Posted by Ric delCampo on April 08, 2003 at 17:30:21:
A Season with the Dallas Cowgirl Cheerleaders.
By Ric delCampo
Chapter Seven.
Dallas Cowgirls vs. Philadelphia Eaglettes: The Super Bowl.
Mervin Hillman was still caressing her after her third orgasm. But at the moment Raquel was feeling melancholic. “If I die,” she said, without warning, “I want you to buy me.”
“What?” Mervin said, confused by her suddenly sadness. “Hey, I’m beyond that fetish. I don’t do dead chicks any more. You’ve cured me of that.”
He sat up. “In spite of all my money, I never really was comfortable with women,” he confessed. “They all used to treate me as some sort of freak because I’m a short schlub. I used to buy dead cheerleaders because I could—for revenge on the female of the species. But you saved me from that. I could never believe such a beautiful woman would ever willing sleep with me.”
“I’m not talking about that,” Raquel said. “I’m probably going to die next week and I don’t want my body falling into the hands of those who hate me. I trust you to take care of me.”
Mervin thought on that for a moment. “I don’t want you to die.”
“Me neither.”
“If you’re so convinced you’re going to die, quit! You don’t have to do this.”
“I can’t. If I quit, I forfeit all my earnings this season. I’d even have to pay back for all the perks I’ve received. That’s impossible.”
“I could do it,” Mervin said.
“But it’s my money,” Raquel said. “I earned it. I couldn’t be the same person I am if I gave it all back and became dependant on you. I won’t give up my independence.”
“Did I mention, you’re feisty too?” Mervin said gleefully sliding his tool into her pussy.
She arched her back, driving him in deeper. “Dios mio! That’s good! I used to think being murdered would be so sexy. I used to think bullets in my body would make me cum. But this is heaven!” She wrapped her long legs around him.
“Is that why you became a cheerleader?” Mervin began screwing her slowly. Mashed her sensitive breasts against his chest. Delicately, licked at her erect nipples with his darting tongue.
“Like most non breeders, I was convinced I was worthless—a parasite on society. I was so desperate to prove my worth; I was willing to die to entertain people. Especially when it meant those people thought I was beautiful. I wanted men to think about how I had died and become so horney they had to masturbate or fuck their wives.”
Raquel was tingling all over. Waves of pleasure were rippling through her body. Her muscles tightened as she held out for another huge orgasm. “Fuck me! Fuck me!”
“You make me so horney right now!” Mervin declared. “I wanna fuck you all day long!”
Raquel’s body quivered as she felt his penile muscles ripple, felt his hot cum erupt against the delicate flesh of her vagina. She could hold out no longer and cried out in ecstasy.
“So you’re not gonna quit?” Mervin said as he pumped her full of his seed.
“No,” Raquel said, “but I do have a plan.”
The met in a greasy-spoon dinner, in a darkened corner booth, at midnight. Raquel wore a long blonde wig and Christine wore a brunette wig. They ordered up a couple of beers and snuggled up close as if lesbian lovers. In truth, they just wanted to speak without any one hearing or suspecting.
“Long story short,” Raquel said, “I don’t want to die in the Super Bowl. I will do what ever it takes to live. I don’t care about my team mates—most of them want to die any way. To die spectacularly. But I want to live, to enjoy my money, to enjoy the rest of my life. I’ve earned that. And it’s your fault for making me believe that I could.”
Christine said nothing.
“So you do what ever you need to win. I’ll play along. I’ll pretend. And I won’t be a threat to you or your team as long as you leave me alone.”
“And if we can’t . . .”
“Christine, I love you like a sister. You’ve given me my life back. Better than that, you’ve given me a life. But I’m not going to give it up now. I’ll fight for it; if you force me.”
Raquel squeezed her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Christine shook her loose. “No! We don’t! Let me tell you how it’s going to happen!”
Raquel arrived at the stadium early on Sunday morning. She felt odd dressed in the Eaglettes’ uniform. It was a short forest green mini-skirt, high heel leather boots, and a white lycra top with a keyhole to reveal her cleavage. She missed her cowboy hat.
She stood at the sidelines, watching the spectators making their way to their seats.
The stadium was oddly empty. A full three fourths was roped off and off limits. The general public was not invited. The only attendees invited were government VIPs, mainly senators and their staff and bodyguards.
A couple of helicopters flew overhead and the announcer announced over the PA system the arrival of the Matriarch. It wasn’t common for the Matriarch to attend such a low-brow event as the Super Bowl. But this Matriarch had a personal interest in the outcome of this match.
The Matriarch and a few of the Provincial Governesses would occupy the largest owner’s box at the top of the stadium. Already MISA (Motherland Internal Security Agency.) agents, recognizable for being dressed in business suits and sunglasses, were filtering into the stadium.
Then members of the Praetorian Guards followed. They were in their formal dress uniforms: starched white button-down uniform blouses, black ties and berets adorned with a red star, black leather mini-skirts, black, knee-high leather boots, and armed with submachine guns. There were at least fifty PGs and fifty MISAs.
A recorded band played the national anthem as the Matriarch took her seat. “Oh, mediocrity!” a woman sang. The words had once been: “O Canada-- but now the song extolled the virtues of conformity and sameness.
But, there were 3V cameras everywhere. The whole continent would be watching on their 3V sets.
Mervin Hillman saw her standing there alone on the field and came down from his box. “So, you didn’t quit?” he asked nonchalantly as he approached her.
“No, I didn’t,” she said. “We still have a deal?”
“What deal is that?”
“You take care of me if I don’t make it through this thing.”
He started to protest, but stopped himself. “I’ll buy you the biggest mausoleum in Texas and chisel your name so deep they’ll be reading it for a thousand years.”
“Fine.” She said curtly. Then a request. “I never was one for politics, tell me how the government works? Who’s got the power?”
“The Matriarch’s not really an absolute dictator,” Mervin said. “Her power’s balanced by the senate. Whenever there’s a vacancy in the Matriarchy, through death, or assassination, or retirement, the senate picks one of their own to be the new Matriarch. So she’s somewhat beholding to them. But she appoints the Provincial Governesses and controls the judiciary and the treasury.”
“Who picks the senators?”
“They do. By tradition, there’s usually about one hundred. But there’s no longer any written constitution and they do what ever they feel like. If they feel some woman is too powerful for her own good, they either have her assassinated or co-opted into the senate as one of their own. It’s basically an Oligarchy looking out for its own best interests.”
“Which is more powerful?”
“Since she controls the treasury, I’d say the Matriarch.”
“Okay.” Raquel said. But her mind seemed to be elsewhere.
“You thinking of going into politics?” Mervin said. “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think you have enough money in the bank.”
“No,” Raquel said, “just wondering who I was going to have to suck up to after this is over.”
“My mother’s a senator,” Mervin said. “We’ll watch out for you.”
“I didn’t know that,” Raquel said. “About your mother. Why don’t you go sit with her. So I’ll know who she is.”
Mervin thought this an odd request, but when Raquel insisted, he complied and escorted his mother to his box.
Raquel entered the locker room. Most of the girls were still dressing. They were smiling and joking and giggling. They were showing off their beautiful bodies and comparing assets and insisting each would be the loveliest corpse on the field. Most could not wait to die spectacularly and sensually and Raquel felt sorry for them, in a way, that none had the insight she had gained over the past nine months.
Her life was so sweet and she regretted having to risk it one more time.
Raquel checked the weapons. As the Commissioner had promised, they were all automatic submachine guns: MAC-10s, UZIs, Thompson .45s, etc. Since they were so old, Raquel had hinted to the team captain that they need more than forty just in case some of them didn’t work. Raquel had personally cleaned and repaired them so now there were over one hundred functioning weapons in the crates.
She picked out a MAC-10 and screwed on a barrel suppressor.
Raquel assembled the Eaglettes around her. “There’s going to be a change of plans,” she said. “I want you to choose me as your new Captain.”
A lively discussion ensued. Some were for it, given Raquel’s demonstrated prowess on the field. Others felt she was too ambitious and proud: this very act a demonstration of her Grandstanding.
The Team Captain protested loudest of all. “I am the Captain!”
Pfut-pfut-pfut.
Three silenced rounds thudded into the Captain’s body. She gave a start, her breath catching in her shattered lungs, then collapsed to the floor, her blood flowing down the drain.
“Any one else care to challenge me?”
“I nominate Raquel as team captain,” a girl shouted.
“Me too!” joined in another.
Soon they were all cheering her, ecstatic at what they thought to be a taste of the democratic process, of choosing their own leader.
The Coaches, followed by the team owner, her bodyguards, and the Commissioner of Cheerleader Gunfights came into the locker room.
It was a bit confusing, as the girls were cheering, dancing, laughing, but the team owner angrily demand of the head coach, “What is happening here?”
“A change of plans,” Raquel told her, without being asked. She leveled the MAC-10 at the team owner.
“How dare you!” the woman huffily hissed at Raquel. “I’ve have you executed for this!”
Pfut-pfut-pfut.
The owner’s expensive white blouse had three holes in it. Three holes which rapidly grew stained with red blood pumping out of her riddled breasts. She slumped against the lockers and slid to the floor.
“I’ve waited a long time for this,” Raquel said, turning to face the Commissioner. She slapped in a fresh magazine.
“No! No! Please, no!”
Pfut-pfut-pfut-pfut-pfut-pfut-pfut-pfut . . .
Raquel riddled the Commissioner’s body with bullets. Expended the entire clip. The Commissioner’s bullet ridden corpse was thrown violently against the lockers and she thrashed about as her body was shredded. Finally she collapsed into a bloody heap.
Oh fuck! That felt good!” Raquel exulted. “You can’t believe how long I’ve waited to kill you!”
A body guard reached for her weapon. Raquel drew her pistol and nailed her right between her eyes. “Any one else?”
The head coach raised her hand. “I must protest . . .”
Raquel shot her in the stomach. The woman hunched over, hugging her guts. “You shot me!” the coach exclaimed with awful horror.
“I fuckin’ killed you,” Raquel clarified.
As the coach died, Raquel motioned to the surviving body guards and assistant coaches: “All of you-- get into a cheerleader uniform. You’re all part of my team now.”
“Gather around,” Raquel instructed them. “I have a plan. You are all part of it. And I promise each one of you the most glorious death on the field of combat.”
Scott McKoy got his mother seated in his box, then went down to the field to be with his team as they filed on the field.
The crowd was oddly silent. Only a few Texas cheers.
Scott attributed this to the make-up of the crowd—a bunch of old bitter women who got their revenge on younger, more beautiful women by inventing and promoting this game.
He immediately noticed something was odd— He hardly recognized a face on the Dallas team. Certainly there had been a turn-over during the season. But not this many.
Then he recognized some of them: Surviving players from previous years. It dawned on him: Christine had assembled a team of ringers.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Winning,” Christine said. “I held back a few of the best for this day. Raquel wasn’t the only one I was saving for today.”
“But this is against the rules!”
“Fuck the rules,” Christine said. “I’ve waited for this day all my life. A few stupid rules aren’t getting in my way.”
Scott was confused.
“Go to your box,” Christine said. “And take your mother with you.”
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up and do as I say,” Christine insisted.
“But I always spend the match on the bench with my team.”
“Not today!”
She physically turned him around and shoved him.
A few more cheers issued from the stands.
The Philadelphia Eaglettes were taking to the field. Leading the way was Raquel.
“Fucking whore! Traitor!” Christine shouted across the field at her. “You’re gonna die today, bitch! I’m gonna fuckin’ kill your ass!”
“I hope you let Scott fuck you last night!” Raquel shouted back. “It was his last chance—‘less he wants to fuck your corpse!”
“Ladies! Ladies!” a referee insisted. “We’re not to the insults yet. You have to perform your cheerleading routines before you can start insulting each other. Let’s be mindful of the rules.”
Both teams went through their routines. The Eaglettes were quite provocative and professional. The Dallas team’s routine seemed rusty and unpracticed.
Christine and Raquel approached each other with snarls and sneers.
“What was that?” Raquel asked in derision, “a bunch of old bitches? With old, dry pussies? Who’s gonna wanna have sex after watchin’ them? You old hags’ll bring the birth rate down!”
“Sluts! Just a buncha horney sluts!” Christine retorted. “Y’all’re a bunch of whores!”
“Them’s fightin’ words!”
“You got the guts?”
“Yeah! We’ll spill your guts out all over the field.”
“Your’s first, whore!”
“Ladies! Ladies!” the head referee interrupted. “Let’s settle this matter on the field of honor.”
The captains returned to their respective benches, retrieved their weapons and met again with the head referee at the fifty yard line. Twenty-four of their team mates lined up on their respective twenty yard lines, while the rest waited at the bench. Christine could see that there were more than the permitted fifteen replacements at the Eaglettes’ bench. The coaches were apparently missing also.
But most apparent of all, and not mentioned by any one, not even the referees, was the fact and all the Eaglettes, in addition to their pistols, were also carrying automatic submachine guns.
For her part Raquel recognized very few of the Cowgirls. All the cannon-fodders and runners were missing. In their place were girls she didn’t recognize. The only faces she did recognize where those of the best shooters on the Dallas team.
“Call it,” the ref’ said.
“Heads.” Raquel replied.
“Heads it is!” the ref’ lied. She quickly pocketed the coin least Christine see her deception. “First shot to the Eaglettes!” she announced.
The announcer repeated her words and the crowd cheered.
“See ya in hell!” Raquel said to Christine.
“I expect you to introduce Satan to me when I get there,” Christine replied.
They stood back to back.
“March!” the ref’ ordered.
They marched to the forty yard line, turned, and faced each other. Christine arrogantly left her six-shooter holstered.
Raquel drew her weapon: a Colt .45 automatic pistol. She took her time aiming it at Christine’s left breast. She savored each moment of this drama.
Raquel fired.
The head referee suddenly clutched at her left breast. A red stain quickly spread across her white polo shirt.
She wanted to blow her whistle, but had no breath. Her legs trembled, gave away, and she dropped dead onto the field.
Christine had quickly drawn her weapon. She gunned down the other referees.
“Shit! You can’t believe how long I’ve waited to do that!” Raquel shouted to Christine. “I really wanted to kill some of those bitches!” She motioned to her team mates still on the bench. They snatched up weapons and ran onto the field.
“There appears to be a . . . uhh . . . ohh . . .” The announcer was at a loss for words. He had been instructed to keep quiet when the Eaglettes cheated; but this wasn’t what he had expected.
The Eaglette replacements began distributing submachine guns to the Dallas team. One girl handed a Thompson to Raquel, a MAC-10 to Christine.
“Your team ready?” Christine asked.
“I had to bribe a few of ‘em,” Raquel said, “the rest were so excited, they’d die for free.”
“I hate to give you the dirty work.”
“I understand,” Raquel said, “Mine are the cannon-fodder; yours’re the shooters.”
“I need a quorum; don’t kill ‘em all.”
“I got it,” Raquel said, in spite of the fact she had no idea what a quorum was. “Just kill every one with a gun. That’s what I told them.”
“One more thing,” Christine said. “The Matriarch’s mine! But if I get snuffed, waste the bitch for me!”
The Dallas team broke into smaller groups, split up, and dashed toward their various objectives.
Raquel gave a John Wayne wave. “Alright, girls!
Let’s at ‘em!”
The Philly team began a frontal assault on the stands.
The first casualties were two bodyguards, confused by the Cheerleaders rushing into the stands, who drew their weapons.
Raquel poured hot lead into them. As the two women danced to death, their bodies riddled and punctured; the rest of the Philly team became enthused.
Mini-skirted cheerleaders shot it out with bodyguards, MISA agents, and Praetorian Guards.
Utter confusion reigned supreme. Most senators dove under their seats. Others were pushed down by competent bodyguards. Some staff members sought cover. Others shrieked in fear and tried to run away.
Secretaries, assistants, press agents, business managers, accountants, lawyers, and others were scrambling, screaming, shaking with horror; and more than a few were caught in the cross fire.
Three secretaries in cotton dresses leapt up and fled toward an exit. Unfortunately, they stood up directly in front of two MISA agents aiming at two Eaglettes. Bullets punched through the girls’ backs, erupting from their chests and stomachs in a gory spray. As they fell, thrashing and writhing, the two cheerleaders sprayed lead into the two MISA agents. Both women clutched their punctured bodies and fell among the dying secretaries.
Raquel had killed a senator’s bodyguard when she spotted three Praetorian Guards rushing her. She aimed low and hammered at them with the Thompson. The natural rise of the weapon walked .45 slugs into all three and chewed them up. The three bullet riddled bodies tumbled down the steps and Raquel leapt over them.
A Praetorian Guard shot an Eaglette in her breast. The girl went down screaming. An Eaglette shot the Praetorian Guard. A MISA agent shot the Eaglette. A confused body guard whipped around and shot the MISA agent. The confused body guard stared in horror and what she had done and dropped her weapon. Two MISA agents emptied their submachine guns into her. Two Eaglettes, taking advantage of the confusion, shot the MISA agents.
A personal assistant caught a stray slug in her breast. She dropped, writhing, next to her senator. The young senator was so turned on by the dying woman’s death throes. She leapt up. “My turn! Kill me! Shoot my breasts!”
An Eaglette obliged her by pumping hot lead into her tits.
“OHH! I love dying! The senator screamed. She slumped back into her seat and did what she loved most.
An Eaglette next to Raquel dropped, a red stain on her white blouse next to her heart. Raquel dove for cover.
A sniper fired again and shattered a seat next to Raquel.
Raquel leaped up and sprayed a few slugs randomly.
She dove for cover as the sniper fired again, killing a woman hiding behind Raquel.
Raquel had spotted the sniper.
She grabbed a whimpering girl, and using her as a human shield, stood up and emptied a clip at the sniper.
The girl stopped whimpering. Blood trickled down between her staring eyes from a hole in her forehead.
The sniper abandoned her position and sought higher ground.
Raquel dropped the dead girl and continued her advance.
Six MISA agents were hustling the Governess of the North West Province down a tunnel toward an exit. Two Cowgirls were waiting for them.
The Cowgirls ambushed them, spraying hot lead into the MISA agents. The MISAs returned fire. In moments only two women were still alive. One Cowgirl and the Governess.
“Please, let me live,” the Governess begged. “I’ll pay you anything.”
The Cowgirl coldly shot her in the stomach. She hunched over, hugging her wounded guts. “Why?” she asked.
The Cowgirl shot her again and the Governess fell over dead.
“I always wanted to kill some body important,” the Cowgirl said.
Three MISA agents had the Governess of the North East Province in a golf cart and were speeding away to another exit.
They barreled right through a Cowgirl ambush. One Cowgirl took a lucky shot in her belly button and caved in. Her revolver clattered to the cement floor.
Another Cowgirl snapped off a single shot at the retreating cart.
The Governess clutched at her back, her body gave a sudden jerk, and she tumbled off the golf cart. Her body rolled along the floor, her arms flailing.
One MISA agent jumped off the speeding cart. The others abandoned her and escaped.
The Cowgirls gunned down the lone MISA agent in a hail of hot .44s.
Six Cowgirls battered down the door to an owner’s box.
When the door shattered, they rushed in braving a flurry of bullets. Three Cowgirls were killed immediately. Using their dead companions as shields, the other three advanced into the box, slaughtering the MISA agents and two Governesses cowering in a corner.
The Eaglette continued their relentless advance up the stands toward the Matriarch’s box.
Already half the Eaglettes were dead.
Seventeen bodyguards, fourteen MISA agents, and seven Praetorian Guards also lay dead.
Seven senators and forty-three civilians were dead.
Still, the Eaglettes advanced.
Raquel spotted a familiar face. One of her older sisters.
Please, please, Raquel! Don’t kill me,” her sister pleaded.
“What the hell are you doin’ here?”
“I work for Senator Joyce,” her sister stammered in fear, “I came to see you die,” she confessed.
Raquel aimed the Thompson at her. But strangely didn’t pull the trigger. “Stay with your Senator. Keep her down. And stay down yourself!” Raquel ordered. She moved on.
Two Praetorian Guards rushed her. One was a stunningly gorgeous Hispanic woman. Raquel pumped hot lead into their breasts and blew them off their feet. The Hispanic guard was still alive, but barely, when Raquel reached her.
“P-p-please . . .”
“Okay.” Raquel poked the muzzle of her Thompson up the dying girl’s skirt, inserted it into her pussy, and fucked her to death.
“That was for my sister,” she said to the dead woman. “You died in her place.”
Raquel spotted an Eaglette gleefully walking down a row of seats, cheerfully executing every woman cowering at her feet with a single shot to the head. She giggled hysterically with every dead body falling at her feet.
“Hey! Not the Senators!” Raquel shouted.
When the girl didn’t stop, Raquel stopped her with a single shot between her breasts.
Twenty Praetorian Guards had escorted the Matriarch out of her box. They came upon a pile of dead Praetorian guards. All neatly stacked.
The grisly sight gave them pause. At that moment, caught off guard, they were ambushed by ten Cowgirls.
A furious firefight ensued. Five Guards swarmed around the Matriarch, protecting her with their very bodies. One woman gasped and fell away, her body twitching. The four survivors rushed the Matriarch back into the box. Praetorian Guards were dropping like flies. They shrieked and screamed. Blood burst from their punctured bodies. Hot steaming blood stained starched white blouse red. They dropped into bloody heaps and piles.
Only two more survived to retreat back into the box and lock the door.
Outside six Cowgirls lay dead.
The other four took cover and waited.
Raquel shot a MISA agent in her breast.
The stunned woman clapped a hand to her wounded breast. She stared in horror at her bloody hand. “You’ve ruined my expensive Frederique blouse!” she complained to Raquel.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Raquel told her; “you’re dead. They’ll bury you in another one. You’ll be a beautiful corpse.”
The woman smiled, dropped her gun, and fell at Raquel’s feet.
“Stupid whore!”
An Eaglette dropped, a bullet in her head.
Then another.
The sniper had reached her new position.
She sighted in on Raquel.
“Hello, bitch!”
The sniper turned around.
A Cowgirl with a M-16 smiled at her. And riddled her with slugs.
The sniper fell screaming to her death.
Raquel came upon an Eaglette shot in her pussy. She clutched at her wounded womanhood as red blood pulsed through her fingers.
“You didn’t tell us it’d be sooo good!” the dying girl said with a silly grin.
“You wanna die?”
“Sure, it’s so sexy! You think a lotta people are watchin’ me die?”
“Hope so, honey.”
Raquel kissed her gently, and moved on.
A MISA agent shot an Eaglette right through her keyhole.
“Didn’t ruin yer blouse!” the agent spat as she stood over the writhing cheerleader. “But I gotcha right through yer heart. Now sum’ other bitch can wear yer clothes an’ die in ‘em too.”
Raquel shot her right through her skirt. The MISA grunted, dropped her gun, and sat down hard. She clutched at her lower belly.
“But no bitch’ll ever wear your clothes again,” Raquel swore. “I’m gonna ruin them!” She riddled the squirming agent’s blouse and bra with half a clip.
A few Praetorian Guards fell back towards the Matriarch’s box. The few remaining MISA agents tried to hold their ground.
At this point no private body guards were left alive.
Having expended all her .45 ammo, Raquel tossed the Thompson aside and picked up an AR-15 off a dead MISA agent.
She snapped in a fresh clip and snapped off a shot.
A MISA agent fell moaning, shot through her belly.
Raquel snapped off another.
Another MISA agent dropped, a red stain flowering over her right breast.
Raquel fired again.
A MISA agent screamed, threw up her arms, and tumbled down the steps.
The last MISA agent threw down her weapon and threw up her arms. I surrender! Don’t shoot!”
An Eaglette shot her.
“You told us to kill ‘em all,” she shrugged at Raquel.
Raquel counted her troops. Only ten Eaglettes left. She hoped it was enough. “Separate the Senators from their staff,” she told one Eaglette she felt she could trust. “There’s a conference room on the second level. Keep the senators there ‘till I or Christine Golden, the Dallas Captain, gets back to you.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Well, then kill ‘em all and run for your lives.”
Raquel gathered up more scattered ammo. “I’m gonna help the Cowgirls.”
Eleven more Praetorian Guards had shot their way into the Matriarch’s box and barricaded themselves.
Christine was outside with the last surviving Cowgirls when Raquel reached her. The two sides were taking pot-shots at each other with out much effect.
“How’s it going?” Raquel asked, overly cheerful.
“All the Governesses are dead,” Christine replied. “But the head bitch is still hold up inside. How about the Senators?”
“My team is herding them into the conference room. We only killed a few of them.”
“And Scott’s mother?”
“Don’t know.”
“Shit!” Christine swore. “I owe him his mother’s life. I hope she’s okay.”
Raquel thought of Mervin Hillman and his mother. She hadn’t seen either of them. “Know how you feel.”
“Let’s get this done!” Christine declared. She stood up and fired a full clip into the box. All the Cowgirls poured hundreds of rounds into the Matriarch’s box. The interior was shredded,
When the smoke cleared fifteen riddled bodies lay scattered on the floor.
“We give up!” the last two Praetorian Guards shouted. They threw down their weapons and raised their hands.
“Traitors!” The Matriarch snatched up a fallen weapon and shot both women in the back.
Christine stepped into the box to face the Matriarch.
The Matriarch aimed at her heart and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
“You’re out of bullets,” Christine said.
“I’m not.” Christine’s eyes were ice cold.
Christine shot the Matriarch in her pussy. Shot her again through her belly button. Shot her in her right breast. Shot her in her left breast.
The Matriarch staggered under impact of each slug.
Her eyes rolled back. She fell onto a pile of her dead guards.
“Ya know,” Raquel said, “she ain’t that scary lookin’.”
“Let’s go have a little talk with the Senators.”
Raquel was relieved to see Mervin and his mother among the living. Scott was there with his mother also.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” the President of the Senate demanded.
“I thought it would be obvious to you by now,” Christine said. “This is a coup d’etat.”
“You’re attacking the government?”
“Didn’t think any one still had the balls to do it, did you?” Christine said. “Well, I’ve been planning this for five years.”
“So what do you want?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You have a quorum here. The Senate is going to elect a new Matriarch. Me.”
“You think you can blackmail us?”
“No. I know I can kill you.”
“You do and you’ll never know another day’s peace.”
Christine laughed. “Bold threats from some one with no guns.”
Christine sobered up. “Listen up. I see you have two choices: One, you do as I say. Elect me. Right now. In front of the whole nation. I promise you I won’t screw things up any worse than they already are. Hell! I just might be good for this country. You’ll never know if you don’t risk it.
“Two: You can all defy me and die. The country will be plunged into civil war and chaos as your heirs fight over your property. As I have the only armed, trained army in the whole country, I still might win.” (Of course Christine was bluffing here, twenty-five armed cheerleaders hardly constituted an army. But indeed, it was one of the largest armed groups in the country.)
Mrs. McKoy, undoubtedly prodded by her son, stepped forward.
“I nominate Christine Golden as the Fourteenth Matriarch of the North American Union.”
“I second the motion,” Mrs. Hillman said.
“All in favor?” the President asked.
“Aye!” Ninety-one voices chorused.
Of course, it wasn’t quite that easy. Christine did have some dissent. Others were fearful of her reforms.
But, in time, she became the most beloved Matriarch.
And the last.
It took her twenty years to restore a constitutional government. But that was her ultimate goal and the last one she accomplished.
But, I’m getting ahead of the story.
“So, what do you want?” Christine asked Raquel one day when she was visiting the Matriarch’s office.
“What do you mean?”
“I got a lot of positions to fill. How’d you like to be Governess of the Southern Central Province? Let’s say?”
“Me? A government official; you’re kidding. I’m retired.”
“Surely, there’s something you want?”
“Yeah, make it legal for Mervin to marry me,” Raquel said.
“I need breeders to marry breeders,” Christine replied. “I can’t change that.”
“Fine. Marry my sisters off to Mervin; he can fuck ‘em and impregnate them. He can keep ‘em pregnant and barefoot. But I’ll be the only one he’ll love.”
Christine smiled. “Done!”
“One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You gotta fuck Scott ‘fore he dies of a broken heart. You owe him that.”
“I guess if it’s good enough for you; it’s good enough for me,” Christine said.
She was glad she did.
THE END.