasn't it?" "Yes, you 
can ignore pain, even broken bones. You just want to attack and attack. 
You jumped on her back and you were trying to strangle her, and you were 
smashing your heels into her belly while you tried to get your hands 
round her throat. But she was too strong for you, Diana, even in the 
Berserker state. She was holding your hands off her throat with one of 
hers, and her punches were damaging your legs that you'd wrapped round 
her waist. But her three inch layer of body-muscle was just too tough 
for you to get through, and you weren't getting anywhere. And then she 
brought up her other hand to get your strangle-hold off, and I knew that 
with two hands, she'd pull you off." "Yes, I remember not being able to 
get anywhere, and then I remember you charging towards her." "She tried 
to kick me, and that would have finished me off. Did you know her thighs 
were forty-eight inches around, each thigh? But you threw yourself to 
the side, and with one leg off the ground that ruined her balance, and 
she fell over on top of you. I thought that would break your hold, but 
it didn't. I still can't believe how much a Berserker can take and still 
keep fighting. But she was still pulling your hands off her throat, so I 
dived on top of her." 

"But Michael, sweetie, what on earth did you think you'd be able to do?" 
"I had your knife, your glass Cat's Claw." "Michael, you know you're not 
allowed to touch a Valkyrie's knife." "Yes, I know, it was very naughty 
of me." "Judy, I think he needs punishing again." Judy obliged, and this 
time I was completely out of breath by the time she released me from her 
loving embrace. "Whew!" "You wait till I can get to you, Michael, then 
you'll be saying whew. Go on, what happened next?" 

"Bad, very bad. She opened her legs as I dived at her, and I found 
myself trapped between them. They felt like telegraph poles. She laughed 
at me, and told me that she was going to save me for later, so she 
didn't just crush me between them. She hadn't seen the knife, you see, 
she didn't realise that I actually was a threat to her." Diana nodded 
slightly. "Yes, we do tend to assume that men can't hurt us." "Yes. 
Well, that's almost right, even with a knife in my hand. I thought of 
slashing her belly, but all I'd have cut was that three inch layer of 
muscle, and I probably wouldn't even manage to penetrate that." "What 
about her throat?" "Out of the question, I couldn't reach it, she was 
over seven feet tall, remember. But then I thought of the original plan, 
and I found her femoral arteries and slashed those, left right, one two. 
And I was hoping that she'd bleed to death fast enough not to be able to 
kill me with those legs, but even if she did, the loss of blood would 
eventually kill her, and you'd be all right at least." 

"Oh, Michael. I'm so proud of you. You're brave and clever, and you were 
right." "Yes. It was like a blood fountain, I hadn't realised that there 
was so much blood pumping through there. I was soaked immediately. But 
then she realised what was happening, and she started to squeeze her 
legs together, with me in between them. And it was at that point that I 
passed out." "I don't remember any of this. I must have still been in 
the Berserker state." 

"When he came to, he called me up on the mobile" Judy continued, "and 
Vicky and I went round to try to sort things out. We just barrelled 
straight in. Vicky dealt with the first lot of guards, and I went 
straight past her while she was smashing them around, into the room 
where there were two guys with guns. I was pretty scared, because 
bullets affect Valkyries just as much as they do you, so I just went 
straight at them. I kicked one in the stomach, and punched the other one 
in the face. I wasn't being gentle, either, I hit them both as hard as I 
could. They went down and stayed down, but I didn't stay to see if they 
would get up, I left them for Vicky to deal with, and went straight on 
to find Michael." Diana's eyes went very wide. "You kicked and punched 
two men as hard as you could?" "Diana, they had guns, what was I 
supposed to do, dance with them?" Diana looked at me. "What happened to 
them?" I hadn't wanted to tell Judy this. "One died when his spleen 
burst into his smashed kidneys, the other one died of a broken neck." 
"Well, I can't help it, they might have killed me or Vicky." I kept 
quiet, very quiet, and looked at Diana, silently begging her not to 
pursue this any further. I saw her blink, and she understood. It would 
be best if Judy never found out that there weren't any bullets in those 
guns; Fraulein Ingrid wouldn't allow anything that dangerous near her. 
Plus, Diana had already wiped out those two guys as we went in to see 
Ingrid. 

"So then I saw Michael, soaked in blood, crushed between two huge strong 
legs. He was conscious, but he didn't have the strength to lift the dead 
weight of one leg, so I lifted it for him and pulled him out. He wasn't 
as bad as he looked, it wasn't his blood. Then I went to help you, and 
you were in diabetic coma from the after-effects of the Berserker rage, 
so we took you to this hospital. They don't know anything. They think a 
truck must have hit you or something." "Close. When do I get out of 
here?" 

Judy leaned over and brushed Diana's hair. I think that's a bit like 
monkeys grooming each other, it cheers you up a bit. "Three or four 
weeks, Diana, at least. Your body has a lot to do." "Yes, and right now, 
it wants to eat. I'm famished. Have you got anything?" Judy and I looked 
at each other. We'd eaten not long ago, and because we didn't know when 
Diana would come round, we hadn't brought anything substantial with us, 
just the traditional fruit. "Brilliant. Well, why don't you pop out and 
get something, my stomach thinks my throat's been cut." "What do you 
want?" asked Judy. "Same as you'd want in my situation, don't ask silly 
questions. Now vamoose." Judy looked at me, hesitantly. I guess she 
didn't like leaving me unprotected, and I didn't fancy it much myself, 
I'd seen and done too much recently, and I was still in a very fragile 
state." "Go *on* Judy, I'll look after him." 

She's lying there, broken arms and legs, one hour out of a deep coma, 
and she's going to look after me? I guess she is, at that. Judy shook 
her head. "No, there's a better way", and she phoned Freya's mobile, and 
told her to fetch some provisions. 

The mobiles were my idea - all the Valkyries carried them. Odin used 
ravens; he had two of them called Hugin (thought) and Munin (memory). He 
used to send them out every day to find out what was happening, and he'd 
also use them as messengers. Mobile phones are much quicker, and if you 
want to gather information, you can't beat the Internet. There's no 
reason why today's Valkyries can't use today's technology. 

Freya arrived with enough food for a dozen people - a dozen people or 
three Valkyries. Golly, but those girls can eat. It's the metabolism, 
they burn up a lot more calories than ordinary people, in order to keep 
those powerful bodies going. I helped Diana to eat, because she couldn't 
use her hands, and she was still eating long after the others had 
finished. That was partly because she hadn't eaten for some days, and 
partly because I wasn't that good at feeding her. And, of course, I 
missed a few times, and she got a bit messy. 

Eventually, she finished eating, and wanted to go to sleep, but Judy 
said "No, first you get a blanket bath." My friend the nurse. I suppose 
it could have been worse - she keeps suggesting that I have an enema; I 
don't think she's serious about that, but she was serious about the 
blanket bath. "You'll feel ten times better, Diana, honestly." Diana 
wasn't in much of a state to argue, so we stripped the blankets off her, 
and I felt sick at the sight of her body, she was really looking grim. 
But it didn't seem to affect Judy, I suppose a nurse has to take such 
things in her stride. "OK, you can blanket-bath me", said Diana, "but on 
one condition." "What's that?" asked Judy. "Michael does it" replied 
Diana. 

Well, I don't mind. I've never done it before, but Judy showed me how, 
you make the flannel wet, then wring it out and put a little soap on it 
and wash. In Diana's case, you wash very gently, watching her face to 
see if you've found a sore place. And there seemed to be a lot of sore 
places. Then you rinse the flannel, and wash again, then dab dry with a 
fluffy towel. Judy and Freya turned her over and I did her back, and 
then they turned her onto her back, and I carefully did her front. 
That's the first time I've had the opportunity to touch Diana's breasts, 
and as I did it, she moaned softly. I stopped at once, and looked up at 
Judy, but Judy was grinning, and said "You're not hurting her Michael. 
Keep going." So I did, and before long Diana mewed like a cat, and moved 
her head to the side, and Judy said "You can stop now." Oh. I see. Silly 
of me. How could I have forgotten - Diana was used to large amounts of 
sex every day, and four days without must have been as bad as four days 
without food. 

Judy's the same. As far as I can tell, she's insatiable. For sure, she's 
way outside my ability to handle, although I have to admit, at my age, 
I'm no stud. But I suspect she'd be outside the range of any man. And 
Diana, I think is far worse. She told me once that her record was twenty 
one in one night, with one guy, and I wondered what became of that guy, 
whether he ever recovered. Because the trouble is, once you can't 
satisfy a Valkyrie sexually, she rapes you. It isn't rape at first, I 
mean, she does all the action, but you aren't exactly unwilling. But I 
would imagine that by the time she got to twenty one, the poor guy must 
have been completely out of his mind. Anyway that one tiny orgasm seemed 
to be enough for her, and she fell asleep. And looking at her, lying on 
her back, her eyes closed and a small smile on her face, for once in my 
life I felt protective towards a Valkyrie, rather than the other way 
around. 

By the end of the week, Diana was bored, fed-up and wanted to go home. I 
read to her to try to entertain her a bit - she couldn't hold a book. 
And the book I chose was Lord of the Rings, a very Norse-like saga of a 
quest. The parallels between the evil Nazi empire and the fantasy world 
created by Tolkein are remarkable; the quest to destroy the Ring was 
very like our quest to destroy the power of the gold that the old Nazis 
had stolen and left behind them in Swiss banks. And the Ring story was 
very like that of Wagner. "One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find 
them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them" "Brrr. 
So what are we, then?" asked Diana. "I don't know about you Valkyries, 
but I'm a Hobbit" I replied. "Small and not very strong, but loyal to 
his friends and able to follow a trail with great persistence." Diana 
grinned. "I guess Tolkein didn't know about Valkyries. Michael, I want 
to go home. I really want to go home. Right now." 

I looked up at Freya - Judy wasn't around. She shrugged her shoulders. 
"Don't ask me, I'm not a nurse." True. Freya made action videos for a 
living. That's a nice way to say she beat the shit out of men and then 
they sold the recordings. All well-paid volunteers, of course. Except 
that they never volunteered twice, and until you've encountered a 
Valkyrie in the ring, you just won't believe what can happen to you. I 
know Diana didn't approve of it, and they had an argument about it while 
Diana was lying in bed, but Freya pointed out that people would hardly 
pay so much to see men beating the shit out of men, would they? So Diana 
said, "What about using two women?" To which Freya replied "There's 
Hilde, of course, but she wouldn't want to get hurt, and neither do I, 
so I'll stick to men, thank you." "But that's just cowardly." And Freya 
shrugged, "I'm not doing this to be brave, I'm doing it to make a few 
Kronor." And there's no answer to that. 

Judy arrived an hour later, and now the argument really started. Diana 
wanted to go, Judy said she'd only been awake for a few days. Diana 
pointed out that she'd been mending while she was in the coma, Judy 
pulled rank, and said "I'm a nurse, and I'm telling you that you're too 
poorly to move." Diana riposted with "I'm not ill, I've just got a few 
fractures, and they let broken legs go home as soon as they're 
plastered, don't they." So Judy said "Yes, but they can walk on the 
other leg and use crutches, you can't." Judy turned to me and said 
"You'll help me get around, won't you Michael", but I've learned not to 
take sides in arguments between Valkyries, because the man is always in 
the wrong, and I kept my mouth shut. So then Diana appealed to Freya, 
"You'll help me get around, won't you" and Freya naturally said yes, and 
then Diana said "And Michael will cook and keep house for me." I thought 
Kevin was supposed to do that? Freya was on Diana's side, I think she 
saw how fed-up she'd be if she were lying on her back in a hospital bed, 
and so, between them, they talked Judy round. 

So then Judy and I set off to convince the hospital authorities that 
they should discharge Diana, and of course that was against their rules. 
Argument didn't seem to help, I tried that on Dr Heidegger while Judy 
sat by my side, I explained that fracture patients are usually 
discharged very quickly, and that's all Diana was now, the Diabetic coma 
wasn't caused by diabetes, but by the Berserker rage. I argued that Judy 
was a nurse, and could take care of Diana as well as anyone in the 
hospital. I argued that Diana was getting so bored, she might just 
discharge herself and do something silly. None of it helped, he said. It 
was against the rules, he said, and that was that. Rules are rules. 
Bureaucracy. 

Eventually, I gave up, and turned to Judy. "Judy, help me here. You're a 
nurse, how can we convince this man that he should officially discharge 
Diana?" Judy looked at me, and smiled. "The same way you convince any 
man of anything", she said, and stood up. She walked round the desk, 
lifted Dr Heidegger out of his chair, and did something that Diana had 
once told me about, but which I'd never actually seen a Valkyrie do. The 
Valkyrie compression. 

She held him, facing her, his body against her big breasts, and her arms 
round his waist, meeting in the small of his back. In this position, she 
was holding him up in the air, his feet some inches from the ground. 
Then I saw her arms tighten around him, not much at first, but I knew 
what she was doing. Every time he breathed out, she took up the slack, 
stopping him from expanding his chest again. So, without actually 
crushing the air out of him, she prevented him from breathing in. 

I watched her big body overwhelming his, and I thought of all the times 
she'd held me like that, well, not quite like that, but she could have, 
and my penis stiffened and grew hard against my trousers. I watched him 
struggling; hard at first, but gradually more and more feebly as she 
held him in her arms and prevented him from drawing in air. Then he 
slumped, his head to one side, and she relaxed her grip enough to let 
his breathing reflex take over, which revived him enough for him to be 
aware of what was happening again. 

As soon as he was fully conscious, she repeated the process, holding him 
firmly, then hard, then compressing him. This time he hardly struggled 
at all, because the first thing that goes when a Valkyrie compresses 
you, is your strength. I've felt that myself as Judy makes love to me, 
and as I watch what she was doing to Dr Heidegger, I could see a very 
close parallel between some of the things she did to me in bed, and what 
she was doing to him. With me, she'd bring me to the point of orgasm, 
then hold me still until I was almost screaming with frustration. With 
Heidegger, she brought him to the point of unconsciousness, then stopped 
him from blacking out. As she started to do it for the third time, I 
heard him moan "Nein, bitte, nein", and this time he put up no 
resistance at all. And after she let him go, and put him back in his 
chair, she asked him "Now, will you discharge my friend Diana", and 
there was no way he could refuse her. 

I have a similar problem, with Judy, Diana, or any of the Valkyries. 
Although none of them have ever given me a Valkyrie compression, I still 
have a lot of trouble saying no to any of them, especially Diana. 
Anyway, we got the necessary papers signed, and we booked Diana onto a 
plane home. She travelled horizontal, on a stretcher, it was fairly 
simple. 

Once we got her home, we had to work out what to do next. We didn't want 
to leave Vicky alone to cope with the WW2SS, so we discussed who should 
fly back to Bayreuth. Diana wasn't out of plaster yet, so she was 
obviously ruled out. And Judy was a professional nurse, and so would be 
the best to look after Diana. Which only left me, except that neither of 
them would hear of me going all by myself, so they persuaded Freya to 
accompany me back to Bayreuth, so I'd still have a Valkyrie bodyguard to 
look after me. I have to say, I do feel a lot happier with one of those 
big strong women around. 

As soon as we got back there, I arranged a meeting with Vicky to see how 
things were going. 

Vicky: 

All my life I've been useless; murdering my own baby was the act that 
made me realise what an awful person I was. That's why I tried to kill 
myself, because murderers should be punished. It was only because Diana 
was driving that night, that I failed. But I was used to failure. 
 
When I was thirteen, the problem started. Like the other girls, I went 
into puberty, menarche. I grew up and out, but when the other girls 
stopped, I didn't. The most noticeable thing was my height, and if you 
think that tall girls are great, that's because you've never been one. 
When I was fourteen, I was getting on for six feet, taller than any of 
the other girls and most of the boys. 
 
At that point, thank god, I stopped getting taller. I wore flat shoes 
and walked with a stoop, trying to look less tall. But I didn't stop 
growing out. 
 
They called me "podge" and "tubby" for a while, but then they settled on 
"Fatty Vicky", which I really hated. It was so unfair! I'd look at 
myself in the bathroom, and I *wasn't* fat, I wasn't, really. My waist 
was so big, I was thirty-six inches, and my hips and bust even bigger. 
But I'd try to grip my flesh between a thumb and a finger, and I 
couldn't, I wasn't fat, I wasn't, I wasn't. And then I'd cry, because 
the other girls were going out on dates, with boys, and I wasn't, 
because no boy wanted to date a tall fat girl, except I wasn't fat. 
 
I tried dieting. My mother said I ate like a horse, and certainly I ate 
as much as my brother and sister put together, but it wasn't because I 
was greedy, it was because I got so hungry. But once I reached 210 
pounds, I stopped putting on weight, even though I ate like a horse. And 
if I starved myself till I could barely stand, I could get down to 200, 
but then I looked dreadful, you could see the veins on my arms and legs. 
Even then, my waist was still 36, so I gave up and let my weight creep 
back up to 210, where it seems stable. 
 
I also had to give up netball, after an incident with another girl. She 
ran into me, and sort of bounced off me onto the post, and banged her 
head. I didn't push her, I didn't, really. But they blamed me, and 
wouldn't let me play after that. Well, that was fine by me, I didn't 
like the way you had to dress, the short skirts meant that everyone 
could see my thighs, and I was *really* ashamed of those. I once 
overheard one of the boys saying I could crack walnuts with them, and he 
was saying it like he might say I could crack a mirror with my face, and 
I went to my special place and had a long cry. 
 
I'll tell you about my special place, I used to go there a lot when I 
was a teenager. I'd find somewhere I could be alone, like under a tree 
in the woods by the river, or locked in a toilet, or up in the attic, or 
in the shed on Dad's allotment. I'd lie down on my side, and curl right 
up into a little ball, and close my eyes, and I'd be there. And I was 
small, petite, like gossamer, like Tinker Bell, like Sandra Carter only 
blonde and prettier, and boys would ask me to dance at parties, 
especially Henry Clather, and I'd look up at him and imagine what I'd 
say and what I'd do, except there was a big hole in my experience. But I 
knew about kissing, and my imagination supplied the rest. And I'd 
imagine I was in love with him, and him with me, or sometimes it was 
Ernie Sharp, or even someone entirely made-up, who would come and sweep 
me off my feet ... 
 
Young girls dream of romance, boys about sex. Somehow, the human race 
reconciles these conflicting aspirations, and the next generation is 
born. 
 
I left school at eighteen, and went to university. This was a massive 
cultural shock; living away from home, I missed my family. And although 
I hadn't had what you'd call friends, there were people I knew, who knew 
me - I belonged. I had a place. At university, I knew no-one, and no-one 
knew me. I was more alone than you can imagine, and still the boys went 
for the pretty, fluffy girls, with bright personalities. No-one was 
interested in a stoop-shouldered fat girl with an acute shyness problem. 
 
So when Eric took an interest in me I felt lucky, very lucky. I'd pretty 
much accepted the fact that boys weren't interested and girls only 
wanted to make fun of me, and Eric took me out to the cinema, to pubs, 
and even to a restaurant once. I knew he was married, but at first, it 
was just friendly, and then he told me what a bitch his wife was, and 
I'd sympathise, because I knew very well how horrid some girls can be. 
 
Then one night he kissed me, and it was my first time, and I almost 
melted, it was even better than I'd imagined. 
 
He told me he liked tall girls, and his wife was short. He told me he 
like women with some meat on their bones, he didn't call me fat, but he 
said his wife was so skinny, you could see her ribs, and on her arms, 
her bones stuck out. And then he touched my breasts, and told me that I 
had lovely breasts, big and firm, and I tingled and made little mewing 
noises because it felt so nice. It was so nice of him, I knew they were 
much too big, because I couldn't get a bra to fit me, mum had to add 
elastic to customise them for me. Well, it wasn't so much my breasts 
that were the problem, I could get a big enough cup size in some shops. 
It was the measurement round my chest that was too big. 
 
But Eric said he liked them, and I certainly liked it when he put his 
hands on them. We'd go to my room, and he'd put his hands under my 
sweater and touch the skin round my waist, and I'd kiss him. Then he'd 
unhook my bra, and tell me how great my breasts were, and he'd stroke 
them and touch them until the feeling was so intense, it was almost 
painful. 
 
And I knew I had to do something back for him, but men don't have 
breasts. He liked me touching his back, and stroking his chest, but then 
he showed me what he really liked. I expect you can guess. 
 
So I'd put my hand inside his trousers and feel around until I found it, 
and it stiffened for me, which proved that he really did love me. 
 
We played a lot like that, two or three evenings each week. I couldn't 
see him at weekends, he had to stay with his wife and children. But oh, 
those blissful evenings. 
 
And then one evening, after he'd got me completely worked up by touching 
my nipples, he pulled up my skirt. I used to wear very long, very full 
skirts, because then you couldn't see my legs, but when he pulled it up, 
I couldn't stop him. I tried, but my hands didn't want to. And when he 
got a good look at my thighs, he swore. "Fuck me sideways" were his 
exact words. 
 
My waist is big, horribly big, but I can sort of get away with it, 
except that's why people call me fat. But my thighs - no way, and that's 
why I keep them well covered. Because each one is a couple of inches 
bigger than my waist. 
 
And it still isn't fat, I swear to you. Try to pinch the flesh, your 
fingers will just slide off. And that's what Eric was seeing for the 
first time, my big, solid, thirty-eight inch thighs. And yes, I can 
crack walnuts with them, I tried it once. 
 
He stroked them a bit, up and down. Then he covered them up with my 
skirt again, and went back to fondling my breasts. 
 
That evening, I cried myself to sleep again. I knew very well what the 
problem was, the girls I used to play netball had told me often enough. 
The other name they used for me, after I stopped reacting to "Fatty 
Vicky", was "Thunderthighs". They used to pretend that the ground shook 
as I walked by, you have no idea how cruel girls can be. And that's why 
I always wore long skirts, very full. 
 
What am I supposed to do about it? You play the hand that life deals 
you, and if you've got big fat legs, there's nothing you can do about 
it. Well, they weren't fat, fat is flabby and soft, and my legs are as 
hard as stone, like I said, I can crack walnuts. But you can't see that. 
They look like they could support an elephant. And Eric had been totally 
turned-off by them, and that's why I cried that night. 
 
So we went back to what we'd been doing before, him fondling my breasts, 
and me stroking and squeezing his prick, until one evening we were 
petting really heavily, and he gave a muffled groan and came in his 
pants, all over my hand. And as he did it, he shook and shuddered, and 
wrestled with me, and when we wrestle I *always* let him win, I know 
that instinctively, but this time I held him off until I'd got him 
completely finished off, and then he told me he loved me, which he'd 
never done before, but that's exactly what the Prince in my dreams says. 
The semen wasn't a problem for me, I just rinsed my hand off, but he had 
to go home with wet pants. 
 
Next time he came round, I'd solved that problem. I got a silk scarf, 
soft and silky, and next time I got him off, I just pushed the scarf in 
to absorb the mess. And he told me he loved me again, and I told him 
that I loved him too. 
 
We went on like this for months; I saw Eric two or three times a week, 
and each time brought him to orgasm with my hands, and he touched and 
stroked my breasts while he told me how lovely and big they were, and 
the way he said it, made me feel good about them for once. 
 
And then he told me that his wife and kids would be away for the 
weekend, and he asked me to go to Brighton for those two days. We'd stay 
in a hotel, and sleep in the same bed, and everything. I was so excited, 
I thought it would be just like being married, kind of like a honeymoon, 
and maybe he really would ask me to marry him, and he'd divorce his 
shrewish wife, and we'd live happily ever after. You know the sort of 
thing. Maybe I read too many romances. 
 
So I went shopping for something special, a night-dress fit for a bride. 
I knew exactly what I wanted. White, because I was a virgin. Silky and 
lacy, to feel sexy in. A long skirt to hide my elephant thighs, and a 
very full skirt so I had something to use on him if I needed to. But 
clingy round the bust, because he liked my breasts so much. It cost much 
more than I could afford, but I knew Eric would love me in it. 
 
The hotel in Brighton turned out to be a Bed-and-Breakfast house a fair 
way from the sea, and the nearest bathroom was down the corridor. but 
Love Conquers All, and I didn't care, it had a double bed. We had dinner 
at a fish and chip shop, and I kept giving Eric little looks, under my 
eyelashes. When we got back to the hotel, Eric undressed and was in bed 
in no time, but I wanted to change into my sexy nightie properly. So I 
had to go to the bathroom to do it, plus I put a dab of perfume on, and 
then I stuck my head out into the corridor to check, then dashed for the 
bedroom. At the door, I stopped, took a deep breath, and entered 
gracefully and regally, and glided towards the bed, where Eric lay 
waiting for me. It was going great until I was stopped short, because 
I'd caught my skirt in the door. I bet Mata Hari didn't do that. I 
closed my eyes with embarrassment, went back and opened the door, pulled 
my skirt in, then went back to the original track, gliding towards Eric 
on the bed. 
 
The first thing I did, was get under the covers. That meant he wouldn't 
see my thunderthighs when he got under my skirt. The second thing I did, 
was I got my hand on his penis, because I knew he loved that. He was 
hard at once, so I knew he loved me. He played with my breasts as usual, 
but not for very long. He certainly got me excited, but then he reached 
down under the sheets, and pulled my nightie up, so he could get his 
hands on my fur. 
 
Oh, but it felt incredible. I'd never been touched there by a man 
before, and it was like electricity running between my nipples and my 
crotch. I spread my legs so that he could reach it better, and he got 
his hand way down, and I was getting really wet down there. 
 
Then he got on top of me. I didn't mind that, I don't find him heavy, 
although obviously he can't take my weight. But his hard penis drooped 
down between my legs, until it touched me just *there*, and it felt 
divine. I wriggled about underneath him, and bucked a bit to feel his 
wonderful weight on top of me, and the head of his penis pushed against 
my labia, and started to enter. 
 
Suddenly, there was a pain, and I gasped, but it didn't hurt much, or 
for very long, and then it was inside me, and unless you're a woman, you 
can't imagine the feeling of a hot hard penis inside your vagina. The 
sensation is all the way up and down, and it feels like it goes right 
through you. I raised my knees to help him, and he started to pump in 
and out, making me almost scream, except I had to stop myself, or people 
would have heard. 
 
After about a minute, he came, I could tell because it was just like 
when I brought him off, and then he collapsed on top of me. He tried to 
roll off me, but I liked the feel of him on top of me so much, that I 
wouldn't let him, and eventually he fell asleep on top of me. 
 
I've heard about female orgasm, but I've also heard that very few women 
achieve it. It was enough to be able to make Eric happy, and he felt so 
good on top of me. 
 
The next day was Saturday, and he took me to see a football match. I'm 
not really into football, but Eric was, and I spent the time daydreaming 
about our future life together. I was making plans, as one does, plans 
about leaving university, and how I'd support Eric through the divorce, 
and how we'd have lots of lovely babies, and I was thinking of names for 
them, even. 
 
That evening, I suggested we go to bed early, but Eric wanted to watch 
something on the TV, so I went up before him and got myself all sexified 
with my lovely new night-dress. I waited for him, but he must have been 
engrossed in the programme, and by the time he came up, I was asleep. He 
woke me up as he got into bed. 
 
"Eric?" Grunt. "Eric, dearest?" "Uh." "Eric, do you, I mean, would you 
like ..." "Uh," he grunted. So I put my hand where he liked it, and 
squeezed and rubbed gently. "Unh," he said, which I took as 
encouragement. So I snuggled closer and put both my arms round him, and 
rubbed my face against his back, and kissed the back of his neck. 
"Vicky, I'm tired, I want to go to sleep." 
 
I felt sure he didn't really mean it, he was just teasing me, so I 
squeezed his soft little penis a bit more, and I was sure I felt it 
starting to get a bit less soft. And I knew what he'd want, so I slid 
one arm under his body, and lifted him up on top of me. I put one arm 
round his waist, and the other on his head, and pulled his mouth down to 
mine for a long kiss. I felt him squirming with pleasure as I did that, 
so I knew I was doing the right things. 
 
Remembering what happened yesterday, I pulled the skirt of my night-
dress up, and moved my legs apart. I felt his penis immediately, as the 
head touched the front of my vagina, and all I had to do was lift my 
knees and spread them wide, and then I pulled him upwards a bit, and I 
could feel it in place. 
 
Eric was wriggling quite a lot now, which felt very nice, so I raised my 
legs high, kicking off the sheets, and wrapped them round his waist. 
That meant I could pull him inside me with my legs, and I could use my 
hands to roam over his body and caress and excite him more, like he'd 
shown me. And I kept one hand on the back of his head so I could keep on 
kissing him. 
 
He was teasing me more now; he pulled his head back and started saying 
"No, no" but I pulled him down again, and stuck my tongue in his mouth, 
and kept moving him in and out. He thrashed his legs about a bit, but it 
didn't matter, I had him gripped quite firmly between my thighs. In his 
passion he started to punch me with his fists, on my back, in my sides, 
and that excited me even more and I wrapped my arms round him and 
squeezed him passionately. When I let go of his head, lifted his mouth 
from mine and started to say "No, Vicky, stop", but by now I wasn't in 
the mood for any teasing, and I wrapped my legs more firmly, moved him 
up and down more vigorously. 
 
Then I started to feel something building up inside me, so as well as 
pumping him in and out, I started rubbing him up and down against my 
breasts, which felt wonderful, and something like a pressure built up 
inside my breasts and vagina. By now he was trying to tell me something, 
he kept using my name, but I wasn't really rational any more, I just had 
this need, this tremendous need, and my wonderful Eric was what I 
needed. 
 
And then, like an explosion of rainbows, like a flourish of trumpets, 
like a long, slow electric shock, I was hit by the most incredible 
sensation of my life. It was like the world was shaking, and something 
was screaming in my ears, and the wonderful feeling went on and on, and 
the shaking and the shuddering and the screaming, like a Roman Candle 
shooting explosions of light into my body, but like a firework it began 
to get less intense, then calmer, then quiet. 
 
Silence. 
 
Eric was asleep in my arms, it must have been as good for my darling as 
it had been for me, and I knew that this was what I wanted, we'd do this 
every day, maybe even more than once, and I'd love him and cook for him 
and have his babies, and I wrapped my arms tenderly round his sleeping 
body, lying on top of me, and fell asleep dreaming of the future. 
 
When I woke up the next day, he was gone, and there was just a note for 
me. "Had to dash, see you later." Oh. I'd sort of hoped that maybe in 
the morning ... Oh well. So I got dressed and packed, paid the bill, and 
caught the train back to London, then on up to university and my room. 
 
Of course, looking back, I can see what actually happened, it wasn't 
what I'd thought at the time. He didn't feel like sex, and I raped him. 
I didn't know that was possible, back then, and I didn't realise I was 
doing it. But that marked a major change in our relationship. 
 
After that, Eric still came to visit me in my room a few times each 
week, but he never lifted my skirt again, and he never suggested getting 
into bed. He just played with my breasts, which was nice enough, but not 
the explosion of ecstasy I remembered, and I played with his genitals 
until he had an orgasm. 
 
Then I missed a period. I'm usually as regular as clockwork, and I knew 
perfectly well what makes a baby, so I went to the chemist and bought a 
pregnancy test, and it was positive. So then I went to the doctor and 
told him I thought I might be pregnant, and he took a sample of urine 
and a couple of days later he confirmed it. "Congratulations?" he said, 
not sure if it was good news. I grinned like a cat with a pint of cream. 
 
So next time I saw Eric, I told him the good news. "And you can leave 
your wife, and we'll live together until the divorce comes through, then 
we can get married, and we'll fuck every night, oh Eric, it's so 
tremendous..." "Are you sure it's mine?" he asked. 
 
It took a few seconds for the implications of that question to hit me. 
"Eric, of course, there's only you, I love you, I wouldn't with anyone 
else, of course not, oh Eric, how could you even think that?" "Then 
you'll have to have it aborted." 
 
And that hit me like a sledgehammer. Kill my baby? I wrapped my arms 
round my belly protectively. No-one hurts my baby. How could he suggest 
such a thing? "Eric, you can't mean it! He'll be our firstborn, I love 
him already." "How far gone are you?" "Eight weeks" "Oh, well that's 
nothing. It's dead easy to get rid of it." "No!" "Vicky, you've got to. 
And it really easy, I'll arrange it." "No! No! We'll get married, and, 
and " and I started crying. He stood watching me. After a few minute, I 
stopped sobbing and looked up. When someone you love cries, you take 
them in your arms and comfort them. "You finished caterwauling?" he 
said. I nodded, and blinked. 
 
"Right, now listen, and listen good. I'm not leaving my wife and kids, 
not for a big fat cow with a face like a horse and legs like tree 
stumps. Forget it. You want to carry on our little affair, you get rid 
of the brat; you don't, that's fine by me, there's plenty more fish in 
the sea." And he walked out. 
 
You can probably guess how I reacted to that. I cried and cried and 
cried. I didn't eat that night, I just cried myself to sleep, and all 
that time I was thinking, he loved me before, he doesn't now, it's the 
baby, it's that baby that's caused this, if it wasn't for the baby, 
everything would be wonderful. I blamed the baby growing inside me like 
an uninvited intruder, and I wished it wasn't there and everything could 
go back to being lovely again. 
 
When I woke up the next morning, my pillow was wet with my crying, and 
my sheets were covered in blood. I was terrified, the blood was 
everywhere, I called the doctor, and he took one look and called an 
ambulance. Before it arrived, I begged him to tell me what was going on. 
"You've lost the baby, Vicky. The foetus has aborted." 
 
A wave of horror and guilt swept over me. My baby was dead! I'd wished 
it was dead, and now it was! I was a monster, a murderer, I'd murdered 
my own baby. The doctor saw the look on my face and tried to reassure 
me. "It's quite common for a foetus to abort at this stage, Vicky. If 
the development doesn't go right, if the baby isn't viable, your womb 
just rejects the foetus. One in three women have a miscarriage like 
this. Its sad, but it isn't the end of the world, there nothing to stop 
you from trying again. Really, Vicky, don't worry, you'll be fine." 
 
I wasn't worried about my health. I'd killed my baby. 
 
In the hospital, they cleaned me up, took blood samples, x-rayed me, then 
sent me home. I went back to my room; I couldn't face my parents. I 
couldn't face anyone, I slipped out for some bread and some cheese, just 
food to eat. Otherwise, I stayed in and cried a lot. 
 
After a few days, Eric came round. There was a knock on the door, which 
I didn't answer. Then I heard his voice, and I curled up on the bed, 
wishing he'd go away and leave me alone. "Vicky! Open up, I know you're 
in there, come on." "Go away" I wailed. "Leave me alone." He banged 
harder. "Come on, Vicky, I feel horny." "Go away." He banged harder. 
"Vicky!" I ignored him, rocking on the bed. "Come on, you stupid tart, 
open up." I waited. "I don't have to take this, you know. You're not the 
only cunt in town." Thump thump. "Right, then. You can shove your head 
up your cunt, you and your blasted baby." 
 
With that, he left, and I did what I seemed to be getting a lot of 
practice at. I cried myself to sleep again. 
 
I woke up in the middle of the night. It was time to face facts. He 
didn't love me, he'd never loved me, I was just someone he had an affair 
with, just a bit of fun. And why would he want me in particular. I 
looked at myself. I was a fat cow, he was right. You look at a cow in 
the field, she has the same barrel shaped body that I had. Other girls 
had graceful curves, a slim waist, pretty breasts. I was just a big cow, 
with oversize breasts, too tall for a woman. And my thighs were like 
tree trunks, everyone said so. 
 
But the worst, was my face. I've seen lots of horses, and they're very 
attractive. But not the face I saw in the mirror; coarse-boned, big 
nose, big chin, ears that stuck out, eyes red from crying. I didn't 
stand a chance, there never would be a prince for me. And even if there 
was, I'd killed my baby, and how could anyone ever love a baby killer? 
 
All I could see in my future was loneliness, misery and guilt. I'd been 
lucky enough to have one chance at happiness, and I'd blown it. The more 
I thought about it, the more I realised that there really wasn't any 
point to going on. And when a dog's future is pain and misery, you put 
it down. No-one would do that for me, though. I'd have to do it myself. 
And soon. 
 
I got dressed and put on my coat. It was the small hours of the night, 
maybe four or five in the morning. I wandered through the empty streets, 
looking for a way to do it. Then I heard a car coming, fast from the 
sound of it. When I saw it coming, it was moving fast, very fast. I 
didn't think very hard, I just threw myself under the wheels. To be, or 
not to be - the question is decided. 
 
But not the way I thought. The driver reacted very fast, slammed on the 
brakes, and the car didn't touch me. The driver got out, ran round to 
see me under the wheels, and swore at me. I looked up, and it was a 
woman, no, a girl. No, a woman. A girl's face on a woman's body. She 
crouched down to help me get up, and as she laid her hands on me she 
froze. 
 
"What's your name?" "Victoria." "I'm Diana, Diana the Valkyrie. Why were you 
trying to kill yourself? "I killed my baby." "Oh. Well, Vicky, you're 
coming home with me." I got into her car, it was a lovely big old car, 
and she took me back to her place. "You need a bath", she said, and ran 
a bath for me. I got undressed and let the hot water wash over me. I 
felt better, but not much. I'd killed my baby. I wrapped the towel round 
me, and went back to her living room. "I bet you're hungry" she said, 
pointing to the table. I hadn't eaten properly for days, and my stomach 
over-ruled my head. I didn't feel like eating, I'd killed my baby, but 
the sight of the food made my mouth water, and I soon joined Diana who 
seemed to have an appetite as big as my own. 
 
Then she asked me what the problem was, so I explained to her about 
Eric, and how I'd killed my baby, and how lucky I'd been to even get one 
boyfriend, I was so big and ugly. Diana nodded. "I noticed your thighs" 
I looked down at the elephant legs that I called my own, and looked up 
sadly. Then Diana stood up and lifted her skirt, and I swear her legs 
were as big as my own, I've never seen that before. 
 
So I told her about my cow-shaped body, and she insisted that I show her 
what I meant, and then she showed me hers, and she was just as bad. So I 
started to sympathise with her, how I never had any boyfriends and I 
knew how difficult it must be for her, when she interrupted, and said 
"Vicky, I think you've got the wrong end of the stick. When I go to a 
party or a dance, I *always* score. Men love a body like this, they love 
the big breasts, the powerful thighs, but most of all, they adore the 
sexual ecstasy that only a strong woman like me can give them. Or like 
you, Vicky, because you're just like me." I shook my head in disbelief. 
"Vicky, it's true. Men turn to mush in my strong hands, and they will in 
yours too." "But they don't. They get me pregnant then drop me." "One 
man, and that's only because you didn't know how to handle him." 
 
Her body was big - her thighs were almost as big as mine, and she told 
me that men found her unbearably attractive. She told me how she would 
go out hunting ,and return with her prey for the night, use him up, then 
throw him out the next day, ready for the next man. She was pretty, not 
pretty-pretty, her bones were big, her face was broad and her body was a 
big around as mine. You could see she had a waist, but only because she 
emphasised her breasts in the way she dressed and in her posture. She 
got me to stand up straight and tall and I have to admit, I did look 
much better like that. And she wore her skirts half way down her thighs. 
"Flaunt them, Vicky. If you've got it, flaunt it. You're a big strong 
girl, and you should be proud of yourself." She didn't wear a bra most 
of the time, and she flaunted her breasts by wearing thin silk blouses, 
and her nipples stuck out a mile. 
 
But I think what gave her most of her attraction to men, was her total 
self confidence. "Men are so easy, Vicky. Just take what you want." I 
told her about that Saturday night with Eric, and how, in retrospect, I 
realised that I'd actually raped him until he passed out, and Diana said 
"Rape's all right if they agree to it, I mean it's OK to overcome their 
initial reluctance, sometimes men are a bit difficult about sex. But if 
they really really don't want it after a little while, Vicky, you ought 
to stop." "How do you know how long to give them?" Diana scratched her 
head. "I'm blowed if I know. Vicky, it just doesn't come up. Or rather 
it does, and then you *know* they want you." 
 
We talked through what was left of the night. It was a whole new world 
for me, a revelation. Diana looked so like me, we might have been 
sisters, except she was a bit older, and I was a bit taller. But where 
I'd spent my life hating my big body, she revelled in hers, using her 
size and strength to give herself, and the men she chose, tremendous 
sexual pleasure. 
 
The next day, she just phoned in to her office to tell them she wouldn't 
be in, and we spent the whole day together. I was entranced, enthralled. 
Why couldn't life be like this for me? And I thoughy, no reason, none at 
all. I could be like Diana, I could sink my teeth into the apple of life 
and bite off whatever I wanted. 
 
She took me shopping. Away went the long full skirt, we bought short 
mid-thigh pleated skirts, knee length skirts, and just one long tartan, 
for formal occasions. Away went the chunky fisherman's knit I used to 
wear, and we bought fluffy angora, clingy cashmere, and pretty 
lambswool. Then blouses, I didn't think I could wear a blouse because of 
my prominent breasts, but Diana just laughed, and said she wished hers 
stuck out like mine. I looked at her, puzzled. She wished she looked 
like me? No-one ever said that to me before, and she wasn't kidding, 
either. She took me to a shop that specialised in "the fuller figure", 
and they had blouses that actually fit me; pretty with embroidery and 
lace, sexy with silk and satin. 
 
Then shoes. I always wore flat heels; when you're 5-9, you don't need 
any more height. But Diana just said "You'll see, trust me" and we 
bought shoes that added three, four even five inches to my height. I 
could barely walk in them, but Diana said "Practice, that's all you 
need." 
 
And jeans. I wouldn't have thought you could buy jeans for thighs like 
mine, but Diana knew a way. We bought men's jeans, in a really large 
size, way too long in the leg, but Diana explained you just cut them 
down. "But you don't wear jeans" I protested. "Not often, but they're 
great for working on the car." "You do your own repairs?" "I installed a 
turbocharger, and I service the brakes, that sort of thing." "I didn't 
think girls were supposed to do that sort of thing." 
 
Then Diana sat me down and took one of my hands in hers, and went all 
serious. "Vicky, you've got to get rid of that attitude, because it's 
just silly. I don't know about other girls, but I do know about strong 
women like you and me. There's nothing a man can do that we can't, and 
there's plenty that we can do that they can't. You show a man how strong 
you are, and he's like soft dough in your hands. There's only one thing 
that girls are "supposed to do", and that's enjoy life." 
 
Well, she certainly lived that way. For lunch, we bought two hot roast 
chickens and a dozen crusty rolls, and we sat in the park and reduced 
them to bones and crumbs, letting the pigeons have the crumbs. Then 
Diana told me to stand up, and she reached under my cashmere sweater and 
undid my bra, and I took it off. And I stood up stood up straight and 
tall, and she was right, I looked fine without it. "You see, you've got 
big chest muscles to support them" she said. And she stopped men 
strolling in the park until she found a smoker, and borrowed his 
lighter, and we ceremonially burned my bra. Diana told me to thank the 
man for the loan of his lighter, and I guessed she meant more than just 
words, so I walked up to him, let my body press against his, put my arms 
round him, and kissed him until I felt his weight sagging into my arms. 
Then I helped him regain his balance, and Diana and I walked on. "Yes, 
Vicky, that was very good, you're getting the idea. The other thing you 
need to understand, is that you have to be very gentle with men, it's 
too easy to hurt them physically, and it's even easier to wound their 
ego. Men have a very large, but very fragile ego, and if you damage it, 
they have trouble in bed." 
 
"Don't ever arm-wrestle, they sometimes beg you to, but their hands are 
so delicate, the bones can crack if you grip too hard. And be careful if 
you hug them hard, they don't have the layer of muscle over their bodies 
like we do, and the first thing you know, you've cracked a rib. And if 
you put your legs round a man's waist, you must be ever so careful, 
because there's nothing to give any resistance, and you can do real 
damage without realising it." 
 
Diana explained to me all the things you have to do to be gentle with 
men, and there was so much to remember. "And if you make a mistake, 
don't mess about, take him straight to hospital.. I use Casualty at 
London Hospital, they know me there, and they're very efficient." 
 
Then we went back to shopping again, makeup, some jewellery, handbags 
and stuff. 
 
Over the next few weeks, Diana helped me find myself. It was like the 
ugly duckling story. The ugly duckling was only ugly if you assumed she 
was a duckling. But she wasn't, she was a baby swan, and when she grew 
up, everyone could see how beautiful she was; big, and strong, and 
graceful. I became a swan. 
 
She found me a flat in London, and she found me a job. I couldn't 
believe how easy it is for a strong girl like me to get a good well-paid 
job. Diana had a fantastic job, as a deal negotiator, and she always won 
great deals in the negotiation. It's because of the way that men have 
difficulty resisting our will, and they crumbled to me the same way they 
did to Diana. 
 
So, with Diana's coaching, the unhappy, frightened Ugly Duckling turned 
into a knockout Swan. I could go to a party, and if one of the girls 
made a remark about my thighs, I'd mention casually that I could crack 
walnuts, and it just so happened I had a few with me, did anyone want 
some? And maybe girls think that's gross, but their boyfriends didn't, 
and made a point of coming on hard to the boyfriend of any girl who 
tried to be nasty to me. And I found that when a big strong Swan comes 
on hard to a man, he kind of melts in her hands. 
 
After a while, I stopped copying Diana slavishly, and started to 
establish a style of my own. I stuck to the principles she'd taught me, 
but did things slightly differently. For example, Diana wouldn't wear 
leather, except for her whip, of course, whereas short leather skirts 
were my favourite. 
 
"How can I gain confidence, Diana, that's one of the things I so admire 
you for?" She laughed. "I'll teach you a game, it's called surfing a 
crowd." The next party we went to, she showed me how it works. "Do what 
I do", she said, "and follow me." She put her hands behind her back, 
stuck her chin in the air, pushed her shoulders back, and shoved her way 
through the throng, using her breasts as battering rams. 
 
Wow. Could I do that? Then, halfway through, she shoved against some guy 
who turned, saw what was pushing against his chest, and raised his hands 
to give her a friendly squeeze, or rather two squeezes. I saw Diana's 
hands come from behind her back round to her front, but they stayed low, 
and after a second or two, and wave of agony swept over his face, his 
hands shot down to cover his genitals, and Diana sailed serenely on. 
 
She got to the far side of the room, turned, and beckoned to me. Well, 
now or never, and if she could do it, so could I. So I squared my 
shoulders, lifted my head high, hands behind my back, and set off. 
 
It worked great! I pushed my way through the people, aiming myself 
mainly at the men in the group, and they gave way when I pressed my 
nipples against them. I reached the other side of the room without 
incident, which was a pity, because I was rather looking forward to 
getting my hands on some guy's balls and squeezing. 
 
Exercises like this, and many similar, improved my self confidence no 
end, and eventually Diana told me it was time to do the real thing. She 
dropped me off at a dance, where I knew absolutely no-one. My mission 
was to choose the dishiest boy at the dance, get off with him, get him 
into bed, and fuck his brains out. 
 
We stood by the side of the dance hall, looking over the available 
trousers, and we agreed on the one I'd go for. He was tall, blond and 
handsome, and was dancing with an appallingly pretty redhead. "Don't 
worry, Vicky, you're a strong woman, no ordinary girl stands a chance 
against you. Get in there!" 
 
So, while they were dancing, I just cut in, and said "Hello! I'm Vicky." 
He was trying to goggle at my breasts while pretending not to, and I 
moved closer towards him, so he could feel the warmth of my body against 
him. Then my thighs touched his crotch, and I could feel his erection 
through his trousers. Diana was right, this was easy. So I put my arms 
round him, just as the redhead started to shout angrily at me. I just 
ignored her, she was irrelevant, and put my arms round him, pulling him 
into my embrace, and making him forget that any other woman even 
existed. 
 
As we danced, I made sure I rubbed him against my big body, and I heard 
him squeaking and groaning, and felt him struggling. Then he tensed, all 
over, and then relaxed. I guessed what had happened, and when I held him 
away from me and looked down I was right, I could see the wet patch. I 
looked round for Diana, but she'd already gone. 
 
I shouted in his ear, "Now we go back to my flat and fuck," and without 
waiting for an answer, pulled him out of the hall. When we got outside, 
and it was possible to hear, he told me he had a car, so off we went in 
that. 
 
By the time we got back to my place, I was almost drooling with 
anticipation. When we got in, I dragged him to the bedroom, ignoring his 
suggestion of drink, and pushed him onto the bed. I practically tore off 
my clothes, and while he watched, his eyes got bigger and bigger. 
"Jesus, you're huge" he said. I smiled at him, standing over him. "I'm 
twice your weight, and four times as strong as you. I'm a strong woman, 
a very strong woman, and you're going to do exactly what I tell you to 
do. Then I leaned over and picked him up, holding him high over my head, 
then smashed him down so hard that he bounced. 
 
On the bed. Diana says it's important not to hurt men, otherwise it 
makes them useless, but you do have to intimidate them a bit to make 
them go. So although landing on his back on the bed didn't hurt him at 
all, it told him he'd better be good, because that could have been the 
floor. 
 
I knelt down next to him and started trying to undress him, but all 
those catches and buckles and zips, I couldn't work out what went where, 
until I remembered one of Diana's expressions, "when in doubt, tear it 
off". So I gripped his waistband and just heaved, and it all came off in 
my hands. 
 
I started off on top of him, but I think my weight was causing him real 
distress, and Diana had told me that men were best on top anyway, so I 
rolled us over and fucked him from underneath. His penis was soft, but 
Diana had explained how you deal with that problem, you just open up, 
pull him in, and clamp shut hard so he doesn't slide out. 
 
Anyway, several minutes later I came to a satisfactory conclusion, and 
lay back and let him rest on top of me. As he rested, I explained my 
plan for the rest of the evening, and he groaned. I don't think he 
thought he was up to it, but I explained that in the hands of a strong 
woman like me, all the rules changed. It wasn't a matter of whether he 
was up to it, it was a question of when I wanted to stop. 
 
Over the next few hours, I demonstrated the truth of this, again and 
again. He begged me to stop, but I explained to him that he was just a 
man, and his wishes didn't count for much when he was in bed with a 
strong woman like me. 
 
Eventually, I had enough, and I let him fall asleep on top of me. His 
weight on my body felt very nice, like a heavy blanket. 
 
In the morning, I woke him up, got him dressed with the help of several 
safety pins, then chucked him out. Then I flew round to Diana, to tell 
her how great it had been. She wriggled out from under an unconscious 
man, saying "It would be a shame to wake him, he had a very tough 
night." I told her how things had gone, and Diana simply said "Well, 
Vicky, now you know, it's all yours, all you have to do is help 
yourself." 
 
 
Then one day, I was just telling Diana how much I regretted killing my 
baby, and she was arguing with me as usual, saying that it wasn't my 
fault, and suddenly I realised that she was right, to a degree. It was 
partly Eric's fault, he had a share in the guilt, and he needed to be 
punished. And I knew exactly who should administer the punishment. 
 
I told Diana, and she looked a bit doubtful. "Vicky, he was only doing 
what men do, you know. You have to make allowance for their weaknesses. 
He just wanted to play with your breasts because they're so much bigger 
and firmer than any he'd ever seen, he didn't mean to get you pregnant, 
and he just panicked when you told him." "He made me cry, and he made me 
wish I didn't have the baby, and that's what killed it. He's got to 
suffer, now, like I did. He's got to be punished." And eventually Diana 
shrugged her shoulders and said "Well, he's your problem, Vicky, you do 
what you think right. One thing, though. Be careful you don't kill him, 
because then you'll get into big trouble." "Yes, sometimes I think, what 
if Eric was between my legs right now, and I were to link my feet 
together and stretch my legs out, with his soft body trapped between 
them. No, I wasn't planning to kill him, Diana, that would be too easy, 
too easy for him, I mean." 
 
It was several months later that I made my move. I'd grown my hair long, 
to look more like Diana, and where before I looked like a fat and ugly 
schoolgirl, now I was a tall, well-built, attractive woman, with full, 
aggressive breasts, and killer thighs. So when I followed Eric into a 
pub, heads turned to look at me. 
 
I looked round, like a woman looking for a man to have sex with, smiling 
at the boozy men who lusted after my powerful sexy body. Then I saw 
Eric, sitting at a table, staring at me like the others. So I swayed 
over to stand over him, then sat down. "Hi", I said, in a throaty voice. 
He looked at me, and I could see that he didn't recognise me. I smiled 
at him. He coughed, cleared his throat, coughed again, and said "Uh, I'm 
Eric. You are?" "Call me Vee", I said, and gave him a big sexy smile. 
"Vee, you are gorgeous," he said. "I know", I said, and put my hand on 
his groin. And then I went on, "I want you to come home with me, now!" 
You don't get an invitation like that every day, so he stood up at once, 
with some difficulty on account of he had a huge erection, and I took 
him to my new flat. 
 
We went straight to the bedroom, and I told him to get undressed and to 
wait for me, I wouldn't be long. Then I went to the bathroom, stripped 
naked, and put my hair up, so it didn't look long. And when I returned 
to the bedroom, he recognised me at once. "Vicky! It's you! My god, 
you've changed" he exclaimed. I smiled, and moved towards him. "Yes, 
Eric. I've changed." Without any warning, I slammed my fist into his 
stomach. He doubled up, and slumped to the floor, retching. I gave him a 
few moments to recover, then yanked him up by the hair, held him up by 
gripping his jaw with my left hand, then smashed my right into his 
weakened gut again. This time, it felt like my fist was sinking into 
jelly. His body jerked in my hand, and would have fallen, but my grip on 
his jaw kept him up. I waited a couple of minutes to let the pain 
subside, then aimed my fist at his backbone, through his belly, and I 
think I felt the bone, because there wasn't much resistance on the way 
in. 
 
His body convulsed once, and then hung from my grasp like a sack of 
coal. His eyes were closed, his breathing was shallow, so I let him 
slump to the floor, and collapse. I got dressed again. I didn't really 
need to be naked for this. I sat and read Lord of the Rings, and 
occasionally glanced at the naked and unconscious man on the floor. 
 
Eventually, I heard a soft moan. I looked up; his eyes were fluttering, 
his face was a grimace of pain. He was curled up, as if to protect his 
agonised stomach. "Hello! Are we awake, then?" He moaned again, and I 
got out of my chair and strolled over to where he lay in agony, agony 
that my fist had caused. I prodded him in the belly with my toe, and he 
curled up tighter. 
 
"I killed my baby, all because of you" I explained to him. I don't think 
he was listening, because he just moaned, so I kicked him slightly. It 
didn't help, he just curled up tighter. So I crouched down, rolled him 
over onto his back, and unfolded him. Then I got right down and sat on 
the floor, my legs out in front of me, and lay his back over my legs, so 
his back was bowed over my big right thigh, and his vulnerable belly 
faced up. I put my left leg over his legs, and my right arm over his 
chest, to stop him curling up again. In this position, I had him bent 
over backwards, with my left arm free to do whatever I wanted to him. 

By now, he was sobbing and crying, just like I had cried myself to sleep 
so many times on account of him. It felt good to hear, knowing that it 
was me that was hurting him so much. I tapped him on the belly, and he 
writhed and jerked, but was helpless to do anything to stop me. "Now 
maybe you'll listen. Are you listening?" He just carried on whimpering, 
so I slapped his belly again. "Eric, are you listening?" And I slapped 
him again. "Yes, yes, please don't hurt me." "Good. Now listen 
carefully, I'll be asking questions later. It's all your fault that I 
killed my baby, isn't it?" "Yes, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." "It's good to 
hear that you're sorry, but it isn't enough. You've got to be punished, 
haven't you?" "No, no, please don't punish me, I've had enough, I give 
up, I'll do anything you want." It really surprised me how easy it had 
been to get him into this state. I'd only hit him hard a couple of 
times, the rest had been light slaps and a bit of bending of his back. 
I bent his back a bit harder, to make him more amenable. "You're the 
reason I killed my baby. After you were so horrid to me, I cried and 
cried and wished I didn't have a baby, and the baby died. It's your 
fault." "No, you can't ..." His disagreement was cut off by a sharp blow 
to the gut, and he coughed and tried to curl up again, but I wasn't 
letting him. "You're disagreeing with me? Not a smart move, Eric." 
SMASH! 

I waited a few minutes, while he recovered, and told him to stop 
whimpering and begging, it wouldn't do any good. "You're a murderer, you 
know that? You're as bad as I am, and you should be punished. I've got a 
whip, would you like me to use that?" "Yes, whip me, please, just don't 
punch me any more, I can't take your fist in my gut, please don't hurt 
me like that." I smiled, and rubbed his belly, gently. He moaned in pain 
as I did so, and in his fear, he wet himself. His urine dripped down his 
legs, onto mine. 

"Now look what you've done. You're an animal, you're a horrible, 
horrible animal." I pushed him off my legs. "Now get down on your hands 
and knees. If you're going to behave like an animal, you can be an 
animal." He got onto all fours, and I went and got my whip. It's a short 
riding whip, the sort of whip that no self-respecting rider would ever 
use on a horse. But it's thin and flexible, and, well, whippy. I gave 
him one stroke on the backside, just to show him what it felt like. He 
yelped, like a dog. 

I went and had a shower, to get the smell of his urine off me. It took 
me quite a long time before I felt clean, and lots of soap. When I came 
back to the bedroom, he was still obediently on all fours, so I went 
over to him, and stood in front of him. He lifted up his head to look at 
me, so I went round behind him and gave him another stroke of the whip. 
"You look like a dog. Make a noise like a dog." He was silent, so I 
whipped him again. I could see the red marks on his backside. "Woof", he 
said. "No, that isn't like a dog, do it properly. This time he barked. 
"That's better", I said. "Do it again." He barked again. "Good. Now, if 
you behave yourself properly, I won't have to whip you too much. From 
now on, you stay on all fours, and you eat like a dog, and you bark like 
a dog. If you're naughty, I'll whip you, but if you try to act like a 
man, I'll put you over my legs again and smash your belly with my fists. 
Do you understand?" He nodded, so I gave him a taste of the whip. "Dogs 
don't nod. Do you understand?" He yelped, which sounded like a yes. 

Over the next few weeks, I trained him to eat and drink from a bowl, I 
trained him to actually like dog food, and we worked out a code of barks 
and yelps so we could communicate. And then, about a month later, I 
found him curled up in a corner, crying, and I felt quite sorry for him, 
he'd suffered so much. So I let him jump up on my lap, and I petted him 
a bit, and asked him what the matter was. He whined and yipped, and 
tried to bury his head in my breasts. "Is it because now you're a dog, 
you don't get any sex?" He yipped a yes, so I said, "Well, Ricky, I tell 
you what. You can lick me between my legs, I'm feeling sort of horny." I 
call him Ricky, it's a much nicer name than Eric, I think. 

That was the first time I let him lick me out, but it wasn't the last. 
And he got quite good at it, so good, that I got him a reward. "Look, 
Ricky, it's for you! It's your own dog collar, your very own." He 
nuzzled my knees in gratitude. 

It isn't easy, training a man to behave like a dog. First, you have to 
convince him that he wants to be a dog, which you do by making it much 
less horrible than being a man. So, every time he did something man-
like, I'd bend him over my knees, belly up, and hammer him in the 
stomach or in the side of his body with my fist. I didn't have to do 
that very often, he soon realised that he couldn't take it. But if he 
behaved as a dog, I'd pet him and make a fuss of him. If he misbehaved 
as a dog, then I'd swat him with a rolled-up newspaper, or spray him 
with a water spray, the kind you use for flowers, and I'd say "Bad 
Ricky! Bad!" 

It didn't take long before it was burned into his brain that man-like 
behaviour brought terrible pain, whereas doggish behaviour was quite 
pleasant, really, even if you were a naughty puppy. 

After a month, I bought a lovely leather collar for him, and he was so 
pleased with it when I put it on, because he knew it meant I'd accepted 
him as being my dog. 

Toilet training was a real problem. It was easy enough to teach him not 
to use the lavatory, but then I had problems with messes on the floor. I 
got a cat litter, but even with that, the smell was awful. I had to do 
something. My first idea was that he should do it outside, like other 
dogs. That was all right in the garden, but that brought complications. 
Dogs need fur to keep them warm when they're outside, and Ricky didn't 
have fur, except a little here and there. 

I solved that by getting him a large size romper suit to keep him warm 
outside, and mittens to cover his hands and feet, so he didn't get badly 
scraped. 

It all worked out very well. Ricky accepted his new life as a dog. He 
had food, water, warmth, and even sex. He had nothing to worry about, 
and I knew that he'd taken to his new life when I came home one evening 
and he'd chewed up one of my shoes. I gave him a spray from the water 
aerosol, but secretly I was delighted, and I think he knew it. From that 
point on, I had no more problems with him. 

In fact, he was so obviously happy, that one of the men I took home with 
me met him, and asked if he could also be a dog. And with Eric's example 
to follow, and my experience of training one dog, Harry very quickly 
joined my small pack. 

It was at this point that Diana the Valkyrie came back into my life. She'd 
been doing some research, with a lot of help from a Professor she'd met, 
Michael, and she'd discovered a lot about our common heritage. "Vicky, 
you're a Valkyrie" was the way she put it. Valkyries are physically 
quite different from ordinary women. We have thicker bones, for a start, 
and that's why we aren't facially pretty in the conventional way. But 
those thicker bones laid the foundation for some big advantages. 

The first, and most noticeable advantage, is the two inch thick layer of 
muscle that wraps around our bodies. Noticeable, because it adds about 
twelve inches to the circumference of our chest, waist and hips. This 
means that a Valkyrie looks big and heavy, like a bulldozer in a skirt. 
The extra weight of the thicker bones and the layer of muscle makes us a 
lot heavier, too, maybe 70% heavier than an ordinary woman the same 
height. 

The second, and less noticeable advantage, is that our tendons attach to 
the bones further away from the joint, which gives us a leverage 
advantage, and that explains a lot of our tremendous physical strength 
in the arms and legs, and especially in the hands. A Valkyrie's hands 
are like two iron vices, ideal for gripping a sword or spear, or for 
crushing a man's bones. Our fingers are big, bigger than you'd expect on 
a large man, let alone a medium woman. 

There are some more common factors - we all seem to be blondes, I guess 
common ancestry explains that. We're all very self-confident, but that's 
probably a consequence of the other stuff. And we're all as randy as a 
rabbit in heat. No-one knows why that is, but it isn't a problem. not 
for us, anyway. And we all eat like horses. 

Then, a few weeks later, Diana came to visit with her professor, the guy 
who had discovered all this stuff about Valkyries, Michael, and with 
another Valkyrie called Judy, who seemed to have a proprietary interest 
in Michael. It was rather sweet, really, watching this middle-aged 
couple, Judy and Michael, behaving like teenagers in love for the first 
time, touching hands when they thought no-one was looking, and 
exchanging coded glances all the time. 

They made a big fuss about the dogs, a lot of people do that, but once 
they'd accepted that they were just two dogs, I sent them out into the 
garden to frisk around and play, and we got down to the reason for the 
visit. You'll have read Michael's account ("Diana's Prof") and Diana's 
version ("Diana's Crusade"), so I won't tell you what they told me. But 
I must say the neo-Nazi threat was new to me, and sounded like it needed 
fixing. Anyway, I owed Diana more than I could possibly repay. So I 
agreed to help. 

They wanted me for two purposes. Michael was going to assassinate 
Fraulein Ingrid, the Fuhrer of the neo-Nazis; I was there to give him 
some protection while he was getting ready for this, because Diana and 
Judy were nervous about how he'd cope on his own. But primarily, they 
wanted me to step in when Fraulein Ingrid was out of the way, to take 
over leadership of the group, and thereby achieve three purposes. 

The first purpose was to track down Die Gelt, the old Nazi who 
controlled the huge gold-based funds, stolen by the Nazis, and now being 
used to fund the neo-Nazis in various countries. He needed to be 
stopped. The second purpose was to create a base from which to attack 
and subvert the neo-Nazis in other countries. And the third purpose was 
to restore the WW2 Study Society to its original status, a beer-drinking 
and singing club for men (primarily) interested in World War Two. 

I looked at Diana and Judy as they explained this to me. "I'm supposed 
to do all that with just *him* helping me?" Judy shook her head. "No, 
he's just there to deal with Fraulein Ingrid. The rest of it you'll have 
to do by yourself." I looked doubtful, very doubtful. "No, Vicky, it 
isn't as difficult as it sounds. Ingrid has already got them cowed, used 
to obeying a Valkyrie. All you have to do is get them to accept you as 
her replacement. And you look very similar to her, except you aren't so 
big." 

I looked at Judy, then back at Diana. "I think you can do it, Vicky" she 
said. "And if you run into problems, you can always use this" and she 
gave me a small mobile phone.  "Thanks. I always wanted one of those." 
"No, Vicky, it's important, we all carry them now." 

"How did Ingrid keep them in line?" I asked. So Diana explained the 
ceremonial punishment sessions to me. "But the killing has to stop, 
Vicky." "That's not my style anyway," and I looked out of the window at 
the dogs romping in the garden. The others followed my gaze. "So what 
about Eric and Harry. I can't take them with, I can't leave them behind,  
and no kennels would accept them." 

Diana volunteered the services of her two boys to look after them, and 
we got all the details for the trip settled. Judy took me aside and 
explained carefully what she'd do to me if I hurt Michael, but I told 
her I wouldn't dream of messing up another Valkyrie's boyfriend. So she 
gave me detailed instructions for looking after him, some of which quite 
surprised me. And then, eventually, Michael and I got on the plane for 
Bayreuth. 

We found ourselves a small flat, because we expected to be there quite a 
while. And that night we went to bed, me in the bedroom, Michael on the 
convertible in the living room, until I was woken up very late by a 
shivering man, saying "Vicky, I'm so scared." So I took him into my 
arms, into bed with me, and held him, and promised I'd protect him, and 
soothed him until he fell asleep. I think Judy had spoiled him a bit. 
Well, I let my dogs sleep with me sometimes. 

Next day, Michael went to the HQ of the WW2SS, and joined up. Michael 
was hired to help with the creation of the Mythos of the new Nazis, a 
very important post, and very appropriate, since he's a historian by 
profession. And it was a good position for him to be in, because it got 
him fairly close to Fraulein Ingrid. 

We went to bed that night, and there was no nonsense about separate 
beds. Judy had given me instructions; Michael was used to having two 
very strong arms round him, and now he felt very insecure without a 
Valkyrie holding him. And he needed to feel secure, otherwise he 
wouldn't be able to do a job on Ingrid. 

And then in the morning, we talked. Well, I made love to him first, of 
course, Judy had told me that I should fuck him at least twice each day, 
once in the morning first thing, and once at night, so obviously I did 
what she'd asked. But then we talked, and Judy hadn't told me to do 
that. I've never actually talked with a man before. Either they didn't 
listen to me, like Eric (and now he doesn't talk any more, just barks a 
bit), or else they just wanted sex. And I told him about my affair with 
Eric, and how I'd killed my baby, and I cried in his arms, which I don't 
usually do. And he gave me the usual line that I hadn't, which does make 
me feel a little better, especially as everyone seems to say that to me. 
And I think crying made me feel better, like it was letting it all out. 

Michael spent the day at the WW2SS HQ, I spent the day getting the flat 
sorted out and shipshape. 

That evening, I carried out one of Judy's requests. She'd given me a 
beautiful silky sexy night-dress, and she wanted me to seduce Michael, 
which would cheer him up and bolster his courage for the terrible thing 
he had to do. I don't particularly feel a need to look seductive; men 
can't say no to a big strong Valkyrie anyway.  But Judy asked me to do 
it, and it certainly got Michael cheered up, especially when I told him 
it had been a present from Judy, for the two of us. I wrapped him up in 
my big strong body, and sucked him dry with my powerful female genitals, 
the way that only a Valkyrie can, and he fell asleep in my arms, happy 
and contented. It's *so* easy to please a man. He wasn't too bad, 
either. I guess Judy had taught him how to make a Valkyrie feel good, 
because he spent a lot of time stroking my belly and breasts, especially 
the undersides, where I'm very easy to please. And I made him sleep on 
top of me, a man's weight feels so good on top of you. 

And the next day, I joined the WW2SS. I wasn't wearing my "Valkyrie 
clothes", I didn't want them to realise what I was just yet, not until 
Ingrid was out of the way. They took me on as a typist, which was good 
enough for my purposes; I planned to promote myself to Fuhrer soon. 

Several days passed, and Michael was constructing an elaborate set of 
myths, a neo-Nazi mythology. And at the centre stage, he put the 
Valkyrie, the invincible warrior woman, which everyone took to be 
Fraulein Ingrid, except of course we had other plans. He made sure that 
the central myth could apply to me as well as to Fraulein Ingrid - 
indeed, I was more suitable than she was. There was just one problem. 
She was in charge and I was not, and she was twice my weight and 
strength, and I had no way to shift her. Still, that wasn't really my 
problem. That was what Michael was supposed to do, although how a weak 
man could do anything to a Valkyrie twice my size was beyond my 
understanding. Still, Diana and Judy seemed to be happy that it would 
work, and I trusted them. 

Then one evening, Michael came home, all excited. He'd given a 
presentation on his new mythology, and it had gone really well. So well, 
in fact, that Fraulein Ingrid had summoned him to see her that evening. 
I calmed him down as well as I could, and helped him get ready for this 
big date. But ultimately, he was on his own. And I was really worried. 
What could one small, weak unarmed man do against this huge Valkyrie ten 
times as strong as he was? 

When he got back, he was almost in tears. She'd done some terrible 
things to him, but that didn't seem to be what he was mostly upset 
about. "I've let you all down, I'm no use, how will I ever be able to 
face Diana ... or Judy?" He was practically crying, and when I pulled 
him into my arms, he did start crying. And it was at that exact moment 
in time that I finally understood something that Diana had been trying 
to tell me. Men aren't for being cruel and nasty to. They are for 
looking after, for protecting, and cuddling when they're unhappy, and 
telling that they're wonderful, and all that sort of stuff. Because when 
I saw Michael cry, it tore something inside of me. I felt a physical 
pain in my heart, well somewhere deep down. And all I wanted to do was 
make him better, to console him, to make him happy again. And 
instinctively, I knew how. 

Every woman knows how. When you pick up a baby, you cradle him in your 
arms, you cuddle him to your bosom, you rock him gently and sing to  
him. And it's pretty much the same for men; you pick them up, you cradle 
them in your arms, you pull his head into your bosom, and you sing to 
them. I sang "Yesterday" to him, it's a very, very sad song. And then I 
sang "Eleanor Rigby", which is almost as sad. But then I sang "Hey Jude" 
and "Michelle", which are love songs, and "She loves you", and we both 
knew I was referring to Judy, because she did love him, and then "I 
wanna hold your hand", because that's how I felt about him, and then we 
sang "Sergeant Pepper" and "Yellow Submarine" together, because they're 
happy songs, and Michael was feeling a lot better now. You see how a 
woman singing can help? 

And then he explained what had gone wrong. The plan was for him to put 
his head between her thighs, that wasn't difficult, she pushed it down 
there. But then he was supposed to bite through her femoral artery, the 
thickest blood-carrier in the body, and she was supposed to bleed to 
death in a minute or less. But when it came to it, with his head inside 
that mighty nutcracker, his courage failed him, and he just couldn't do 
it. "It was all right in theory, but when you've got your head between 
two telegraph poles, and you know that they can crack a man's skull in a 
second, you don't have a minute to live, you have a few seconds before 
those great hard legs close on your head and your life. Maybe it would 
have worked, maybe not. Maybe we'd both have died, me first, then her 
from the blood loss. But, Vicky, I'm just not cut out for this sort of 
thing. I'm a history professor, not a warrior Valkyrie like you girls." 

"But I've let you all down. Diana, Judy, you, you were all relying on me 
to do my part, and now I've let you down. I'm a failure, a total 
failure." I put my arms round him, and pulled him down onto the sofa. 
"No, Michael, it isn't your fault. We shouldn't have assumed that you'd 
be able to do what we can do." "No, Vicky, it isn't a matter of physical 
strength, I could have bitten her, it's a matter of courage. I just 
don't have the bottle, and I'm so ashamed." So I soothed him some more, 
and explained how much easier it was to be brave when you're a big 
strong Valkyrie, and then I took him to bed and soothed him some more, 
until he completely forgot what he was unhappy about, for a while at 
least, and he fell asleep in my arms, lying on top of me, the way I like 
it. 

While he was asleep, I phoned Diana, and explained the problem. She 
sighed. "I suppose I might have guessed it's no use sending a man to do 
a thing like that. OK, we'll be right there, as soon as we can. It looks 
like Plan B." 

They arrived the next day, and we immediately had a pow-wow, a 
Conference of War. As soon as Michael saw Judy, he ran to her, and she 
picked him up and made a big fuss of him. I felt a bit lonely at that 
point, and I wished I had my dogs with me. Or even my own man, maybe. Oh 
well. We even included Michael, in the conference, although he was more 
of a liability than an asset, because he kept distracting Judy. I 
suppose it was because they hadn't seen each other for a few days. Isn't 
love wonderful? 

They spent most of the day giving each other secret glances and little 
touches on the hand and arm, they were acting like teenage lovers. I 
felt quite wistful. 

Since Michael hadn't done his part (and we weren't too critical of him, 
you can't really expect too much of a man), we had to work out who would 
do it. And it didn't take us very long to come to the conclusion that it 
had to be Diana. Although Judy was stronger, and I was bigger, it was 
Diana who'd had the most experience of actually being a Valkyrie. So she 
was most likely to be able to deal with the awful Fraulein Ingrid. And, 
because she obviously wasn't going to be able to handle her bare-handed, 
she carried a glass knife, glass to get past the metal detectors. 

Well it worked, but not the way we expected. Michael was just supposed 
to get them inside, but in fact, he turned up trumps, and bailed Diana 
out of a *very* nasty situation. So he redeemed himself, although Judy 
was pretty distraught over how he'd almost gotten himself killed. Read 
"Diana's Crusade" for the detail. But with Fraulein Ingrid out of the 
way, it left me a clear run to do my part, to become the Fuhrer of the 
WW2SS. 

Now that I actually had to do it, I have to say that the prospect was 
daunting, even for a Valkyrie. There must have been a thousand men at 
the weekly gathering, Diana said, and even just in the Party HQ I was 
looking at a couple of hundred. All I had going for me was my Valkyrie 
physique, my Valkyrie attitude, and the fact that Fraulein Ingrid had 
already taught them the folly of trying to argue with a big strong woman. 
Well, I had to do this, I simply couldn't let Diana and the others down. 
Diana had almost been killed getting me this opportunity, so it just had 
to work. 

The next day, I dressed carefully. Freya had arrived by then, to help 
look after Diana, and she helped me put my hair up in a coil on top of 
my head, which gave me an extra few inches of height. I wore five inch 
heels, so that from top to toe, I could manage six foot six. Not as 
impressive as Ingrid's megabody, several inches shorter. But I'd still 
tower over the men in the HQ, and that was the main thing. 

The other thing I did was to emphasise my breasts. I don't usually do 
that, but I've seen how Diana flaunts hers, and since I don't have a 
truly massive set like Judy, I thought I'd make what I do have as 
impressive as possible. And Diana has the knack of that. 

She doesn't do it by wearing an underwired bra, or with padding, or 
anything as simple as that. It's partly in the way she wears a thin silk 
blouse and no bra, with a tailored jacket over it, and she makes her 
breasts play peek-a-boo with the jacket, pushing it out of the way to 
say "Hello" to any man she wants to impress. Wearing a nice neat belt 
helps too, because then you can make sure that your blouse has stress 
lines from your nipples downward, upwards and sideways. These stress 
lines in the fabric serve to lead the eye to the main points. The other 
part is in the way you stand and hold your body. When Diana wants to 
attract a particular man, she sort of points herself at him, shoulders 
back, maybe even her arms behind her back. Then she leans forward 
slightly as she talks to him, and even accidentally brushes his arm with 
her nipple. You can learn a lot about Valkyrie flirting by watching 
Diana. 

I checked myself in the mirror before I left. Pretty impressive, I 
thought. Let's see the man that can hold on to himself when he see this 
lot! So I put a dab of perfume on like Diana had taught me, behind each 
ear, hollow of the neck and between the breasts. And I was ready. 

I arrived at the WW2SS office to be greeted by a scene of extreme 
confusion. As an existing employee and Party member, I had a pass, and 
when I walked into the building, men were milling around like sheep, 
making similar noises. They knew that their Fuhrer had been killed, but 
they didn't know who by, or how, or anything. And, of course, Fraulein 
Ingrid had not defined her successor; in that sort of world, it would be 
foolish to do so, it's just asking for a putsch. So the central 
committee were arguing about whether they should go to the police, about 
whether they should try to find the assassin themselves, about who 
should be in charge of the manhunt, and most of all, about the 
succession for the leadership. It was ideal. Total confusion, everyone 
arguing with everyone else, and into this melee of a meeting steps a 
tall, strong, beautiful Valkyrie carrying a sword. 

Oh, I didn't mention the sword, did I? Strictly speaking, a Valkyrie 
should carry a spear, but Diana, Judy and I talked about that, and we 
decided that although a spear is better for mounted troops, and 
Valkyries are usually cavalry, in this particular case, because I'd be 
infantry, as it were, I'd be better off with a sword. A big, heavy one. 
A six foot broadsword, in fact, weighing about forty pounds, too heavy 
for a man to wield single handed, and too heavy for most men double 
handed. I wore the scabbard slung over my back, with broad leather 
straps crossing between my breasts (and incidentally having the effect 
of emphasising them nicely) and I'd practised the over-the-shoulder 
right-handed draw until I could get it just so. 

I reached back, and the sword whispered out of the scabbard with a sound 
like silk sliding across bare skin. I held it high, then brought it 
smashing down on the conference table with a crash. Forty pounds of 
shining stainless steel hit the top of the wooden table, and scarcely 
stopped as it smashed through leaving a broken mess of firewood. Twenty 
startled men turned to look at the magnificent powerful-looking Valkyrie 
who had just interrupted their bickering. 

I raised my sword again. "Gentlemen. Your new Fuhrer has arrived. You 
will now each kneel and give me your oath of allegiance." I pointed to 
one of them, he looked small and weak. "You first. Down on your knees." 
I didn't give them a chance to think about it, much less discuss it. He 
got down on the floor, and I walked over to him. I stood over him, the 
point of my sword resting on the carpet just in front of him. "Kiss my 
sword. Kiss the symbol of my leadership, my sword Nothung." He leaned 
forward and touched the shining steel with his lips. I moved round, 
stepped over his head, and trapped his neck between my legs. I was 
facing the other guys, so I was able to see their reaction, and it was 
good. This was something they were familiar with. 

"Don't be frightened," I said to him. "If you're loyal and obedient, I 
won't hurt you. But if you disobey my orders ... " I gave him a slight 
squeeze, just enough to make him moan "... then you will be punished, 
and punished most severely. Now swear, swear to your Fuhrer, swear total 
and eternal loyalty and obedience." "I swear, I promise, oh please, 
don't, please." "Say it. I swear to love, honour and obey Fraulein 
Victoria" "I swear to love, honour and obey Fraulein Victoria" "Now and 
forever, to the end of time". He repeated my words. "By all the old 
Gods, by Odin and Frigg, by Thor and Jarnsaxa. To obey her every 
command, for as long as I live." I gave him a little squeeze to remember 
me by, then released him. He stood up, massaging his neck. "Sit down, my 
sweet." I pointed to another one, he was looking terrified, and was 
therefore very suitable. "Come here" I took him through the same 
process, kissing my sword Nothung, taking the oath, getting his neck 
bruised. 

One by one they knelt to me, kissed my sword, took their oaths. Until I 
got to one man, and he was a big fellow, a bruiser of a man, taller than 
me even in my heels, he looked like he might be as much as 300 pounds, 
and looking very arrogant. "By what right?" he asked, when I pointed to 
him. "By what right?" I stared him in the eyes, thrust out my breasts, 
and held out my left fist, clenching the muscle and making my biceps 
stand out. "By the right of might" I replied formally. "Would you 
challenge the Valkyrie?" If he'd had any sense, he'd have backed down 
there and then. But he was a man, and I'd challenged his ego, and when 
you do that, they don't think, they just react. He shouted something 
about it being time for the men to assert themselves, made a bit of a 
speech about what I can only call masculism, wittered on about the 
emancipation of the male race; meanwhile I rammed my sword into the 
wooden floor by the point to keep it safe, and took off my jacket, 
because I didn't want to get it damaged, and waited for him to stop 
jabbering. 

I'd better explain that, although I was a Valkyrie, I'd never been in a 
fight before. I don't think that my little tussle with Eric would count. 
This guy had nine inches on me, and nearly a hundred pounds. I wasn't 
scared; Diana had told me there isn't a man alive who can deal with a 
Valkyrie, but I wasn't sure how to go about this. Men get lots of 
practice fighting when they're boys, women don't. Diana had given me a 
few tips, though. 

Number one, she said, don't try to box. It's a skill, and you don't have 
that skill. Next, she told me to remember the Valkyrie's limited 
mobility compared with ordinary people, so I shouldn't try for anything 
that required speed. Because our tendons are further away from the joint 
than ordinary people, we get more leverage, and therefore more strength. 
But that also means that we can't move so fast, and our limbs don't have 
the same degree of freedom. So, Diana explained, make sure that in any 
fight, it comes down to a strength and endurance contest. So how does 
one do that, if your opponent wants to stand off and jab punches in your 
face? 

That's exactly how he started. Cautiously, staying out of reach, those 
long arms covering the distance between us, and whenever I tried to move 
towards him, he moved back. So I started to do what Diana had explained 
to me. 

"Call yourself a man?" I taunted him. "You look more like a ballet 
dancer. I bet you skip rope." "Bitch" he said. I grinned. Was that the 
best he could do? "I think you're rather sweet. After I've beaten you 
up, I might take you as my pet. You are impotent, aren't you? Your prick 
is so small." and I pointed to it. He looked down, what a fool, so I 
stepped forward and unleashed a haymaker at his jaw. He looked up in 
time to see it coming, and stepped back, I hit thin air, whirled and 
nearly fell over. He hit me on the shoulder, and it hurt. Diana was 
right. I shouldn't try to box. 

"And you look so soft. You must drink a lot of beer - is that the only 
exercise you do?" "Scheise-frau" he said, and took another swing, this 
time at my belly. Diana told me about this one, instead of trying to get 
out of the way (and almost certainly I would be too slow) I tensed my 
abdomen and just took the punch. A Valkyrie has a two inch thick layer 
of muscle just there, and he looked a bit surprised when I just grinned 
at him. He looked at his fist, puzzled, so I brought my arms up and put 
them behind my head. "Go on, limpdick. Try again. A big soft marshmallow 
like you can't hurt a Valkyrie like me." Raising my arms like that had a 
dramatic effect on my breasts, of course, and he was looking at them 
while he rammed his fist into my gut again. This time, I felt it. It 
hurt a little, but I didn't let him see that. I just smiled sexily, and 
said "Well? I'm waiting. When are you going to hit me? If your prick is 
as soft as your fist, your boyfriends must bugger you from behind." 

That did the trick nicely. His face contorted in rage, and he rushed 
towards me. I brought my fist up to meet his belly, and I felt it 
sinking deep inside. The force of my blow wasn't enough to stop him, but 
he folded up nicely around my hand, and although he wrapped his arms 
round my body, the shock of my punch made his arms fly up and out at 
once. I stepped back, and watched him sag to the ground. "That's slowed 
you down a bit, hasn't it?" 

At that point, I made a mistake. I forgot what Diana had told me, and I 
waited until he picked himself off the ground. Fighting isn't a game 
with rules, you see. I think I've seen too many Rocky movies. So I 
fluffed up my hair a bit while he flopped around on the floor, and then 
I watched him as he slowly and painfully got to his feet. I smiled as I 
moved in to finish him off, and I only discovered he'd been faking when 
his big heavy boot caught the side of my leg, sweeping my feet out from 
under me, and I fell to ground, with an agonising pain in my thigh and 
the wind knocked out of me. 

He didn't make the same mistake I made. He didn't give me a chance to 
recover. He went right in with his boots, kicking me while I was down. 
Fair? What's fair got to do with it. This is fighting, not boxing. Diana 
was right. 

At that point, I had two choices, Either curl up and hope he didn't 
damage anything vital with his kicks, and hope he got tired of it before 
he killed me, or ... or what? Beg him to stop? That would be a waste of 
time, given his actions so far. And then he went over to my sword and 
started trying to tug it out of the floor I'd embedded it in. First he 
tried to lift it up, and when that didn't do the trick, he started 
working it back and forth. I wasn't sure if he could handle a sword that 
heavy, but I didn't want to find out. I remembered what Diana had said, 
and instead of getting scared, I got angry. Very angry. Furious. In a 
rage. Not a Berserker rage, not that. Not the rush of hormones and 
adrenaline that gives a man (or a Valkyrie) three times her normal 
strength, not that. But a cold, clear fury, an icy wrath against this 
prick who took advantage of my gentleness and gallantry. And suddenly 
nothing hurt any more, but there was this weakdick in the room with me 
that needed to be dealt with. So I stood up, and with a blood-curdling 
war scream, threw myself at him. 

We connected, my shoulder ramming against his weakened gut, my arms 
looping wide and around his waist. He oofed, and I spun him around, bent 
over, put my shoulder against the small of his back and heaved him up 
into the air. 300 pounds is no problem to a Valkyrie like me. I didn't 
have a specific plan in mind, I was just acting by instinct. Without 
contact with the ground, he had no purchase, and if I kept away from his 
boots, he had nothing he could use to hurt me. So I hoisted his 300 
pound mass face up onto my right shoulder, and once he was up there, I 
didn't know what do to with him. 

It was a bit of an impasse. With him in that position, facing upwards, 
he couldn't reach me, and he didn't dare struggle too hard, in case I 
dropped him. But I wasn't hurting him any and that wasn't what I wanted. 
What I wanted, was to hurt this asshole, hurt him fast and hurt him bad. 

So I dropped him. But not just onto the floor, I got down on one knee, 
my other foot on the ground, and I dropped him onto my big hard thirty-
eight inch thigh. The small of his back hit with a meaty thump, it 
didn't break, but it hurt him terribly, and he jerked convulsively from 
the pain. And seeing his big belly standing so proud and vulnerable, 
told me what to do next. I held his throat with my left hand, pushing 
his head towards the floor; the weight of his legs balanced him across 
my thigh, and I stretched out his belly while curving his back the wrong 
way. And then my big right fist, a woman's fist, a Valkyrie's fist, 
smashed down on his exposed belly. 

The first time, it felt hard. The second time, it was a bit softer, and 
as I smashed again and again at his gut, my fist like a steam powered 
pile driver, it became softer and softer, until it felt like jelly. 
Without the support of his stomach muscles, the curvature of his spine 
got greater and greater as my left arms pushed his neck inexorably 
downwards. I pounded him like raw meat, his body jerking with each blow, 
blood dripping from his mouth from some internal injury, until finally 
he could take any more, and he tried to surrender. 

The problem with being in a cold fury, is that you don't want to stop. 
Now I had this moron where I wanted him, I wasn't about to make the same 
mistake again. What does "surrender" mean to a man without honour? So I 
kept on thumping away, his screams slowly dying away as the air left his 
body, until I looked down at him and saw the tears cascading down his 
upside-down face. 

You probably know by now, if there's one thing a Valkyrie cannot abide, 
it's a man crying. It twists us in a knot deep inside, and we 
instinctively want to comfort him. So I reached down to pull him up, to 
unbend his back, relieving the pain, and I pulled his face into my 
breasts. Men find this very comforting, I find. 

He sobbed into my braless bosom as the pain gradually subsided from his 
body. I rocked him in my arms and stroked his hair. And then I found 
myself singing a lullaby to him, something I learned from my mother, and 
she probably learned from her mother, back into the mists of time. And 
his sobs gradually quietened as he nestled close into my breasts and I 
soothed him to sleep. I felt victorious, dominant, and horny as hell. At 
that moment, I wanted to rape every man in the room, and they'd have 
enjoyed it, too. 

When he was fast asleep, I gently laid him on the floor, careful not to 
wake him. I stood over him, and rested my foot on his back, just to 
underline my dominance over him. Then I went over to my sword Nothung, 
and yanked it out of the floor; it was embedded quite hard. I held the 
sword high over my head, with one hand, and strode back to the defeated 
goon, turned to the goggle-eyed audience and said "Life or death? Should 
the traitor live or die?" They looked at each other, fearfully, as I 
held the sword one-handed, poised over his prone body, a sword that they 
knew they'd barely be able to lift two handed. One by one, they made the 
thumbs-down sign - death. 

I brought my sword down hard, crashing into the wooden floor, inches 
from his head. It didn't go in deep enough to support itself, so I held 
on to the grip as I turned and made a little speech to the men around 
the ruined table. "He's learned to obey me. The pain and damage I've 
done to him will remind him who is the Fuhrer. He'll be a good, loyal 
Party member now, and killing him would be one fewer soldier for the 
struggle." The idea was to instil in them a realisation that you 
shouldn't kill people. This would be a long, hard struggle, but it's 
best to start as you mean to go on. 

"You!" I pointed at the next man along. "Take the oath!" There was no 
more resistance from the cowed men, none of them wanted to share the 
fate of the beaten specimen at my feet. Each one took the oath of 
allegiance, afraid even to meet my eyes. Then, when they'd all sworn 
eternal loyalty to me, I dealt out the tasks. "You - get rid of this 
firewood. You - get a new table in here. You - get another meeting 
organised with the next hour. I need a secretary, someone to take 
minutes, someone to make sure things get done." One of the men timidly 
put his hand up. "I'm the Party secretary." I looked down at him, 
scornfully. "Don't be such a dummkopf, that's an important job, it needs 
a woman. You're fired. Go and find a woman, a real woman, someone who 
knows what she's doing." They all looked at each other, a bit taken 
aback, but I wanted them cowed and under my thumb. I didn't give them a 
chance to recover, I turned and strode out, smashing my sword against 
the door to open it, and leaving it half off its hinges. 

I went out into the offices of the organisation, looking like an 
avenging Valkyrie. I still had my sword in my hand, not because I 
intended to use it, or even for the dramatic impact. I had a very simple 
problem. It's dead easy to draw a sword from a shoulder scabbard. It's 
damn near impossible to put it back in again. You need someone to help 
you with that part, and it means giving up your sword to someone, so it 
had better be someone you trust. Which was a bit lacking here. 

So I walked around, letting them see the terrible Valkyrie with the long 
sword, and in my tour of the office, I found the ideal secretary. She 
was a few inches shorter than me, blonde, broad in the beam and heavy in 
the chest, and she could even have been a secret Valkyrie, for all I 
could tell. All the better if she was, but even if she wasn't, she 
looked efficient, she dressed smartly, she'd intimidate the wimps, 
especially if I softened them up for her, and I told her that from now 
on, she would be my secretary. "You speak English? What's your name?" 
"Ja, I mean yes, I speak English. I am Frau Hilbert. But Herr Groening, 
he's my boss, I don't think he'd ..." "Where is he?" She pointed with 
her thumb, the office behind her. "Is he in?" She nodded. "But he's 
having a meeting." I grinned. "He's not too busy to see me." I marched 
into his office, slamming the door open, and said "Groening?" 

He looked up. There were four of them in the office, little wimps made 
of jelly. I could break any one of them with one hand, all four of them 
if I used both hands. I hoped he'd try to resist me, because I needed to 
teach these guys the second lesson. "Groening. Frau Hilbert works for me 
now. Find yourself a new secretary." I waited, hoping he'd protest. "And 
who might you be?" I slammed my sword down on his desk. It didn't smash 
the wood, but everything bounced. "I am your Fuhrer. You obey me. I give 
you orders, and you submit. Is that clear enough?" "Nein, I cannot, 
first I only take orders from the central committee, second I need Frau 
Hilbert for my own work, and ..." 

While he spoke, I walked round the desk, and when I was behind him, I 
tilted his chair back and spilled him on the floor. I helped him get up, 
but as I did so, I rammed my fist hard into his belly. Most men turn to 
mush when you do that. I think. I held him as he folded up, hooked my 
hand into his trousers and ripped them down round his ankles. Then I 
tore his underpants off, it was just like having sex. But at that point, 
it changed. I cleared a space on his desk, and sat on it with him on my 
knees face down, bottom up. There was a handy half-metre ruler on the 
desk, so I picked it up, and swished it down on his bottom. 

He yelled, and squirmed, but I held him down firmly with my left hand, 
and continued to punish him with the ruler. After a few strokes, I could 
see the red stripes on his pink buttocks, and he was beginning to make 
quite a lot of noise. So I continued with the punishment. 

I looked up at the other three guys. They were watching, horrified as I 
spanked him into submission. I smiled at them, and said "Watch 
carefully, this is what happens to naughty boys". I left a few seconds 
between each stroke, to give his nervous system enough time to recover 
from the stinging pain, so that he could properly appreciate the next 
smack. Smack, pause, smack, pause, smack. His throat must have become 
sore from yelling and screaming, because he settled down to a steady 
choking noise, like a pig grunting. I think he was doing his best to 
avoid the final humiliation of tears. Big strong men don't cry. But the 
noise had attracted some curious onlookers, and I saw faces peering 
around the door, curious to know what was happening. I beckoned them 
inside, I wanted news of this to travel quickly. 

I paused in my work, and looked up. There was quite a crowd of men in 
the room. "Frau Hilbert?" I called. She appeared at once through the 
door. "Come over here, and take over the punishment." I lay Groening on 
his desk, face down, his buttocks red and raw from the caning with the 
ruler. I gave the ruler to Frau Hilbert, but she refused it. "I prefer 
to use my bare hand - see, my hand is very hard!" She swung at his bare 
buttocks, there was a crack as her palm slapped against his flesh, and 
his body jerked. She looked up at me, smiled, and rolled up her sleeve. 
I noticed that her arm was quite thick, very like my own, and again 
wondered whether she mightn't be another Valkyrie. 

She set to, willingly. I guessed that she'd been wanting to get her own 
back on Groening for a while. I also noticed that she seemed to know 
what she was doing. Her hand worked its way down from the top of his 
buttocks, gradually down to just above his thighs, smack, smack, smack. 
Each time, she brought her hand high, paused until he squirmed in 
anticipation, then brought it down hard. It was clear that she'd have no 
mercy, even though by now he was begging her to let him go. But she 
wouldn't stop. "Cry for me, Willy, let me hear you crying." She looked 
up and smiled. "He's been needing this for such a long time, Fraulein 
Victoria. He's been such a naughty boy, haven't you, Willy? He needs so 
much punishment, don't you Willy?" She stopped for a moment, to let him 
answer. "Ja, ja, I've been so bad, punish me, punish me." "Yes, little 
Willy, you've been a bad boy, and now you must be spanked." 

She sat on the desk, her legs stretched out, and told him to get across 
her lap. He couldn't resist her command, now, and wriggled himself into 
position. So his rear was now in a very convenient position for her 
punishing hand, and she raised it high, and brought it down on his 
burning red buttocks with a loud slap, again and again. Every man in the 
room winced as she spanked him again and again, willing him to hold out 
against her, to retain his masculinity against her feminine punishment. 
But ultimately, no man can hold out against a woman's spanking, it's 
only a question of time. And her hand rose and fell steadily, 
rhythmically as she spoke to him, spoke to him softly, gently, like a 
woman does to her baby. "Cry for me, Willy, I want to hear you crying. I 
want to hear how much it hurts, I want to hear you begging me to stop, 
but most of all, I want to hear you crying. Cry, Willy, don't try to 
keep it in. Let it out, let it all come flooding out." 

And then he broke, he couldn't control himself any more, and he was 
weeping, crying, sobbing, the tears were streaming down his face like 
rain on a window in a thunderstorm. And the noise he was making, was 
like a little baby, choking and sobbing, speaking incoherently as his 
voice was broken up by his crying and by the steady "slap, slap" of Frau 
Hilbert's hard hand descending on a part of his anatomy which had 
started out soft and tender, but which was now so red and raw, even the 
lightest touch would have been agony for him. "Oh, Momma, please, I'll 
be good from now on, I'll be such a good boy, I won't be naughty any 
more, oh, please don't hurt me any more Momma." 

I felt sorry for him. Diana had warned me about this; when a man cries, 
really breaks down and cries like a baby, it reaches something deep down 
inside a Valkyrie. Those sobs stirred something inside me, woke up the 
protective instinct that every Valkyrie has. Because no true Valkyrie 
can watch a man in terrible pain without wanting to make it better. 

I touched her shoulder, and she looked up at me, questioningly. "He's 
had enough, Frau Hilbert. You can stop now." She looked slightly 
disappointed, and I realised that she couldn't possibly be a Valkyrie, 
or she wouldn't have wanted to continue hurting him. I couldn't help it. 
I picked him up off the desk, and held him close to my body, careful to 
keep my arms away from his bright red bottom. I jiggled him up and down, 
trying to soothe him, and pulled his head into my bosom, that always 
comforts them. By the time he's stopped crying, the front of my blouse 
was wet with his tears, and was sticking to my nipples like it was 
painted on. But eventually, he did stop crying, so I put him down. 

He stood there, obviously reluctant to sit, so I told him to go home, 
stay at home tomorrow, and come in the day after, but to be sure to 
bring a *very* soft cushion to sit on. And I told him that if he 
promised to be a good boy from now on, he wouldn't get spanked again, 
and was all smiles and eager. 

I told the onlookers to clear off, and I sat down to talk to Frau 
Hilbert. "You're very good at that, you know." She smiled modestly. "Oh, 
it isn't difficult. You need hard hands, that's all, and a hard heart. I 
used to do this for a living, before I joined the Party." "You spanked 
men for a living?" She nodded. "Yes. We call it the English Love. It's 
very common in England, no?" Golly, where on earth did she get that 
idea? Although, come to think of it, if you look at the adverts in phone 
boxes, there does seem to be quite a lot of Strict Discipline, and we 
all know what that means. But I bet it's no commoner than here. 

But Frau Hilbert's skill was rather handy. It would mean that I could 
delegate some of the obstreperous cases to her, because after a few 
spankings, any of these guys would be as malleable as putty. And they'd 
submit to her spanking, because I'd offer them a far worse alternative, 
the prospect of being punched or squeezed by a Valkyrie. Great! 

It also gave me a much better alternative for the punishment sessions. 
Fraulein Ingrid had gotten them used to being punished between her great 
strong legs. I'd been intending to do something a bit less deadly to 
them, but Frau Hilbert spanking skills would come in very handy here as 
well. "What else can you do, Frau Hilbert?" "Oh, please call me Greta. 
Well, I can use the paddle, the short whip, the long whip, the cat, the 
leather strap, the cane, the plaited cord, the hairbrush, the rolled up 
newspaper, ..." "OK, I get the idea. You obviously know this area well. 
But what is your favourite way of administering a spanking?" She smiled 
and rolled up her sleeve, showing an arm that was large and heavy, thick 
with muscle, and ending in a large, square hand. "Oh, with the palm of 
the hand, that's the best, because then I can feel what I am doing as 
well as see and hear. You see how hard my hand is?" I felt her hand, the 
palm was tough and callused, it felt like leather. "It can take me as 
little as five minutes or so to make a man cry, but I prefer to make it 
last longer, to spin it out. And some of them have an erection the whole 
time, at least, until they start to really feel the pain. 

"And you used to do this for a living?" She smiled. "Well, in fact, I 
still do. As well as my office job here, I have a therapy practice, 
where I spank men to heal their minds. I enjoy it, and it keeps my hand 
in, so to speak." "Therapy?" "Sure! It makes the man feel so much better 
afterwards; he has a good cry, lets all his emotions come out, it's a 
kind of catharsis. I advertise my services under the "medical" section 
in the yellow pages. I do enemas, as well." I don't think I wanted to 
hear about enemas, so I changed the subject. "Greta, this organisation 
has become slack, undisciplined. They became too used to simply 
following Fraulein Ingrid's orders. You and I, we have to bring them 
back into line." "Strict discipline?" Greta asked. "Yes, Greta. The 
strictest discipline. And spankings for any infringement. Any breach of 
the rules. They have to understand that slackness will not be 
tolerated." Greta grinned. "Could I suggest, that occasionally I 
administer a spanking when it might not really be called for? Just to 
make sure they remember?" "Yes, Greta, good idea." "And every spanking 
should be as public as possible, with the trousers down, and should be a 
minimum of fifty smacks, or until he starts crying, whichever is the 
longer." "You're the expert, Greta. You tell me. Just one thing, when 
they start to cry, the spanking shouldn't continue, you should stop and 
comfort them, tell them to be good in future, that sort of thing?" "Of 
course, of course. Well, we will soon have restored order to these boys. 
All they need is a firm hand, and that's exactly what I have." 

I looked at her firm hand, and thought how much fear she would inspire 
in these neo-Nazis. She would make them live in terror of getting a 
spanking, and that would take a lot of the load from my shoulders. "Do 
you have any friends, Greta? Do you know anyone who could help us to 
bring these boys back to the straight and narrow?" She nodded. I know 
two other ladies in this area, Inge and Mutte, we sometimes send naughty 
boys to each other when we're too busy to handle them ourselves. I'll 
ask them if they will help." Excellent. Greta and her two helpers would 
spank their way through this organisation like a hot knife through 
butter. 

"One thing, Fraulein Victoria" "Call me Vicky" "Oh, no, I couldn't 
possibly. What I wanted to ask, is could we dress differently from the 
men? This black shirt and black uniform is so drab?" "Yes, of course. 
What did you have in mind?" 

She smiled. "Leather. Leather on top, and leather below. High heeled 
leather jackboots, leather jacket and a long leather skirt, down to mid-
calf. Under the jacket, a white silk blouse, and we carry a small whip, 
as a symbol of dominance. Not to use, you understand, because every 
woman prefers to spank with her hand, but just to intimidate them." I 
nodded. "Sounds good to me. Could you get me an outfit like that as 
well, then we'll all look the same, and they'll be even more 
intimidated, because they've learned what I can do. But remember, I'll 
need to carry a scabbard for this sword." "I was wondering, I can see 
how you get it out, but how do you get it back in again; the scabbard is 
behind you, how do you find where to slide it in? It's like a man trying 
to find where to put his penis, they can never find the right place." 
"Simple", I said. "I give it to you, and you slide it in."  I smiled - I 
now had the trusted deputy I needed. 

A few evenings later, I saw Michael and Judy, very briefly, to set up a 
meeting later. He looked much better now that she was standing by his 
side. He'd missed her badly, and even though I looked after him quite 
thoroughly, I knew he'd been pining for her. I felt slightly out of it, 
and wished I had someone to comfort me when I was lonely. After I said 
goodnight to them, I realised that I was being a bit silly. I didn't 
have to be alone. I had two faithful friends, who were probably missing 
me as much as I was missing them. 

Next day, I briefed Greta. "Greta, I want you to undertake this mission, 
because it's important, so I don't want to send one of the men. I have 
two dogs in England, and they are missing me. I want you to go and fetch 
them for me." "But surely, you could send anyone to fetch them? What's 
so difficult about transporting a pair of dogs? You just put them in a 
kind of hutch, and the airline does the rest." "Not these dogs, Greta. 
My dogs are kind of special." And I explained about my rather special 
dogs, Ricky and Harry. "If the airline see them in those carriers, 
they'll get a bit difficult, won't they? And Ricky just isn't used to 
two-legged locomotion any more, so he can't just walk on the plane. And 
you can't just put them in the hold, they'll asphyxiate when the plane 
reaches altitude." "Mmmh, yes, I see the problem. Ach, leave it with me, 
you'll have your dogs in no time." 

That's what I like. "Can do", no "But how", no "Can't be done". I felt 
confident that if Greta said she'd do something, it was as good as done. 
And I knew that if any man got in her way, she'd simply spank him until 
he got out of her way. 

As was indeed the case. Greta had solved the problem very simply. She 
put the dogs in the back of a van and drove it through the Channel 
Tunnel, then down to Bayreuth. The whole drive took her a day and a 
half, including stops for rest and to let the dogs out for a while. You 
should always send a woman to do a woman's job. 

So I had my dogs with me, and that helped a lot. They're really very 
good at licking things, as you'd expect. And they kept me company, I 
even allowed them to come to bed with me that night, a rare treat. 
Usually I made them curl up at the bottom of the bed. 

And next day, I let them come to the office with me. As we all walked 
in, they got more than one curious look; I guess the neo-Nazis had never 
seen that sort of dog before. Well, neither had most people, but in 
England they were too polite to stare. I swept into my office, saying 
hello to Greta as I went in, then called her in to talk to me. 

"Two things, Greta. First, could you arrange food for the dogs." 
"Standard dog food?" "Of course, but please not every day from tins, let 
them have fresh food occasionally. Not too often, I don't want to spoil 
them." "Ja, it will be done." "Next, we need to get ready for the next 
beer evening. Here's what I want." 

I explained my ideas to Greta. "I want to get away from the whole 
'Untermensch' idea. As far as I'm concerned, all men are equally 
inferior to women, but must be constantly reminded of this fact. So, 
we'll keep the punishment sessions, but you, Inge and Mutte will be 
doing the spanking." She licked her lips. "Till they cry?" "Yes, Greta, 
till they cry. I want to hear them weeping and wailing at the tops of 
their voices, screaming out their pain for the whole audience to see. 
Fraulein Ingrid was too gentle with them, just crushing men between her 
thighs. A good public spanking, hard and humiliating, is what they 
need." She smiled. I'd hate to be a man under her control. 

"And the BrauFraus, the women who serve the beer?" Greta raised an 
eyebrow. "I'd like them dressed like us. I want these boys to understand 
that any woman could be dangerous, so they must be on their best 
behaviour at all times." Greta clapped her hands in delight. "Wunderbar! 
In the leather jackets and skirts, so they look frightening." "Yes, and 
they must carry a whip, also. And the men must be respectful to them, 
none of this 'Hey girl' and 'Honey'. It must be 'Please', and 'Thank 
you', and 'Would you kindly', and if a girl feels that one of them 
hasn't been respectful enough, then he must be spanked as well." 
"Excellent." "And she will do the spanking, and he will submit to her, 
or be spanked by one of you three." "But an untrained girl cannot spank 
very well." "Never mind, it's the thought that counts." "So they should 
use their little whip for the spanking, or a strap." "No, Greta, I think 
it's better if they use their hands, even if their hands are now too 
soft. They will harden up with time, and bare hands are more 
humiliating." Greta nodded. "You're right. Sometimes I forget the theory 
of spanking. The most important factor isn't the pain, it's the 
humiliation." 

I didn't want the men to be too badly hurt - Valkyries don't like to see 
men in pain. So I agreed with Greta that we wouldn't aim to inflict too 
much agony on their soft, sensitive behinds. Greta said "It doesn't 
matter how much you hurt them, it's the humiliation that's the important 
thing. All I really need to do is spank them until they start to cry, 
then I can stop and let them recover." "And that'll be less wear and 
tear on your hands, Greta." She smiled. "Nein, not a problem. My hands 
are very hard, I could spank all day and still enjoy the night." 

There was some resistance to my new ideas, but Greta and her friends 
soon spanked the men into submission. At first, scarcely an hour went by 
without the sound of howling from somewhere, followed after a while by 
sobbing. I had to blot these noises from my ears - after all, it was for 
their own good that we were spanking them. And surely, a couple of 
spankings couldn't be as bad as Fraulein Ingrid's punishments. 

By the weekend, we had the first beer evening under my new regime 
arranged. We had a special table up on stage, and at that table, I sat 
with Greta, Inge and Mutte, looking rather swish in black leather, my 
two dogs sat by my side, looking well brushed and alert. And instead of 
the Braumeister that used to lead the singing and chanting in the 
Fraulein Ingrid days, we had a Dungeon-mistress. She didn't actually 
know anything about beer, but that wasn't necessary. I'd recruited her 
from a local Bayreuth Dungeon. 

Unless you're into BDSM, you probably don't know about Dungeons, so I'd 
better explain. A Dungeon is a place where a Dungeon-mistress hangs out. 
To be precise, of course, it's the men that hang out, suspended from 
parts of their anatomy at her pleasure. She was tall and aloof, and she 
was an expert at inflicting pain on the delicate bodies of men. But that 
wasn't what I wanted her for. I just wanted her to add to the general 
air of intimidation and menace. The whip she carried helped a lot. And 
she was a great song caller. 

She told the men what to sing, and by golly, they sung it, with verve 
and gusto. And woe betide any of them that she thought was slacking; 
she'd point the poor man out to one of the BrauFraus, and the Braufrau 
would hurry over and administer a swift spanking to the man, just ten 
strokes, so he would still be able to sit down. 

And, of course, she told them when to drink. Ein, zwei, drei, just like 
before. The same beer, the same drinking games, the same songs. All 
comrades together, building the team spirit. But when the time came for 
the punishment sessions, it was very different. 

They brought on the spanking-horse. That was shaped pretty much like a 
saw horse; the man had his legs tied to the frame at one end, bent over 
the central bar, and his wrists tied to the other side. All the watching 
men groaned with anticipation and looked at each other fearfully. Many 
of them knew at first hand what it felt like to be spanked by a hard-
handed woman with skill at her job. Many of them had listened, 
fearfully, as their colleagues burst into tears in spite of doing 
everything to stoically bear the punishments. And everyone knew that a 
spanking from Frau Hilbert meant agonising pain and total humiliation. 

The Dungeon-mistress held up her whip for silence. Instantly, a hush 
fell over the audience. I pulled out a piece of paper, and said 
"Gentlemen, we will now read the minutes from last week's Central 
Committee meeting." They looked at each other, puzzled, baffled. This 
was to be a committee meeting? But they didn't dare say anything; our 
spanking BrauFraus were still circulating, bringing beer to thirsty 
drinkers. 

I started reading out the minutes. "Action Herr Durschmidt. Stand up, 
Herr Durschmidt, have you completed the Action?" He stood up in the 
audience, and shook his head. He started to explain about how busy he 
was, but I interrupted him. "Silence, Durschmidt. Kommen sie hier!" 

He looked left, right. There was no escape. A Braufrau stood on either 
side of him, blocking his path. The Dungeon-mistress walked slowly 
towards him, while the rest of the audience banged their hands against 
the table in time to her march. She took him by the wrist, and led him 
up on stage, to the spanking-horse. I leaned back in my chair to watch, 
my hands behind my head. My sleeves fell away so everyone could see the 
size of my arms. I put my legs up on the table, and my skirts slid back, 
so they could see my thighs. Durschmidt looked at me, like a rabbit 
looks at the ferret. I smiled. "Durschmidt, you are lucky today. Frau 
Hilbert will be doing the punishment." 

Inge and Mutte tied him to the frame, and Greta rolled up her right 
sleeve. Her arm wasn't anywhere near as big as mine, because she wasn't 
a Valkyrie, but it was plenty big enough. Inge took a very large pair of 
scissors, and cut off his trousers, being careful not to cut off 
anything important.  Then it was Mutte's turn to cut off his underpants. 
He lay there on the frame, in pain already from the bar cutting into his 
belly, trying to take the weight on his arms and legs, but unable to 
relieve the pressure completely. And the bar digging into his belly made 
it hard for him to breathe properly. Greta had explained the theory of 
the spanking-horse to me, and it sounded a bit barbaric, but I let her 
get on with it, she being the expert. 

Greta walked up to Durschmidt, licked her lips, and brought down her 
hand. SLAP! The noise it made echoed round the room, but brave 
Durschmidt managed to keep silent. Greta smiled, she had told me she 
like her men to show a bit of resistance, and she brought that big hard 
hand down on his soft bottom. SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! After a few spanks, 
he couldn't keep still. I saw his body jerking every time her hand came 
down, and after a couple of dozen, he couldn't keep silent any more. 

At first, he started to argue with her. "This is completely unfair, it 
wasn't my fault, I couldn't help it." SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! Then, he did 
something really stupid, he started to swear at her and abuse her. "You 
bloody bitch, I'll get you for this, you can't spank me, I'm important." 
SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! Her hand rose and fell, tirelessly. I thought the 
abuse might have made her angry, but Greta was a true professional, just 
doing a job. SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! 

Then he tried begging her. "Oh, please, I won't do it again, please 
stop. It hurts so much, I can't take the pain any more, I'll do anything 
you want, only stop spanking me." But that wasn't what Greta wanted. 
SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! "Oh, please, please, what do you want me to do?" 
SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! And then he just stopped struggling, went limp 
over the spanking-horse, and started to cry. Weeping and wailing, tears 
streaming down his face like rain in Yorkshire, sobbing and crying until 
I almost couldn't stand it - Valkyries hate hearing men cry. And that 
was what Greta was waiting for. Spank them till they cry, was her motto. 

Inge and Mutte untied him from the frame and helped him stand up. I 
walked over to him and took him in my arms, and comforted him, and I can 
tell you, it made me feel a whole lot better when I dried his eyes and 
cuddled him till he just gave an occasional sob. Then Greta told him 
that instead of wearing a replacement pair of trousers, he must wear a 
skirt for the next week. I thought for a moment that he was going to 
argue, and we all held our breath, but then he realised what a stupid 
idea that would be, and he meekly put on the skirt. It was quite short, 
only reaching down as far as his mid-thigh. He looked terrible in it, 
his legs really called for a long skirt, but we'd agreed that their 
skirts should be short and sexy. Well, sexy on me! 

We sent him back to his table; instead of sitting down again, he sort of 
leaned forward on the table, and who could blame him? It really was so 
funny when the Braufraus smacked him as they went past. 

And we continued with the minutes of the Central Committee meeting. 
"Action, Herr Koestler. Herr Koestler, have you completed your Action?" 

If you've ever been on a committee, you know the Actions game. At each 
meeting various members of the committee agree to do certain things, 
which are called Actions. At the next committee meeting, you go through 
the minutes and check on each Action. Usually, the Action hasn't been 
done, everyone laughs, and it's carried forward to the next meeting. 
It's one of the reasons why committees are totally impotent. Of course, 
I didn't care about the impotence of the individuals, but I did need an 
effective Central Committee. 

By the end of the evening, Greta had spanked about a dozen men. For each 
of them the spanking continued until she'd cracked their self-control, 
and they broke down in floods of tears. Floods was the keyword, just a 
few pretended sobs wasn't enough - Greta kept going until the tears 
poured from their faces and wet the floor underneath them. 

Since the members of the Central Committee were arrogant and stuck-up, 
the rank and file thoroughly enjoyed watching them get their come-
uppance, and a good time was had by all - well, not quite all of course. 

Next day, three of the members of the Central Committee came to me as a 
deputation. "We cannot work under these conditions. You must exempt us 
from the spankings, how can we get respect from our subordinates?" I 
smiled at them. Silly boys! "You get respect by doing your job properly, 
and if you do your job properly, you won't be spanked." They looked at 
each other, and one of them swallowed nervously, and said "In that case, 
we must resign from the committee." And he gave me three pieces of paper 
with their resignations on. I looked at the papers, then looked up. 
"You're sure you want to do this." "Ja." "Is there anything I can do 
that will change your minds, apart from stopping the spankings?" "Nein. 
Stop the spankings, or we leave." 

I walked round to the front of the desk and picked up the phone. "Greta? 
Fetch Inge and Mutte, I have a little job for you. Oh and fetch the 
horse." The three men paled, and tried to edge towards the door, but 
there was a Valkyrie blocking their way. "Gentlemen, do you want to 
wrestle with a Valkyrie? It's been so long since I had a man screaming 
in pain between my legs. I could use one of my arms on each of you, my 
headlock is a delightful experience, but which of you would like to be 
the one between my legs?" Nervously, they backed away from me, and from 
the door. And then Greta and the girls walked in, with the three 
spanking-horses. 

Greta sized up the situation. "Trousers down, and bend over." The men 
looked at each other, but obeyed. They tied the men down on the horses, 
Greta counted to three, and they began a fine display of simultaneous 
spanking. SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! After a few minutes, I couldn't take it 
any more, I hate watching men in pain, so I took the dogs for a walk. 

That was the last trace of organised resistance. Oh, sure, we had to 
give some man a bit of a smack now and then for slackness, but we'd 
cowed them so thoroughly that there never was any real problem. Making 
the spankees walk around in short skirts for a week helped a lot, too. 
It meant that the humiliation was total, and public - not just inside 
the WW2SS headquarters. It also meant that their buttocks were very 
accessible to anyone who felt like giving them a friendly smack or two. 
And the end of their resistance meant that we could turn our attention 
to the next part of the plan. 

I explained it to Greta. "Greta, these men have been playing such a 
silly game, we have to teach them a new game, with some new rules." She 
rubbed her hands together, her hands were getting lots of soft flesh to 
spank these days, and she was really enjoying it. "We have to eradicate 
this 'Untermensch' idea; it's a very dangerous thing, and it means that 
we're restricted from recruiting 'Untermensch' members." She agreed. 
"I've never really understood how they decide who is Untermensch and who 
isn't." she said. "So what do we do instead?" Good question. We needed 
entertainment for the weekly beer meetings, and the men had been trying 
so hard to be good, it was getting difficult to find anything to punish 
them for. 

I looked across at my dogs, curled up in a corner of the room. They 
looked back at me with big eyes. No. I couldn't do that to them. So I 
looked at Greta. "I don't know, Greta" I admitted. "Have you got any 
suggestions?" She smiled, and I was *very* glad that I wasn't a man with 
my bare buttocks waiting the friendly attentions of her hard hand. 
"Let's open the organisation up to allow women to join." "But women can 
already join, if they want." "Yes, but it isn't exactly encouraged, is 
it?" True. Most of the recruiting was being done amongst the menfolk of 
the town. "OK, so we recruit women. But how does that help? Surely you 
aren't suggesting that we spank the women?" Greta's grin got broader. 
"Many of the women will be married." 

Light dawned on me. Of course! Spanking the women members' husbands 
would go down a treat! They could replace the 'Untermensch', except in a 
sense, the husbands would still be 'Untermensch', men under the thumb of 
our spankers. And we could teach our women members the art of spanking, 
oh, yes, this would be so good! 

Several weeks later, Diana was well enough to travel, and she came to 
visit me, together with Judy and Michael. I told Judy to stay close to 
Michael, because he might get scared by some of what he'd be seeing, and 
I showed them around. I explained why some of the men were wearing short 
pleated skirts, I introduced them to Greta, and to Inge and Mutte, my 
three main spankers. Diana commented on the efficiency of the committee 
organisation, and I explained how I'd so simply changed their attitude 
to Actions, so that now, Actions were always carried out very promptly. 

I showed them the Spanking class, where my three experts were teaching 
their skills to the newly recruited women, who would be able to spread 
the word far and wide. I explained about the weekly beer and singing 
festivals, and how any members' husbands that had failed to submit 
properly to their wives attentions, were publicly spanked by one of my 
horny-handed trio. After that, they gladly submitted to whatever their 
wives wanted to dish out. I showed them the spanking-horse, and Diana 
said she preferred to use her knee, it was much more personal, but I 
explained that using a spanking-horse increased efficiency, and anyway 
the other spankers weren't Valkyries, so they wouldn't have the strength 
to hold a man helpless while smacking his little bottom. Judy asked why 
they didn't use a wooden paddle, or something, and I explained that 
spanking purists wouldn't dream of using anything except the bare hand. 

Michael just spent the whole time looking terrified, and trying to hide 
behind Judy. I suppose it wasn't a very pleasant experience for a man. 
But I managed to corner him at one point, and flattened his body against 
mine, and gave him a long hard kiss before Judy came over and rescued 
him. 

At the end of the guided tour, Diana, Judy and I had a meeting in my 
office. Oh, Michael was there, of course. And Diana told me I'd done a 
really excellent job, that I seemed to own not only the whole WW2SS 
organisation, but also half of the town of Bayreuth, and that this would 
provide a splendid springboard for our assault on the entire neo-Nazi 
movement and its financiers. And Judy agreed with her, and I practically 
glowed. "And best of all, Vicky, you've done it without really hurting 
any of the men. Oh, of course I can see they have glowing bottoms 
sometimes, but they get over that. And you said you feel their pain when 
they cry. Vicky, do you realise what that means?" 

I blinked away a tear. Yes, of course. At last, I was a proper Valkyrie. 




Diana the Valkyrie 
Email me at valkyrie@thevalkyrie.com
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