Chapter Two: The Red Keep

The thousand crenulated towers of the Red Keep loomed above him, as red as the tomatoes which were being tossed at his back and arse. Jon Snow kept walking on; he and the other men of the Night’s Watch had been drilled to march in much worse than this. Detached from the filthy sights around him and the earthy stink of animal manure, Jon noticed a particularly ripe fruit explode against Melisendre’s buttocks. As his hands were tied to the red priestess’ collar, he was **** to watch the orange juices drip into the crack between her two thick buttcheeks.

The line of shuffling prisoners seemed to stretch on interminably ahead, surrounded on all sides by all the shouting and screaming peasants of Flea Bottom. Jon brought up the end of the coffle, so he was going to be the last of the slaves to enter the throne room. That was probably part of the reason Ygritte had been taken away, to be pilloried and fucked right here in the streets. Jon just had to hope and pray that the wildling was not going to be used against him.

Spotting a break in the shrieking masses, Jon saw that other, smaller platforms had been raised in the shadow of the castle gates. One one dais, Gilly was bent over with her feet barely touching the platform and her arms stretched up behind her back with chains. The hapless wildling was being spitroasted; drool and semen were dripping off her chin from a vicious facefucking, while her ass was sticking out for another man, who looked like he was trying to impregnate her. Jon doubted they were the first men to enjoy her charms as white stains and red handprints covered her tits and arse. Her pretty, pink breasts were smaller than he would have expected, but she had an ample backside.

The other podiums were populated by women he did not recognise. One was a slender brunette with curly hair and an annoying accent, who was yelling at the top of her voice as she was pounded in both of her nether holes. Next to her was a redhead, with large breasts and a common face, sighing as a line of men waited their turn to take her arse.

The next victim was not a woman at all.

Jon was shocked to see that Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, was also being humiliated. The curly-haired lordling had his tied legs spread high over his head, exposing the cock which was currently pounding his arse. Jon almost would not have recognised him because what looked like a common harlot was sitting astride Tyrell’s face. The girl had strawberry blonde hair and Jon could have sworn she licked her lips at him, before grinding her crotch over the tainted knight’s mouth.

Then he was being pushed through the gates of the Red Keep and Jon thought for a fleeting moment that he was going to be spared any further spectacles.

Then he was in a gigantic courtyard filled with **** dust, the sound of laughter and a gigantic orgy.

Here, a black kraken banner billowed slightly from its lofty perch. Beneath it was Euron Greyjoy, the pirate prick himself, cackling and carousing with his men. If Jon had his chance, he vowed to take that black-haired bastard’s eyepatch and shove it right up his arse.

But instead, the only person getting it up the arse was Yara Greyjoy. The stripped Queen of the Iron Islands was dressed in nothing but a blue kraken sircoat which was ripped and cumstained. Grunting and moaning with discomfort, her sweaty hair was sticking to her face as two cocks took turns to piston into her arse. There was no sign of Theon; Jon had not heard from him since the Fall of Winterfell.

Other maidens were receiving similar treatment to Yara at the hands of the Ironborn. Jon noticed one of the reavers was an absolute giant, completely dwarfing the mousy brunette he was pounding as he spanked his victim’s sizeable butt with a smouldering volcano hand. Victarion Greyjoy was a warrior who was feared for his fury on one side of Westeros, while his intelligence was mocked on the other.

Leaving the pirates behind, Jon’s process brought him up several flights of stone steps. Aleady, he could see that the Red Keep was much larger than the inner motte of Winterfell. Many gold and crimson banners lined the walls, many of which displaying fierce lions with sparkling fangs and claws. Bizzarely, some of the lions looked more like sphinxes with different blonde-haired human heads. Several lionesses bore the likeness of Cersei Lannister and the weavers had not skimped on drawing human tits under the torsos of the beasts, either.

It was almost enough to make Jon smile.

But then he heard the creaking of gates up ahead and knew that he was about to meet his fate.

Squaring his shoulders, Jon stood with his back straight and proud as his hands were untied from Melisandre; the other prisoners of war were being **** to either wait or were led down into the bowels of the bloodstained keep.

The walkway to the Iron Throne was bare and empty. Jon could hear the slapping sounds of sex from somewhere in the hall but the echoes were lost in the vaulted stone walls and ceiling. Jon’s bare soles slapped against the cold stone flagstones as he took a step through the gates. A shiver went down his spine.

Reclining on the throne, Cersei Lannister was waiting for him with a crown on her head and someone’s head bobbing up and down between her legs. Spotting a head of brunette hair in the Queen’s lap, Jon’s heart stopped for a moment as he feared that either Sansa or Arya were being **** to pleasure their deadly foe.

But neither had hair of that light a shade of brown. Comforted that it was someone he did not know being tormented, Jon stumbled towards his destiny.

The Iron Throne rose at one end of the hall, on a shallow dais at least a hundred feet wide. On this platform were two golden statues which matched the two men flanking Cersei’s throne: the Kingslayer and the Mountain.

Both of the statues had been sculpted from life but Jon still doubted that was possible. Because if both Jaime Lannister and Gregor Clegane had been made to model for their statues then they would have had to do so in the nude. The statues had not been created with a single stitch of clothing, leading to exposed muscles and what must have been two very large bronze cocks.

Jon could only guess at the last part because two dark-haired women with southern accents were chained to the statues. Their hips convulsed and their thighs and tits jiggled as the weight of their entire bodies were being **** to rest upon the unrelenting metallic phalluses.

Jon Snow had heard of these women: the Sand Snakes. The Dornish princesses and warriors who were named among Cersei’s greatest enemies.

Now two of the older sisters were getting fucked by statues.

Looking ahead at the throne, Jon saw two more were shackled with their backs to the iron spikes and blades. These two looked almost like a mother and daughter, with the same unkempt black hair and dark brown nipples. Both were also completely naked, their hands bound behind their backs as they were **** to kneel and **** towards Jon’s direction. He realised that the youngest one could not keep her eyes away from his cock.

His gaze travelled up from his fellow captives to his new tormentor. Cersei sipped her wine languidly as she eyed him over the rim of her glass in the same manner as a butcher eyeing up his next cut of meat.

Then she nodded to her brother, the Kingslayer. “Bring in our other prisoners.”

Jon stumbled to the side as a trapdoor groaned open right behind him. A terrible stench, of sweaty warm bodies and fetid semen, wafted out from the pit.

As two pale, bedraggled figures were poked and prodded out from the depths of hell.

The last surviving Starks were reunited once more.

All the strength left Jon’s body as he recognised his sisters’ faces. Half from horror and half from exhaustion, he fell to his knees before the throne of Cersei Lannister.