Vaes Dothrak

Daenerys entered Vaes Dothrak at the head of forty thousand riders.

The sacred city trembled.

She rode her silver mare bare-breasted, wearing only a skirt of golden bells and crimson silk that barely covered her ass, her thighs still sticky from the three bloodriders who had fucked her senseless at dawn. Behind her, a procession of captured khals’ heads bounced on spears. Their cocks, severed post-mortem, hung from her saddle like trophies.

The dosh khaleen waited on the steps of the great temple - ancient crones in painted vestments, faces carved with disapproval.

The eldest, a withered woman named Ornela, stepped forward. “No khaleesi may enter Vaes Dothrak while her khal still - ”

“My khal is dead,” Daenerys interrupted, voice carrying across the square. She slid from her horse and walked forward, bells chiming between her legs. “I killed him. Then I killed the next three who thought they could replace him. This khalasar is mine.”

Murmurs rippled through the gathered crones and warriors.

Ornela’s eyes narrowed. “The Mother of Mountains does not suffer witches and whores.”

Daenerys smiled, slow and dangerous. She snapped her fingers. Jhogo and Rakharo dragged forward a massive, defeated khal named Jhaqo - taken in battle two weeks earlier and kept alive for this moment.

“Watch,” Daenerys commanded the dosh khaleen.

She pushed Jhaqo down onto the sacred grass before the temple steps and mounted him like a stallion in heat. The huge khal’s cock was already hard - fear and lust mixing in his eyes. Daenerys sank down onto him in one smooth glide, moaning loudly as his thick length filled her. She rode him hard in front of everyone, hips rolling with practiced dominance, small tits bouncing, silver hair flying.

“Tell them who owns you,” she gasped, clenching around him.

“You… Khaleesi…” Jhaqo groaned.

She rode faster, grinding her clit against his pelvis, pussy creaming noisily down his shaft. When he started to buck and throb inside her, she drew the Valyrian steel dagger hidden in her hair and buried it in his heart with a wet crunch.

Jhaqo roared, hips jerking as he pumped rope after thick rope of cum deep into her womb while he died. Daenerys came with him, shuddering violently, milking his cock through his **** spasms until his body went limp beneath her.

She rose slowly, letting his spent cock slip from her stretched cunt. A flood of cum poured out, splattering onto the sacred ground between her feet.

Daenerys faced the dosh khaleen, cum running down her thighs like war paint.

“Does the Mother of Mountains disapprove?” she asked sweetly. “Or does she recognize strength when it fucks and kills before her eyes?”

Several of the younger priestesses looked away, flushed. The warriors behind Daenerys roared in approval, arakhs beating against shields.

Ornela trembled with rage. “You defile—”

Daenerys crossed the distance in three strides and backhanded the old woman hard enough to send her sprawling.

“I am the defiler now. I am fire and blood. From this day forward, the dosh khaleen serve me. You will interpret the omens in my favor. You will send riders across the sea to find ships. And every full moon, one of you will kneel in my tent and lick the seed of my conquests from my cunt while I decide if you live.”

She pointed at the youngest and prettiest of the crones - barely thirty, with fierce eyes.

“You. Come here.”

The woman hesitated, then obeyed, kneeling before Daenerys in the grass. Daenerys lifted her silk skirt and pulled the woman’s face roughly into her cum-dripping pussy.

“Lick.”

The priestess obeyed, tongue sliding through the messy folds, swallowing the thick seed of the dead khal while the entire square watched. Daenerys moaned openly, hips rocking against the woman’s face, one hand fisted in her dark hair.

When she came again, she held the priestess there until the tremors stopped, then shoved her back.

“Sweet,” Daenerys purred. “You live. For now.”

That night, in the largest tent ever raised in Vaes Dothrak, Daenerys held court.

She lay on a mountain of silk pillows, legs spread wide. Five of her strongest bloodriders took turns fucking her in every hole - sometimes two at once, sometimes three. She took their cocks like a conqueror: riding one while another fucked her ass, sucking the third, moaning commands between slurps and gasps.

“Deeper. Harder. Fill your Khaleesi.”

They obeyed until she was a glazed, leaking wreck - cum dripping from her cunt, ass, and chin. Only then did she allow them to finish, rewarding the best performers by letting them cum on her face and tits while the rest watched.

Ser Jorah stood guard at the entrance, jaw tight, cock straining against his breeches.

Later, when the warriors had left, Daenerys crooked a finger at him.

“Come clean me, my bear.”

Jorah dropped to his knees between her cum-soaked thighs and buried his face in her ruined pussy, licking and sucking out the mixed seed of half a dozen Dothraki while she stroked his hair almost tenderly.

“We sail for Westeros before the year is out,” she whispered, grinding lazily against his tongue. “I will take my brother’s throne… and every lord who bends the knee will have the honor of fucking their new queen while the Iron Throne waits beneath my ass.”

Jorah groaned into her cunt.

Daenerys smiled up at the stars visible through the smoke hole, the dragonfire in her belly roaring louder than ever.

The world would burn.

And she would ride it all the way to victory.