Continue to use Cersei mouth

You continue to use Cersei's mouth. You do not command, you do not speak. You simply act. Your hands bury themselves in her golden hair, not gently, but with a grip that is proprietary, absolute. There is a sharp intake of breath from her, a mixture of pain and surprise, but she does not pull away. She cannot.

You guide her, setting a rhythm that is yours and yours alone. You thrust into the wet heat of her mouth, your movements deliberate and unhurried. You are not seeking pleasure, not primarily. You are making a point.

Her story continues, muffled around your flesh, the words coming in broken, garbled fragments between your movements. "Always... second... to a man... a brother... a father..." The vibration of her voice hums against your skin, a pathetic counterpoint to the act itself. Her hands come up to rest on your thighs, not to push away, but to steady herself, to anchor herself to the source of the new order. The queen who hated to kneel is now on her knees, servicing the man who unmade her. The irony is so thick it's almost a physical presence in the room.

You look past her, to the frozen tableau. Tywin Lannister, the master of the game, stands motionless, a spectator to the utter debasement of his legacy, his greatest creation. His own mind, the sharpest in the Seven Kingdoms, is a locked box, unable to process the scene. Jaime, the one who loved her, is a statue, unable to feel the sting of this ultimate betrayal. This is power beyond politics, beyond gold, beyond swords.

"Even my children..." she manages to gasp as you allow her a brief moment to breathe. Her tears have begun to flow now, silent tracks cutting through the perfection of her makeup. "They were pawns. Joffrey, my beautiful, vicious boy... a crown. Myrcella... a trade. Tommen... a new king."

You tighten your grip, pulling her back onto you, silencing her pathetic confessions. Her submission is complete. You use her mouth with more **** now, the rhythm quickening, chasing your own release. Her gag reflex convulses, but you hold her firm, teaching her the new limits of her existence. Her body is no longer a temple, it is a vessel.

With a final, deep thrust, you spill yourself into her throat. A guttural groan escapes your lips, the only sound of passion in the room. You hold her there for a long moment, forcing her to swallow, to take all of you, until you are spent.

You release her. She slumps back, coughing, strings of your seed and her saliva connecting her lips to your softening cock. Her makeup is a mess up.

You said. "Now listen and obey Cersei. After tonight after I leave. You'll only crave me. You'll see me as the best lover you ever had. You'll masturbate every night thinking of only me. You will hate your brother now with a passion. You will always speak with him in contempt. You will do everything in your power to turn your father against him, to ruin him. But you will hide your true allegiance to me from everyone." You tuck yourself away, adjusting your clothes with deliberate slowness. You look down at the broken queen at your feet. "Get up," you command. "Get dressed."

Mechanically, she rises. Her movements are stiff, her legs unsteady. She begins to pick up her clothes, her movements still under the thrall of your command.

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