Sophitia had no idea what was coming. The Greek holy warrior might have been blessed by Hephaestus to cleanse the land of the evils of Soul Edge, but that didn’t mean that the baker’s daughter had any knowledge of what a whip-sword was. She certainly had never prepared to fight one. This inexperience was obvious as Isabella Valentine drove her enchanted blade into the ground and her blonde foe just held a somewhat defensive-looking pose with a bemused look.
Her expression turned to one of shock as the magical blade shot out of the ground and suddenly wrapped around her right leg. Caught unprepared, the only thing Sophitia could do was helplessly flail her arms as her trapped foot was brought up to her head and her short white skirt rode all the way up to her waist.
Ivy held her off-balance opponent in place for a second, and then she sent her blade high into the air, flipping Sophitia head over heels and leaving her hanging suspended up-side down. All the Greek could do in response was silently be thankful that no one was around to witness the Chosen of Hephaestus flash her panties as she twisted in the air.
Of course, if no one was around to witness Sophitia’s humiliation, it also meant that there was no one to rescue her as Ivy proceeded to toss the holy warrior even higher and send her alchemical-enhanced blade straight for the blonde’s midriff. The bursts of magical energy left no physical trace as they phased through Sohphitia’s belly, but they were enchanted so that the woman felt as if each of the half-dozen bursts was ripping and tearing through her gut. The sensations built on each other until the holy warrior was certain her stomach had been completely eviscerated by it all.
But before she could even cradle her torso in pain she suddenly found her arms locked in place by her side. Arcane bindings had encircled Sophitia’s arms and legs and left her unable to do anything than helplessly squirm in place. Ivy, of course, was free to do whatever she pleased, which in this case meant forcefully slamming Sophitia into the ground so that the Greek landed, dazed and weakened, right at the alchemist's feet.
“I see the Greek gods are still choosing their champions poorly,” Ivy smirked as she looked at the steady rise and fall of her downed foe’s chest, “Or perhaps they are just making these decisions based off of something… other than combat prowess.”
Sophitia’s only rebuttal to the insult was a soft moan and a slow attempt to get back onto her feet. It was too slow. Ivy took great pleasure in interrupting it by planting her foot firmly between the blonde’s legs and then twisting so that her sharp leather heels dug deep into Sophitia’s womanhood. Her skirt and panties did nothing to protect her as the grinding sensation brought about massive amounts of both pain and humiliation. Pathetic whimpering and useless struggling were all Sophitia managed as she realized the suffering would only stop when the servant of the evil sword decided it would.
By the time Ivy’s foot withdrew, Sophitia wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and cry herself to sleep. But the English aristocrat was far from finished with her new toy.
Sophitia suddenly found herself dragged upward as Ivy grabbed the blonde’s sword-arm. The blessed blade did nothing as its wielder was brought to heel beneath the white-haired dominatrix. With one knee on the ground and one arm locked behind her, Sophitia could do nothing to resist as the leather-clad Engishwoman planted her ass atop her opponent-turned-chair’s arched backside.
“Know your place!” Ivy commanded with a wicked grin on her face.
Unfortunately for the struggling Greek, obedience was not judged to have come fast enough, and a loud popping sound and sharp shrieks of pain could be heard as Sophitia’s arm was pulled and twisted in ways that the human shoulder was never obliged. The whimpering that followed it was much quieter.
With one more humiliation complete, the holy warrior fell forward, collapsing on her hands and knees, silently wondering if the gods had abandoned her. The only answer to her question was the sharp sensation of a leather high-heel driving her back. The downward force of Ivy’s boot was much stronger than any resistance the baker’s daughter could mount at this point and the only reason that Sophita’s pretty face didn’t slam into the ground was because she suddenly found her throat caught on something pressing in the opposite direction.
This was more curse than blessing, though, since instead of crashing downward, Sophitia found herself slowly being brought to her knees, the heel digging into her back at a slightly weaker force than the whip-blade tightening around her neck. And as the pressure around her throat increased, the more panicked the Greek woman became.
“Please… I can’t breath…”
“Oh, my pet,” came the mocking response, “that’s exactly the point.”
Sophitia’s hands uselessly clawed at the whip while her lips wasted precious breath on equally ineffective pleas, and each passing moment both became weaker.
“Please…. stop… please…”
Ivy did eventually stop, but her victim was no longer conscious enough to appreciate it. As the Englishwoman withdrew her blade from her defeated foe’s throat, Sophitia fell facedown on to the stone altar in front of the statue of Hephaestus. With each breath the downed woman took her chest rose and fell and the sizable breasts jiggled as they pressed against the ground in full view of the colossus. Ivy smirked. The baker’s daughter might consider such a display in front of her benefactors to be an embarrassment, but knowing the Greek gods, there was a good chance this was what they wanted all along.
As Ivy left the unconscious beauty posed in front of her gods, the aristocrat pondered what to do next. There were plenty more opponents of Soul Edge to test herself against. For example, she had heard that Sophitia had a younger sister…
(Where's Cass Bamco?)
Her expression turned to one of shock as the magical blade shot out of the ground and suddenly wrapped around her right leg. Caught unprepared, the only thing Sophitia could do was helplessly flail her arms as her trapped foot was brought up to her head and her short white skirt rode all the way up to her waist.
Ivy held her off-balance opponent in place for a second, and then she sent her blade high into the air, flipping Sophitia head over heels and leaving her hanging suspended up-side down. All the Greek could do in response was silently be thankful that no one was around to witness the Chosen of Hephaestus flash her panties as she twisted in the air.
Of course, if no one was around to witness Sophitia’s humiliation, it also meant that there was no one to rescue her as Ivy proceeded to toss the holy warrior even higher and send her alchemical-enhanced blade straight for the blonde’s midriff. The bursts of magical energy left no physical trace as they phased through Sohphitia’s belly, but they were enchanted so that the woman felt as if each of the half-dozen bursts was ripping and tearing through her gut. The sensations built on each other until the holy warrior was certain her stomach had been completely eviscerated by it all.
But before she could even cradle her torso in pain she suddenly found her arms locked in place by her side. Arcane bindings had encircled Sophitia’s arms and legs and left her unable to do anything than helplessly squirm in place. Ivy, of course, was free to do whatever she pleased, which in this case meant forcefully slamming Sophitia into the ground so that the Greek landed, dazed and weakened, right at the alchemist's feet.
“I see the Greek gods are still choosing their champions poorly,” Ivy smirked as she looked at the steady rise and fall of her downed foe’s chest, “Or perhaps they are just making these decisions based off of something… other than combat prowess.”
Sophitia’s only rebuttal to the insult was a soft moan and a slow attempt to get back onto her feet. It was too slow. Ivy took great pleasure in interrupting it by planting her foot firmly between the blonde’s legs and then twisting so that her sharp leather heels dug deep into Sophitia’s womanhood. Her skirt and panties did nothing to protect her as the grinding sensation brought about massive amounts of both pain and humiliation. Pathetic whimpering and useless struggling were all Sophitia managed as she realized the suffering would only stop when the servant of the evil sword decided it would.
By the time Ivy’s foot withdrew, Sophitia wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and cry herself to sleep. But the English aristocrat was far from finished with her new toy.
Sophitia suddenly found herself dragged upward as Ivy grabbed the blonde’s sword-arm. The blessed blade did nothing as its wielder was brought to heel beneath the white-haired dominatrix. With one knee on the ground and one arm locked behind her, Sophitia could do nothing to resist as the leather-clad Engishwoman planted her ass atop her opponent-turned-chair’s arched backside.
“Know your place!” Ivy commanded with a wicked grin on her face.
Unfortunately for the struggling Greek, obedience was not judged to have come fast enough, and a loud popping sound and sharp shrieks of pain could be heard as Sophitia’s arm was pulled and twisted in ways that the human shoulder was never obliged. The whimpering that followed it was much quieter.
With one more humiliation complete, the holy warrior fell forward, collapsing on her hands and knees, silently wondering if the gods had abandoned her. The only answer to her question was the sharp sensation of a leather high-heel driving her back. The downward force of Ivy’s boot was much stronger than any resistance the baker’s daughter could mount at this point and the only reason that Sophita’s pretty face didn’t slam into the ground was because she suddenly found her throat caught on something pressing in the opposite direction.
This was more curse than blessing, though, since instead of crashing downward, Sophitia found herself slowly being brought to her knees, the heel digging into her back at a slightly weaker force than the whip-blade tightening around her neck. And as the pressure around her throat increased, the more panicked the Greek woman became.
“Please… I can’t breath…”
“Oh, my pet,” came the mocking response, “that’s exactly the point.”
Sophitia’s hands uselessly clawed at the whip while her lips wasted precious breath on equally ineffective pleas, and each passing moment both became weaker.
“Please…. stop… please…”
Ivy did eventually stop, but her victim was no longer conscious enough to appreciate it. As the Englishwoman withdrew her blade from her defeated foe’s throat, Sophitia fell facedown on to the stone altar in front of the statue of Hephaestus. With each breath the downed woman took her chest rose and fell and the sizable breasts jiggled as they pressed against the ground in full view of the colossus. Ivy smirked. The baker’s daughter might consider such a display in front of her benefactors to be an embarrassment, but knowing the Greek gods, there was a good chance this was what they wanted all along.
As Ivy left the unconscious beauty posed in front of her gods, the aristocrat pondered what to do next. There were plenty more opponents of Soul Edge to test herself against. For example, she had heard that Sophitia had a younger sister…
(Where's Cass Bamco?)
