Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Lustia. A world where gods and goddesses bless mortals with powers, great and small. A world where violence has been largely replaced with sex. A world of sexfighting, romance, magic, and adventure. What follows is a recounting of a story from this land.

Glossary:

Blessed:

A blessed is usually faster and stronger than a regular person, but they are always much tougher, their skin deflecting blades with ease. Indeed, with very few exceptions, blessed cannot be entirely subdued with violence. Instead, the blessed are subdued by being fucked into submission. Hence, when multiple blessed fight, it almost always takes the form of a sexfight.

Not only strength and durability are augmented, however. Most blessed are more conventionall attractive than the average person, with many sporting unusual proportions. Another area of alteration is their sexual organs, which are changed to facilitate the sexual combat which is expected of the blessed, allowing many actions and tactics that would cause injury or even death on normal people, such as using objects entirely unsuitable for such use as dildos, or insertion of a penis larger than the vaginal opening, to be executed without issue or even much discomfort.

The blessed are also mentally altered by the forces granting the blessings. A blessed will very rarely object to sex, especially when their partner is another blessed, and often seek it out.

_____

Lyra Shadowthorn stepped lightly through the ballroom, trying to seem like the whispers didn’t eat at her.

‘Dirty dark elf’, she heard, from the edges of the room, from both socialites looking to earn easy approval by snubbing her and from those who meant the words genuinely. ‘Not fit to be here’. ‘Not a real noble’.

Behind her, with her eyes down, was Hobson. He was a dark elf, just like Lyra was, though he didn’t share Lyra’s pale white hair that was the sign of the Shadowthorn lineage.

To Lyra, he was her closest confidante, the only one besides her immediate family she truly trusted.

To the court, he filled the position of Lyra’s ‘toy’.

As she walked, head held high even as all of her peers giggled and gossiped behind her back, she thought of the court.

It was a horrid nest of vipers at the best of times. It took her defeating the last five who challenged her head on, fucking them into the ground in front of the whole court, to make them not insult her where she could see them. Now, they just whispered behind her back, where she couldn’t retaliate. And so she bore the insults, never flinching even as she clenched her fists.

Her problem, she supposed, was her lineage. It left her of noble means, true, and she was grateful for that. But she was a Shadowthorn, one of the only two noble families with dark elf blood in the entire court.

The rest of the court disliked the dark elves. It wasn’t hard to see why – before the Conqueror made them one country, the high elves and the dark elves were rivals, the borders filled with constant skirmishes and raids.

But then the Conqueror led a conquest of the dark elf lands five generations ago, and made the two nations into one.

History said he was able to keep them together and away from the rampant discrimination of today while still alive, but even legends die. And with his death, things got worse in the court.

The Shadowthorns owed their existence as a noble house to him. He raised them to such prominence after one of Lyra’s ancestors, a champion of the dark elves, impressed him with their might and skill. He still bested them, of course, but made them nobles out of respect.

And now, she thought bitterly, history repeated itself all over again, with the Shadowthorns being the champions of the dark elves in battle against the high elves. The only thing that changed was that there was a lot more talking involved now and her opponents usually pretended to not hate her guts.

Usually. She sighed as one of the gossiping nobles stepped up to her. She recognized him as the heir of house Eldenroth.

“It seems you don’t know your place. Go skulk in the shadows, as a Shadowthorn is supposed to, would you?”

The young man before her was a bit shorter than her, and weaker, too. If they were to sexfight, she was guaranteed to come out on top.

Which was why he wasn’t going to do that.

In his hand, he held leash. And at the end of that leash was a woman.

The first thing she noticed was her demeanor. She looked tired, and despondent.

The second thing was her body. She was big, in every sense of the word. Tall, wide shoulders, and yet voluptuous, and dressed in rags that fully showed off her body to anyone nearby.

The third thing were her ears, and tail. She was a houndfolk. Of course. After all, they were rare, beautiful, submissive to those who they saw as their masters, no matter how they were treated, and, Lyra suspected most importantly, she was not an elf.

Lyra grit her teeth. Nobles had the right to own slaves. It was couched in polite language, and the vast majority despises the practice, but the vocal minority advocating for the right was very vocal, and very rich and powerful. And the Eldenroth’s were their leaders, the most vocal and powerful of them all.

Another thing nobles had the right to do was use ‘toys’ to fight their battles. Since the results of sexual battles determined social standing, having a powerful sexfighter as your toy was paramount. And there was nothing preventing one from using a slave as a toy, and making them not throw battles by use of punishment.

“And I see you dared to bring a dark elf who is not even a noble into these grand halls. Have you no shame?

“But worry not. I will take this trash out for you.

“I challenge you to a duel by proxy, with our toys as the stakes.”

Lyra grit her teeth, searching for a way to blow him off without her reputation suffering too much. She was not going to just bet Hobson, especially not if his new ‘owner’ would be someone like the bastard in front of her.

The man tugged on the chain, and the girl fell forward, whimpering. The action made the crowd murmur and shuffle, and Lyra realized that if they fought, public opinion would be on her side.

A hand landed on Lyra’s shoulder, and she turned to find Hobson staring at the woman.

“My lady. Accept. Please. I can beat her and defend your honor.” He said out loud, then muttered silently, “and if you own her, he doesn’t. Besides, he is betting her ownership on whether she wins.”

Lyra resisted the urge to facepalm, mentally berating herself for not realising earlier. “Fine. Hobson, deal with this idiot and his toy for me.” She did her best to put on a haughty yet disgruntled tone as she gave the order.

The noble grinned as he unhooked the dog girl’s collar. “Sic ’em!”

And so the fight was on.

The dog girl lunged, clearly desperate to earn whatever reward her owner may deign to give her, not comprehending that all she needed to be free was to lose.

But Hobson didn’t need her to surrender in her own. Lyra had found him in an underground sexfigthing ring, where he had to fight monstergirls and other fighters alike, and he had gotten quite good at it by the time Lyra used her meagre influence to have the ring broken.

His time there had left him with instincts and skill, but also as a lithe yet surprisingly strong and enduring man.

He easily dodged the lunge, then turned around and hugged her from behind, blowing into her ear and gently cupping her breasts.

She shivered in his grasp. His hold was weak – she could escape at any time. His gambit paid off, however – kindness did seem to be her weakness.

And so he continued to tease her, his dexterous hands running over her soft, pale skin and gently caressing her chest. He continued to play with her ear as well, licking and nibbling it and making her whimper.

The Eldenroth heir glared at her. “Fuck him, you bitch! Remember what I’ll do to you if you lose!”

That snapped her out of her reverie, and she bucked wildly, trying to get him off her back.

He held on as best a she could, his hands roughly grasping her breasts and making her moan, but she did shake him off eventually. The moment she did, she turned around and threw herself at him, pushing his chest down and dropping her pussy onto his cock.

He grunted with pleasure at the same time she gasped, but he didn’t stay idle.

He couldn’t sit up, but her hanging tits were so massive that it didn’t stop him from leaning up and sucking on one of her nipples.

One of his hands grasped her thigh, letting him have a sliver of control over her ride, and the other cupped her cheek.

He stopped sucking on her for a moment to murmur “It’s okay. You’re safe. He won’t hurt you anymore. Just relax and enjoy this.” Just loud enough for her to hear.

And from the way she did relax for a moment, her arms going limp and her body falling onto his before she went rigid, she really needed to hear that ans have it be the truth.

Fortunately for both of them, with her laying on top of his, that wouldn’t be so hard to accomplish.

He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. This had two purposes. One, to make her relax even more, and two, to let him roll them over.

He made sure to keep hugging her and to kiss her on the cheek in order to distract her, and then, with gravity on his side, he took control and made love to her.

Her whimpers turned to moans, and then to screams, her luscious body heaving and trembling with each thrust as he expertly guided his shaft into her.

It took barely a minute more for her to climax and go still under him, defeated.

Hobson didn’t let go. Instead, he glanced at Lyra.

Lyra turned and gleefully approached the Eldenroth heir, stepping closer until her chest slammed into his and their faces were inches away from each other.

“Seems like she is mine.”

He snarled, trying to think of a way to not lose his prized possession, but with the whole court watching, there was no such way.

He turned away, scowling, and then noticed someone. “Aveline! Get over here, and make this slut give me back my property!”

Lyra froze at that. She knew Aveline well – she was the heir of the Rosewoods, the only other dark elf noble line.

Where Shadowthorns have earned and kept their nobility through combat, the Rosewoods did so by submission and manipulation. Their ancestor was a dark elf slave of one of the high elf families, favored by their heir. This favour allowed her to seduce him, and bear his child.

What would for most noble families be an insignificant event, she managed to leverage to obtain her own hereditary title.

Her line from then on kept themselves safe in the court not through crushing all who dared challenge them, but by acting subservient to the high elves, and putting down other dark elves whenever possible, in order to be ‘one of the good ones’.

With the Rosewood’s modus operandi being to put down other dark elves for approval, and Shadowthorn’s being to crush all challenge, on top of being the only other dark elf family in high society, she had had many exchanged insults and pointed questions with their heir, Aveline.

And there she was. Her skin a few tones paler than Lyra’s, long blonde hair, equally as silky and smooth as Lyra’s white hair

Aveline winced when she heard this. She must have realized that intervening on Eldenroth’s side would be a major blow to how people perceived her, but also couldn’t refuse without house Eldenroth noticing, and rumour was that Aveline was attempting to seduce the heir of house Eldenroth to repeat what her ancestor had done – while the high elves tolerated the dark elves, that did not mean they were going to give her a child, so the high elf blood they clung to as a lifeline in the court was beinf dilluted with every generation, an issue Aveline was allegedly seeking to rectify through the young Eldenroth.

Of course, that meant simpering for his favour, no matter what.

Lyra pitied Aveline. She was doing the best she could to survive in the court, trading honor and dignity for safety and comfort for herself and her future descendants.

It was almost noble, in a way. Offering herself as ‘sacrifice’ so that her line may thrive. It left Lyra resolved to not be too harsh on her this time.

Aveline stepped closer, slowly, steadily, elegantly. Seemingly confidently.

Until she was between Lyra and the young Eldenroth.

She was followed by another dark elf – likely her toy. She seemed to be there willingly, and Lyra couldn’t help but compare her to Hobson. Then the dark elf stepped in and whispered something to her mistress.

Aveline’s eyes widened minutely, likely in surprise, and then her expression hardened as she turned to Lyra.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to give the girl back?” She said, sounding slightly weary.

Lyra scoffed. “I won her fair and square. No.”

Aveline took a deep breath, pain in her eyes. Her toy looked straight ahead with a perfect pokerface.

“Then perhaps you would be interested in a trade? Your prize for my toy.”

This left Lyra reeling. How could Aveline even consider that? Yes, her ‘toy’ probably suggested it in the first place and was willing, but still!

“And release the poor woman to Eldenroth, to be punished for failure? I think not.”

Aveline’s expression morphed from despair to determination to what seemed like a mask of arrogance.

“Of course someone like you, a dark elf, barely a noble, would not understand the rights of nobility. But if that is what I need to do to convince you, then so be it. I’m going to challenge you if you don’t hand her over.”

Lyra saw red. She could see the offer for what it was – Aveline was trying to get what she wanted – and therefore by extension what Eldenroth wanted – with minimal conflict with Lyra, who was a fellow dark elf. But that didn’t change the fact that to someone who needed to appear as threatening and unchallengeable as Lyra, ‘I’m going to challenge you if you don’t do something’ was already a challenge.

And the suggestion she would let Eldenroth’s toy go back to him just to avoid a challenge by Aveline was ludicrous.

“No. Go ahead and challenge me, Aveline. We both know I am the better fighter between us. In fact, maybe it would be better to leave this to your toy.” The words had two purposes: to remind everyone not to challenge Lyra, and to make Aveline go away.

But Aveline was not dissuaded.

She stepped in, pushing their faces inches away from each other and their chests together, just like Lyra had done to the Eldenroth. Between two women, however, the gesture was more than just one of aggression: it was an implicit challenge.

Lyra scowled and Aveline smirked as their chests pressed together, with Aveline’s proving itself slightly bigger.

“Well, ‘Lady’ Shadowthorn, do you still think you can defy me? Or are you going to scurry off like the whoreborn spineless coward you are under that tough mask? That all dark elves are?” Aveline asked, continuing with the previous barb – that a true noble would have let Eldenroth have his way. The insult made it clear she wasn’t trying to avoid a fight anymore, and was instead trying to intimidate and humiliate Lyra ahead of time to soften her up.

“A delightful question, Lady Rosewood. Or should I call you the mistress of house Eldenroth? I’m sure they will acknowledge your devotion soon. After all, it would be utterly pathetic to debase yourself as you just did for nothing in return, wouldn’t it? Or is a command from a noble brat enough to make you give up all pride, and surrender your honour and kin for someone who does not care for you?” Lyra responded. Two could play that game, and Lyra needed to prove she would return two fold any direct attack, whether it was verbal or a challenge.

Aveline leaned in, pressing their chests together even tighter, making her chest’s dominance even more pronounced. “It seems like I will have to put you in your place, like the rabid bitch you are.”

Lyra pushed back, trying to even out the battle of breasts. But Aveline’s breasts refused to yield.

With that failure in mind, and needing to return the insult, she instead spit in Aveline’s face.

Aveline’s reaction to being literally spit on was to slap Lyra. She slapped her hard, so hard Lyra’s face jerked to the side, a handprint rapidly forming on it.

Snarling, all thoughts of going easy on Aveline forgotten, Lyra pushed forward, grabbing Aveline by her golden locks and throwing her to the ground by it.

And so the fight proper began, though the challenge had officially not been issued yet, and neither side was going to be merciful.

They landed in a heap, with the Lyra on top.

Aveline cried out in pain, but retaliated, giving Lyra another slap, just as strong as the previous one, on the other cheek.

At the same time, she kneed Lyra in the crotch, and then forcefully ground her thigh into her Lyra’s pussy.

It was Lyra’s turn to cry out in pain.

But if anything, it made her fiercer, tearing apart Aveline’s dress and exposing her tits.

Grinning, Lyra set about abusing Aveline’s superior assets: pushing her palms down on their nipples with all her weight to flatten them, grabbing them and slamming them against each other as if they were cymbals, digging her fingers into them hard enough to draw blood, and squeezing them forcefully – perhaps the best description would be like if they were pimples, trying to force the milk inside her opponent’s chest out, as if trying to deflate her breasts.

But Aveline was not idle while her breasts were being savaged.

Though she moaned in pleasure and pain, she was far from helpless. Intent on stopping the abuse of her chest, she grabbed Lyra’s neck, pressing a finger against her throat – trying to choke her.

Her other hand alternated between slapping Lyra and yanking on her hair, hard. This too she changed up over time, first grabbing large swathes and using them as leverage against Lyra’s head, and then grabbing only a few strands and pulling, managing to tear them out.

But Lyra was made of sterner stuff – having hair torn out merely made her even more furious.

She grabbed Aveline’s hand, scratching it painfully with her sharp nails and forcing her to let go of her neck. “You’ll regret that, you stuck up sucking up swine! Will you squeal like the pig you are when render those bags of fat on your chest into something more useful, like candles?” Lyra asked gleefully, going right back to abusing them and remembering to maintain her image as someone vicious, skmeone to not insult or challenge.

Gasping from the pain, Aveline gritted her teeth and slapped Lyra’s tits harshly, the force of the blow making them pop out of the dress, ripping it and exposing them.

Taking advantage of her opponent’s surprise and pain, she threw her off, scrambling to her feet before her Lyra could and planting a firm foot against her cunt. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that things end like this. Your kind is not worth anything more than to be under my feet, after all.”

Lyra grabbed her opponent’s leg and yanked, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Instead of getting up, however, she kicked her pussy that was now only covered by panties as the dress was open wide due to Aveline having spread her legs as she fell.

Crying out, Aveline returned the favor.

Kicks became rubbing feet as the two competed in their impromptu footjob contest.

Aveline grinned. “Such an undignified way of fighting. Of course you started with it.”

“Oh did I? Didn’t you plant your foot on my crotch a few moments ago?” Lyra asked, surprised by the blatant hypocrisy.

Aveline scoffed. “That wasn’t fighting, that was punishment. Two different things. You need depraved means to punish depraved dark elves like you.”

Lyra snarled again, and aggressively pushed her toe against Aveline’s pussy, managing to push the fabric inside, and her toe with it.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32