Nobility (Marion & Ismanna) (Ch. 01?)

Ismanna absentmindedly stroked the shaft of the noble she was meant to be fighting. He was pathetic in all the ways that counted and was no match for her in a contest of neither pain nor pleasure. His swordplay was atrocious, his spells were poorly and slowly cast, and the one thing left, his manhood, faltered beneath but the slightest of her touches.

"Is - aahh~! Ismanna~!" Even his voice was pathetic.

"When have I ever given you permission to call me by name?" Even despite her apathy, she still sounded just as cold and cruel as usual. It wouldn't do to lose her reputation.

"Hhngh~. Ismanna, please! I - I can't hold out anymore~!" His voice rose to a truly pathetic pitch. And the man still dared to call her, Ismanna Crowwood, the woman who would inherit the title of the Duchess of Crowwood, by her first name.

This would not stand. She decided to teach the mutt a lesson, stopped toying with the noble's manhood, and reached lower, making not a teasing trail, but a crushing grip on the man's family jewels.

"You will refer to me as the young mistress of house Crowwood; mistress; or miss Crowwood if you must." She reprimanded the man, punctuating her demands with tighter squeezes.

"Y - yes, mistress!" The mutt obeyed, as was proper. "P - please, Ism - GAH! Mistress, I'm - nnghhh~ I'm gonna cum soon. Please, - haahh~ could I cum in you?"

"No." Another squeeze. The noble's eyes bulged out. "You're not worthy of sullying my privates with your dirty seed. Now stop your useless resistance," another squeeze, then she let go and wrapped her fingers around his shaft again, "and give in to your pleasure."

It didn't take long, barely five strokes, for the man to burst, screaming her name - her first name, which she forbid him from using - as he did so. His screams reminded her of others who screamed for her, both in pain, as she butchered them in a duel of Wrath, or pleasure, as they submitted in a duel of Lust.

She stood from the bed she was sitting on, her gleaming silver hair cascading to her thighs, and put on her clothes, long robes dark as crow feathers. She loved its elegance and wore it to most of her official duels of Lust. It highlighted her chest, modest as it was, and lent a sense of gravitas to her tall but lithe, and admittedly not very intimidating body. Also, the contrast with her silver hair and pale white skin was delightful.

She left the room and returned to her carriage. The driver was ready, and they departed for Crowwood city mansion, their holdings within the capital.

Once they arrived, she disembarked. She met her father, Duke Crowwood, on the stairs.

"Daughter." He greeted her, his voice so hoarse it sounded like a crow's cawing.

"Father." She curtsied.

"An engagement has been arranged for you. You are to be wedded to baroness Marion Northguard." His tone allowed no questioning.

The announcement sent Ismanna reeling internally, though her outward composure remained untouched. She had always remained unwed, for she was the best assassin the royal family had, the Silver Crow, and marriage would limit her usefulness, as she would have to hide her true nature from her spouse. If house Crowwood needed a political engagement, she had many less skilled (and, she knew, though she would not tolerate it said out loud, more conventionally attractive) sisters.

In addition to that, she had never heard of House Northguard, despite her extensive education, which meant they were newly established. And a barony at that.

Her father continued speaking. "To the north, monsters had been more and more abundant, and the king, in his endless wisdom," the words dripped with malice and disappointment, "had decided to not send them help, and instead left them to their fate. Instead of dying, as the king expected, a skilled mercenary organized a defense."

"So I am to marry some common mercenary?" She spat, her words laced with venom.

"Not quite." Her father said carefully. "One of the young ladies recruited for the defense effort has allegedly shown exceptional talent in both Wrath and Lust and has been reportedly dealing with the more powerful monsters that couldn't be brought down by a large group without massive losses. Her kindness, strength, and shining golden hair," he sneered, "led the people to believe she was chosen by the gods. Wanting to avoid issues with separatism, the governing duke gave her the title of Baroness Northguard, for her aid in guarding the north. Is it her you are to marry."

"To bind her to the other nobles, I take it? And keep watch over her, eliminate her if she steps out of line?" That sounded more reasonable to Ismanna. Still wasteful, one of her sisters would have been perfectly sufficient for such a task, but reasonable.

"Quite. Officially, you are there to help with the monsters." The Duke added. "Also, you may, and are encouraged to try, to make her submit to your will. Someone the common folk believe to be chosen by gods would be a useful asset, and a successful marriage between the heir of house Crowwood and a chosen would be a great boon to our reputation and political power, especially if it makes the north our allies."

Ismanna's deep, dark grey eyes narrowed, and an evil smirk crossed her lips. "As you say."

..........

Marion ground her pussy against that of her opponent. The ghoul snarled, and ground back while trying to reach Marion's chest with her Luststone-tipped claws.

Marion considered grabbing her wrists but opted to return the favor and grope the ghoul instead. She winced as the ghoul's luststone-tipped claws sank into her large breasts, but soon, the ghoul's snarls turned into gasps, which transformed into moans, and then finally shrieks, as she succumbed to pleasure for the third time during their battle and slumped to the ground, exhausted and defeated.

Marion turned around and faced the relieved crowd of villagers. They stared at her, but that was to be expected. She had just had a sexfight, after all. Her tunic was torn from the claws, revealing her full, tanned breasts with red lines which were swiftly fading, as all luststone wounds did, and her tight-fitting leggings were also torn around the crotch, letting them see her pussy.

A stern guardsman, who she remembered was called Jack, stepped from the crowd. His badge denoted him as a Frontier Watch sergeant, and he had been very helpful in the rescue. "Well done, miss Marion. We had dealt with the Wrathful ghoul as well." He dropped a severed head before her. "We have found the victims as well. They are waiting for your aid in the medical tent."

"Thank you, sergeant. Take me to them." She smiled at him. Half the men and women of the crowd swooned. The sergeant's eyes widened, desire visible, before he composed himself and led the way back.

When they arrived, she found her way to the medical tent, took a deep breath, and entered. There were many healers there, tending to the ragged and sickly survivors of the ghouls' rampage.

Her golden hair, long enough to reach her waist, brought everyone's eyes to her. "The Dawnbringer." she heard them whisper. Rolling her eyes, she went from one victim to another. She laid her hand on their hearts and her hair shined for a few seconds, their wounds visibly closing, and their grey skin returning to normal.

She was sagging when she left the tent, her hair merely blonde now that her magic had been depleted, and she stumbled to her tent.

Inside was her mother, who had taken on the duties of Baroness Northguard in her stead, as Marion was busy saving people.

"Marion, my dear! Are you alright?" Her mother asked, offering Marion a cup of tea. It was made from sunbloom, her favorite flavor.

"Yes, ma'. Just some ghouls. The Frontier Watch handled the Wrathful one, so I just had a little pleasant exercise." Marion answered as she took the tea.

"It's good to hear that. However, I have some news. The crown wishes to wed you to Ismanna Crowwood."

"They want to make me marry someone? Without asking for my opinion?" Marion hissed before she caught herself. "Sorry, ma'."

"Officially, she's meant to help us out in fighting off the monsters, but they probably mean to bind you to them, taking the north for themselves. Still, word is she is a good warrior, and a beauty too, so if you can make her fall for you..." Her mother winked at her conspiratorially.

Marion nodded, her face grim but her golden eyes shining with excitement and mischief. "I'll do my best, ma'."

"That's my girl."

........

It was two months later, and a grand wedding ceremony was being held in the north, as the Northguard household (and, perhaps more persuasively, the Frontier Watch) argued that Marion Northguard is crucial to the effort against the roaming monsters, and cannot leave for months for the capital.

Ismanna yawned. She was rather tired. The journey was not comfortable, and they had encountered several bandits, some of them even blessed by Wrath or Lust. But she wasn't going to let a little sleep debt stop her. She smirked at her image in the mirror. She wore a dress tailor-made for her, black and silver and framing her body in a way that made her appear more voluptuous than she was. Combined with her confidence and her natural beauty, she imagined she might very well cow the newly minted noble into submission just with her appearance.

She stepped through the door to the chapel and walked down the aisle. At the midway point, another lady stepped into the aisle besides Ismanna, most likely Marion.

She was clothed in an elaborate dress sewn from a golden thread that highlighted her curves, and the effect was stunning, especially given just how curvaceous Marion was and how brilliantly her golden hair shone, and Ismanna felt a tinge of desire and envy.

However, she couldn't help but focus on how expensive it had to be, especially considering how poor the frontier was. It spoke of vanity and self-importance typical of newly minted nobles. Unlike Ismanna's, it also seemed cumbersome, not allowing a full range of movement, not something a warrior would choose.

When they reached the end of the aisle, they turned to the crowd and bowed. Then, as the ceremony dictated, they turned to face each other.

Marion was quite beautiful, certainly. Possibly beautiful enough to be considered her equal. Her face was round, with soft cheeks, a small nose, and full lips. Her eyes were brilliantly golden, but they were downcast, almost disappointed and dismissive. Besides that, they were too bright to conceivably belong to a hardened killer.

Ismanna concluded that Marion was a figurehead, a symbol to rally the masses, without any practical ability to speak off, and that she was looking down on Ismanna for not having a large chest.

As she was contemplating this, the priest officiating the ceremony spoke: "The brides may now kiss." He announced.

Ismanna decided to show this upjumped arrogant commoner what for, and dove in for a deep kiss, only to be met with arms around her waist and an equally domineering kiss from Marion.

....

A few minutes earlier, Marion was staring at her mirror. She tried to control her face, but no matter how stern she tried to look, she couldn't get the excitement out of her eyes. It made sense; she was going to be clashing with a well-known beauty, and it wasn't surprising she was excited about that.

She was mad about the dress, though. It was clumsy and needlessly expensive, but no matter her protests during the design process, they made it, and, well, what was she going to do, throw the expensive dress away?

She walked into the chapel, not quite managing to stop herself from bouncing a little. As she was halfway down the aisle, another woman, probably Ismanna, joined her.

She was quite beautiful, to be sure, especially in that black dress of hers, but she was so thin, something the dress highlighted, and while others said it made her look elegant, to Marion, she just seemed underfed and weak, someone in need of protection.

She seemed like a princess in a fairy tale, beautiful but helpless. Not a warrior, and certainly not someone Marion could imagine going pussy to pussy with a succubus. Considering her stated purpose here in the north was to help them fight the monsters, her apparent weakness was an insult.

When they reached the end of the aisle, both turned to bow to the crowd. Then they stood and turned to face each other.

From her body, Marion expected Ismanna to look meek, but she saw nothing but cold disappointment, arrogance, and what seemed like envy, which she only noticed thanks to her experience with looking for weak spots in monsters.

The priest spoke: "The brides may now kiss." He announced. Deciding to show this cocky noble bitch that she was not as good as Marion, she wrapped her hands around Ismanna's waist and pulled her in for a rough kiss, only to find Ismanna kissing her back just as forcefully.

Both of them understood matters as a challenge, and neither intended to back down. Marion used her stronger body to force Ismanna to lean back, crushing her small breasts with her own larger tits, using her hands as leverage, while Ismanna used her hands to grope Marion's inner thighs, taking advantage of her dress's unsightly tightness to make Marion feel her attacks, and teasing her neck, first trailing her finger along her spine, then gripping the back of it in a surprisingly strong grip.

Marion's tongue forced its way past Ismanna's and explored her mouth, but Ismanna wasn't idle, exploring and prodding the intruding tongue with her own.

From the outside, Marion seemed to be losing the battle for sexual dominance, starting to shudder and writhe, but she knew Ismanna was not as impervious as she seemed from the outside, as she could feel the way she moaned and panted into her mouth.

After almost two minutes, the priest cleared his throat, clearly flustered by the show. "The brides have kissed, so now we may move on to the rest of the ceremony."

His words broke both of the brides from their competition, and they separated, Marion turning away from the crowd to hide that she was blushing with desire and embarrassment, while Ismanna took a second to catch her breath and conceal her panting.

As the brides linked arms and continued to the banquet hall (as was proper), Marion murmured to Ismanna: "This isn't over, you flat slut." "Naturally. I'll make you submit to me before the night is over, you brutish whore." Ismanna replied, eyes narrowing.

As they walked, they adjusted their opinions of their opponents.

Despite her harsh words (and Marion's insult), Ismanna thought higher of Marion than before their kiss; she had risen from merely a trophy and symbol to someone who might hold their ground against some monsters through a combination of brutish strength and heavy body, outwrestling them more than anything else.

Likewise, Marion saw how her new wife might not be so useless. She still believed her presence over anyone more skilled in battle was an insult by the nobles, but with her decisiveness and skill, Ismanna might be able to be of some help. Besides, she was rather beautiful, if not in the way Marion expected.

The arrival at the banquet hall shook them out of their reverie. The main dance was to be at midnight, which was still a few hours away, and so they separated.

Ismanna made rounds through the banquet hall, greeting people, and complimenting her political allies while insulting and putting down her political rivals.

One such rival was a son of a rival noble family, who clearly approached her with the intent to humiliate her.

"I have to admit, Ismanna," he began after greetings were exchanged, "you do have good taste. Marion is a good piece of meat. I mean, look at her tits! Large, round, and they looked pretty firm when she was crushing your mosquito bites to paste during the kiss."

He took a sip of wine, then continued. "I'm sure many of the attendees wouldn't mind calling her mommy, what with those curves. Makes sense you chose her, what with how the cow-titted Duchess Crowwood died when you were but a child. Needed a replacement, eh?"

"I would say talking about someone like they are a slab of meat at a butcher's shop is uncouth, and it's definitively unwise when their spouse is in earshot." Ismanna replied dismissively and turned away, not wanting to let the man see the rage in her eyes. "Even more foolish when you are weaker than the one you are insulting."

His head snapped up. "Do you mean to say," he growled, "that you think I couldn't put that cow in her place? Should I prove that I can? I could wipe the floor with a girl like her in seconds. Why, she's not even a proper noble! Aren't you ashamed? A duchess-to-be, marrying a baroness, and a first-generation one to boot? She was born a commoner! She's not worthy of having you!"

"Oh?" Marion's voice came from behind him. "And you are?"

He paused for a moment and turned around, then composed himself. "Yes. Yes, I am, and I'll prove it. I challenge you to a duel of lust for Ismanna."

Before Marion could answer, Ismanna cut in. "And now you are treating me like an object. You're just the son of a viscount. You have no right to decide who will have me. That right belongs to my father." She walked over to Marion. "Now please let us be. I would rather be the only one to be my wife's lover on our wedding night."

With that, she left, motioning to Marion to follow. Their feet led them to one of the smaller refreshment tables meant for couples and/or rivals seeking a little distance from the crowd for their verbal combat, arranged with an assortment of wines and snacks, and covered with a white and yellow table-cloth, which cascaded over the two edges that lacked chairs to the floor.

They sat down. There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Marion spoke. "Why did you intervene? I could have crushed that bastard. He deserved it, after what he said."

Ismanna sighed. "I had to put him down somehow for his comments. He insulted me too, remember? He even insulted my mother! That could not stand." She drank a glass of wine. "Besides, despite how unbecoming of a noble his language was, if he fought you, you would be humiliated."

"Do you think I would lose to a little bitch-boy like him?" Marion sounded outraged and hurt. "I know nobles hate commoners, even lower-ranking first-generation nobles, as he showed, but do you have that little confidence in my ability? Did I seem that weak back at the altar?"

"No." Ismanna shook her head, sighing. "Because it is unbecoming for a noble to engage in a duel of lust with someone in front of their spouse on their wedding night. It puts their loyalty to the marriage into question. And I am not going to let anyone question the loyalty of my spouse." She leaned forward and grasped Marion's chin. "You'll be loyal, right, girl?"

"Much as I hate to admit it, I get something from this marriage, so I'm not going to break it." She slapped Ismanna's hand away. "I'll just make you call me Mommy instead."

"Are you even a noble to use such language?" Ismanna said, amused yet disappointed.

"Hey, flaunt it if you got it." Marion shook her chest, making her boobs jiggle, while maintaining eye contact. "And I got it." She smirked. "Ain't my problem you don't got it. Or that you have mommy issues."

Ismanna clenched her fist. "You will not insult my mother." Her voice was full of cold fury.

Marion's smirk faltered. "Oh. Sorry." She tried to break the awkward silence by offering Ismanna some food. "Cookie?"

"Hmf. Alright." Ismanna accepted the cookie. "Thank you for apologizing, I suppose. Didn't expect that from you."

"Only for the mommy issues thing." The smirk returned to Marion's face. "As you made clear and I will honor since you protected my honor tonight. Everything else is fair game, and my other jokes and insults stand."