A Duel for the Crown
In the realm of Aquilanus, where swords gloriously gleam in the sunlight and mystical enchantments crackle in the air, a tale of conflict unfolds. The beloved Queen, a beacon of hope and compassion across the land, has succumbed to a mysterious illness, leaving the throne vacant and the realm vulnerable. With no heir to the throne, the kingdom finds itself at a crossroads, navigating the treacherous realm of political intrigue and power struggles.
In a desperate bid to preserve order and ensure a worthy successor, a tradition as ancient as the kingdom itself is reignited……
Word had reached the farthest corners of the realm. The Queen had passed and now, the crown hung precariously in the open.
Whispers echoed through the bustling streets, carried in the wind like secrets too precious to be contained. Two women, their names spoken in hushed tones, found themselves at the heart of this whirlwind of intrigue. They were the chosen ones, revered yet burdened by the weight of destiny.
Considered the epitome of beauty, wisdom, and grace, they emerged as contenders for the coveted crown.
Erysla, with her flowing locks of gold and piercing blue eyes as azure as the summer sky, hailed from the frost lands of the North. Her fierce determination was matched only by her icy disposition, complimenting the angular features on her face as she confidently smiled. Truly, she embodied the strength of the northern mountains and carried within her the untamed spirit of the fierce beasts that roamed the snowy plains. Beyond her temperament, however, her lithe form was adorned with loose fitting clothing which showcased her supple figure.
Alyvia, an olive-skinned brunette hailing from the ancient capital of the former Empire, meanwhile, possessed an aura of elegance and haughty confidence that commanded attention from all who crossed her path. Her dark tresses and ambiguous features whispered tales of forgotten nations and long-lost powers as they cascaded together in lineage. As a daughter of the old capital, she possessed a regal air that resonated with authority and knowledge. Boastful of her bountiful bosom like many women from the former Empire, her tight fitting dress revealed little to the imagination as her curvaceous form was showcased in all its swaying glory.
But the women were more than mere pawns in a power struggle. They carried within them the potential to shape the realm's future. It was here, in the heart of Aquilanus, that they would engage in a duel for the crown, just as their Amazonian forebears once did in the early days of the Empire.
Such were the ancient traditions of the realm. To claim the throne, these two exemplars of beauty and cunning would be forced to engage in a ritual duel. There, the winner would declare her beauty and strength supreme and be fitting of the crown. The loser would be shown mercy and be granted recognition as a True Maiden of the Realm.
And so, as each day passed, the tension in the realm grew. Alliances were forged and broken while secret plots coalesced in the shadows, threatening to plunge Aquilanus into chaos. Even the commoners whispered their allegiances in hushed tones, unsure of what future beheld them - Erysla the Gold or Alyvia of the Sunlands.
Determined to claim their rightful place on the throne, Erysla and Alyvia knew they had to navigate the treacherous waters and play the great game, in which trust was scarce and betrayal lurked at every corner.
As the women were led into the center of the dueling chamber, both were removed of their garments by the chamber maidens, who gazed at their flawless forms with lust and admiration.
The chamber surrounding them was a testament to opulence, adorned with woven tapestries depicting ancient conflicts, age-old affairs, and divine encounters. Impressive stone walls poised high around them seemed to watch over the two combatants with an unwavering steadfastness, as if the souls of past queens lingered on in their stone and bronze cavities.
At the far corner of the room stood statuesque representations of reigning queens and ancient goddesses, their stony gazes stoically overlooking the spectacle, passing silent judgment. Between them and under their unblinking watchful eyes, a frothy fountain sprouted, petals twirling amidst its waters, casting spectral colors on the naked combatants and the maidens who stared with desire.
With gleeful whispers, the maidens traded looks as they poured judgment over the two combatants, stealing glances back at Erysla and Alyvia as they quickly exited. Even the maidens had picked sides in this duel.
Finally being granted privacy, the two women gazed at one another as they stood naked, their forms like living embodiments of the marble statues surrounding them.
Erysla stood tall, her piercing blue eyes locked onto Alyvia's dark gaze. She could sense the sensual power that radiated from the olive-skinned beauty, but it only fueled her own determination. With a voice as cold as the winter winds but as seductive as any tongue from the summer lands, the Northernwoman spoke, "Alyvia, we find ourselves at a crossroads. The Queen's demise has left a void upon the throne, and yet you stand here, as do I."
"Indeed, Erysla," Alyvia replied as her eyes narrowed, her posture exuding confidence and her voice dripping with a seductive air of aristocracy. "The path to the throne now lies open for one of us to claim. We find ourselves walking in the footsteps of our forebears, marking ourselves in history as the great Queens once did. I only hope it belongs to the finest woman."
With a smile, Erysla's icy gaze bore into Alyvia's soul. "Oh, do not play coy with me, Alyvia. We both know the truth. Our veiled dealings ensured the Queen's tragic end, opening up this opportunity for us to claim what is rightfully ours."
A sly flicker of surprise danced across Alyvia's face as she was forced to confront the truth before she sultrily composed herself once more, smiling.
"Our hands may have played a part in her demise, my dear Erysla, but let us not dwell on past deeds,” spoke Alyvia in a coy manner, “I suppose you have a proposition. Do you wish for me to surrender my claim and simply step aside? I consider you foolish to challenge my claim in the first place. But I suppose it is the only way Northern women learn, as they have always done. By the end of this, I shall have you marched naked on the streets and there, they shall call you the Whore who defied Alyvia the Sunkissed."
With a frown on her face, Erysla's voice softened slightly, her eyes searching Alyvia's face for any signs of vulnerability, as she inspected her naked form up and down, "That would be unwise to say, Alyvia. As you know, the tradition is mercy."
“And since when have you ever cared for tradition? As you, yourself, stated, we cannot deny our hands. The Queen is dead. Perhaps our battle is not one suited for tradition?”
Erysla's smirk deepened, her voice filled with unyielding determination. "So be it, Alyvia. May the gods grant us strength in this battle, for it shall be a fight like none other."
With those final words, Erysla and Alyvia stepped back from one another, their eyes locking in a silent battle of wills. They may have shared a hand in the Queen's demise, but their desires now diverged irreconcilably. No words could persuade them to abandon their quest for the crown, no matter the risks and consequences. It was now a contest to the end - beauty against beauty, their shapely, naked forms contouring against one another.
Erysla's piercing blue eyes met Alyvia's unwavering gaze, the tension between them palpable beneath the grand arches of the great hall. They had anticipated this confrontation, but now, faced with the reality of it, a silent understanding passed between them.
Erysla took a step forward, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “This is the end, my dear Alyvia.”
Alyvia sneered, “As only a Northern woman could dream. You cannot even compare, Erysla.”
With each measured step, the women started to circle around each other like two lionesses vying over territory. Their chests rising with each bated breath, the rhythm akin to drums of war, as their bosoms swayed subtly and their nipples pointed out in defiance towards their opponent.
The marble under their naked forms was cold and unforgiving, much like the duel itself, and did little to relieve the tension. Though, it was a mere distraction amidst the impending war.
Then, in a flash of unforeseen determination, the women clashed. Their sharp gasps echoed in the room, slicing through the deafening silence as they collided. Thus began their battle for dominance – for the Queen’s Crown and for far more personal forms of power and validation.
With a sudden burst of energy, Erysla struck, her fist aiming for Alyvia's jaw. But the olive-skinned beauty was quick and agile like that of a sultry dancer, just as her ambiguous features hinted. She effortlessly dodged the blow, her lithe body twirling in a graceful motion.
Alyvia retaliated with a swift kick towards Erysla's abdomen, but the Northernwoman had anticipated the move. She deftly sidestepped, her hair curling against the momentum as her icy blue eyes began tracking Alyvia's every movement like that of a huntress.
The air crackled as they traded blows and attempted to evade, their bodies moving with a fluidity that seemed almost otherworldly. Grunts and soft gasps filled the chamber as each strike landed or missed its mark.
But Erysla was the first to fall as she was pitted against the olive skinned woman, whose curvier derriere allowed her to drag the Northerner down onto the floor before spilling herself.
As they fell to the floor, their wrestling intensified with each passing moment, their naked bodies glistening with sweat as they grappled and rolled. Their skin pressed against one another, as if seeking to merge and become one. The heat of their bodies mingled, fueling the intensity of their struggle. Hair became disheveled, cascading over their faces like wild tendrils, as they fought with a ferocity that defied their delicate appearances.
Soon enough, the room echoed with the sounds of their entangled limbs, the clatter of bodies against stone, and low moans of exertion.
“Northern whore! You are as lacking in grace as you are in beauty.”
Their muscles rippled beneath the strain, their breath grew heavy, and yet they pushed on, neither willing to submit nor give ground.
“And you are a cheap harlot of the South! Unworthy of being called Queen!”
The room seemed to shrink around them, the walls closing in as their battle for dominance raged on. Time lost all meaning as their bodies intertwined, their determination and desire for the crown fueling their every movement as the contours and curves of their bodies shifted.
In this sacred space, the realm of Aquilanus held its breath, waiting for the outcome that would shape its future.
But within the confines of one another’s arms, it was simply just Erysla and Alyvia, locked in a battle that went beyond politics and power. It was an intimate test of strength, determination, guile - and desire.
Fingers curled into claws, sharp nails ready to dig into flesh, as their inhibitions vanished under the heated pressure of the moment. Erysla and Alyvia lunged at each other, their movements fueled by instinct and the burning need to dominate.
Soon, they took aim at one another’s breasts.
There was little doubt that each woman boasted a large and magnificently shaped pair. Their breasts had stood on their chests like jewels upon a crown, entrancing many a man in their homelands. It was only fitting that these cherished symbols of their womanhood became the first target their claws would attempt to tear apart.
Flesh met flesh, skin scraping against skin, as they tore at each other's exposed bosoms. Their delicate features contorted into fierce and pained expressions, their eyes locked onto each other in an unrelenting gaze as they pushed forth. Pain and pleasure mingled as they wrestled for control, fingers leaving red marks in their wake as the massive hills became marred with scars.
In the midst of their struggle, they grabbed at each other's hair, yanking and pulling with unrestrained force as they attempted to maintain control. Strands of golden and ebony tresses became tangled as they fought for control, their grunts and growls filling the chamber.
The room seemed to shrink around them as their bodies rolled and writhed on the floor, engaged in a clash where boundaries dissolved and raw emotion held sway. The air crackled with intensity as they unleashed their primal instincts, unleashing a whirlwind of passion and violence.
No longer concerned with grace or elegance, they surrendered to their most primal desires, pushing the limits of pleasure and pain. They fought fiercely, bruising and scratching each other in their desperate attempt to rise above their opponent.
Their womanhoods inevitably found one another, producing wide eyed expressions and squeals as their hips swayed and kneaded for domination. Their panting grew as they stared at one another with contempt in their contesting of wills.
For each attempt Alyvia was able to secure in her conquest over Erysla, the blonde responded in kind by dragging the brunette with her and reciprocating with a slap to the face or a fist to the ribs, drawing yelps and grunts.
And the Southerner fought to ensure the same remained of her, as well. With Erysla riding her like a mount, raining ferocious flurries of slaps and strikes, Alyvia simply clawed at her opponent before sinking her teeth into the blonde’s toned but supple flesh. If the Northerner struck, her breasts, thighs, forearms, and face were merely openings ripe for the sunkissed woman’s attacks.
As they continued to grapple and wrestle, their bodies pressed against one another with a primal desperation. Their bosoms, full and heaving, mashed together in the thrall of their struggle, the softness belying the sharpness of their contest. Each pair seemed to vie for supremacy over the other, unwilling to concede in this wild dance of power and strength.
All the while, their faces met in unison, the impact of their lips echoing a mix of rage and lust. Angular features melded together as they gasped against one another, their breaths mingling in a heady mixture of desire and defiance.
"Ah, Erysla, my dear, it seems the men of your Northern lands must be quite desperate if this is the best you can do," Alyvia cruelly taunted, as she locked her curvaceous thighs around the blonde’s ribs and pinned her down upon the cold floor, "Do they whisper about your lack of skill? Your inability to satisfy? It's no wonder women in the North resort to these feeble displays of power."
Erysla's struggles grew more frantic as she fought to break free from Alyvia's grip, her defiant voice rising between gasps, "You delude yourself, Alyvia! The men in your realm must be fooled by your exaggerated proportions. But all can see that you are more courtesan than queen! The throne belongs to me!"
SLAP!
Alyvia struck Erysla with the back of her hand, “And yet, here you are, submitting before me!”
The olive skinned brunette continued her barrage of strikes before lifting her opponent by her hair and slamming her head against the floor. On the ground, Erysla was prey to the fury that rained down upon her.
“What say you, whore?!” The brunette taunted, as she continued her slaps, “What say you to your queen?”
SLAP! The tormenting pain lingered after each slap, numbing and terrifying.
“Worship me!”
With that, the brunette placed her bosom against Erysla’s face, her fierce eyes quickly expressing shock and fear as they widened against the crashing globes, closing upon her like battering rams cast upon a stone wall.
“Mmpphh-”
“These are the tits of a queen! You stand no chance. Submit to me!”
Yet, the blonde did not surrender, even as her opponent’s flesh closed in around her. Her fingers merely climbed upwards, ascending the brunette’s shapely figure until they reached her twin mountain peaks and the nipples erected atop like temples dedicated to a goddess.
“What say you whor-”
As the brunette brought her hand up to enclose her blonde opponent’s head into its bosomy tomb, Erysla simply clawed and dug into the volume of flesh resting in her palms.
“AIIIIEEEE!”
Alyvia screamed out in horror as her breasts were kneaded like dough and her nipples plucked and plundered by eager, vengeful fingers. Earlier, they had latched onto one another’s bosoms, weakening the fleshy mounds with red markings. But with her guard down, the brunette could not help but feel the totality of their battle upon her bosom as the blonde dragged her downwards by her teats.
“Perhaps in the South, they worship cows as queens and goddesses but not in the North!”
“AIIIEEE! Stop! Oh my Goddess, stop! Please!”
It was here that Erysla found herself gaining leverage as she swung her hips upwards, treating the brunette like an inexperienced rider on a wild mare as she flung her overhead until she landed on her back with her legs spread apart, hands quickly rushing towards her wounded bosom.
“Oh!” Alyvia cried out as she held onto her breasts and struggled to get up.
But her blonde nemesis simply dragged her by her wavy tresses. Alyvia’s attempt to resist simply made it worse as she was dragged, little by little towards her opponent. With a shuffle of her feet, she pushed herself off only to stumble and fall back onto the floor.
“Ugh!”
Even when in pain, the brunette beauty from the Southern realms let out a sultry grunt each time the blonde had afflicted her with pain. This was not lost on Erysla as she pounced upon her enemy and took pleasure in physically tormenting her opponent. Returning the favor, the blonde rained down a series of slaps upon her enemy.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
Their bodies, slick with sweat, slid over and against each other, the rhythm of their movements creating a friction that ignited a primal need.
A sharp scream escaped Alyvia’s mouth as she desperately attempted to shield her head from the onslaught.
“Stop! Please,” the brunette cried out, desperately reaching for the only weapon she could think of, Erysla’s own ample chest. In an attempt to repeat the same pain inflicted upon her moments earlier, she reached and grabbed hold of the blonde's bosom and squeezed, hoping to cage her enemy’s breasts within her grasp.
But the blonde simply gritted her teeth and bore the pain. With a guttural cry, she snagged Alyvia’s wrists and flung them to either side.
SLAP!
“You are a weak and pampered fool!” Erysla hissed, her words punctuated by a swift backhand to Alyvia’s face that sent her sprawling. “Don’t touch what you dare not possess!”
Alyvia's cheek turned a painful rouge as she rolled to the side, gasping for air.
As if possessed by a relentless force, Erysla did not pause, too engrossed in her dance of domination. Her hand latched onto the brunette’s body, dragging her back into their battlefield. Alyvia resisted, flailing helplessly but could not escape the iron grip.
A gasp erupted from Alyvia as she tumbled, her breath knocked harshly from her lungs.
“You – you Northland rag! I am not so easily defeated!”
Struggling for breath, Alyvia lunged for Erysla. The two women rolled across the ground, fingers clawing and reaching for weaknesses. They wrestled limbs and fought for dominance, insults flying amid breathy grunts and moans.
“Do you yield yet?” Erysla growled.
Alyvia merely spat a bundle of saliva and blood onto Erysla's face in response, a defiant glint in her eyes.
“I will not yield,” she hissed back, “Not to a Northman rag like you!”
Erysla then delivered another open-handed slap to Alyvia's face, the sound echoing across the chamber as Alyvia rolled to her side, biting back the pain and frustration. With surprising speed, the brunette pulled herself upright and launched herself at Erysla. The two women continued rolling on the cold stone floor, grunting and panting, reaching for each other with all the savagery they can muster. Their bodies were intertwined in an almost perverse dance of dominance and submission, rage and defiance carrying them forth.
With equal fervor, they flung their bodies at one another. The discomfort of their bosoms slamming together was concealed by the contempt both women expressed towards their opponent.
As their hands clawed and grasped for dominance, they found themselves deadlocked. One hand from each woman dug into their opponent’s hair and flesh while the other hand swiftly secured their opponent’s wrist from further inflicting damage.
“Your pathetic grip is as frail as your false claim to the throne!” Alyvia spat out, face red with exertion.
“Ughn,” the blonde grunted in pain.
Alyvia hissed between breaths, "Yet you think you can best me? Look at you, Erysla, a pitiful excuse for a noblewoman. Your beauty pales in comparison to mine."
Erysla, defiant despite the weight of Alyvia's dominance, retorted with a fire in her icy voice, "And what of you, Alyvia? Your so-called great lineage has been cheapened by the whores in your bloodline that you are nothing more than an illegitimate harlot who claims royalty!
At that, Alyvia's grip tightened in Erysla's golden locks, attempting to yank her away as she sneered. Their insults had merely fueled their hatred and propelled their struggle.
Erysla fought against Alyvia's grasp and managed to claw at her opponent's bosom once more, her voice laced with venom, "You are nothing more than a conniving serpent from the south, slithering your way into power. Your attempts to match me are laughable."
"At least I did not have to whore my way to recognition. You Northerners only act the part of prudes. But unlike you, I earned my place through sheer determination and skill."
Erysla’s face grew white with embarrassment, as she struggled to maintain dominance over the southern beauty.
As they continued jousting with words, both women knew that it was as much a war of the heart and the mind as it was the body. Indeed, their words had cut deep.
And yet actions spoke louder than insults as Erysla's fingers continued to fiercely knead into Alyvia's delicate flesh, groping the full bosom in her hand, leaving red welts where her nails had previously scraped across the brunette’s skin. In retaliation, Alyvia landed a punishing blow, slamming Erysla's head against the nearby pillar, a dull thud echoing through the chamber.
As they rolled and grappled, their screeches and shrieks rose in intensity. Each cry mingled with the sound of fists landing and bodies colliding. Bruised and battered, their physical pain mirrored the emotional turmoil that raged within them.
Their battle encompassed both a raw display of physical prowess and a vicious verbal exchange. Each strike and every insult aimed to cut deep, to expose vulnerabilities that lay hidden beneath their veil of composure.
“Gugh!”
“Ummnh.”
“Ohhh-”
The reverbing noise produced by the clashing women rang across the chambers like the sound of lovers in heat but with a howling wail like that of gladiators in the coliseum.
Soon, as the two women grasped their fingers together in complete deadlock and raised their arms to the sky, the meeting point between their bodies began at their bosoms. Tit to tit, woman to woman. Their nipples clashed like blades in battle, poking and prodding for weakness in their armor, their faces grimacing with pain and fear in between bouts of snarling anger.
Two pairs of voluminous breasts morphed and mashed against one another, changing form and charging or retreating in whatever manner they could but without giving way to surrender.
An assault of the mammary by Alyvia’s larger pair left Erysla gasping each time the brunette made contact with her. In truth, Erysla had considered herself a large chested woman and women up North had long envied her but up against the bronze skinned beauty, she felt smaller than she had ever felt in her life, even if the ample difference between both women was barely significant.
Each bashing of the bosom churned out a smacking of the flesh and feminine yelps as their womanly walls became battered by busty rams.
As their fierce battle escalated, both women collided continuously, their large bosoms slamming against each other with a resounding thud. The impact sent ripples through the supple flesh with a force that left them both breathless while morphing and changing the shape of their breasts.
Alyvia, aware of the advantage her larger pair provided, couldn't help but let a smug smile spread across her face, even as the pain shot through her body. In between bated breaths, she taunted, "What's the matter, Erysla? Feeling envious of my ample bosom? It's clear who truly reigns in beauty and allure."
The blonde could not respond. She was clearly out of breath and exhausted. And yet, fueled by her own determination, Erysla shoved back before swinging her shoulders from side to side, lazily slapping at her opponent’s larger chest in defiance.
Annoyed, Alyvia saw this as an opportunity to strike back. Seizing momentum, the sunkissed brunette of the South reeled back and shoved her bosom against the blonde, effectively unloosening her of her tight gripping fingers and sending her backwards.
Catching herself as her bottom slammed onto the stony floor, Erysla left herself vulnerable as her legs spread to the side.
With a swift and calculated move, Alyvia drove her heel into Erysla's crotch, causing a searing pain to shoot through the blonde’s body. The Northern beauty crumpled to the ground, clutching her womanhood in agony.
"Worthless!" Alyvia spat, her voice sharp and filled with triumph.
As Erysla writhed in pain, her face twisted with anger, Alyvia seized the opportunity to transition forth. Grabbing a fistful of Erysla’s golden mane, she dragged her screaming opponent across the chamber, taunting her with each agonizing step.
"You thought you were untouchable, Erysla? Well, here you are, brought low by your own hubris. To think you could even dare compare to me," Alvia sneered, her voice dripping with satisfaction. With a final burst of strength, she flung Erysla into the nearby fountain, sending water splashing and cascading over the fallen woman.
The blonde emerged from the water, coughing and sputtering, her pride now submerged along with her bruised body. Their insults had escalated alongside their battle, each word laced with hatred, each action aimed at shattering the other's spirit.
As Erysla angrily rose from the pool of water, the sunlight filtered through the crevices in the roof cast a shimmering glow upon her soaked form, the shadows and contours providing a shapely edge. Before she could fully regain her composure, Alyvia, fueled by her desire for victory, dove into the water with confidence, their duel continuing with renewed intensity.
Within the depths of the pool, their wet bodies gleamed under the dappled sunlight, their supple curves outlined by the clinging fabric of their drenched garments. Their hair, once carefully styled, now hung in messy and tangled strands, clinging to their flushed faces as they fought.
Slipping and struggling for dominance, they slapped and struck at each other, water splashing violently with each blow. Their bodies intertwined, grappling and clawing as their fight continued to unfold in this watery arena.
In the midst of the splashing water, they grappled with slippery hands, each one desperately trying to gain the upper hand. They slapped and struck one another, their blows reverberating through the liquid medium that surrounded them. Water sloshed and splattered as their bodies collided, slipping and sliding in a dance of chaos.
Alyvia, fueled by her anger and the taste of victory, managed to gain the upper hand. With a swift motion, she tackled Erysla to the ground, their bodies entwined beneath the water's surface. Alyvia's longer and thicker legs wrapped around her blonde counterpart, squeezing with relentless force.
With a mocking tone, Alyvia taunted Erysla, "Oh, you Northern women and your feeble attempts at pleasure. Your men must find it pitiful. Your lack of skill in bed is as apparent as your lack of skills in combat."
As she spoke, Alyvia's grip tightened on Erysla's wet hair, intending to use it to submerge her rival and bring her to her potential end. The water swallowed their struggling forms as Alyvia's cruel intent mingled with the desperate gasps for air that punctuated the heated exchange.
She continued to tighten her thicker legs around her blonde counterpart, securing her dominance. Alyvia's voice dripped with mocking contempt each time she attempted to grab Erysla by her hair and push her beneath the surface only to bring her back up.
Between gasps for air, Alyvia managed to smother Erysla with her larger bust as she shoved her back and forth between air and water only to bring the blonde into the fold of her bosomy valley, suffocating the blonde with her mountainous peaks.
"My eyes are set on victory. Yours are set upon the bosom of this queen - no, upon this Goddess! Taste my divine bosom, whore!”
Tears of defeat melded with droplets of water as Erysla struggled for freedom. Her sapphire eyes no longer pleaded but rather expressed fear and fatigue. Her nipples hardened in panic as the blood rushed through her body. Her lungs choked with air unable to escape and streams of water flooding down her throat.
Alyvia, smug in her recognition of bosomy superiority and raw strength, spoke down at her opponent, "How pathetic! Your meager pair cannot compare to mine! Am I not the epitome of beauty and power? Northern women simply are not in the same realm as those of the Southern realms!"
As her body was tossed between the elements, Erysla felt the life extinguishing within her. And tet, her exhausted eyes still burned with defiance, her determination still intensified, her sense of survival still lingered like well honed instinct, and her fingers still bore a sharpness like the claws of a Northern hellcat.
Reaching down into the depths of the water, Erysla’s clawing fingers found Alyvia’s exposed and defenseless womanhood, the toned legs encompassing it fully spread out as they pinned down upon her.
With a sadistic smile, Erysla retaliated by tightening and grasping the brunette’s womanhood. The result was that the Southern woman’s confident smile simply faded and her lips pursed open to form an expression of shock as her eyes widened in horror.
“AIIIEEE! AIIIEEEEE! Release me! Release me!”
The brunette quickly lost her composure and began to shriek with a shrill more akin to a maiden than a queen.
Erysla merely tightened her grip in response, taking pleasure as her fingers masterfully dug in and controlled the brunette like a puppeteer towards a puppet, each dexterous shift in movement causing the Southern woman’s body to contort in different positions.
“Release me, at once! Ooohhhhh-”
Rising from the water, Erysla struck out at the brunette’s jaw. Then, releasing her grip, she shoved Alyvia off of her and retaliated by swiftly kneeing her rival in the crotch, causing a sharp cry of pain to escape the brunette’s lips.
Alyvia crumpled into the pool of water, clutching her womanhood in agonizing pain, her smugness shattered.
With a triumphant smirk, Erysla towered over her fallen rival, ignoring Alyvia's gasps of pain.
"Perhaps those cow tits brought you far too much attention that you ignored the rest of your body. In this case, it would seem your womanhood is far too wide and vulnerable of a target. But what else would I expect of women from the Sunlands? You Southern women practically parade yourselves naked, your bodies made for cheap fornication. Hardly befitting of a queen."
As Alyvia writhed on the water, Erysla seized the opportunity to yank Alyvia up by her dark hair. With a cruel twist of her wrist, she dragged the screaming woman by her wet hair and sent the brunette hurtling out of the fountain and onto the stony floor.
Alyvia's body crashed into the ground with a loud thud, her screams momentarily stilled as her head crashed against the stone.
Erysla stood, her breathing heavy, reveling in her triumph.
As she slowly sauntered her way out of the fountain, the blonde gathered herself before jumping on the tearful brunette.
The two women, now a tangled mess of wet hair and bruised flesh, continued their struggle on the floor. Alyvia, still dazed from her fall, attempted to crawl away in a desperate bid for escape, her rotund hips and buttocks quivering uselessly. But Erysla, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, chased after her like a relentless huntress pursuing her prey.
With a swift motion, Erysla lunged forward and seized Alyvia by her ankle, yanking her back with a force that sent her sliding across the floor. The sounds of their panting breaths filled the room as they rose and fell upon the nearby chamber bed, a fitting backdrop for their savage battle.
Erysla's body pressed against Alyvia's, their breaths mingling in the air as they grew exhausted. The fight was not over, though, as both women found a renewed determination to break the other's will and endurance.
As they rolled on the chamber bed, their bodies tangled together with a fierce and raw intensity as their womanhoods came into contact once more. The slick wetness from the water and their exertion created a heightened friction between them. Their movements naturally became a mixture of struggle and pleasure, each one trying to overpower the other woman’s senses in the process.
Their hips ground against each other, the rhythm of their movements creating an erotic dance that fueled the fire within them. They pushed and pulled, their hips moving in a swaying synchronized rhythm, seeking dominance and release simultaneously. Moans and gasps escaped their lips, mixing with the sounds of their bodies colliding.
Alyvia's nails scraped along Erysla's back, leaving red trails in their wake. Erysla retaliated by biting down on Alyvia's shoulder as she clawed the bed sheets, eliciting a sharp cry of pleasure-pain from the brunette. It was a battle of both physical strength and sexual dominance as their bodies moved in harmony.
Their womanly organs rubbed against each other, the warm, wet sensations driving them closer to the edge. They found themselves lost in a passionate contest, losing track of time and space as pleasure coursed through their bodies. Sweat glistened on their skin as their movements became more urgent, their desire for victory fueling their need for release.
The bed creaked beneath their combined weight, each movement sending waves of sensation through their entwined bodies. They tumbled and rolled, never relenting in their pursuit of dominance. Their gasps and moans filled the chamber, a symphony of pleasure and defiance.
Although locked in this intense physical and sexual battle, the boundaries between pain and pleasure blurred. They fought with a ferocity that matched their desire, their bodies finding a strange harmony amidst the chaos. In this moment, they understood the situation as both adversaries and lovers, seeking to conquer one another.
The struggle continued, each thrust and grind bringing them closer to the brink. They were lost in a primal dance, their bodies moving with an instinctual understanding of pleasure and power.
Alyvia fought back with all the strength she could muster, clawing at Erysla's face, pulling at her hair, and digging her nails into any exposed flesh. But Erysla, fueled by years of hunting and surviving in the treacherous Northern wilderness, instinctively knew how to handle herself. She deflected Alyvia's attacks as she pushed herself, countering with well-placed punches and knee strikes that left the brunette gasping for air.
To Erysla, it was merely another hunt. Though she was exhausted, she knew her prey was wounded and she knew she merely needed to act the part of a huntress.
As Erysla finally obtained the upper hand, pinning Alyvia beneath her knee as it pressed against her crotch while grabbing her opponent’s opposite leg and lifting above her own head, the two women’s eyes met.
It was clear from the expressions in their eyes.
With each shallow breath, Alyvia felt the weight of defeat pressing down upon her. Her eyes met Erysla's, a mix of fear and resignation now replacing the smug confidence that once adorned her face.
"You thought your Southern beauty and power would triumph," Erysla hissed, her voice dripping with a mixture of triumph and disdain. "But you underestimated the strength of the North. We may not have your delicate features or your superficial charms, but we possess a resilience born of harsh winters and unforgiving lands."
Alyvia squirmed beneath Erysla's grip, her struggles feeble compared to the Northern warrior's firm hold. She attempted to plead for mercy, her voice barely a whisper against the weight of defeat.
"Please," she gasped, her eyes brimming with tears, "spare me. I yield. I yield to you, Erysla, the true queen of this realm."
As Erysla held Alyvia down, her body pressed firmly against the brunette's, their forms painted a stark contrast against one another. Alyvia’s olive skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, her raven hair matted and disheveled. Her face bore a mixture of pain, fear, and submission, while her heaving bosom showcased the rise and fall of her shallow breaths.
Erysla's fair skin bore evidence of the intense struggle they had endured - scratches and bruises adorned her arms and legs, proof of the ferocious fight that had taken place. Her blonde tresses clung damply to her forehead, a testament to the physical exertion that had brought them to this moment. Her expression, one of authority and triumph, cut through the air like a blade.
The blonde merely intensified her movements, grunting and screaming in heat while the brunette below her wailed.
Their eyes locked, embodying the collision of two worlds. Alyvia's gaze, once filled with arrogance and contempt, now shone with a mixture of surrender and desperation. Erysla's eyes, sharp and piercing, conveyed a sense of satisfaction, tempered by a hint of mercy.
Suddenly, the swaying stopped and Alyvia’s eyes shut as her body tightened in climax. The liquid excitedly shot from her womanhood and showcased her failures to contain herself.
Erysla smiled pitifully and released her opponent’s legs.
"And you admit your submission?" Erysla's voice was firm, demanding affirmation.
"Yes," Alyvia's voice quivered, "I submit! I submit to you, please!"
Erysla's grip relaxed slightly as a sense of finality settled upon them. She withdrew herself from atop Alyvia, standing tall and imposing. The battle had come to an end, the victor standing triumphant over her fallen opponent.
"Very well," Erysla declared, her voice carrying the weight of authority. "This duel is over."
Alyvia lay there, defeated and broken, her body trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. She had lost the battle, acknowledging the power and strength of her Northern adversary. The room fell into a heavy silence, the echoes of their tumultuous fight still resonating in the air.
As Erysla dragged Alyvia by her hair, she threw her off the chamber bed and onto the floor.
“Now, bow before your queen,” Erysla commanded.
Down on all fours, Alyvia lowered her head and bowed, the hair and tears sliding down her cheeks. She knew what was to come. And yet, she asked, anyway.
“And your highness, you shall show your mercy? For I swear fealty to the crown, to your Majesty. I pledge to you upon my name and household! I shall serve you as your loyal servant, even naked for all the realm to see, if you wish it. They will call me the Whore of Erysla.”
“Yes. Indeed, they shall call you as such and I shall show thee mercy,” Erysla paused, staring down at her opponent, now caught in a pitiful state, “And I show you mercy and spare you from being shamed and dishonored in front of the realm. I do this by sentencing you to your doom, that is.”
“Nay, m’lady, please wai-”
With that, Erysla lowered herself and smothered Alyvia between her mighty bosom as she locked her victorious arms around her neck. There, the woman pressed against her beaten foe and crushed her cervical bone between her toned arms, grinding Alyvia’s beautiful facial features against her buoyant breasts.
As Alyvia stared upwards, her eyes pleading for mercy while tears streamed down her face, Erysla showed no signs of ceasing her onslaught. Mercy was not to be one of her weaknesses as Queen of Aquilanus. That was the problem of the previous queen, after all. And she had played a part in resolving that issue just like she would play in part in resolving the current matter at hand.
She was to be the Queen. And this would be the first demonstration of her wisdom and judgment.
Soon, the brunette’s eyes rolled in her head as the cold embrace of darkness overtook her, enveloping her vision and then, her very existence. Then, she was no more.
Erysla merely exhaled in delight, her legs wrapped around Alyvia’s squirming and spasming body which had convulsed and quaked between her limber but mighty thighs with pleasure before ceasing to move. The blonde savored the moment, the sweet victory she had secured.
And now, she was Queen.
