Boo. My bouche got mused. Go figure.
All the Nazis started chopping the sweet little bucket-pissing nuns into little bite-sized pieces to push through letterboxes. After starting, there was nowhere to go but onwards - that or stopping, but stopping would also come when they'd finished chopping and pushing, so they might as well carry on. These poor sweet little nuns were all pissed out, but the Nazis were relentless in their chopping. The nuns started pumping blood, not only from their wounds, but from the few parts of their body that weren't wounded, as a form of solidarity with their fallen skin comrades. With nowhere to go but onwards or clotting, the sweet dead nuns carried on pumping as the less sweet, less dead Nazis finished chopping and moved on to the letterbox pushing. One young oberleutenant with a helmet that was far too big for his head was assigned to hold the flap open, as much as it pained him to see his poor dead nunly grandmother chopped into little bits, and as much as it pained his firm young muscly arm that only looked muscly, but inside was all sweet and sensitive, and really couldn't manage to hold a flap open for more than six or seven hours. Yep, six or seven hours. This was an orgy of chopping and pushing. The pile of sweet dead nun bits was pretty damn big, although it was visibly shrinking like a spurted penis, as its oozey liquid was dripping out and sluicing away, collecting in puddles and clotting a few streets down. Small urchins and anemones would take these clotted puddles and use them gaily as frisbees whilst their parents had sex indoors, and their girlfriends had sex in their indoors unbeknownst to them - and anyway, what were they doing having girlfriends, faithful or infidel, as they were but small urchins and anemones, and knew, or shouldn't have known, the ways of sex like the nuns and Nazis did.
[Ubiquitous blowjob scene. No ejaculation.]
Once all the sweet dead nun kibbles were firmly ensconced on the other side of the door, the less sweet, less dead, less kibbly (but much more bobbly) Nazis ran away sniggering, holding their hands to their mouths as only cartoon characters do. In time they would all burn in hell, they knew this, but for now their innocence shone in their eyes as if someone had cut their eyes open and put a candle inside, then sewn up their eyes again, drilling a hole for oxygen to enter because fire needs fuel, heat and oxygen. Oh, they had the candles lit before their eyes were sewn up - what's the point of fucking someone in the eye with a candle (well, it's too Freudian to not call eyefucking, oh and you should see what I can do with my flaming wick when I care enough to light it) if you don't light it first?
[Storyline. Regain your composure. Hose yourself down. Clean under your fingernails.]
These weren't ordinary nuns, these nuns had a special connection with God (who decided to briefly exist to help the sweet dead innocent nuns get their own back on the nasty brutish Nazis, except the young sweet Nazi who held the flap open, but would much rather have been off playing football with people people would call his mates). God put the nuns back together, resisting the urge to make them into one great big supernun with lasers for eyes and really big toes for toes, or to mix and match and make them into scary killer erotic zombie killer mixed up freaky eclectic nuns that oozed pus and screamed at innocent passers-by "Hey dick, suck my bitch." The nuns were just put back to how they were before they were chopped and posted through flaps, and they rampaged towards the giggling Nazis with great big wine bottles in their hands and smacked all the naughty Nazis, even the sweet young one with the helmet that was too big for him, on accident y'know, cracking skulls and bottles with almost equal measure, but on such a large scale, I suppose that bottles cracked statistically (and literally, and in actuality) more, because bottles crack easier than skulls, unless you have really strong bottles and really weak skulls. Nazis have weak skulls, nuns have strong bottles. Yay. Dead Nazis, live nuns, plenty of blood. Happy ending - conventional, clichéd, uninspired, but that's erotica for you. Someone loved someone also. Ooh, I know, one of the young nuns who was questioning her nunosity was the one who accidentally killed the young Nazi with the big helmet and then realised her mistake and cradled his limp dead body in her sweet young arms, and cried into his wounds. Yay. Sweet really.