Jaime Lannister, the King Slayer

Your sisters cunt had always been welcoming. She had birthed four children, one still-born and your three, beautiful, blonde-haired, unknowing, bastards, Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella, yet her pussy had never lost any of it's grip. It was still as soft and as welcoming as when you had first experimented as teenagers at Casterley Rock.

She whimpered beneath you as you ploughed into her, whether from pleasure or the tight confines of the carriage you currently resided in, you were unsure. You groaned in pleasure, your armour taking the brunt of the wagons swaying as it moved over the pebble-dashed ways of the Kings Road. Your sister had asked for privacy, and all had obeyed their Queen. The drunk King Robert was off, probably chasing a wild animal across the Northern Moors or fucking his way through a back-alley brothel nearby. Neither Jaime or Cersei cared.

With a final, stifled groan, you came inside your sister, flooding her fertile womb with your seed.

The road North had been horrific. Cold, uncomfortable, the people ugly and unwelcoming, especially seeing Lannister colours swaying above half of the assembled entourage. Clegane had already cuffed two overly forward Northerners half to ****. Jaime didn't blame him.

The Northmen were ugly, aggressive, confrontational cunts. But this was a diplomatic mission. In a few days, they would arrive at Winterfell. Until then, he would be on his best behaviour. This would be the last time in a while that he would ravish his beautiful sister, so he meant to revel in it.

The last few jets of semen dribbled from your cock into her waiting pussy, her legs clamped around your waist as she sat on you. You felt a small amount dribble back onto your lap as you removed yourself from her.

"Gods, Jaime." She whispers. "I love you."

"And I you, sister. Now, I best go, otherwise people might get suspicious. As I've said before, when we get to Winterfell, trust no one. Be civil, but do not make friends." He replaced the leggings of his armour, and the groin-piece covering his softly deflating cock and stood, half-crooked from the low-ceiling of the moving carriage.

"Have you ever met me, Jaime? These Northerners are undignified brutes, ill-deserving of our time or effort. We will get through this and be home in Kings Landing with Tommen and Myrcella before we can spit."

"I can't wait, my love." You swing the carriage door open and alight, the wagon moving at a walking pace, on to the dusty roadway beneath.

Winterfell waited just over the horizon.