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Lisztomania (Noun.)
- Extreme enthusiasm for the virtuoso and pianist Franz Liszt. Term coined by the German writer Heinrich Heine. It is based on the hysterical fan frenzy which happened at a concert in 1841, Berlin.
- Symptoms include: Obsession with collecting anything Liszt touched, in one case a person worshipping the ground he walked on; people fainted from the very sight of him; concerts were stoked like a world-ending eruption and mania spread like wildfire.
- Thing to note about Lisztomaniac: they have an irresistible craving for music.
In battlefields, Elizabeth is the knight in shining armor.
Enemies fear her, in the fields riddled by men and monsters alike. Fear is her; the wearable steel of her helm, her garment, her leggings, her boots. Riding high and majestic on the horseback upon a thousand silver gallops wielding a greatsword told to slay once great dragons with swift. She is a scholar of pyro-magic and breathes fire in her tongue. On her chest lingering against her sternum, the notorious Fire of Bloodflame sits atop where a cut line was made of her chestplate.
She speaks of wisdom and of truth, in times of dire and in places of venture. Once she stood ragged and all her armor but jagged edges revealing the venerable women beneath. Pinstripes of armor barest amount of varnished gleam yet she shone in the fight, braving up the armymen to win over enemies. Countless battles ago she made her name the one revered. The King said: “The next in line after me, she will be the ruler.”
The knightmen said: “We’ll follow your lead!” - the town sang, and the Kingdom consolidates her forevermore in all the great glory she has brought. Folks told their youngs of her story for the story was immortalized as legends.
Elizabeth can not deny that she has a large swoon of fans and followers as a result.
And she has always known people praise so highly of her, even going further to calling it worship.
But the truth is she doesn’t love fame nor glory. It disturbs her; all kinds of attention is not suitable for a person like her who can barely manage diplomatic conversation with the Romance Empire’s daunting politics and inner-spheres. When she hears townsfolk praising her for her beauty in prose the memory of that time when she was only spared from death sentence because of her connection with the princess Raora occurs. If that doesn’t prove her unworthy, then she doesn’t know what will.
Worship is a delicate concept meant to be taken with careful steps and consideration. Now it’s just discarded entirely, the eloquence, and a statue of her is erected onto the Kingdom’s center alongside the heir of all the Bloodflame, along with ancestors upon ancestors carved upon great marble stones to outlast centuries.
She can swing a sword and call it justice. She can strike down harlot and walk the earth in the name of the many. Sure, and the sun keeps on shining. But as the boots keep on going the meaning begins to rust, decays away.
Fighting is not always her gig — for on the first day of the month where the new moon rose over Great Exardia, Queen Mother had given birth to a destined songstress. The girl with all the gifts: to sing, to hold a sword, to command. All the aunts that birth day claimed to revel in the beauty of the baby, wrapped in a rose and blanket. Her cries were melodies waiting to be played, her tears a riverfuls of diamonds.
At eighteen she had won a battle in the war against another kingdom. At the knightly age of twenty one she succeeded in the quest to span the kingdom far towards the east. Now, she is twenty four. Her wits have not changed since.
When she is not in fields of barren and ploys, war and violence, she finds peace in taverns and churches. She composes her own song and sings it with her heart, no instrument in hands. Killing enemies is a duty, but singing is a passion. You are born to damnation but the solace is deep within — just don’t forget to shout at the top of your lungs. It’ll always sound beautiful.
Liz-tomania (Noun.)
- Extreme enthusiasm for the Scarlet Queen, the Harbinger of Order, Leader of Justice – Elizabeth Rose Bloodflame.
- Thing to note for the two Liz-tomaniac: Hey, cut me some slacks, Shiori. And Nerissa? Nerissa, you better behave you vile demon…
In the bedroom, Elizabeth is the knight in lingerie armor.
She is the receiver as much as the bearer of title the defenseless. She is not one who charges forward – that’s the job for her two lovers; the real one who’s in charge.
It goes like this:
First, Nerissa and Shiori start with a duet. Their own variation of songs played in perfect harmony. Nerissa especially loves to sing one that Liz too likes. As for Shiori, she is more of the one responsible for the lyrical sense – that is to say she was born a poet.
The duet is always set in their bedroom.
They invited her in. Lured her in. This time it’s disguised as a ‘Christmas gift’ so she’s here not because she wants to but because her two girlfriends say it is just as important – they’re the true main course of this restless night, truth be told.
And if you still don’t know the innuendo at this point… here’s a hint:
The duet is not about singing songs.
There’s a grunt just now and it makes Elizabeth’s head go spinning, spinning. It came from her then her teeth sinks deep into her lip’s own soft flesh, and god does it hurt in the best way.
Shiori’s half-naked half-dressed up front and somehow that’s worse – worse because now she can’t consider it fair. Elizabeth is too conscious of what she is wearing; the corset hugs her bust awkwardly and the groping hands behind explore the straps which are all loose.
Nerissa likes that. She always goes behind. Know all too well she’s the thirstiest sucker for Elizabeth’s back. The raven’s fingers find the curve and map pleasure trails, before pulling away and coming back with a gliding force as light as a feather. The touches of a mesmerizing wine.
Lingerie is kinky, one-ups the spice for bedroom fun. Nerissa and Shiori bought it for her one week prior – said to wear it on the night of Christmas’ Eve and let’s meet at midnight in the castle’s shared solar.
The time is right here and her girlfriends are - fuck - making it hard to concentrate.
She doesn’t wear lingerie; the Lingerie wears her. A victim of it, a good one at that. In battle she’s always the one that shouts to inspire the army until her voice goes hoarse. Here, she’s making a voice of a different rhapsody, a dim shy side of her only Shiori and Nerissa get to hear.
“There, there. Be still, dear knight.” Shiori taunts, hands on Elizabeth’s hips the part where the panties meet the lace. A pluck of string so revealing the skin. She drinks it in, all in.
Meanwhile Nerissa is probably naked and hugs the knight fully from behind. Bare chest on the spine, and rubs up and down. Soft surface against hard toiled skin. She hums to accompany, notices Elizabeth perking up.
Elizabeth knows: the single type of worship she tolerates is this. This: her girlfriends smothering her in love and madness and ruins. Cast spells on her like a figure in study and comfort her both in mind and in health. She was grunting but the grunting became slurs. She thinks the pain from biting her lips too hard just then would pass this instant because with two pairs of adventurous hands on her she’s bound to forget. Her body is wrapped within a frame of matching corset and panties. Her mind is up in the clouds.
The patterns are being carefully observed, this she must feel. Must acknowledge throughout else Shiori will punish her (sexually, of course). Sweat pools from her face dripping down, onto the archiver’s thighs.
“My, my – so eager.” Shiori’s eyes are keen. She moves forward and lets her tongue glide over any slick on the knight’s countenance. Tasting then licking the corner of her lips and saying again, “So eager…”
“Hah… Shiori… oh frig—”
Nerissa presses herself fully onto Elizabeth. “Relax, Liz. Just relax and give us those moans, tell us how you want us. How bad, how eager.”
Elizabeth feels so stiff and yet simultaneously unwound maybe she’s living the real heaven on earth. Her muscles contract and loosen as natural as in a fighting ring, except there’s no fighting here – the brawl in her two arms are restricted in movements by the lingerie’s stupid black and white armsleeves. The monotonic color matches Shiori’s two-tone and just now she realizes it’s not an accident. And on her belly the woman in question touches her, feels her, without a basic decency of warning.
“H-Hey!” She rasps, voice shaken.
“You like it. You do. Hmmm,” Shiori says back. “What about here, too?” She lingers on the scar on Liz’s stomach before climbing her digits up until…
The popular spot. By popular Elizabeth means the flame burning on her chest. The Fire of Bloodflame. It’s flickering spasmodically like a telling of a secret code which the owner itself doesn’t understand. She watches Shiori stare at it then two seconds later gliding one palm over it, no hesitance.
Elizabeth’s a puppy when somebody feels like it. She’s a statue not in the sense which the Kingdom yearns for but an art slowly cracked by this girl who could break her entirety. Shiori taunts by playing over the flicker of chest flame, now shifting from blue to red. The girl plays her like a lyre and fiddles and at last dips into a burning point near the right side clavicle.
It is burning. No doubt there. “Good girl,” the archiver reads with fingertips, a blind scholar. There’s heat in flecks in her cheeks, a string of saliva at one side. Shiori leans in – lingers.
“Here? Or here,” She purrs, “Mhmp.” she presses her lips on the crook of the knight’s neck, a faint lipstick left as a mark.
“Hey! I thought you’d let me do that first.” Nerissa suddenly interrupts, her hands both occupying Elizabeth’s midriffs with up-and-down motion. Seeing the archiver smug-faced she pouts, “Well now you broke your promise!”
Elizabeth moans, “Promise? W-What …hah promise?”
“Nothing.” Shiori muses, “Just that Nerissa wanted to be the first to kiss you. Well,” She locks eyes with the poor raven. Oh, poor little raven, a pout so cute. “I’m stealing the kiss this time, call it a payback for last time.”
“Whatever.” Nerissa rolls her eyes. Then, she begins to hump.
Last time? Elizabeth thinks. Oh, right – last time – when Nerissa dragged her into a botherfest of kisses and hickies the raven’s horniness uncontained and Shiori joined in later unfettered. And when her girlfriends were done they led her to the chamber hall and stripped down their clothes and continued to bombard their dear knight throughout the day. God, that last time was good.
Not as good as this one, though.
Elizabeth braces the roughness, the humping. She doesn’t recount Nerissa being in heat but maybe it is simply an assertion of dominance. A desperately-needed one since Shiori taunts both of them just now, producing a deliberate sultry moan.
She gives her own too. A deep throaty sound from the depth of her throat.
When Nerissa squeezes onto her the girl’s merciless. Nerissa is not one who would let a chance to find each curve and corners of this lingerie befitted on the knight a chance gone to waste. She never wastes food. That’s the habit of birds. She never let any crumbs go if she can scoop up and devour all of it.
Nerissa’s gaze right now: utterly devouring up Elizabeth.
She sets her thigh on the bed mattress and cups her hand under Elizabeth’s arms, lifting the knight up with some ease.
Shiori is on the other hand starting to tease using her breasts, which is practically bursting from her half-zipped-down jacket. Hers are not as ample as Nerissa’s but the technique is what matters. Here, she demonstrates.
“Hahh- oh my god - ohmygod ohmygod!” Elizabeth is reduced to a beggar. All she does is beg, saying Shiori please! Please! Please! And to Nerissa all she does is let the raven woman guide her up until she’s suspended over the bed, in full presentation.
She’s being positioned, eventually prone fully on the bed. One second before, she was buried between Shiori’s bosoms. One second now she feels heat on her mouth; somehow Shiori is in front of her, back laying on the headboard and legs parted.
“Come get your prize.” The archiver says. Like a command – the only one that can get Elizabeth down into complete submission. Pray to everything nobody else shall see this side of the knight, ever.
Nerissa is shifting. Elizabeth senses the aura of a predator searching for strikes in the blind spot. And she’s all bareback open. A soft, careful touch plant between her thighs.
“Liz,” Nerissa acts coy, “May I?”
A lump in her throat. Elizabeth swallows and finds all she can respond back is yes. “Please.” She nods. Then immediately after another moan, louder, fiercer, escapes her mouth as she realizes Nerissa is aiming for her ass.
She’s breaking apart into two pieces and those two pieces shared equally by the girls. In the moment to come the Kingdom’s favourite child, the harbinger of order, the leader of justice, is squirming and done up in oil of mouths and set ablaze by heat from the sweetest maidens which she has certainly not regretted taking for courtship. No second thought but horniness when her lips meet the shy flowerbud of Shiori’s - a tangy taste overwhelms her mouth.
“Fuck, yes. There,” Shiori whimpers softly, and presses one palm onto Elizabeth’s scalp. When the pressure of that tongue finds that awkward inner-spot she digs into the braids of scarlet hair. When Elizabeth is rumored to speak of fire, it is meant legitimately.
“You’re doing so good.” Nerissa praises. The view from here, looking at Shiori getting her pussy eaten out and Elizabeth not giving breaks, is immaculate. Nerissa feels the ass then bends forward to see how the lingerie beads Liz’s bust.
“Mh-Mhmpf…” Elizabeth moans. Again and again. The raven slaps her ass just now but it doesn’t catch her off guard; if anything, it forces her tongue further into Shiori; her nose catching the scent of something inky. She can’t tell anything apart from anything (not a bad thing – Shiori will surely say…)
What makes her skin crawl though is what Nerissa decides to do next.
Because of course, aside from lusting over her back and muscle and strength, Nerissa can’t help but feel the need for the vice of her crotch.
“N-Nerissa!?” The knight parts from the shlicked pussy and gasps. She feels her ass instinctively clenched but it is too late…
“You’re so wet here.” Nerissa inspects, with her thumb, along the vulva line of Elizabeth. “And – hey – what’s this?”
Shiori snickers. “Looks like Rissa is aiming for a taste this time...”
Well, Elizabeth huffs in her mind. I can tell. She’s gonna eat me from behind.
The moment Nerissa brings her face close with hands spreading Elizabeth’s cheeks the other two know it’s about to go full funtime.
Here’s a thing about this lingerie that makes Liz wearing it special: the panties aren’t even panties, just a thin piece of cloth with the crotch panels unprotected, perfect for receiving air — or getting attacked by surprise kisses.
Poor Elizabeth is being fucked over by the latter; Shiori is heaving from excitement and the rush of tongueful within her walls, and Nerissa is paying back by tonguing the tongue-flicker’s pussy with worrying amount of enthusiasm.
And when it goes tandem all three of them moan in a way even angels envy. A harmony. It starts from Elizabeth then the pleasant sounds rise and echo and bounce and frolic within that room. Within the walls and burning after burning.
Sweat is worn as an undergarment, a distraction from the cause. Pearly beads falling in occasional drops staining the bed alongside the precum which at times catch Elizabeth by surprise. Similar to how Nerissa can deepen the wetness of the knight’s own very pussy, but denying the orgasm because by rules Shiori must cum first.
Oh and by the way, not only the crotch is covered — the anal isn’t too.
Elizabeth learns that when Nerissa moves upward along the skin and meets her asshole. No breathing room the raven goes in.
There’s a sensation of occupancy in a room tightening up to a foreign mass. Elizabeth fights back the urge to collapse this very instant. She is better than this. She is better than the mere introduction which the girls seem so fond of. Now a lone producer of a certain moan.
Nerissa spares the tingle and moves backward a little. String of saliva from her mouth leading back to a gaping ass, shy and pinkish and she observes. Unlike Shiori, she’s more of a practice person, not wasting time to make up a theory or juncture she goes in for seconds. Devouring and devouring.
While Shiori pushes the knight saying “Yes. There - fuck - yes, there!” and many praises on repeat.
And throughout the night of the Eve, moans filling the solar in the most beautiful way. In harmony, in love, in gift wrap, in winter’s frost. Bound in lingerie and binded between her two lovers. Elizabeth thinks this is exactly what she wants for Christmas.