A Happy King

"I believe... I need to appear before the King as we celebrate. But..." and you slid your hand down his trousers to grip his spent cock. "This will be revisting my holes tonight. And my arse." You felt him twitch and smiled as he nodded before you left to attend the celebrations.

You made sure to have the gold locked away safely. The Prize Money and the Status it provided... you could use it to clear away the forces arrayed against you. You could pay for a House and Servant and Name for Lawrence so he'll leave you. Pay Lord Baelish to leave you alone. Pay for a Mercenary Band to serve your son and send him to Essos to seek glory.

For now...

"I understand your son is celebrating his victory in the company of... Dornish." The King slurred in his speech, the drinking at the feast was constantly flowing. You nodded.

"Y-yes, my King. Th-they do seem... quite e-enamoured with my Aedan." You stutter out. Not from drink or nerves. Your tits are out again and the King is openly fondling you.

Eventually Lady Sansa made the mistake of asking the King to let you cover up. The King took offense and then smiled. He called for his "Gift of a Lady" then ordered you to strip. With no salvation apparent, you did as told, feeling the eyes of many Nobles become incredibly focused on you.

The gift... was a Wolf Pelt. Lady Sansa looked ill, and the context became clear soon; the pelt was from Lady Sansa's Direwolf. The King had sent men to intercept it after it was killed. He'd kept it for the purpose of gifting it to Lady Sansa. Instead, you were ordered to take Lady Sansa's seat by the King, wearing nothing but the Wolf Pelt. The King them ordered Lady Sansa to sit on your lap... in the same state of undress as you.

There were stories of Lady Sansa nearly being stripped before, only to be saved at the last moment by The Imp. But Lord Hand, Tyrion Lannister, had already retired for the night.

Lady Sansa's bare body felt good against you. The peculiar dream you had that morning comes to your kind and Sansa squeaks as you stroke her belly, imagining her swollen with the King's children. Whatever protestations she might male, her hard nipples betray her true feelings, as do yours.

She's been drinking too, so have you. Feeling her soft curves, all bare and horny, you kiss her and lower a hand to cup her pussy. Fingers push into her wet, virgin hole and you keep kissing her lips, her Tully Trout Pout. When the King turns back to you from his drinking, he briefly appears to go from amusement to anger to intrigue, as you open the Wolf Pelt slightly to let him see. And to invite him to replace your hand with his.

Lady Sansa gasps as her building orgasm erupts out of her, only to open her eyes to look gazes with her King. The King's passion overwhelms him and he kisses her like a ferocious beast while you keep kissing Lady Sansa's neck, and caress her body.

The night's festivities fade from your attention as you and the King bury Lady Sansa in pleasure and the humiliation of being publicly fingerfucked.

The feast must end though, and it did. King Joffrey handed your cast off clothes to one of his Guard and ordered that you not redress until you've left the Keep. Meanwhile, he threw the Wolf Pelt on his shoulder and led his future Queen from the feast, naked for all to see.

Reaching outside, the cold air chills your bare body and brings your actions into cold sober focus. You were a sexual spectacle, and you helped make the next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms one as well!

You dress quickly, not caring that the Guard and others are watching.

~○~

Back at your home in King's Landing you quickly bypass Lawrence, handing him a small bag of enough gold to keep a man happy for a year and a deed and name to take him to the Reach. Somewhere he could, hopefully, drink himself to **** and never trouble you again.

There was no word of your son, he was likely still with the Dornish. You could maybe have been more concerned, but you had other things on your mind. Long, thick, meaty things.

You see him, naked on your bed with a bottle of wine. His body looks lean and strong, his cock long and thick.

Even if he's seen a lot of you, evennif you are dripping from need, you tale your time letting your clothes descend to the floor. Naked again, part of you imagines a similar scene playing out right now in the King's Bedroom. Sansa, naked before her King. Large tits, plump rear, soft skin. She glides over. No words exist, you kiss his nuts and the top of his "lance"

You'd promised him a night, and then you'd added anal for defeating Ser Loras. The King's rather extravagant prize money for the Tournament, and the prestige your son now had as a Champion, it all pointed towards a bright future. And it was thanks to this wonderfully hung man.

The heat of his rod burned through your copious titflesh as you rubbed him between your twin mounds. Wet with your saliva, it slid easily between them, and the kisses to the tip made your lust rise.

You rise up and straddle him, pushing his length into your cunt slowly. He spreads you wide open and taps the entrance of your womb. The initial slow pace feels so intimate, but he seems to be especially excited when you ride him fast enough to make your enormous tits slap against each other.

His willingness to let you control the pace eventually breaks. He pins you to your own bed, with your arse in the air and he slams into you. Your cries muffled when he rests his foot on your face, pushing you into your own bedding.

The night changes from there, with Ser Bronn in charge. And getting rougher each time he drops a load on you.

**** you as he forces his cock down your throat.

Squeezing your neck while he fucks you.

Slapping your arse.

Smacking your cunt.

He doesn't let up until the sun rises and your Maids enter to clean you. They seem eager to search your boxes and drawers while you are a gasping, cum-stained mess. You remember a gasp, but precious little else.

Washed, dressed, and kissing Ser Bronn farewell, you aren't prepared when you find a familiar mask lying next to your breakfast. In his last act of bitterness before leaving for the Reach, Lawrence had told the entire household who the masked whore was.

And so all through your breakfast, you are **** to stop and suck a cock before returning to your meal. Repeat.

At some point, the servant of Lord Baelish that looks like a Lannister arrived and took a seat to watch and finger herself to the sight. The last Guardsman to fuck your throat holds you down at the base of his cock at the woman's prompting, not letting him release you until she's cum.

"I'm here with a message from Lord Baelish. He says you are to abandon notions of just paying him off with your winnings. You will be working tonight. Attempts to avoid working will see your activities exposed to the world." She then stripped and presented a phallus carved from bone and strapped it to her crotch. She pulled your dress off and drove deep into your arse, treating you as the whore you are to remain.

~○~

Your son, thank the Seven, arrived long after Lord Baelish's Servant had finished pounding your arse. And it seemed the Guards were content to keep Aedan ignorant of your activities.

He was talking about supposedly fascinating details of Dorne, and curious about how they'll use the winnings. He seemed happy with you giving Lawrence a name and home "at last", though the odd gleam in his eye madentounworry he would be going back to the Brothel soon.

For now, the money was best used to improve your Ancestral Home and Port. And a few improvements in your King's Landing Home. It didn't look like you would be leaving soon.

Later came a letter and... another bag of gold? It was from Lord Varys, congratulating you on discreetly fostering better relations between King's Landing and Dorne. So he knew about Prince Oberyn riding in the final joust? You kept that part quiet from your son, lest he make something of the Spymaster of the Seven Kingdoms holding something over House Devinn.

You are Lady Ada Devinn, Matriarch of House Devinn. You will safely lead your Family until your son brings home a bride. And this will be your secret.

Although... you have options now though. With all this gold, you could start over. Or, the dream before...

You dreamt. In the dream, you were sat with the King and Lady Sansa. Only the King was dressed. With a snap of his fingers, you and Sansa stood, and you noticed that both of you were heavy with child. His children? Little beads of milk dripping from your milk-laden udders as Sansa closed in and started kissing before the King snapped his fingers again, revealing his hard cock. So she could remain in King's Landing, please the King and elevate her House, possibly through helping Sansa please the King?

The dream changed, and a different King sat on the Throne. He looked strong, Northern. Robb Stark? He looked the right age. You and Sansa were still naked and pregnant, but a heavy metal collar surrounded your necks. Flee to the North? Would you and Sansa be allies if you were collared bitches? Why does the idea of Sansa being bred by her brother make your heart race? Or... was this what happened if... if you sided with the King but failed in some other act of support?

The dream changed again, and the one sitting on the Throne was a Valyrian woman. Violet eyes and pale white hair. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, clearly. Naked and chained like you, with masked men wearing the symbol of a Harpy roughly grope and assess the three of you. This you had some understanding of. The Harpy was the symbol of the old Ghoscari Empire, an ancient Empire that was crushed by the Valyrians and their Dragons. There were Harpy Worshippers in the Slaver Cities and rumour had it that the Mother of Dragons wanted to end slavery in Essos.

And then the dream changed again and the room became black. The one on the Throne was Stannis. Standing beside, more like straddling, him, the fabled Red Witch made flames dance in the darkness and gestures you over to serve the King. The more you thought on that, the darker the room seemed, the louder the fire roared nearby, and the feeling of strong, feminine hand gripped your throat. Weakening...