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Round 1 Fight 2 Part 2
🕑 Added 2020-01-14 05:01:00 +0000 UTC
H: And so, a battle of faiths commences here at the Tournament of Pleasure. I’m Hanioc
T: And Tik Tik here!
H: The knights of love are formidable opponents when one tries to abuse love for perverse needs. They are ero-warriors from a time most mortals would fear to learn. Blair is a priestess of a forgotten deity, once all-powerful, but not mostly overlooked in a world made chaste.
T: Not much chaste-ness here, Haney!
H:… please, never call me that again.
T: Something wrong, Haney?
H: Nevermind. What are your predictions, Tik?
T: Tik Tik think Tybalt have advantage. He know way to touch that make anyone melt. Blair works with hands as farmer. Not lover. Hold herself back for one she think be good husband and father.
H: Perhaps, the tournament will bring more together than expected. Tybalt is not one to back down from duty, after all. For him, there’s more at stake here than reputation.
The two warrior-priests take tentative steps around each other in the small temple arena. Tybalt’s relaxed posture is betrayed by the intensity of his fiery eyes. Blair, meanwhile, grips onto her weapon with a steeled determination, her weapon quivering in her hold.
Tybalt sees his opening in that unsure grip and rushes forward. Blair brings her weapon back, but he stops right in front of her, grabbing her arms in a decisive grasp. His body is exposed before her, but she cannot strike him. She tries to fight against his adamant grip, but he responds with words, not force. “Your grip is too tight, and your mind is unsure. Why do you falter?”
Blair grits her teeth, putting all of her strength into her arms, pushing against him. He plants his armored feet firmly into the ground, struggling, but not letting it show visibly upon his face.
The two of them exchange this test of strength against one another, each side seeing which would give in first. Though there is a back-and-forth, the battle seems to be one of attrition more than any test of strength.
It is Tybalt who breaks the hold, instead weaving behind her in a fluid motion as Blair stumbles forward. He wraps his hands around her body, placing his palms against her armored stomach. “You do not fight intelligent, loving creatures often, do you? Perhaps our contest should be more pleasurable?”
“Ah won’t let any man enter me ‘less he’s ta breed me!” Blair hisses.
“I would only do what you ask to allow,” Tybalt responds, whispering into Blair’s ear. “But even when we both consent, we can compete.”
Blair’s blush and huffed breaths tell her mood. She grumbles and drops her weapon upon the ground. “Fine. Let’s do this!”
The half-elf steps back and the cleric reaches around, unfastening her armor. He nods and does the same. The two ritualistically remove each part of their armor, showing off young, healthy, and smooth bodies. Blair places two hands just beneath her navel, and she closes her eyes. “This is mah shrine to Xasandra,” she whispers. “It’s a sacred place.”
Tybalt dresses down into his leggings and sleeves, his loincloth still attached and covering his holy weapon. “My heart is my shield and my home. What I give to you, I give of my heart.”
The two look to each other and step up into the middle of the arena with dozens of eyes from the Order of Love watching them. “You have great conviction,” Tybalt says, his hands moving gently to her sides. He holds her but does nothing more.
“You’re too polite for your own good,” she responds. “How’d ya plan on bestin’ me if’n yer letting me lead?” She stands up on her toes and locks her lips against his.
The audience watches in silence, letting the smacking of their lips become the hymn of this battle. A few exploratory pecks and the two get a taste for their mouths. They pull apart, each participant looking to each other with narrowed eyes.
Tybalt moves his hands up along Blair’s sides, the soft touch of the fabric melts the stiffness in Blair’s body. He trails his palms up and over to her breasts, so full and delightful. He leans in and gives one a kiss, and then the other.
Blair offers up a prayer to her goddess, her hands moving from his shoulders and weaving through his bright green hair. She pushes him up against those beautiful breasts, pressing his lips against a nipple.
Tybalt mumbles in surprise when he feels the gentle squirt of warm, sweet milk hit upon his lips. His eyes widen, his grip tightens onto her shoulders, and he opens his lips just a bit more to wrap them around her nipple and to give it a suckle.
Blair smiles down at him, petting his head with one hand. Little giggling breaths escape her mouth, and she speaks. “The one who would become my baby’s father would find the milk provided by the goddess to be irresistible,” she says. “This is her gift and mah greatest weapon. Drink it, and get yer fillin’.”
Against his better judgment, Tybalt cupped the breast, giving her a squeeze to get more of that milk onto his tongue. Beyond his control, his loincloth tents. His weapon, so well trained, becomes ready to take in the sweetness of her sex.
Cooing, Blair reaches downwards, letting her fingers flick across his nipples and then trace down along his muscles, until finally, she reaches down, underneath his loincloth. Biting her lip, she wraps her hand around his shaft, and she says, “Let’s begin, shall we?”
He stops. His hand shoots down, grabbing Blair by instinct. His eyes look up widely towards her with his passion in them, and she locks eyes with him. The two stare at each other, the next move unknown to even Tybalt, but he knows the next step will seal his fate.
