Sansa Stark

...your once, and soon to be future, wife, Sansa Stark.

The auburn-haired beauty had come to your bedchambers many weeks ago, following the celebrations in the Red Keep after Dany had taken the city and attendant lands, and reclaimed the throne of Westeros.

The door had been open no longer than a couple of minutes, before the eldest Stark daughter had been on her knees, thanking you for being such a comforting and protective figure, all those years ago when she first came to the capital during the reign of King Robert. She had been just a fresh-faced young lass when you first met her. Now, she had blossomed into one of the true beauties of Westeros.

Full-figured, a keen mind, a well-honed sense of humour and sass. None of that stopped her from moaning about your cock as she slid it from her mouth.

You watched a lace of spittle that connected her wet, willing warmth to your ten inch erection break, and drop onto her bared breasts.

Her hands slowly tugged your length, lubricated with her saliva, as she crooned to you, sultrily.

"Does my Lord enjoy this?" You could do nothing but moan in response. Your usual quick wit dulled by her ministrations. "Good, because, I was thinking..." she trailed off, and you picked up the thread.

"Whatever you're thinking, I'm certain I'll enjoy it, beautiful girl. Just don't stop what you're doing, please." You had never been so enthralled by a woman as Sansa Stark. A perfect blend of high-court lady priss in public, but a perfect slut to match the dearest of Braavosi whores in private.

"Well..." she crooned after placing a lingering lick on the tip of your prick.