Another commission, set in the Inglorious Sistas universe. As with that story, readers should be warned that this one is not going to be to all tastes. These stories are written in the mould of the "Blaxploitation" movies from the 1970s; big tough women who devote their lives to taking down the white man. There is a lot of racial language and attitudes on display here, along with violence directed towards the Catholic Church. The 'N-word' is not used in this story, but much racially charged language is. As before, the characters of colour in this story are universally strong, smart, competent, and badass. The white characters are decidedly not. If this offends you, then this is not the story for you and you should look elsewhere.
The main character of this story is called Angela Davis, and is very loosely based on the real life lady of that name. I in no way mean to imply that Angela Davis is or ever has been a physically powerful mass murdress for hire. Really the name, and a few aspects of her appearance, are the only things she has in common with her fictional counterpart herein. Again, if you find such a depiction to be trampling over the real person in an outrageous manner, then this is not the story for you.
If I seem to be belabouring the point here, then that's just a refection of how sensitive people can be on such topics.
If my writing style appeals to you and you want a story written to your exact requirements, drop me a line; we can work it out.
If you like the following, I'd also appreciate your letting me know. Writers are all total whores for feedback, you know? Hell, even if you hate it why not drop me a line to tell me why?
I can be reached here
The woman known to the world as Queen - usually as a respectful Ms. Queen - lounged in the sun, stark naked. Several of her slaves were nearby, waiting to obey her slightest whim. Ms Queen didn't care about being naked in front of them - why should she? They were white, and in her mind, whites didn't count as people, not really, not the way their superior black owners did. She would be no more embarrassed about being naked in front of a refrigerator than a white.
So she lounged, enjoying the summer heat. Now and again she would snap her fingers, and a slave would hurry over to apply another layer of sun oil to her creamy, flawless mahogany-brown skin, or present her with an iced drink. Slaves were utterly forbidden from becoming aroused during this activity - difficult for them, as Ms Queen was certainly one of the most beautiful women in the world. Her body was utter perfection, every inch perfectly shaped. She was tall, very athletic in tone without being overly muscle-bound. Her naked breasts where large and perfectly rounded, astonishingly proud and firm for a woman of her age. Male slaves would tremble with lust at the mere sight of her, so massaging lotion into that perfect body was something few could resist becoming aroused by.
Ms Queen's response to such arousal was simple and direct - the offending slave underwent an immediate penectomy. Without anaesthetic.
Usually these were performed by her bodyguard, Ms Muhammed. Always nearby, Ms Muhammed stood an impressive seven feet tall - seven feet six inches in the high heeled leather boots she wore. Those boots were beautiful but deadly - specially constructed for her, the thick soles and high heel were made of strong steel, as was the toecap hidden under the shiny black leather. Each boot had a black leather sheath strapped to it, holding a pair of six-inch bowie knives; it was these that brutally removed the penis from any white slave that displayed arousal in the presence of the stunningly beautiful Ms Queen. Ms Muhammed, who liked to bestow nicknames on her weapons, and lovingly referred to her knives as 'The Cock Slicers'.
At her waist a broad leather belt encircled her hips. On the right was a holster for her standard sidearm, a .44 Ruger Blackhawk revolver that she lovingly called 'White Killer'. Eight speed loaders were spaced around the belt, giving her an impressive reload capability.
On her other hip hung a custom-made eight-foot-long leather bullwhip, called 'Snake' because the handle was fashioned into a likeness of a black mamba snake. Ms Muhammed loved the whip, which she was truly an expert with; she could put out a candle with one flick of the vicious whip... or slice through the eye of a piece of white scum at the same distance.
Also on the belt was a pair of vicious brass knuckles, which Ms Mohammed called 'Ms Punchy', whilst on her back was strapped a huge scimitar, 'the Decapitator'. All in all, it was a terrifying collection of weaponry, especially they were the last thing that many a piece of white scum had ever seen.
She was clad in a skin-tight catsuit of paper-thin black leather which clung to every curve of her body. And such curves! Ms Muhammed was one of the most muscular people Ms Queen had ever seen. Her biceps were 21 inches around, her calves 19 inches, and her thighs an immense 31 inches. It was a physique that any male would have envied, though few males would have desired the enormous J-cup breasts that decorated her chest.
As a devout Muslim, Ms Mohammed's beautiful catsuit was completed by a leather hood which covered her head, leaving only her eyes and mouth visible. It gave her a terrifying inhuman visage, as if she were some horrifying mechanoid monster.
A slave approached. "Ms Queen, the broadcast is about to start," he said humbly.
Queen sat up and stretched. She didn't think to thank the slave - such a thought was completely alien to both women. She rose and walked into the huge mansion that she called home, followed by the slave with the suntan oil and the other one. The mansion was immense, and lavishly decorated. Though she would never be found on any Forbes list, Ms Queen was one of the wealthiest women in the entire world. Her home had over two hundred rooms, every one of them glittering with marble and gold, decorated with multi-million-dollar artworks and furniture.
All but the slave quarters, of course, which were simple bare stone cells.
Her fortune mostly came from drug money, with a side order of porn, prostitution, gambling, blackmail, extortion, and bank robbery. She had deep political and organised crime connections that made her completely immune from prosecution - none other than the President of the United States himself had promised her that in the unlikely event that she was ever accused of a crime, he would pardon her before the trial ever even started. He'd made the promise whilst Ms Queen was fucking his asshole with a three-inch thick, twelve-inch long strapon. She had both still pictures and film of the event, which would ensure his compliance should it ever come to that.
Not that it would. Ms Queen's influence didn't begin at the top of the heap, there were dozens of police officials, district attorneys and judges who would obey her every command without question or hesitation, just like any other white slave. And the ones who were not in her pocket knew that if they ever tried to move against her, both they and their families would have a visit from Ms Queen and Ms Mohammed, and that would be the end of them.
In short, she could do exactly as she pleased and the law be damned.
It had come as a surprise to her, then, when Bishop Goodman had begun to denounce her in public. Explicitly, and by name. His latest denouncement was, by all accounts, to be the most strident yet.
She settled down in front of the television and snapped her fingers, pointing at her feet. The two slaves hurried to kneel and begin lovingly kissing and licking them. If she remembered correctly, one of them had been a young DA who had been foolish enough to try to investigate her. She'd had him kidnapped and brought to her estate to serve as her personal slave in punishment. He'd been a little resistant at first, but Queen had informed him that if he ever failed to obey her again, his wife would be joining him in slavery. The prospect had so horrified him that his mind had broken immediately. She'd never had any trouble with him again.
Ms Queen, of course, had taken his wife anyway; she was a whore in one of Ms Queen's brothels now, and a star in many of the porn movies and magazines that Ms Queen produced... along with her two daughters. Ms Queen had in mind that in a few years, when they'd been thoroughly fucked out by a few thousand cocks, she would show him some of their movies. She thought his reaction might provide some amusement.
Bishop Goodman appeared on the screen. He was a thin, weedy-looking individual. Ms Queen smiled as she listened.
"I don't have to tell anybody here that things are not right in our beloved America," he began. "We all know that things are not right. Corruption spreads across this land. Our air is not fit to breathe, or food is not fit to eat, our schools are playgrounds of the devil, filled with drugs and pornography. People are uncivil and uncharitable. Harsh language falls from their lips. And our public officials and police do nothing. Nothing! How can such things happen in God's chosen country, we ask ourselves! America is the most powerful, most righteous country in the history of the world, her people are the Godliest, the most civilised of any who have ever lived. From whence cometh this terrible evil?
"I say to you now, that evil comes in the form of the blacks who have infiltrated this country! It is the black man and his black whores who push drugs into the hands of our children, who steal, who spread pornographic filth! The black who is working to destroy this majestic society from within! Our liberal officials are blind to this threat, because they see the black as their superior, as the superior of all whites!"
"As they should," Ms Queen murmured.
"We are a Christian nation," Bishop Goodman went on, "but these blacks are atheists or, even worse, Muslims! Which means, of course, that they are worshippers of Satan himself! And these Satanic Muslim and atheistic blacks hate the fact that this is a Christian nation because they hate our Lord, Jesus Christ! That is why they want to destroy this country and turn it into a Satanic hell on Earth!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Ms Queen muttered. She had no use for religion herself, but you'd have to be a special kind of idiot not to know that the black population was one of the most religious demographics in the US. The overwhelming majority were devoted to some form of Christianity. And whilst most of the remainder were Muslims, the idea that Islam was 'Satanic' was nonsensical. She glanced at Ms Muhammed, who was watching the screen intently. It was hard to tell her emotions through the leather hood, but her eyes had a look of absolute fury.
"And who are the leaders of this movement that seeks to destroy the country," he thundered, "in service of their master, Satan? Well my friends, I'm afraid to say that one of them is right here in this very state. We do not even know her real name - most likely she gave it up when she devoted herself to her Master, Satan, as many Satanists do. She is known to everyone as ' Ms Queen', no doubt because she fancies herself as royalty compared to the whites she so despises. It is this Ms Queen who sells the drugs that corrupt our neighbours and children. Why, I have been informed by reliable sources that fully one half of all the drugs in our great state pass through her soiled hands. Poison that she literally sells by the ton!"
"Well he has a point there," Ms Queen said jovially. She did indeed sell drugs on a massive scale. She had earned more than a billion dollars from it last year alone. It was even correct to call it poison, on occasion. Just a few months ago she had ordered a small shipment of her product be cut with lethal poison and given away as free samples at one of the more prestigious white-only private schools in the state. Thirty of the students had wound up dead, a fact that amused her no end. The school had closed down after the funerals were completed, destroyed by the scandal. Ms Queen had bought the site for a fraction of its true worth; she used it now as a studio for producing porn movies. Not that that had been her motivation in the first place, in truth she'd just wanted to kill some white kids for fun.
"And it is not just drugs that this Satanic woman sells," Bishop Goodman was saying. "No, she is not satisfied with that! She also produces the majority of the Pornography in this state. She blackmails, she steals, she does anything and everything she can to destroy the lives of our good Christian white people!
"You may ask yourself, how can you know that she is a Satanic whore? Yes, she sells her poison and her corruption, but are we not all sinful in God's holy eyes? To that, I can say only this. I have it on good authority that this woman, this sinful, evil woman, is an abomination before the Lord! For I have it on good authority that she is a sodomite! A homosexual, straight from the pits of hell! In Romans 1:26 we are told that 'For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature'! Well this Ms Queen has done just that, abandon her natural position as a servant of man and God to revel in her sinfulness!"
"Hey honey, I fuck big dicks too," Ms Queen said candidly.
She must be stopped, and I demand that the police of this state move against this woman. And if they are so corrupted by her influence and her money that they refuse to do so, then I call upon our Federal government to act! Let the FBI come to Florida and bring this woman to justice!"
Ms Queen clicked the television off and kicked the slaves away from her feet. They lay there, terrified. Ms Muhammed stalked over, bending to wrap her huge gloved hands around a slave's head. She lifted him off the ground so that his head was level with hers, his feet dangling two feet above the ground as he tried to squirm.
Her hands began to close. Colossal biceps bulged even larger as she piled on the pressure with a strength that no three men in the world combined could have matched. The slave screamed and thrashed as the massive Muslim relentlessly crushed his skull, cracking noises muffled by flesh indicating that the bones were shattering beneath the surface. His head began to distort as Ms Muhammed stared into his eyes with an unconcealed rage. "Die, white infidel filth!" She screamed. And with that she gave a final heave of her tremendous muscles, and his head exploded in her hands. Brain and gore erupted between her fingers, splatting all over the floor. She dropped the body with a final look of contempt. If only I could do that to every white man in the world, she mused. The violence had mollified her rage, somewhat. Killing whites usually did.
"Feel better?" Ms Queen asked lightly.
"I do," Ms Muhammed growled.
"I dislike that man," Ms Queen said thoughtfully, looking at the blank television.
"As do I," Ms Muhammad replied, scraping bone and brain matter off her gloves. "May I kill him?"
"Well, he definitely needs to die," Ms Queen said softly.
"I can sneak in at night," Ms Muhammed began.
"No," her employer cut in, "that's too... subtle. I feel that this situation calls for something a lot more overt."
"What did you have in mind?"
Ms Queen kicked the slave at her feet in the head. "Go fetch another couple of pieces of white scum. Have my car loaded with weapons and ammunition," she snapped. The man scampered away.
"Oversee them, please," she asked Ms Muhammed. "I feel like they are getting a little lazy of late. A sterner hand is needed."
The giant woman nodded and walked out, blood and gore still dripping from her hands.
The slaves had the trunk of the huge custom Bentley open when Ms Muhammed arrived, and were loading a collection of weapons in. One of them was laying out a bulky M-60 machine gun, whilst the others bore long ammunition belts.
"Not fast enough!" Ms Muhammed thundered. "You two! Grab this one and hold him against the side of the car!"
The terrified slave tried to run, but the others, literally shaking with fear at Ms Muhammed's rage, grabbed him and quickly immobilised him in position. Ms Muhammed lifted Snake from her hip and uncoiled the braided leather. "You are slow in your duties!" She snapped. She lashed out with all her immense might, and the whip cut through the air with a familiar crack. The tip bit deep into the slave's back, slicing through skin and flesh like a surgeon's scalpel. Blood sprayed over the other two slaves, and white bone gleamed in the bottom of the cut as the man threw back his head and howled in anguish.
Snake sang again, slicing a parallel bone-deep cut, and the man thrashed and screamed as Ms Muhammed laughed. Every scream made her pussy throb with pleasure.
She lashed the man furiously. This was no measured punishment, no deliberate, timed whipping. She lashed out again and again, as fast and as hard as she could. She shredded the man's back, literally tearing it to pieces. His struggles and screams weakened as pint after pint of blood dribbled down his legs to soak into the asphalt. Ms Muhammed trembled in orgasm as she sent Snake out again and again, utterly without mercy.
Finally, he slumped in the arms of the other slaves, stone dead. His tormentress breathed heavily as she smiled at them. "What are you?"
"White filth, Mistress," they both chorused.
"And what does white filth do?" She demanded.
"White filth suffers and obeys for the pleasure and convenience of their black superiors," they said. It was a mantra she had instilled in all of the slaves on the estate.
"In future, see to it that you obey more quickly," she said. "And spread what happened here amongst the other slaves. Now, get rid of that," she toed the body. "I suggest you cut it up with chainsaws and put it through the wood chipper. You can use the sludge to fertilise the rose gardens. And get the rest of the weapons loaded, fast! Or I will not be as merciful to you!"
Ms Queen emerged from the mansion as the loading was completed. She had donned a pair of black leather boots similar to Ms Muhammed's own, and a long black fur coat. She wore nothing else, and the coat displayed a generous portion of her lovely breasts and the naked lips of her pussy.
"What is the plan?" Ms Muhammed asked.
"We go to his cathedral and we murder the fucker," Ms Queen said. "Along with anybody else there."
"I like this plan," Ms Muhammed said with a smile. The two climbed into the Bentley. The car was deceptive; to the casual eye it was simply a large luxury car. In fact, it was specially strengthened to take the weight of more than two tons of armour plating hidden within the door panels. The blacked-out windows were also bullet proof.
The two climbed in the back and the car set out. In private, Ms Muhammed lifted the leather hood and set it aside. Her face was not classically beautiful but it was striking and exotic. The full lips were especially enticing, Ms Queen thought as her bodyguard and lover stripped off her gloves.
Her hands went to her employer's spectacular breasts and began to caress them lovingly as the two women kissed deeply.
Bishop Jeremy Goodman relaxed in his study with his good friend Bishop Percival, sipping his morning tea. The broadcast had gone well, they thought. Goodman did love to cast a bit of the old fire and brimstone around, it was good for the attendance figures if his audience thought they'd get something interesting to listen to. So much more fun than endless lectures about love and forgiveness.
Besides, it was a public service helping keep those blacks in their place. And Lord knew that this 'Queen' character deserved it, getting all uppity like that. Percival couldn't agree more. "She's probably crying in her cornflakes about now," he said with a smile. "And surely the police would take notice of the demonic woman after this publicity!"
"Couldn't agree more," Goodman said. "And if they don't, I will keep on until they do!"
"Wonderful," Percival said, setting his cup aside. "Now Sam, shall we get down to it..."
Out in the nave, the congregation listened as one of the junior priests gave the morning service. There were indeed a lot more people than usual - the space was filled, with perhaps five hundred or more people. These were the upper class, the elite of Florida society. No poor uneducated white trash here, that was for sure! And certainly, no blacks in the congregation, the priest thought - why, Bishop Goodman would have a coronary if one of those filthy animals set foot inside this holy place. Whatever the law or the supreme court might say, he wasn't having his church polluted by race mixing and that was that.
To that end, a pair of security guards manned the main doors into the cathedral. They were armed, with strict orders that no black or poor person be allowed into the church under any circumstances.
So when the huge black Bentley pulled up and an enormous leather-clad figure stepped out, the guards were instantly on alert. They couldn't see the figure's face, but they could certainly see the immense physique - and the equally immense pair of breasts. Barely had their eyes taken this in then another figure stepped out of the car, this one wearing nothing but a pair of sexy black boots, a beautiful black fur coat that looked like it cost more than the guards combined annual salaries, and a bewitching smile.
Ms Queen walked to the trunk of the car and lifted out a pair of Mac-10 submachine guns. She loaded them and filled her pockets with a dozen spare magazines. "Let's go," she ordered. "You, take the car around the back!" She ordered the slave behind the wheel.
She strode past the astonished guards and into the cathedral. The men were so surprised that it didn't really occur to them to do anything. But when the towering figure of Ms Muhammed approached, they broke from their trance. Both of them started forward with a startled "hey!"
Ms Muhammed raised one booted leg and slammed it into the bulging stomach of a guard. The slender steel stiletto heel sliced six inches into his stomach and the man collapsed backwards to the floor, moaning in pain.
The other guard stared at her, wide-eyed, as she turned. One huge leather-clad fist raised high in the air, then came crashing down on his head. The man collapsed instantly, his body flopping back and forth as his brain haemorrhaged uncontrollably. Ms Muhammed grabbed one of his arms by the wrist and planted her boot in his armpit. She wrenched and twisted on his arm with all of her strength, straining against the shoulder joint. It was a most unequal contest, and in moments she literally ripped his arm off. Blood fountained from the gaping wound, and the man flopped frantically for a few seconds before dying.
His partner had scrambled to his feet, red-faced with pain and anger. He pulled his little .38 snub nose, determined to gun this satanic woman down. Ms Muhammed swung the arm like a club, knocking the weapon from his hand. The guard cowered with fear as she threw the arm aside and then grabbed him by the wrist. He began to beg and plead for mercy, but one look into those furious eyes silenced him.
"Bishop Goodman," she grated. "Where is he?"
It never even occurred to the guard to resist. "He's in his private residence in the back of the cathedral," he gabbled in terror. He rapidly outlined how to get to the location.
"Good. As you have been helpful, I grant you the gift of death," Ms Muhammed said. Before he had a chance to protest, she braced herself against his ribs and ripped his arm from his body. Before he could even fall she seized his other arm and with a display of utter brutality, ripped that off too. The man collapsed to the ground with blood gushing from both sides. "Not fair!" He managed to say, and then died.
"Fair is for your superiors, infidel," she spat the word at him. "White scum like you deserve pain and death. Nothing more!"
Ms Muhammed heard yells inside, overlaid with the sound of automatic gunfire. She smiled under her hood and joined her employer.
Ms Queen had walked into the service with the strutting confidence only possible for a woman dealing with her utter inferiors. The priest broke off, staring at her in shock. She might easily have been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but she was black! And in his cathedral! That fact was so shocking that he didn't even realise she was naked until her arms came up to the sides, causing her black fur jacket to gape open and reveal the most perfect pussy and most beautiful breasts in the world.
For a moment, the priest thought she had raised her arms in some obscene parody, a mocking of Christ on the cross. Then he saw the squat metal boxes in her hands. Those looked like...
Ms Queen fired both Mac-10's into the crowded pews simultaneously, turning as the weapons chattered and spat .45 ACP rounds into the congregation at the rate of 2,180 a minute. In under two seconds she had emptied both 30-round magazines, killing a dozen people and wounding a dozen more. She took a moment to reload as her towering bodyguard came up behind her, drawing White Killer from her holster. The weapon roared, sending .44 Magnum rounds into the crowd as they screamed and panicked. A moment later, Queen's Mac-10s joined in the fun, spraying the crowd as they scrambled desperately for the doors.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD IS GOING ON!" Thundered the young priest, who made up in volume what he lacked in situational awareness. Ms Muhammed turned White Killer on him, sighted carefully, and put a round through his outraged mouth. The entire back of his head blew out all over the wall of the cathedral, and he collapsed in a motionless pile.
Muhammed flipped the cylinder open and discarded the spent rounds as she drew a speed-loader from her belt and inserted new ones. The cylinder clicked closed with a flick of her wrist, and the gun roared again as she fired into the retreating crowd. The two women laughed maniacally as they emptied their weapons into the congregation time and again. It was utter chaos. Dozens of dead bodies littered the floor of the cathedral, pools of blood spreading and intermingling on the white marble floors, slickening them. People slipped and fell in the puddles only to be trampled by their neighbours and families, who happily climbed over their fellow Christians, living and dead, in their desperation to save their own precious skins. Screams of agony and anguish filled the vast space, mingling with the hysterical laughter of the two merciless murderesses to echo from the distant walls.
Eventually the carnage was over. Dozens upon dozens of bodies littered the floor, many dead, many badly wounded. The two women walked away with a contemptuous smile.
In his residence Bishop Goodman hadn't heard any of the carnage. The thick stone walls of the cathedral were excellent sound insulators, and there were several of them between himself and the gunshots and screams.
Of course, his mind was also rather occupied with the fact that Bishop Percival was vigorously sodomising him. Percival's member was not especially large, Goodman had to admit... barely even four and a half inches, in fact, though at that, it was larger than his own three inches.
His sodomy sessions with Bishop Percival were a high point of his week; Goodman loved being taken in the ass, dominated and turned into another man's fuck-bitch. Many was the time he would deliver a thunderous sermon on the evils of homosexuality from the pulpit, righteously damning the whole bloody lot of them to the deepest pits of hell, just as they deserved, only to head back to his residence afterwards for a lazy afternoon of sucking and fucking with Bishop Percival.
??The idea that this might be considered hypocritical had never once occurred to him. After all, he wasn't one of those filthy homosexuals. He just liked to suck dick and take it in the ass whenever he got the chance, that was all.
He was quivering on the edge of a truly delicious analgasm when the door was struck with such terrific force that it literally tore off the hinges, flew across the room, and shattered against the far wall with an ear-splitting crash. Goodman whimpered as Bishop Percival pulled out of his asshole with a soft little plop.
"What is the meaning of this!" Goodman demanded. In his brain, which was lagging a little behind reality, he somehow assumed that some junior priest was walking in on them. Such a thing had happened before... Goodman had wound up sucking the young man's cock whilst Percival rammed his asshole. That had been a lovely day.
He was about to add something about the invader having to do something to make amends for his rudeness when a terrifying apparition ducked under the door hole and stepped into the room.
His eyes almost bugged out as he beheld the figure. Clad entirely in leather, she looked like a sculpture created by some demented artist with a muscle fetish. As she moved, the titanic muscles flexed under the thin material, making the leather creak just a little. As his brain slowly began to catch up with reality, he noticed the profusion of weapons that decorated her body. It only added to the intimidation factor.
The woman - and the enormous breasts confirmed that it had to be a woman, however huge and muscular she might be - stepped aside. Behind her another woman entered, this one over a foot shorter. She wasn't a muscular hulk like her astonishing partner, but she was a tremendous beauty possessed of a superbly athletic physique. She was naked, except for a pair of beautiful leather boots and an expensive-looking black fur coat. Like her associate, she was armed - a pair of small, vicious-looking weapons in her hands.
"Oh shit-fuck," Goodman said suddenly. "You're her! You're Ms Queen!"
"Yes I am, you little white fuck, and I'm here to murder your snivelling little ass!"
With that, she advanced across the room in three long strides. One hand went around the terrified Bishop's throat and she threw him right across the room. He crashed into a wooden cabinet, shattering it under his weight.
Ms Queen grabbed Bishop Percival and tossed him to Ms Muhammed, who caught him as easily as she would grab a softball. "Are you a Christian, little man?" Ms Muhammed growled.
Percival, who did not have a well-developed sense of danger, squawked in outrage. "Am I a Christian?" He demanded, blushing with anger. "I am a Bishop in the Roman Catholic Church! That means there's only three steps between me and the Lord thy God!"
"Infidel," Ms Muhammed hissed. She reached out with one muscular arm and ripped a three-foot-long golden cross from the wall. "Shall I show you what I think of infidel whites, little Bishop?" With that, she backhanded him with the cross. His cheekbone shattered, sending shards of bone into his right eye and blinding it. He dropped to the floor, staggering back and yelling in pain.
Ms Muhammed raised the cross high above her head and brought it crashing down with a swoosh. The end of the cross bar slammed into Percival's knee, splintering it into a thousand pieces. He screamed in agony.
"Percival!" Goodman cried, lunging forward. Queen slipped an arm around his neck and held him in place. She leaned down to his ear and whispered sensually. "Oh Goodman, who knew you were such a hypocrite? All blood and thunder in the pulpit, but a snivelling little faggot in here, is that the way? And not even a pitcher, either! Just a little butt-monkey. I bet you suck like a two-dollar whore, don't you Goodman?"
"Please don't hurt Percival!" Goodman wailed, shedding unmanly tears as Ms Muhammed brought the cross down with all her might on the Bishop's other knee.
"Don't feel too bad, Goodman," Ms Queen whispered. She licked his ear slowly. "She's just bashing your Bishop for you!"
"Noooo, please!" Goodman cried.
Ms Muhammed grabbed Percival's hair and dragged him up, forcing his head back. Her other hand flipped the cross lazily so that she held it at the top, with the long end downwards. She brought it down with savage power. The golden metal slammed into his teeth, smashing through them, and rammed down his throat. The sharp edges gouged his throat and esophagus all the way down, shredding them before it ripped into his stomach. Ms Muhammed cast him to the floor contemptuously and drew the huge curved sword from her back.
"Die, white infidel scum!" She screamed, swinging the sword down. Her aim was precise; the razor-sharp edge sliced through his cock and scrotum, splitting them in two and burying itself into the wooden floor. She yanked the sword out, laughing as Percival's little nuts rolled out of his shredded scrotum and onto the floor. "You wanted some sperm from these things in your asshole?" Ms Muhammed asked Goodman, who was sobbing at the sight of what she was doing to his lover. "Well here is what I think of that!"
With that, she raised the leather high heeled boots, the boots whose soles were made of solid steel, and she slammed them down on his balls, smashing them completely flat. With a mocking laugh she ground her boot back and forth as Percival gurgled in agony.
"And now, white scum, you DIE!" Ms Muhammed screamed. The scimitar swung again, light from the stained-glass window catching the blade and gleaming off the edge as it cut through the air with a silken whisper.
The blade lived up to its name. It easily cut through both the neck and the golden cross embedded within it. Percival's head dropped from his shoulders and plopped to the floor with a dull thud, rolling across the room and landing at Goodman's feet. Through sheer luck the head wound up face upwards, dead eyes gaping at the man he had been sodomising just sixty seconds ago.
Ms Queen's mocking laughter rang in Goodman's ears as he snivelled and blubbered. She rose, lifting him bodily from the floor and tossing him across the room. As she moved to step forward she caught something out of the corner of her eye and glanced back. The cupboard she had thrown him into had broken open, spilling the contents across the floor.
Those contents consisted of stack after stack of dollar bills. Dozens of them, hundreds of them. Ms Queen looked closer and saw that they were hundred-dollar bills.
"Weeeelllll," she crooned in satisfaction. "What have we here? There must be three or four million dollars here! All from the collection plates, is it? The kind of money that's supposed to go to charity and good works... all here, in your pocket. And you call me corrupt!" Both women laughed mockingly.
Goodman looked down in shame and found himself looking at the crushed remnants of his lover's testicles on the wooden floor. "Please don't kill me," he pleaded. "You can have all the money, every penny!"
"Hmmm," Ms Queen looked up at Ms Muhammed and smiled deviously. "Tell you what. If you want to be spared, I want three things from you. First, I want every dollar of this money," she said, toeing a bundle of bills with her boot.
"Absolutely," Bishop Goodman whimpered. "It's yours, all of it, please take every last penny!"
"Second, I want you to admit that you are a gigantic hypocrite. Beg my pardon for the insults you issued against me and retract them."
"Couldn't agree more," Goodman snivelled. "I'm a total hypocrite, I lie constantly. I preach against homosexuality, but I love sucking cock and I adore taking it up the ass! I steal, I cheat, I lie, I do every bad and depraved thing you can imagine! I'm a terrible person, and I am headed straight for the very pits of hell! I'm so sorry I told those terrible lies about you, but that's just the kind of scum I am!"
"The last thing I want," Ms Queen said, cutting through his words, "is for you to crawl over here and kiss my boots whilst you apologise. Show me the proper way for white filth like yourself to treat a superior black woman!"
Goodman crawled to Ms Queen as she moved one sexy boot forward a few inches, pointing to it. He couldn't kiss her leather-clad foot fast enough or ardently enough. He kissed again and again, little pecks and long, loving smooches. He licked, he nuzzled the soft warm leather with his cheek... in short, he treated Ms Queen's boot the way he had so often treated Bishop Percival's cock.
As he did, he issued a constant stream of apologies. "I'm so sorry, Ms Queen," he blubbered, "I apologise completely. I should never have told those terrible lies about you, I should never have said anything mean or rude about you. You are a Goddess, the most amazing and beautiful woman alive. I can feel your power and your beauty radiating from you, and all I want is to submit to you and earn your mercy. Please forgive me for the horrible wrongs I have inflicted on you with my words, I know I cannot earn your mercy, but I would be so humbled if you should choose to grant it to me."
"And you absolutely mean this?" Ms Queen said softly.
"Absolutely," he said, looking up hopefully.
"Oh Bishop, I am truly touched," Ms Queen said with a genuine smile. "The thing is," she went on, "I happen to be a total fucking bitch, and when it comes to white filth like yourself, I have no mercy. Not one little shred."
With that, Ms Queen raised her booted foot and rammed it down on Goodman's back. The sturdy steel heel split his flesh open like it was rotten fruit, tearing a deep foot-long gash into him. Ms Queen laughed hysterically as blood squirted and Goodman screamed in wretched agony.
Ms Muhammed stepped over and launched a brutal kick into his ribs, the heavy steel smashing through bone. Her laughter joined Queen's as both women kicked him again and again, every single kick breaking bones. Bishop Percival screamed over and over, until his own ribs finally ripped into his lungs and blood began to bubble up his windpipe. He began to drown in his own blood, choking and coughing mouthfuls of foamy blood up again and again.
Ms Queen dragged him to his feet. "Use Ms Punchy," she demanded. Ms Muhammed slipped the shiny knuckle dusters onto her fingers and caressed them for a moment, then fired a massive punch into Goodman's body. More ribs shattered as the metal ripped into his body. Ms Muhammed yanked the knuckle dusters out, tearing chunks of flesh out with them, then punched him hard in the face. This time her metal-clad fist smashed the intact side of his face, blinding his other eyeball. She punched him again in the mouth, and he coughed feebly and spat a dozen teeth out.
Ms Queen tossed the battered Bishop to the floor contemptuously. As he lay there bleeding and sobbing, Ms Muhammed drew a thick cigar from a tube on her belt. She lit it, puffing great clouds of sweet smoke as she looked down at the battered and broken white man. "Christian," she rumbled. "Do you have any idea how many of your kind I have sent to hell?"
Bishop Goodman merely whimpered. The titanic torturess squatted down and blew a cloud of smoke at his face. "I keep count, little man. It's fourteen hundred and ninety-nine. I love to murder Christians. It's such fun smashing their weak little bodies with my muscles," she said, flexing her arms. "Look at my arms, Christian." She flexed harder. Her biceps swelled to incredible size, badly straining the thin skin-tight leather. Suddenly there was a soft rip and the leather tore open, the muscle beneath swelling prodigiously. Ms Muhammed reached up and tore the sleeves off her outfit, leaving her arms bare. She flexed again, displaying biceps bigger than Goodman's head. "Look at them, Christian," she crooned. "The muscles that have killed so many infidel Christians. Let me show you what I think of Christians, Bishop.
With that the gigantic woman rose to her full height. One hand went to the zipper running down her front, and slowly pulled it down. Goodman boggled as her immense tits were revealed; he had never seen such a sight in all his life! But she didn't stop there... inch by inch the zipper descended, revealing an eight-pack of abdominal muscle that looked like it was chiselled out of granite. Then the zip descended still lower, revealing the naked gash of her pussy. Goodman, battered though he was, immediately became erect as he gazed upon this wonderous woman.
Ms Queen laughed as she lit her own cigar and joined her bodyguard. "I may not have killed as much white filth as Ms Muhammed has," she said sweetly, "but you wouldn't believe how many I've had killed. Probably more than five thousand by now. In fact, before coming in here, we slaughtered most of your morning congregation, fucker. Rich white trash... rich dead white trash, all over your little church here. How'd you like that?"
"Nooo..." Goodman managed to get out of his almost toothless mouth. "Please... please spare meeeee..."
Ms Muhammed and Queen stood astride the broken man, kissing one another deeply and lovingly. As they did, both began to urinate over the broken Bishop. The urine stung his wounds sharply, and he whimpered in pain and utter despair. The moment seemed to stretch out into eternity, until suddenly his heart lurched in his chest as a tremendous sharp stabbing pain struck.
"Heart..." he whispered. The pain doubled and doubled again, paralysing him. As the two beautiful Goddesses kissed and caressed, their victim slowly died under the streams of their scornful piss.
Finally, they broke free and stepped back. With contemptuous ease, Ms Muhammed raised one huge boot and stamped it down with savage fury onto the head of Goodman's corpse. His skull shattered, the heavy steel of her boot smashing it into a pulp against the wooden floor. Ms Muhammed sneered at him. "And so his soul goes to hell, where it belongs," she murmured. "Fifteen hundred, now. And more to come."
Ms Queen found a large canvas bag and started throwing piles of bills into it. When she had it filled she tossed it to Ms Muhammed, who caught it easily. "Let's go," Ms Queen said.
The two women marched through the cathedral, seeking the rear exit. As they turned a corner they found a bunch of priests and nuns milling around in a corridor. A large wooden door at the far end had the welcome word "EXIT" over it.
Ms Muhammed drew her huge scimitar. "One moment," she said quietly. Then her voice rose to incredible window-shaking volume as she bellowed "PREPARE TO DIE, CHRISTIAN SCUM!
The priests and nuns turned, frozen in shock as the awesome warrior of Allah launched herself into the crowd. The sight of her immense muscular body paralysed them, especially given that she hadn't bothered to zip her catsuit back up!
It was a stunning sight, and the last they would see. Ms Muhammed moved through them like lightning, her scimitar lashing out with tremendous speed and force. The weapon lived up to its name, sending white Christian heads rolling left and right. Simultaneously, she lashed out with Ms Punchy, shattering skulls and smashing in faces left and right.
Screams of utter terror spread from the group as they tried to run. Some blundered up against the exit doors, only to find them locked! Others ran towards Ms Queen, who raised her pair of Mac-10s and slaughtered them as she laughed hysterically. In under a minute barely a one of them was left alive. Ms Muhammed prowled through the carnage, seeking out survivors. Here and there she found a body still twitching, and she stamped her steel-soled boots down on their heads, crushing them like the worthless cockroaches they were.
Two remaining priests cowered in the corner. The carnage these incredible women had dealt out to their poor innocent fellow priests had driven them to the point of insanity, and both of them were gibbering with fear. Liberal amounts of urine pooled at their feet, as they copiously soiled themselves in terror.
Ms Muhammed sheathed her sword. Her huge fists wrapped around the necks of the surviving two priests, lifting them off the floor. One booted foot slammed into the heavy doors, smashing them open.
The police department in the area was rather slow on the uptake, but they had finally responded to the calls they'd been getting about the sounds of gunfire coming from the cathedral. Six police cars stood outside the back entrance, with a dozen cops milling around trying to decide what to do. Suddenly the doors exploded outwards and the gigantic near-naked hooded bodyguard stepped through.
The cops had no idea what was going on, but their instant response to seeing a gigantic black woman was to raise their little guns and open fire. As they did, Ms Muhammed brought the two struggling priests in front of her. Shots from the cops riddled their bodies, killing them in seconds. Every cop there emptied his gun, over seventy rounds in total. As they reloaded frantically, Ms Muhammed tossed the priests aside and drew White Killer, her .44 Ruger Blackhawk. The mighty weapon roared six times in rapid succession, and the heads of six white little piggies exploded into gore as the Magnum bullets blew them apart. Ms Muhammed laughed uproariously as she reloaded. A few of the remaining pigs began to fire, but they were slow, uncoordinated and poorly trained compared to Ms Muhammed's physical and mental perfection. She dodged easily as she took another speeloader from her belt and reloaded her weapon. The massive Magnum roared again as the huge woman laughed. "The only thing I love killing more than Christians is white Christians," she roared, "and the only thing I love more than killing white Christians is killing little piggie white Christians! Die by my Islamic bullets, little piggies, so that your souls can journey to the depths of hell!"
She holstered White Killer as she used up the last of her ammunition and drew the decapitator. The head of a young cop bounced off his body as Ms Muhammed swung the mighty weapon, the razor-sharp edge passing cleanly through his neck. As his head fell to the ground she launched a perfect kick, booting it a good forty yards away. Another swing of the sword split a man's abdomen open, spilling his intestines all over his shoes. She went through the cops like a maddened demon, slaughtering every last one of them.
Queen crossed over to the car and tossed the huge bag of money onto the back seat. The slave behind the wheel sat shaking with terror at the carnage he had just seen but made no attempt to run or hide - he had seen these two terrifying women kill too many of his fellow slaves to even think of disobeying.
The force at the back door of the Cathedral was a small one. The main body of cops, more than a hundred in all, was at the front. At the sound of the shooting nearly all of them charged around the Cathedral, determined to find the terrorists or criminals or whatever they were.
Queen opened the trunk of the car and picked up the M-60. She loaded a 200-round belt of ammunition, cradling the 23 lb weapon in one hand as she held the belt up with the other. The huge crowd of cops rounded the corner and came into sight, and the stunning ebony beauty depressed the trigger. The weapon bucked and roared in her hands, pouring hot lead into the ranks of the advancing piggies. The heavy 7.62x51mm NATO rounds slammed through flesh and bone like it was paper, slaughtering them by the dozen. Ms Queen screamed in hatred and sadistic glee as she mowed them down, feeling the heat of the weapon as it poured rounds into them.
Beside her, Ms Muhammed lifted her own weapon from the trunk. Compared to the M-60 is was a spindly affair, little more than a tube connected to a handle. But a pipe trailed from that handle, connecting to an odd collection of what looked for all the world like SCUBA air tanks. She strapped them to her back and brandished the weapon, smiling in satisfaction.
A tiny flame appeared at the end of the nozzle. Ms Muhammed extracted another cigar from her belt and slipped it between her lips, bending to bring the tip into the small flame. She puffed contentedly a couple of times then straightened up, sighted carefully on the advancing cops and squeezed the trigger.
The M2 Flamethrower had been developed in World War II. It was a truly horrific weapon, firing more than half a gallon of flaming napalm per second at the target. Ms Muhammad's eyes lit up in sadistic delight as a 140-foot jet of flame erupted from the tip, foul black smoke boiling into the morning air as napalm dropped all over the rear ranks of the advancing piggies. Already terrified by the brutal power of the machine gun, they turned to try and run - only to find a wall of flame and burning officers behind them in a scene lifted directly from hell. Both women laughed uproariously as they poured bullets and fire onto the piggies, slaughtering them in huge numbers.
To the two women, it truly a beautiful spectacle. Terrified piggies were being ripped apart by the brutal power of the machine gun, spewing blood and bone and burst organs all over the place. There was no more thought of advancing; the terrified piggies broke and tried to run in any direction. Ms Muhammed, however, was an expert with the M2. She laid down walls of fire that hemmed the piggies in, completely surrounding them and preventing their escape. Men who had been transformed into burning torches stumbled back, some of them screaming as they blundered into their comrades and set them aflame. Efforts to put the fire out were useless; the napalm could not be extinguished and attempts to do so merely spread the burning gel around further.
"Allah loves the smell of burning pork in the morning!" Ms Muhammed exulted. "It smells like victory!"
In the space of sixty seconds the entire one hundred-strong force of piggies were maimed or dead. Most of them were on fire. Queen softly stroked her pussy as she tossed the now red-hot M-60 back into the trunk. She'd orgasmed twice from the sadistic joy of murdering the white filth; her thighs were drenched with her cum juices. She badly needed some tongue action.
Ms Muhammed's pussy was also literally dripping as she emptied the last of the flamethrower's bursts into the piggies. "So many infidel Christian scum burning in hell by my hand," she rumbled. "It is a good day! When we return home, I shall castrate a dozen slaves to celebrate."
"Sounds lovely," Queen replied. She had better than a hundred slaves at her estate. She didn't care in the slightest about her lover and bodyguard maiming or killing them - why should she? They were only whites. They didn't cost her anything to acquire, since she simply kidnapped them in the first place. Plenty more where they came from. "Let's make it two dozen." As she spoke, she removed a belt of white phosphorous grenades. Ms Muhammed grinned as she took some for herself. The two women began pulling the pins on the grenades, throwing them through the stained-glass windows of the Cathedral.
"Two dozen it is," Ms Muhammed said. A series of dull thuds sounded as the grenades detonated, sending white-hot fragments all around. In seconds a dozen rooms were turning into mini infernos. The Cathedral would be a burning pyre within ten minutes, Queen knew, and a gutted shell within an hour.
The two women climbed into the back of the car and headed back home. Behind them the man who had dared to challenge Ms Queen in public lay dead, surrounded hundreds of corpses.
A good day indeed!
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