It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Empress has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. She is the Mistress of Womankind by the will of the gods, and mistress of a million worlds by the might of her inexhaustible armies. She is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. She is the Carrion Lady of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls orgasm every day, so that She may never truly die.
Yet even in Her deathless state, the Empress continues Her eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Empress's will. Vast armies give battle in Her name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst Her soldiers are the Adepta Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warrior women. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priestesses of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and far, far lewder.
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst a select few. It is to live in the horniest and most sexual regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the dim darkness of the far future there is only sex. There is no romance amongst the stars, only an eternity of intercourse and mating, and the moans of horny goddesses.
***
On the planet of Tenebrae, in the Secundus sector, the sun sets each night over a sea of flesh as dark as sin, illuminated from beneath by fires of molten lust. The forces of the Imperium, lead by Chapter Mistress Marnea Calgar of the Ultramarines and Colonel Augusta of the 82nd Death Korps, battle across the world, seeking to defend the most precious and valued resource the Imperium has. A man. A single human male, a prize more precious than the teeming masses of women that make up the majority of womankind, has been found upon the surface of Tenebrae, adult and fertile. It is a most coveted gift, and there are many who seek it. In order to find and secure him, Marnea has deployed a full company of her finest Astartes to the surface, while Augusta's regiments hold the line against the dark forces of the Archenemy, their keening wails of lust fraying at the sanity of the guardswomen that desperately keep them at bay. Time is of the essence, as at any moment, the Chaotic madwomen might break through, or worse, lure the male to come willingly into their orgiastic ranks. The prognosticar's also tell of others that also seek the errant male. There are signs of that the pernicious Eldar operate upon Tenebrae as well, seeking the human male for their own lascivious ends.
***
The sickly green light of the tactical holodisplay on the bridge of the 'Deliverance of Purity' reflects on the gasmask Augusta wears, the colonel's hands clasped firmly behind her back as she studies the display, her large breasts straining the front of her greatcoat. The many medals that glitter there tell of a long and illustrious history, and the two children the high-ranking commander has been allowed to carry to term. Marnea feels but the slightest hint of jealousy. The great curse of the Adepta Astartes is their infertility, they make the greatest sacrifice of all to serve the Empress better. Marnea's own blue power armor is even more decorated than the colonel's, though she bears no child marks. Purity seals hang from the pauldrons, and a golden, twin-headed eagle is emblazoned across her buxom chest. Her weapons, the twin Gauntlets of Ultramar, prevent her from mirroring the gesture of the colonel, and she instead leans forward to place her hands on the edge on the circular display.
"Any news on the male's whereabouts?" she asks the colonel, and the masked woman shakes her head.
"None, my lady. Either the enemy has already stolen him, or he is as well hidden as we feared." Augusta's response is terse and clipped, and Marnea wonder's if the woman is as cold in bed. Unlikely, considering her high status. Only the most skilled seductresses reach such esteemed ranks.
"How long will your forces hold?"
"Without reinforcements, or the deployment of your Adepta, I predict another two cycles until they break and are lost, or fall to the Archenemy. Whichever comes first."
Her callous disregard for the pleasure and wellbeing of the women under her command is icy, but necessary. Sacrifices must be made for the greater Imperium to endure, and few know it better than the women of the Death Korps.
"You know I cannot spare my warriors just to shore up the line. I will need them all once the male is found."
"Indeed, it is as you say. I am merely stating facts, my lady," Augusta says, and Marnea can almost hear the smirk that is hiding underneath that gas mask. The discussion is interrupted when a messenger bursts onto the bridge, and both women turn to look at her, Marnea raising an eyebrow.
"We've found him!" the messenger pants breathlessly.
***
The drop pod slams into the ground with earthshaking force, and within milliseconds, it is followed by a dozen others. Strike Force Sigma, lead by Marnea herself, fan out in perfect unison as soon as the doors of the drop pods blow open, their bolters held at the ready, their gleaming blue and gold power armor shining in the grey gloom cast by the cloudy skies. No enemies present themselves immediately, but Marnea knows better than to assume they are the only ones who have learned the location of the male. The main advantage of the Adepta Astartes, however, is the speed at which they can strike. She guides her warriors with an expert hand, terrified women in ragged peasant clothing scattering everywhere among the small hovels of the tiny village they've landed in. Marnea frowns, how can a male have existed in a place such as this? Each one is precious beyond measure, the Imperium spare nothing to secure the ones that can be found. Something is afoot.
"Find the male," she barks to her marines, and they quickly secure the village, uncaring of the mortals they trample along the way. Within minutes, sergeant Tanicia of her honor guard is indeed dragging a terrified-looking male out from one of the houses. Marnea can feel her feminine instincts roaring to life at the sight of him, the desire to nurture, to protect... to breed. But she and her warriors are made of stern stuff, and they will not succumb to such base urges. He must first be secured, he is not safe at all on the planet's surface, teeming as it is with the Archenemy's forces.
"Target is acquired and secure. Thunderhawk extraction, ETA five minutes," Marnea calls into her comms, and her order is acknowledged. The male is whimpering, a young adult from the looks of it. So vulnerable. Before she can reach out to caress and bring him into her buxom embrace... to calm him, of course, a wanton shriek pierces through the area, one Marnea knows all too well.
"Daemons! Warriors of Ultramar, form up around me and the male!" Marnea roars, even as the air itself crackles and splits open into bloody rends, like the slits of lustful women dripping with crimson fluids. From them crawl red, dripping forms, buxom and muscular, the Daemons of the Blood Goddess. Their keening cries for cock already driving the lesser women of the village mad with lust. Marnea's honor guard, and Strike Force Sigma form up around her, their bolters spitting death at the Daemons. She sweeps the man up in one arm, holding his trembling form tight in a maternal embrace. One marine doesn't quite make it into the defensive circle in time, and is borne to the ground by a trio of voluptuous daemonesses, their glowing blades carving apart her power armor in an instant, and she is soon moaning as wantonly as they are, their fingers and tongues pleasuring her into madness and constant orgasm.
"We hold!" Marnea calls, and in the corner of her eye, she watches the timer on the Thunderhawk coming for them. A few more minutes that they might not have.