Sisters of Cleaning
"Sir, Slaanesh just started crying."
"Just as planned."
The Sisters of Battle - paragons of faith and purity; violent points of light in the grim darkness of the far future. It is their god-given duty to ensure that mankind does not stray from the light of the Emperor. Having heretical thoughts, knowing forbidden knowledge or by being unfortunate enough to have been born with a mutation or psychic powers is a sure fire way to get your ass purged. Also everyone living on your block, just to be sure. But despite their rigorous training - which puts even the toughest Imperial Guard regimen to shame - some sisters encounter an obstacle that even they feel they are unable to overcome. These self-damned few in their quest for absolution place themselves in squads of Repentia so that they may atone for their delusional sins. Ordinarily a repentia squad finds absolution in death; its members don mere scraps of leather and chain eviscerators to their hands and then blindly charge the nearest enemy. As hilarious as it is to picture a bunch of semi-nude nuns bull rushing a carnifex or a baneblade through a hail of gunfire, it is, admittedly, a manly fucking way to die. But such was not the case with the /tg/-created order: the Sisters of Cleaning.
The Canoness of the order the Sisters of Cleaning belonged to found their purity wanting, their minds clouded by secret desires. Rather than let them work out their frustrations the usual way (e.g. lesbian sex, killing things with fire, etc...) the Canoness contacted a remote Guard outpost to inform them under Inquisitorial decree that they were to induct the repentia squad into their unit and break them of their temptations of the flesh however they saw fit. What was proposed was blatant. What resulted was unexplainable.
When the repentia squad arrived unsupervised at the outpost they were not besieged by wanton, lusting males. Their clothing was never ripped from their shivering bodies and muscular arms never held their slender frames down. Neither were their orifices filled by the throbbing, virile manhood of every guard stationed there as they writhed helplessly underneath their attackers, unable to withdraw their invading flesh. No. None of this happened as they had secretly hoped. Instead they were met by a single guardsman who beckoned them to follow as he hinted latrine duty was their first assignment.
Exactly the opposite of the lead character in a harem animoo, the SoC go about their daily duties as surrogate maids for the guardsmen, performing menial tasks such as unclogging toilets and fixing sandwiches all the while surrounded by hundreds of men who are utterly oblivious to any of their sexual advances. The running gag, of course, being that every situation they find themselves in is both ripe with equal parts sexual innuendo and sexual frustration. An example would involve one of the sisters bending over in front of some guardsmen to pick up bullet casings while exposing her feminine form to them - only to dejectedly discover the hoots of adoration the men bellow are not directed at her but towards a military weapons magazine showcasing a shiny new storm bolter. Love doesn't bloom on this battlefield.
Eventually the sisters contact their Canoness to plea their case, that the guardsmen are just that - guardsmen - unflinchingly professional and loyal to a fault. They beg to be reinstated in the order which the canoness ultimately denies. She tells them that despite what they were *really* sent there for they are still there as punishment, and no matter how stiff it seems, or how hard it gets, they are to see it through to the climax. And there they remain; stationed in the middle of nowhere, sexually ignored, making sandwiches with their -4 Str, and rooting out toilets instead of heresy. For the Emperor...