The Knights Of Raw Phwoar

IN A WORLD where wars are fought with romance, and flirting, and delicious erotic TENSION, the illustrious and historic enmities twixt the globe’s Great Powers have become a BUTTLOAD more bubbly, with fewer hideous massacres of musket and cannon, and oodles more frisky cunnilingus contests.

Fast-forward a few centuries. It’s 1974. The fourth French Empire threatens anew to blush the globe’s cheeks and quiver its hips and kersplode its gonads. France's funky new Imperatrix, Brigitte Bardot, some kind of retired actress apparently, has somehow sculpted France into a terrifying tornado of wanton and irresistible femme-foam. Earth's free nations shall drown in sexy sexy darkness.

But Britain's answer to French raunch, the Royal Marines Sex Commandos, ain't taking that shit lying down. A snazzy strike force stealths into Paris disguised as a particularly frumpy French nun convent, the notorious KNIGHTS OF RAW PHWOAR.

Hundreds of gorgeous, superb, mega-ch0nk Brit raiders launch a fab nocturnal flirtfest against Bardot's Parisian pad, the Élysée Palace. They trounce the thousands-strong garrison with hours of rad genital jousting, then take on the Imperatrix herself.

But turns out the Imperatrix’s seismo-flirts are truly apocalyptic. Turns out she can out-raunch the lot. And things start going horribly wrong ...

How?

Find out!

In Part Two!

The SOVIET SLUTS SUPERB: mikeyclarke.co.nz/apocalypse/2-soviet-sluts-superb

(But read this Part One first)