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.
