Diana's Quest part two - Marseilles by Diana the Valkyrie, Valkyrie@TheValkyrie.com Diana goes on a quest for a Valkyrus, and gets into trouble in Marseilles Update: 25/09/1997 to sagas If you haven't read Diana's Quest part one, stop and read that first. This story is mostly violence, some sex. We got out of the Metro at La Vigraine, the southernmost stop, and started walking south. Two women, or to be more exact, one woman and a Valkyrie. At first, Cherie's dark-haired head was an inch above my 5'5", but it rapidly became clear to both of us that walking in four inch heels was a really dumb idea, so we found a shop and got her a pair of nice Reeboks. She didn't look so elegant now, and she really was quite short. And the Reeboks were incongruous with the short skirt and fishnet tights, so I also got her a pair of ordinary tights, and then the skirt looked so wrong I had to get her a nice knee-length dirndl skirt, well actually a couple of inches above the knee, but compared with her usual skirts that had absolutely no point of contact with the knee, being somewhat closer to her armpits, it was a lot better. I still looked like a Valkyrie, but Cherie no longer looked like a prostitute. "You need a new name", I told her. "If you're companion to a Valkyrie, you can't be Cherie la Douce any more." "Then could I be Cherie la Valkyrie?" 120 pounds of cuddly sex? No way. Besides, if you have to ask, you obviously aren't. I thought for a bit. "Cherie la Robin" I said. She clapped he hands, "Oui, comme l'oiseau" Um, well, no, I didn't mean like the bird, I was thinking of a completely different Robin. You know, I've always wondered about a guy who dresses in rubber from head to toe and who goes around with a teenage boy. Still, La Robin suited her well, both for the way she did resemble a pretty little bird, and also for the sidekick thing. We British love to use double meanings, we think it's funny. As we went south, the gardens gradually got bigger, and the houses further apart until we were walking along a tree-lined boulevard. And then Cherie stopped, and said "Diana?" in a plaintive tone of voice. "Yes?" "My feet hurt." "That's because you aren't used to walking, Cherie. It'll feel better soon." She shook her head. "No, Diana, it hurts, mes pieds sont agonee". So we sat down, and I pulled off her Reeboks, and had a look. Uh-oh. Blisters. Bad ones. No wonder she was complaining. Fortunately, I had just the thing, and rummaged in my bag for my Swiss Army knife. A Valkyrie always carries a knife, I'd feel kind of naked without it. But if you walk around with a hunting knife, people think you're a bit strange, whereas if you carry a Swiss Army knife, well, they still think you're strange, actually. This particular model has all the interesting gadgets, including, would you believe, a pin, which comes in handy for all sorts of things. So I carefully burst the blister, wiped it dry with a tissue, and gave Cherie a pair of my socks to help protect her feet. But I didn't think walking was too good an idea just yet, so I stuck out a thumb and started hitching. Fruitlessly. The cars just swept past, without even looking at me. Cherie sat on the grass verge and watched me for a while, until eventually, she couldn't keep quiet. "Diana, you're doing it all wrong." "It worked in England." "But this is France, Diana. I'll show you." She changed back into her skirt that was more like a wide belt, put those absurd shoes back on, and hobbled to the side of the road and started to wave her thumb. It took her about three minutes. The car that stopped was rather smart, and the driver leaned across and opened the door and gabbled something at Cherie, who laughed with a sexy, throaty laugh I hadn't heard before, and slid onto the front seat. So I got in the back. I heard her introduce me as "Diana la Valkyrie", and then the two of them started doing the voluble-french thing, so I kind of tuned them out. And because I hadn't had much sleep for a while, what with Cherie introducing me to things I hadn't met before last night, I dozed off in the back of that large and comfortable car. I was woken up a few hours later by quite a lot of shouting from the front of the car, and after I'd worked out where I was, I realised that Cherie had been plying her trade. Didn't she have any self-restraint? Apparently not. After things had settled down a bit, I looked around; we were in a car park. "Allez, Diana" she said, as she got out of the car. I grabbed my bag and followed. "Where are we?" "Marseilles" "Oh" "I'm starving, Diana, let's eat." This was Marseilles, so I wanted bouillabaisse. If you don't know what that is, it's fish soup, and the fish can be anything at all. I've heard the best bouillabaisse is made in Marseilles, which is really an overgrown fishing village, and I wanted to try it. So we found a cafe, sat down, and ordered bouillabaisse. We were joined by two of the locals, and they started gabbling at Cherie. She shook her head and gabbled back at them, and they started waving their hands in the air. Cherie held up one hand, and explained it to me. "Diana, they think we're street-girls looking for business." I wasn't surprised; Cherie was still wearing the shortest skirt south of the border, and her fuck-me shoes, and I guess they made an assumption about me, based on Cherie. "Tell them they're mistaken, Cherie, and to go away." "I did, but they won't take no for an answer." "Then tell them I'm a Valkyrie, and if they don't leave us alone, I'll break one arm out of the four they have between them, and they can choose which one." "Diana, that might sound better coming from you." The soup arrived, looking foul and smelling heavenly. Why can't I just enjoy my soup? All right, all right. I bet they haven't heard of Valkyries. And I really didn't need this, I just wanted my bouillabaisse, and if I got into a fight, I bet it would get spilled all over the floor. Time for a bit of intimidation, I'm rather good at that. I stood up slowly, you look taller if you do that, and I reached down to my waist and pulled off my sweater. Unfortunately, I was wearing a big sweatshirt, so you couldn't see much. Oh well, this is France. So I pulled the sweatshirt off too, and did the double-biceps pose. That always works, men look at my arms and decide it might be wiser to tangle with some fluff-bunny, and leave the Valkyrie alone. Unfortunately, taking off my sweatshirt meant that my breasts were bared, and I don't think that either of them noticed my arms. I waved them about a bit, put them behind my head, round the front, double biceps again, but it was no use, they weren't being intimidated. Bother. And then one of them came round the table and started trying to grab Cherie, and the other one reached for me, or to be exact he reached for the nearest part of me, and you can probably guess which part that was. So I grabbed his wrist with both of my hands as it came towards me, missed with my left, but managed to get a grip with my right, and I gave him a good yank towards me, which he didn't even try to resist, because that was his preferred direction anyway. But I pulled him really hard towards me, and he was moving pretty fast by the time our bodies collided. Have you ever bumped into a Valkyrie at speed? It's a bit like running into a tree. He bounced off me, and I gave him a helping shove in the direction of his friend. So then he smashed into the guy who was trying to be a nuisance with Cherie, knocking him to the ground, and ricocheting off him back to me again. I pulled him towards me to help things along, but got out of his way this time, giving him a good shove as he flew past. At which point I realised that he was heading straight for my bouillabaisse at high speed. Fortunately, I still held his wrist in my right hand, and I jerked on that to keep him off my soup. And there was a loud POP!!! as his arm dislocated at the shoulder, and he still smashed into the table, sending my bouillabaisse all over the place. Rats. I'd been looking forward to that. After that, things quietened down a bit, and I put my shirt back on, but the owner of the cafe refused to replace the soup, and we had to buy another bowl. It really was excellent bouillabaisse, though, and worth the extra expense. And anyway, Cherie seemed to have taken quite a lot of francs from the guy in the car, so it wasn't a big problem. But I wasn't too keen on the way Cherie kept kicking the guy on the ground as she walked past him and saying "Cochon". The other guy had wisely scarpered. With my stomach feeling more like it wasn't out of a job, I felt quite a lot more kindly towards the world. I told Cherie to stop kicking the poor guy with the dislocated arm, and told him the good news, that Cherie and I would be staying with him tonight. He didn't look too pleased about that, which was odd because that's exactly what he'd wanted a short while ago. I guess that's because he'd found out that I wasn't a fluff-bunny. We all piled into his car, and of course he couldn't drive, because of his arm, and it was then that I found out Cherie couldn't drive either. Well, I suppose you can't be good at everything. And I wasn't used to driving on the right, let alone handle the insanely aggressive tactics of Marsellaise drivers. But I got us back to his apartment, which turned out to be extremely manky, and in a district you wouldn't want to walk a dog in. And it was tiny. There was a bed, a TV and a table, and that was it. Aristide kept talking about l'hopital, but I told him not to be such a big baby, it wasn't broken, just dislocated, and I've had plenty of practice at fixing those. So I told him to lie face down on the bed, and Cherie sat on his back, as a weight to keep him on place, and I put one foot on his shoulder and heaved at his forearm, because that pulls the shoulder joint apart, and then released it slowly, because then it slots neatly back into it's socket. Great theory. Did I mention that Valkyries aren't noted for being graceful and deft? My foot slipped off his shoulder, and if I'd been thinking fast enough I'd have let go of his hand, but I wasn't and I didn't, so while I went arse over teakettle I was still holding his wrist, and with Cherie on top of him, he couldn't follow me backwards, so his arm went to an angle that arms can't go to, with a 185 pound Valkyrie on top of it, and there was a loud snapping noise as something broke. Honestly, why do they make men so bloody fragile? I mean. Dislocated shoulders I can handle (well, usually), but a fractured arm really is a hospital job. I'd have taken him down to the nearest bone- doc right away, except that something had come up. You see, while flopping about in pain, he'd managed to dislodge Cherie from her position seated on top of him, and she being light as a fairy, he'd bucked her off, and she'd landed on top of me. So although Aristide was lying comfortably on the bed (well, as comfortable as one would expect, considering), I was lying on the hard floor with Cherie on top of me. And Cherie did what Cherie does in such situations, and I counted a hand between my legs, one on my belly, and one on each breast. Trying to work out how she does that while I'm being badly distracted isn't possible, but then she stopped long enough to suggest that the bed might be more comfortable, which made sense to me, so I picked her up, and wondered where I could park Aristide for a while, but there wasn't anywhere except the floor, and the poor boy was groaning with his broken arm (not forgetting the shoulder which was still dislocated) so I left him on the nice comfortable bed, and put Cherie down next to him. She immediately reached up and two small soft hands crept under my T- shirt and got busy. Golly, but this girl was good at what she did! I straddled her on my hands and knees while her hands travelled up and down, and then she tugged my T-shirt off completely. "Diana, with this body, you should go bare-chested all the time." "Thank you, Cherie, but I hate it when men walk into lamp-posts and trees." She giggled. "I'd love to see their faces if you did, though." And then two soft warm kittens started raising goose-bumps up my waist, down my back, up my belly and across my breasts. I closed my eyes in bliss, letting Cherie do what she was expert at, and again I felt like she had at least three hands at work. "Cross your ankles, Diana, and squeeze in with your thighs." Something large and fairly hard was in exactly the place where large hard things ought to be, and I murmured "Cherie, ma cherie, I'm afraid that might hurt you." "Ah non, Diana, pas de probleme, don't worry, you won't hurt me." So I did as she said, and it really was amazingly large and hard, and I felt two hands coaxing my nipples into the look and feel of strawberries, so what in earth was she using down there? But coherent ratiocination became impossible as she coaxed me up the lower slopes of the mountain, and then started to push me up hill. It wasn't just my nipples and genitals, she was using the undersides on my elbows, my armpits, the backs of me knees, places I scarcely knew existed, and hadn't before recognised as erogenous zones. And all that time, that huge stiff thing was exciting between my legs, and I was ready to orgasm, but Cherie was saying "Not yet, Diana, try to hold it back", so I did, because she was just so very good at this, and I held back and I held back but then I simply couldn't hold on any more, and I whimpered "please, please ...", and Cherie said "Certainment, Diana, allez vous maintenant", and the orgasm burst within me, flooding my brain and overpowering my body in an explosion of nervous electricity. And then she said "Encore une fois, Diana", while coaxing with those magic fingers, and my body obeyed her commands and I shuddered and shook with a second orgasm. "And now the finale ..." and I expected another massive climax, but the third one was slow and gentle, and I didn't even scream, which meant I could hear the deep-voiced groans coming from, from, hang on, that can't be Cherie, can it? No, it wasn't. And it was then that I discovered what the hard thing between my legs was, and why it was that Cherie was so confident that the pressure from my thighs wouldn't hurt her. "Oh, Cherie, how could you! You put his broken arm in there!" "No I didn't", she replied. "Yes you did" I insisted, "look at his forearm, and now tell me that isn't broken, you naughty girl." She looked. "Well, it wasn't broken when I shoved it in there" she said. I looked at his other arm. Oh. Yes. That was the original injury, so this one must be a new one. "Cherie, look what you've done, he's got two broken arms now!" "Moi?" said Cherie in a squeaky tone of voice. She had a point, I suppose, but it definitely wasn't my fault, I didn't even know it was between my thighs. "Cherie, you've got to stop using men for the dangerous parts. And now we'd better take this one to a hospital or something, he needs mending." "Not right away, Diana, just let me ..." A small brunette head dived between my legs, and a small but delightfully rough tongue started licking. "Cherie, come out of there at once, you know how dangerous it can be between a Valkyrie's legs." She bobbed up for a minute. "No, Diana, it's quite safe now, you won't be dangerous for a few hours." And the small rough tongue went back to work, and I slid into a blissful sleep under it's soothing touch. I woke up to the sun streaming in through the window, and Cherie's head between my breasts. I rolled away from her to get out of bed, and found myself on something lumpy that moaned "Please, no more, no more, please." I struggled up and off him while he moaned some more, what a whining wimp! Then I remembered his two broken arms, so I suppose he really did have something to moan about. "Aristide, we have to take you to hospital to get you fixed up." He opened his eyes and nodded, "Oh yes, yes please." "But we have to get something straight first." He waited. "How did you break both your arms, Aristide?" "A woman beat me up, and ..." I interrupted him. "No, Aristide, first of all I'm a Valkyrie, not a woman, and secondly, I didn't beat you up. Even the dislocated shoulder was an accident." "But ..." I sighed. "Aristide, you silly silly boy" and I sat down on the bed next to him, and touched him very gently on the throat, tapping his Adam's Apple with my finger. "Let's try that again, sweetie." He thought a bit. "I was hit by a truck?" "Hmm, better, but then you'd have cuts and bruises all over." He thought some more. "I fell downstairs?" Cherie was wide awake now, and chimed in "Yes, that's a good one, I often used it when Claude punched me about too much." "OK", I said, "We'll use that one then. I'm sure it happens all the time." "Just one problem", said Cherie. We both looked at her. "When you fall downstairs, you get some pretty bad bruises on your legs." "What, both of them?" I asked. Cherie nodded, and we both looked at a terrified Aristide.