Diana's Turbocharger 
By Diana the Valkyrie
Diana makes Fay go faster, changes a man's sexual orientation

This is the eighth in the series of stories by Diana. I'd just 
like to emphasise that, although I am rather stronger than average, what 
follows is entirely a fantasy of mine. I made it up. It didn't actually 
happen. But I really do fancy a Morgan.

I still haven't actually spoken to the guy on the underground. Maybe 
he'll read this and remember the girl who pretends not to look at him. 
She's blonde, and she wears a tortoiseshell comb in her hair, and she's 
a bit wide in the shoulders, but quite pretty when she smiles. And if 
you speak to her nicely, she'll be ever so nice to you. And if you don't 
speak to her, one of these days she's going to get up her courage and 
speak to you. And watch out if she's wearing her ivory combs. 

If sex and violence isn't you, then don't read it. Lots of  sex, too, so 
if you're a minor definitely don't read it. 



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





You really have to experience driving a Morgan for yourself. You simply 
wouldn't believe how much pleasure a girl can take in a mere car. I 
wouldn't go as far as to say that it's better than sex, but at least a 
Morgan starts whenever you want it to. Sorry, I expect you already know 
all the "Cucumber is better than a man because" jokes. And it isn't true 
anyway, because there may be some things that a cucumber is better at, 
but have you ever tried kissing and cuddling one? How did I get onto 
this subject? I'm not totally obsessed with sex, you know, like men are. 

Well no, that's not true either. They're also into football (it's hard 
to imagine a more futile pastime) and cars, and I was at a party trying 
to decide who was going to be the lucky bloke tonight, when I heard a 
group of lads discussing that very subject. Cars, that is. And being the 
very recent purchaser of a fine new red Morgan by the name of Fay (see 
Diana's hitch hiker) and being inordinately proud of it, and not being 
exactly the shy and retiring type, I barged into the circle of boys 
discussing their cars, ignored the black looks that their girlfriends 
gave me, and announced that I'd just bought a Morgan. 

This was followed by a bit of a silence. You see, a Morgan isn't exactly 
considered a girl's car, they're very heavy to drive, since they come 
from the school of motoring that says powered steering and powered 
brakes are for wimps. The car itself is quite light, which gives it a 
stunning acceleration, and the gearbox is crisp and clean, so you can 
change through the gears in a trice, maintaining revs at six to seven 
thousand right up to the point when you ease up into cruise. One of the 
guys there asked me why I didn't get something more suitable. "Like a 
Ford Cortina?" I asked, sarcastically. "Well no, but the Mini Cooper is 
quite nice." You must be joking. OK, it's got a good sized engine that's 
race-tuned, but it isn't exactly me, if you see what I mean. Someone 
else suggested a Cappuccino, but I can't see myself in a tiny 850 cc car 
with the speed electronically limited to 85mph. So I tossed my hair  and 
asked "What's wrong with me having a Morgan?" So then they went off into 
a discussion of what cars were masculine (Alfa, Ferrari) and what cars 
were feminine, and I explained that it wasn't the car, it was the 
driver, and was there anyone here who thought I wasn't feminine? Long 
pause while they all looked at my breasts, which are by no means too 
large for my chest, and are just the way I want them to be, and they 
stuck themselves out a bit further, I've noticed they often do that when 
they're being looked at by a bunch of men. And more black looks from the 
girlfriends, a couple of which were tugging their men out of range of 
this threat. 

So then one of them asked me if I'd had the engine turbocharged, and I 
explained that I hadn't, but that I quite liked the idea of more torque 
at the higher rev counts, but that I was blowed if I was going to let 
any greasy mechanic get his incompetent hands on Fay, I was planning to 
do it myself. Only one of them laughed at the "blowed" double-entendre, 
and the other guys looked at me like I was crazy. "You'll get your hands 
dirty, you know." "Yes, I know that, but skin gets clean again, you 
know, that's what Swarfega's for, and soap, and cleansing lotion, and a 
few other items that men don't usually know about. And what's wrong with 
getting your hands dirty? I want to do it myself, I think it would be 
rather fun." And the one who had laughed at my pun, his name turned out 
to be Thomas, asked if he could help me do the conversion. "I don't need 
any help, thank you, I'm not the sort of helpless girl who can't hold a 
socket wrench." "No,", said Thomas, looking serious, "I didn't think you 
were. But I'd really like to see how a turbocharge conversion is done, I 
thought I might learn by watching you, and I can pass you spanners and 
things." I softened and looked at him. "Sorry", I said, "I got a bit 
prickly then, on account of all the pricks standing here. Yes, I 
wouldn't mind some company when I do it, and then afterwards we can go 
out for a spin." "Would you let me have a go at the wheel?" "Don't be 
silly." He probably thought I meant "drive in the car" when I said 
"spin". 

So I visited the Morgan dealers again to pick up the turbo conversion 
kit, and David asked me how things were going, and I told him fine, and 
he told me that the conversion was a rather tricky job, and rather than 
give him a sarcastic retort, I told him that one of my boyfriends was 
going to help, which is true, and I didn't bother explaining that his 
role was going to be passing spanners to me. He looked a bit wistful, 
and I remembered I'd made a bit of an impression on him last time we'd 
met, so I gave him a little kiss, knocked his price down by 25%, and 
roared off with a large cardboard box on the seat by my side. 

I allowed the whole weekend for the job, you never know what little 
problems you might run into. Thomas turned out to possess an huge box 
full of spanners, screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers and tools that I 
didn't dare ask what the purpose might be, they looked like something 
Torquemada might have used. I was dressed suitably for the occasion, old 
jeans, old shirt, and so as not to be too distracting, I was even 
wearing a bra, which I would never do if I was trying to be distracting. 
I'd rubbed lots of barrier cream on my hands to make it easier to get 
clean afterwards. We did the job at Thomas's house, he said he had a 
well-equipped garage. 

Thomas helped me open up the cardboard box, and we sat down by one of 
the front wheels, and read the instructions together. "How many times 
have you done this, Diana?" he asked me. "Counting this time?" He 
nodded. "Once." He thought about this for a moment. "So you've never 
done a turbo conversion before?" I just gazed at him, I had formed the 
impression he was intelligent, but maybe I was wrong. You never know 
with men. Just when you've decided that they're intelligent enough to be 
capable of walking and talking, they go and surprise you. Then I went 
back to reading the instructions. It didn't seem terribly complicated, 
you just took the engine apart, bolted in the turbocharger, then 
replaced everything except the manifold. "OK," I said, jumping up. 
"Let's get weaving." I suppose I should have said "Let's get screwing", 
but he'd probably have misinterpreted that. 

It didn't take me very long to realise that you don't want to be wearing 
a necklace when you're doing this sort of thing. My hands were filthy by 
the time I realised, so I got Thomas to help me take it off. I suppose I 
should have just turned my back and let him undo the clasp, but instead 
I faced him and got him to reach around me to get it off, it's a lot 
more fun that way. I suppose it might have occurred to Thomas to do it 
from behind me, but if it did, he didn't voice the idea. 

Step one, is to unscrew the big bolts that clamp the exhaust manifold to 
the cylinder block. So I put on the socket wrench and started to apply 
torque. Thomas said "Here, let me help you with that," and grabbed it 
away from me and started to twist. Nothing happened, so he twisted 
harder. "Huh. It needs a longer lever to turn, I'll put a box spanner 
over it." He started rummaging around in his toolbox, looking for a box 
spanner to put over the arm, but he didn't seem to find anything. I got 
impatient waiting, why do men think they have to do everything for us? 
And while he was looking for a lever, I twisted the spanner, and the nut 
gave up the fight. I loosened all the nuts that way, then took off the 
lever and just turned the socket until the nuts came loose. I 
disconnected all the cables and pipes, and now I was ready to lift off 
the entire manifold, cylinder top end, fuel injection and top silencer 
assembly. "Here, let me help you with that" said my gallant knight 
again, and tried to lift the assembly out of the car. And failed again. 
He straightened up from the car bonnet, and said "No problem, I've got 
some lifting gear", and he went round to the back of the garage and 
emerged with what can only be described as a contraption on legs. I 
suppose technically you'd call it an A-frame lift with a block and 
tackle, but I just dissolved into fits of giggles when I saw it, it 
looked like some medieval execution device. "What?" he said, slightly 
crossly. "What are you going to do with that thing?" "Get your manifold 
out. The pulley gives me a six to one mechanical advantage, we'll have 
it out in a jiffy." 

This was so good, I had to sit down and watch. He spent ages getting the 
legs extended and placed, and it kept falling over, because there were 
only two legs. Then the rope for the block and tackle was all tangled up 
and he had to straighten it out. Then the pulley was frozen solid, and 
he had to use penetrating oil to get it moving. "Are you just going to 
sit there laughing?" he said. Men have such a refined sense of humour, 
he couldn't see that he was better than Laurel and Hardy. I just sat 
there, my back against a tree, trying not to choke on my laughter. 
Eventually, he got the whole rig in place, hooked the manifold to the 
pulley, and heaved on the rope. The manifold rose a few inches, until 
the rope was fully extended. And, of course, it was only at that point 
that Thomas thought about what he was going to do next. 

He tied the end of the rope off, to stop the manifold from falling 
again, then stood and looked at it, thinking. I was practically rolling 
around on the grass by now, tears streaming down my eyes as it gradually 
dawned on Thomas that although he'd raised the thing a few inches, he 
had no way to get it onto the bench we were going to work on. He stood 
there, scratching his head, which improves the flow of blood to the 
scalp, and no doubt also stimulates the brain. And the more he looked at 
it, the more he couldn't see what to do next. Then he turned to me and 
frowned. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn't help myself, I just 
fell about with laughter, it was just so funny. And after a bit, he 
began to see the funny side of it too, and he smiled, and I stood up and 
tried to say something, but I couldn't, I was laughing too hard, and he 
started laughing too, and I walked up to him and I put my arms round his 
neck and I kissed him as hard as I could, except that I kept laughing, 
which kind of gets in the way of kissing, and he kissed me back, and I 
calmed down a bit and started doing some serious kissing and a bit of 
rubbing my body against him, and that had the effect it always does 
have, and pretty soon neither of us were laughing any more. 

By the time we broke apart, we were both filthy with muck and grease, 
we'd neither of us had clean hands. But at least I wasn't laughing 
hysterically any more, and Thomas said "OK, Miss Clever Clogs, what's 
your idea for getting it onto the bench?" "Simple", I said, and went 
over to it, unhooked it from the pulley, and carried it over to the 
bench. 

He stopped laughing. "Jesus, Diana, that thing must weigh a hundred 
pounds." A hundred and fifty, actually, I guessed. I put it down, tossed 
my hair back, walked towards Thomas, took him by the hand, and led him 
out to the tree I'd been sitting against. "I suppose you want an 
explanation?" He nodded. "And you undid those nuts rather easily, now I 
come to think of it." I nodded. "Thomas, you probably think of women as 
being the weaker sex." "Well, they are. I mean you are. I mean." I 
smiled at him. "Not me, Thomas. I think of men as being the weaker sex." 
And I explained to him, how some women are just genetically different 
from others, and some of us just have more strength than men, there's 
some difference in the way our muscles work, that makes them harder and 
stronger, and that I'm one of them. "But you don't look strong, Diana." 
"Oh? And what do you think a strong woman would look like?" He thought 
for a moment. "Well, you'd be bigger, taller. Big muscles. That sort of 
thing." I shook my head. "No, you're wrong. You want to look for broad 
shoulders, and a chest that's wide and deep." He looked at mine, but his 
eyes slid onto my nipples, which always happens. "Breasts not too large, 
but adequate." He dropped his eyes. "Big thighs, well, fairly big 
thighs." He didn't know where to look. "Waist that's a bit bigger than 
you'd expect for a girl my height" "You mean there are other women as 
strong as you?" I laughed, and gave him a little hug. "Oh, Thomas, you 
don't even know how strong I am! Go fetch my handbag." He brought it 
from the car, and opened it for me, my hands were really filthy. "You'll 
find some nails in there." "Nails? What do you mean" "Just look, you'll 
see." You can hardly miss a six inch nail in a woman's handbag. 

He brought the nails out and looked at them. "Why do you carry these 
around with you?" I just looked into his eyes, smiling. "No," he said, 
"I don't believe it." I nodded. "No," he said, but his voice was saying 
yes. I grinned, and nodded again. "Yes, Thomas". I took one of the nails 
from him, and put a slight kink in it, and handed it back. He tried to 
bend it some more, then he tried to straighten it, then he tried to bend 
it again. Six inch nails don't yield as easily as that, he was making no 
impression. I held out my hand, and he gave it back to me; I bent it to 
a right angle, and gave it back to him. He fiddled with it for a while, 
then took it into the garage, clamped it in a vice, and gripped the 
other end with a big mole wrench. He leaned down on it, and managed to 
bend it a bit further. "Well done", I said, softly, standing behind him. 
He turned and looked at me. "Jesus Christ, Diana." 

"I expect you're wondering what it would be like to fuck a woman like 
me?" "The thought had crossed my mind," said Thomas. "Pretty suicidal, I 
should think." You know, I really hate it when they say that. That's 
what they said about Gran behind her back, and it pretty much ruined her 
life. I shook my head, letting my fluffy hair fly around. I spoke very 
softly, almost a whisper. "No, it isn't. Actually, it's the most 
incredible sensation you'll ever experience. I can do things to you that 
no ordinary woman could do, extract orgasms from you ten times better 
than anything you've ever had, give you more pleasure than you could 
imagine possible." 

I love the reaction I get when I give them that little speech. I do it 
very seriously, with maybe a little sexy smile, and just lightly 
touching them with my fingertips, on the forearm, or the back of the 
hand, somewhere non-erotic, except that the entire human body is an 
erogenous zone if you want it to be. And they look at the fingers that 
just bent a thick iron nail, gently stroking their soft skin, and they 
think about what those fingers could do if I wanted them to. I whispered 
"Thomas, it's rather nice being the weaker sex." He was almost bursting 
through his trousers by now, and it seemed such a shame to waste all 
that hardness. "As you're about to discover." I don't usually do it 
outdoors, but it was such a lovely day, and if I started asking where 
his bedroom was, it could be minutes before I got that lovely great hard 
thing inside me, and I wasn't feeling like waiting. "Right now" So I 
opened up his trousers and released the big stiff thing inside, pulled 
down my own jeans, and impaled myself on him, hard and deep. 

"Mmm" I said, closing my eyes in pleasure. I could feel that it was all 
too much for him, and he was about to orgasm, and for a moment I 
contemplated letting him have that first climax straight away, but then 
I thought, no, let's delay this a bit. And I reached down with my hand, 
and squeezed his cock between my thumb and forefinger, preventing him 
from coming. And then I giggled, and then I giggled some more, until he 
asked me what I was laughing at. "Did you see how filthy and greasy my 
hands were?" I asked. "So are mine", he said, putting great handmarks on 
my bum. "I hope you've got a lot of Swarfega", I remarked, as I smeared 
black grease all over his thighs and back, "because you're going to need 
it." 

After about half an hour, I let him come with an explosive orgasm that 
left him weak and limp. I'd already had a couple of orgasms by then, and 
I was feeling a lot better. I let him lie on me for a few minutes, and 
then suggested going inside to get some of the black grease off 
ourselves. I Swarfega'd him, and he Swarfega'd me, and we got each other 
reasonably clean, and it was going well until I tried to get the black 
oily grease off his cock. I smeared the green jelly onto it, and then 
started trying to rub it in, like you're supposed to. You see, it kind 
of binds to the grease, and then you just rinse it off. The only problem 
with that theory, was that I don't think  Swarfega Ltd had cocks in 
mind, or if they did, they didn't have in mind that a girl would be 
doing it. Thomas squealed and yelled as I tried to get his cock clean, 
and fought me off, although why a man would fight off a girl trying to 
rub Swarfega on his cock is beyond me. Maybe I'd had too much sex with 
him before? But I couldn't just leave his cock all black and greasy. 
"Stop wriggling, Thomas", but he just kept on squirming and writhing, 
and unless I got all this black stuff off his cock, it would wind up 
inside me, wouldn't it? And I really don't fancy trying to get grease 
off the inside of my vagina, thank you very much. 

Eventually, I just lost my patience with him, and I decided I'd just 
have to overpower him. So I wrapped my legs round his so he couldn't 
kick or struggle with his legs, and then I pulled his arms up behind 
him, and gripped both his wrists in my left hand. Now that he couldn't 
struggle, I could get him properly cleaned, and apart from his screams, 
it was easy. After I got him nice and clean, I let go of his limbs, and 
just held him in my arms and soothed him until he stopped making a fuss. 
And when he'd calmed down, he was nice and clean, and the struggle had 
gotten me horny again, so I gave him another good seeing-to, and 
eventually we both fell asleep. Sex is the best sedative. 

When I woke up the next day, it was a lovely bright sunny morning. 
Thomas was still spark out, and he'd had a tough evening last night, so 
I got out of bed quietly and let him sleep. Men seem to need more sleep 
than women, I've found. I got dressed and went downstairs to the garage 
to finish off the turbo charger job. Things went a lot faster without a 
man around distracting me; the trouble with having a man around is that 
it gets me thinking about sex, which gets me horny or moist, and then 
either I have to use lots of willpower, or else I'm away bonking again.  
By the time Thomas bleared down, I had it all finished and tightened up, 
and I was ready to do some static testing. 

Thomas wanted to do a bit of kissing and cuddling, of course, which I'm 
normally not averse to, not averse to at all, but if you've just 
installed a turbo charger in a Morgan, it's hard to resist the 
temptation to try it out. I managed to resist, though, and tried out 
Thomas instead, and he started on the first attempt and revved up quite 
satisfactorily in spite of the wear and tear on his engine from the 
previous night. After we'd finished,  I brushed the grass off my 
sweater. I do prefer to be underneath the man, it isn't just that I'm 
old fashioned, it's that I find I can bear his weight better than be can 
bear mine, because I'm not as light as you might expect of a girl my 
height. Especially if there's a lot of bouncing up and down going on. So 
we sat by the tree and Thomas suggested that we finish off the turbo 
charger. "Too late, my love, I've already done it." He tried to look up 
at me, but I held his head against my breasts, and he didn't try very 
hard to pull it free. I've noticed that if you hold a man's head against 
your breasts, it seems to sap their will more than somewhat, especially 
if you aren't wearing a bra. "Let's take her for a drive," I suggested. 
"We can find some nice quiet grassy spot and have a picnic." "What, you 
mean sandwiches and wine?" he asked. Golly, men can be a but dense 
sometimes. "Mmm, and we can fuck a bit, too." Best to be direct 
sometimes, rather than leave them in doubt. 




Thomas: 

She was magnificent. Not pretty, if you looked at her face, you'd say 
her nose was too large and her jaw too firm, although she did have nice 
hair. And if you looked at her body, you'd say her waist was much too 
big, her chest too broad and deep, and her hips too wide. Her only 
redeeming features were her breasts, which were larger than her 
dimensions would suggest, and she wore them high, wide and braless. 
Perhaps flaunted them is a better way of putting it. You probably 
wouldn't look at her twice in the street, or at a dance, or at a party. 
But she was as strong as a horse and she could fuck like a sex machine. 

As strong as a horse - it's an expression people use. A horse is a big 
animal, several times as heavy as a man, maybe weighing a thousand 
pounds. If you harness a horse properly, it can deliver one horsepower 
of effort, and that's about three times as much as a man. Diana never 
told me, and I never tried any contest of strength with her, but I got 
the impression that she was at least three times as strong as me. At 
least, probably more. 

Why didn't I try to find out? I did - at one point, I tried wrestling 
with her, but she just giggled and wrestled back, and after a bit of a 
tussle I found myself on top of her, pinning her to the ground with my 
weight, and an onlooker might have concluded that I'd forced her to 
submit. The truth of it, was she'd managed to subdue me with just the 
raw strength of her arms, without really trying, and then she rolled me 
on top of her and kissed me until I was breathless. It was very simple - 
if she wanted something to happen, it happened, and if she didn't, then 
it didn't, and what I wanted or didn't want wasn't really relevant. 

I spent an hour rigging up an A-frame lifter to get most of the engine 
out of the car, then I got stuck. She laughed and laughed like it was 
the funniest sight she'd ever seen, then walked over and casually lifted 
about two hundred pounds of iron in her arms, and it didn't look like 
she was really trying. I understood better when she demonstrated the 
strength in her hands. That really shook me, I can tell you. How can a 
mere slip of a girl bend a six inch nail like it was a paper clip? Well, 
of course, the answer is that you really don't want to think of Diana 
as a "mere slip of a girl". 

She gave me the bent iron to examine, and I couldn't do anything to it, 
but I did want to get my mind around the tremendous feat of strength 
that she'd done so matter-of-factly. So I clamped one end of the nail in 
a bench vice, clamped the other one in the biggest mole wrench I could 
find, and by throwing all my weight behind it, I could just about make 
it move a fraction more. And Diana did that with her bare hands? Jesus 
wept. As strong as a horse? If Diana went head-to-head with a horse, I 
wouldn't back the horse. I had to use a seven pound hammer on the end of 
the nail to have any significant effect. 

And while I was experimenting with the vice, she came up behind me, 
slipped her arms round my waist, and started whispering in my ear. She 
told me that fucking a strong woman would be the most incredible 
experience of my life, and she softly explained some of the things she'd 
do to me. I tried to turn to face her, but she held me pinned against 
the bench as she told me in some detail about what was about to happen 
to me. I was almost paralysed with lust by the time she finished, and 
then she slipped her hands under my shirt and started caressing my body. 

All I could think, was that there were the hands that had destroyed a 
six inch iron nail, something I could do using a bench vice and a seven 
pound hammer. As her hands roamed over me, I was torn between fear and 
lust, the fear of those terrible, powerful hands, and the lust for the 
woman who was reducing me to a quivering erotic jelly. After a while, 
she let up on the pressure of her body against mine, and pulled me round 
to face her, and we kissed. 

I'm not really sure what I expected of that kiss; she'd just been 
showing me the tremendous power of her female body. What I certainly 
didn't expect was the softness of her lips, the gentleness of her 
tongue, and the sweet taste of her mouth. But she didn't just kiss me 
with her mouth. As I discovered then, Diana kisses with her 
entire body; she sort of melted into me, her hands roaming up and down 
my sides and back, her breasts pressed softly into my chest, and her 
thighs and groin sort of surrounding the biggest erection of my life. 

I was moving rapidly towards Nirvana when she broke away, took my hand, 
and pulled me outside the garage, onto the grass. "Come on, let's fuck" 
she said. She doesn't mince words; Diana doesn't say "make love" or 
"have sex". She tells you what she's going to do, and then she does it. 
I feel sure it didn't even occur to her that I might not want to, that I 
might be gay, that women don't turn me on. I'm sure she didn't realise 
that quite a lot of men only like to have sex with other men, and they 
find a woman's body rather repulsive, all those flabby wobbly bits. 

I tried to stop her, I really did. I tried to explain about my sexual 
preferences, but I don't think she was listening, and I'm not sure if 
she even noticed my feeble attempts to fight her off. Plus, I did have 
this humungous great stiffy, which I've never had for a woman before. 
But then, of course, Diana is no ordinary woman. She pulled me 
down to the grass by the simple method of falling down while holding my 
hands, and I just fell after her, landing on top of her. Her body broke 
my fall, I didn't get hurt falling onto the grass, but when I landed on 
her, it still knocked the breath out of me. Her body wasn't soft and 
flabby, but neither was it hard. She was resilient, and firm, and very 
very erotic and then her strong hands were tearing my trousers off, she 
didn't bother with buttons and zips, she just tore them apart, spread 
her legs, and I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but for the first 
time in my life I found myself inside a woman. 

I feel sure that not all woman feel like Diana did. Although she was 
underneath me, there was no doubt in my mind about who was in control. 
The grip of her vagina on my penis was like nothing I'd ever felt 
before, and she had me ready to orgasm in just seconds, but she was 
obviously expecting this, because suddenly I felt an intense pressure at 
the base of my cock, a pressure so great that my orgasm simply couldn't 
happen. I knew that it must be something Diana was doing, but I didn't 
realise what until she held me like that for several minutes until I 
calmed down, and I worked out that the iron clamp round the base of my 
cock was one of the hands that I'd just watched bending an iron nail 
like it was thin wire. 

At that moment, I felt a thrill of fear; what could this strong girl do 
to my softest body-part? Then she kissed me again and it wasn't my 
softest body-part any more, and I decided that I should just trust her 
to know what she was doing, that she probably wouldn't hurt me, and that 
I should go with the flow, since I didn't really have any choice anyway. 

I don't know how long it lasted, lying there on the grass in front of my 
house, We were shielded from view by the privet hedge, but if any 
visitor had come by unexpectedly, he would have caught us in flagrante 
delicto. I don't think she cared, though. She'd become a sex machine, 
no, a fucking machine. A few times, she orgasmed, and I was very 
concerned about what her strong body might do to me in the depths of 
passion, but she seemed to be able to control herself, and when I 
checked myself in the mirror later, although I had a few bruises on my 
arms and thighs, I was basically unhurt. You think I was being silly? 
Then watch a stunning blonde twist an iron nail in her hands, then feel 
those same hands on your body. 

Eventually, she seemed to be sated, and she brought me to an orgasm. She 
seemed to know exactly where I was on the curve, and brought me slowly 
up to the top, then held me teetering on the edge, as I struggled to 
complete the journey. But she was strong enough to hold me still with 
one arm and her legs, holding me on the edge of orgasm for what seemed 
like an eternity. If I slid back a little, she would clench and slide 
her vagina to bring me up, and if I seemed to be sliding over the edge, 
a strong hand would grip just hard enough to bring me back. I had no 
idea that a woman could be so good at sex, that a vagina could feel so 
good around your prick. I was begging her, pleading her to let me come, 
but she just kissed me and held me helpless in her sexual embrace. And 
then she must have decided I'd had enough, because she did something, 
I'm not sure exactly what, but it felt like a bomb went off inside me, 
and I screamed and spasmed and shuddered my way through the biggest 
orgasm I've ever had, possibly the biggest orgasm that any man has ever 
had. 

Afterwards, she held me in her arms, and stroked my back, and whispered 
soothing things to me, and told me how wonderful I'd been, and it was at 
that exact moment that I knew that Rupert was going to have to find 
another friend, because I wasn't gay, I'd been wrong all those years, I 
just hadn't met Diana before. She rolled me off her, and I saw 
how filthy her body has become, my greasy hands had smeared black all 
over her, and I told her so and apologised. She laughed, and told me 
that I should look at myself, and I was even worse. And then she pointed 
down between my legs, and at first I thought she must have done 
something terrible to my cock, but she was still laughing, and after a 
few seconds, I also saw the funny side of having filthy black grease all 
over your penis. 
 
So we went inside, and I ran a hot shower, and we stripped off, and that 
was the first time I saw Diana naked. And she was magnificent, 
breathtaking. Her shoulders were wide and lovely, her chest was broad 
and deep, and her breasts were simply stunning. Her waist wasn't big at 
all, not in proportion to the rest of her, and her hips needed to be as 
big as they were, in order to contain the large, powerful vagina that 
had just milked me dry. And as I looked further down, I could see that 
those big haunches were powerful thighs, thighs that made you tremble to 
think of them wrapped around you with their owner in the throes of 
sexual ecstasy. Would she be able to control them, to stop them from 
crushing you to a mangled mess? Yes, she would, because she did, and it 
was just as well I hadn't seen the terrible magnificence of Diana's body 
before she'd fucked me, because I think I might just have been too 
cowardly to go through with it, which would have been a tragic loss. On 
the other hand, I remembered, I didn't really have much choice in the 
matter. She might not have even noticed me trying to struggle. 

We rubbed Swarfega all over each other, that's the best way to get 
grease off. You rub it on dry, then you rinse it off. I can tell you, 
it's really a lot of fun rubbing Swarfega over Diana, you should 
jump at the chance if it comes up. I paid special attention to her 
breasts, because they looked especially like they needed attention. But 
when it came time for her to rub the green gunk on me, I was fine until 
she started rubbing it on my penis, and at that point, it got too much 
for me, and I just could not stand still. She kneeled down and put one arm 
round my knees, and reached up to Swarfega my cock, but I just couldn't 
handle the sensation, and pushed her away. She tried reaching round from 
behind me, and I couldn't take that either. "Thomas, I can't just leave 
your cock all filthy like that, you know. Just think about what will 
happen to the next vagina that envelops you!" and she sort of wrapped 
herself round me, her legs crossed over mine, and one of her hands 
holding both of mine, and I found myself instantly helpless in her 
grasp, and her other hands reached between my legs, and the only 
resistance I could give was my defenceless screams as she got my groin 
all pink and clean. 

Then she rinsed me off, and apologised for overpowering me, and I told 
her she could overpower me any time she wanted to, and she agreed that 
she could, which wasn't exactly what I'd meant, and then she calmly 
explained that all that struggling had gotten her horny again, and I was 
filled with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Anticipation because I 
now knew what she was capable of, and dread for exactly the same reason. 
She pushed me into the bedroom, and excused herself for a few moments, 
and when she returned, well, I've never seen anyone so beautiful in my 
entire life. 

Why on earth had I thought that she wasn't pretty? She was stunning. She 
had her hair up in combs, later she told me they were genuine ivory, a 
present from her grandmother, made before ivory was uncorrect. But I 
didn't notice her hair, let alone her combs. She was wearing a silk 
night dress. Where on earth did she find it? She must have had it in her 
bag, which meant that she'd known how the day was going to end, which 
meant .... Well, I suppose you ought to expect that things go the way 
Diana wants. She obviously does. Probably because things usually do go 
the way she wants. 

Silk is an interesting fabric. Rupert was an expert in fabrics, not that 
I was thinking about Rupert at that point. It's the finest natural 
fibre, and the length and strength of the individual fibres means that 
it can be spun into the thinnest, finest yarn. Which means that the 
fabric that you weave is thin and soft. But I never realised the full 
implications of all this until I saw Diana standing in the doorway, 
looking down at me as I sat on the bed. It sort of clung to her, 
softening her body and making her the most desirable sight I've ever 
seen. And I knew that I was in love. 

And she showed me that Diana in a bed was even better that Diana 
on grass, which I suppose shouldn't have surprised me, but I had 
thought that it couldn't get any better. I suppose I should have guessed 
that Diana would always have something more. That night, I learned more 
about sex with a woman than I had learned in my life so far. Diana was 
an excellent teacher, teaching by example, and using repetition to good 
effect. I hadn't known I could make it so many times, and I rather think 
that I couldn't with anyone else. In the garage, Diana had whispered to 
me that sex with a strong woman is like nothing on earth, and that 
night, she proved it. I can't remember falling asleep, I think at one 
point I passed out, and she left me alone after that. 

The next day, I awoke very late. My arms and legs were stiff from the 
excessive exercise of last night, and there were bruises on my arms and 
legs where she'd held me tight. In the light of day, my mind slowly 
cleared, and I reached across - she was gone. I hastily got up, dressed, 
and went looking for her. 

I found her bent over the bonnet of her Morgan. She'd finished putting 
it back together, and the engine seemed to be running fine. She looked 
up and saw me, smiled, and walked towards me. I mean, she walked 
straight into me, her body colliding with mine from head to toe, and 
then she pressed me back against the car. The pressure of her body bent 
me backwards over the bonnet, and before I realised what she intended, 
she was fucking me. 

When I came to my senses, I was lying on the grass, well, Diana was on 
the grass, and I was on her. She kissed me when she saw I was awake, and 
told me we were going out for a picnic. "A picnic?" I asked. "Yes," she 
said, "a fucking picnic." It took me just a few seconds to realise she 
wasn't being obscene, she was simply stating her intentions. 


Diana: 

Thomas sat in the passenger seat, and I made sure he was well strapped 
in, it makes them feel more secure. Then we took Fay out, and she simply 
flew. I mean, she was nippy before, but now the slightest touch on the 
accelerator seemed to encourage her to surge forward like a thoroughbred 
horse. Wow. Lovely. I took her out in the country, and she just flew 
along, round all the curves and bends, and when we came to the hump-
backed bridge, I put my foot down, and we left the road for a few 
seconds. 

When we stopped for the picnic, I pulled off the road, and Thomas just 
sat in his seat, not getting out. I looked across at him, and he was 
shaking. Something must have scared him, I guess. Well, I know what you 
do in that situation, I pulled him towards me and held him in my arms 
for a while, until he calmed down. When I felt him relax, I looked at 
his face, wiped his eyes, gave him a kiss, made him blow his nose, and 
told him to help me get the blanket spread out. 

Most picnics, you spread out a blanket and put food and wine on it, then 
everyone digs in to the victuals. I prefer the sort of picnic where you 
put a blanket on the grass, spread out a man on it, and he digs in to 
me. Maybe I just enjoy sex more than food. So anyway, Thomas was really 
nice about it, and let me do all the things I like doing, several times 
over. Well, actually, last night I'd showed him that he didn't really 
have much choice in the matter, and anyway why would he want to say no? 

Then we sat propped up against a tree wrapped up in the blanket, and 
Thomas put his arms round me to keep me warm, and wrapped up in the 
blanket, each others arms, and the warm afterglow of too much sex, we 
watched the sun set across the cornfields. 

Thomas: 

It was dark before we set off home. Diana tried to reverse the car back 
onto the road. But one of the rear wheels wasn't gripping, and they both 
just spun. She tried to move forward, but that didn't work either, and 
after a few minutes, she'd just dug a rut under the rear wheel that did 
grip. We could rock forward, or rock back, but we weren't going more 
than a few inches. "Hang on", I said, and jumped out. I pushed on the 
bonnet, and Diana tried to reverse, but that didn't work. Nor did it 
help if I pushed forwards which she tried to drive out that way. I got 
back in the car. "It looks like we're stuck here overnight" I said, 
grinning because I could think of worse people to be stuck overnight 
with. 

Diana tied her hair up on top of her head. I love watching her when she 
does that, the way her body moves and stretches, and I'm sure she sticks 
her breasts out on purpose to tease. Then she took the blanket in her 
hands, and went round to the back of the car. I should have thought of 
that; if you stuff a blanket under the wheels, they can get enough 
purchase for you to be able to drive out. "Do you want me to drive it 
forwards?" I asked. "You touch my car, I'll tie a knot in your cock" 
came the answer from behind. I thought about this for a while. First I 
wondered if she was joking or serious, and I couldn't decide. Then I 
began to think about whether she really could, and I decided that she 
probably could, and I certainly wouldn't be able to stop her. Then I 
started wondering whether it would be pleasant or unpleasant, and I 
decided that it would be whatever Diana wanted it to be. Then I 
discovered that she wasn't using the blanket in the way I'd thought. She 
was using it to protect her hands, not to give traction to the wheels. I 
felt the car rising, then it moved sideways, then she dropped it. She 
came back to the drivers seat, dropping the blanket onto my lap and 
flexing her hands. And in spite of what she'd put me through earlier, I 
had a raging erection at the thought, and I said "Diana, you just lifted 
up this car." 

She looked across at me and smiled, and said "It isn't as difficult as 
it looks. This car is mostly made of aluminium, and it's only 1300 
pounds, and because I lifted one end, I only lifted half that, and I 
only lifted it a few inches." Only 650 pounds. Only a few inches. Only. 
And she didn't even ask me to get out first, she knew she could do it, 
even with me sitting inside. Then one of those devastatingly strong 
hands crept under the blanket and gently grasped my genitals; I held my 
breath, thinking of what she could do, and trying to work out if I could 
have upset her, but she just petted me a bit, and remarked "That's a 
lovely big erection you've got there." But before she could do anything 
about it, I completely lost my self control and I came like an atomic 
explosion, making a big mess inside my underpants. She looked at me, 
slightly disappointed, then shrugged her shoulders (which does amazing 
things to her breasts), started up the car and drove home. She dropped 
me at my house, and then went back to her place. 

Next day, I found a parcel in front of my door. Inside, I found a six 
inch nail bent in a right angle, a picture of Diana wearing a white 
dress, and a letter thanking me for the lovely time she had, and 
explaining that she didn't go in for long term relationships, but that I 
should remember her. As if I could ever forget Diana, the strong 
girl who came into my life and showed me what a woman can be like, 
changing my sexual preferences for ever. 






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