fuckwin

She stumbles in, dancing the giddily abstracted hop of a hangover trying to put on its underwear. She succeeds and, righting herself, turns to see that you're looking up at her through bleary eyes.

"Umm.. Ave, fellow soul-before-the-Emperor. ...You're awake." A little stunned at the redundancy of her own greeting she wobbles and promptly sits down on the end of the bed. There is a long pause. The Hive-dock still sleeps in drunken stupor, but down in the street roadcars and servo-skulls scuttle about their morning errands.

"Maybe we should.. urh.. you know?"

"Know what?" you reply after another long pause.

Under the ruffled feathers of bed-hair the Sororitas white cheeks redden, her hands rubbing aimlessly across her bare and swollen breasts. "D-Don't make me pull rank, Guardsman!"
Her lip quivers for the barest of seconds, betraying a subtle loss of nerve.

"I...I'm not trained for this situation." she stammers. Small wonder, a quick review of helmet footage from her Sabbat pattern helm at the foot of the bed reveals that you had to help her through much of last night's proceedings. She blushes and turns away just as the two of you begin to get into the swing of things.

"What's the matter, you didn't like it?" a little more of a goading tone then entirely necessary in your query.
she pauses before turning back to you quickly, breasts swaying pleasantly enough to almost distract you from the fact that she's staring melta blasts into your eyes.

"Not at all..." she smirks as she forces you to the bed, a hand on each shoulder, making bruises on top of more hand-shaped bruises. "The problem is that I think I liked it quite a lot."

at least one part of your anatomy is ready for drill inspection, standing quite erect and at attention, ready to receive orders. You stare down you stomach, discovering a litany of bruises and scratches making purple backed spiderwebs across your chest. Your eyes follow you manhood up to her quivering center. Her anticipation is forming in rivulets down her taught thighs. Tiny streams run down the valleys between great bunched cables of muscle, a bead forms on her engorged clit and seems to drop, in slow motion, onto your cockhead.

Her abdomen is like a rock, some of the muscles charmingly crooked or pushed out of place by old scars. Her body softens ever so slightly towards her not-to-ample bosom. For the first time you notice red circular marks on her shoulders and neck. Realization hits suddenly that those were indents left by human teeth, yours. You can barely raise your forearms enough to grasp her elbows but she follows your lead and lowers her face to yours. Your lips part and grip, tongues slithering hungrily. Her wet snatch leaves a sweet smear across your pelvis, matting you pubes down as you grapple. Her hips buck and you can feel your cock nestle warmly into the cleavage of her sculpted buttocks.

You gasp for air and she notices her striving is having a detrimental effect of your diaphragm. For a moment her grip loosens and you push yourself up into a half recline. Your hands wander, one finding the back of her head, grasping at fistfuls of hair while the other clenches at one globe of her perfectly formed ass. She is content to let you tease her diamond hard nipples for a short while before she suddenly grabs your shoulders like they're the Oh Shit bars in a flipping Chimera. You cry out, first in pain, then surprise and pleasure and she impales herself on your waiting pole. She grinds, circling her hips. She begins to buck and twist, moving from her abdomen. You dick bends and you find out why she had so many bite marks on her shoulders as you immediately sink your teeth into flesh. It's like biting into skin stretched other armor plate. She grimaces and picks up speed, her own eagerness providing slick lubrication. Her loins have all the heat of an incinerator beam and her inner lips seem to grip like a suctioning vice.

Her stamina is incredible. You've seen Ork charges and 3 year sieges, but nothing compares to the terror this woman is to behold, writhing as if possessed right on top of you. She is slightly shorter than you and you manage to find the leverage on your elbows to flip her onto her back. You follow her over with hardly a lull in rhythm and begin thrusting as best you can. You feel the pressure building at the base of your shaft at around the same time you realize that the barking noise you're hearing are her shouts of ecstasy when she's not trying to take off your earlobe or dig a trench line into you striving back with her fingers. She swings her legs up and clamps on. You finish against the hab wall, hammering her back into the plaster as ropes of semen drip from her hole. Just as you both begin to catch your breath the hab door comes off at the hinges, revealing an irate regimental commissar.

For reasons you cannot begin to fathom there is a smirk on your Commissar's face as she reaches for her holstered lasgun. You still aren't sure what's going on when she unbuckles it and lets the entire holster and belt fall to they floor. It's only when she begins to unbutton her great coat and tosses of her Death's Head cap into a corner that you realize that being shot in the face might be favorable to what comes next.

"Well Sergeant... you've preformed admirably in the fields of evasion and flanking, but how do you preform when facing two opposing forces with no reinforcements?"