The Street of Silk

Lyonel looked around hopelessly. The Stark men didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave, tarrying around the mouth of the street, blocking their way out. Going deeper into the street would mean being faced with far more degeneracy than the half-dressed women milling around this side of the street, not to mention the ever-present chance of meeting someone that might recognize them. Next to him, Arya was quivering silently and seemed to be on the verge of a complete breakdown. The prince seemed to be on the verge of losing his reputation, his cherished friendship with Arya and his betrothal with Sansa. The entire realm was at the doorstep of a major scandal and potential diplomatic crisis.

Lyonel stared at a familiar building nearby, knowing what he had to do and building up his resolve.

He put up a hand around Arya's shoulder and pressed her head to his chest, as many of the customers in the street seemed to do with their companions. Hopefully, with half her face covered by his torso and the other by his muscular arm, the younger Stark's face was sufficiently covered. "We'll get out of here. Trust me," he whispered to Arya, before walking towards the building. He didn't know if Arya actually trusted him enough to follow him to a brothel, but the terrified girl seemed utterly lost and **** for any type of guidance and meekly followed him.

They stepped into the brothel, which, thankfully, was as empty and silent as he predicted. This was the most expensive brothel in the city, which only nobles and the richest of merchants could afford. Men who had a public image to maintain, most of whom would not be seen in a brothel in broad daylight in the most crowded day the city has seen in over a decade.

A couple of steps into the establishment, they encountered the prostitutes, three of them, mistresses of their crafts. The mere way they were positioned was an art. One was lounged in a sofa, reading a tome, while two others played cyvasse with masterful brilliance. The owner of the brothel wanted the clients to know that not only were the girls here pretty and talented at what they do but had multiple talents and brilliance in many fields. Not your ordinary back ally Sally.

"Your grace!" one of the girls playing cyvasse, Alayaya, stood up as she saw him. Lyonel, as he is now, has never visited this brothel before, but the previous user of his body had, and he was able to recognize the book only character quick enough. Alayaya was a tall woman who was both supple and curvy. Her Summer Islander heritage was evident in her dark skin and curly locks, hanging as far down as her waist. As far as he could remember, she was in her late 20's, but her youthful face can easily convince one to believe that she was a teenager. Alayaya's clothes was also of interest, a simple strip of cloth around her chest and a long skirt, both made of finest Myrish silk. So fine, in fact, that it was nearly translucent, promising anyone who sees her a world of fun. The symbol of the brothel, a Chrysanthemum, the symbol of her mother's brothel, was tucked in her hair, its sixteen petals representing the sixteen tits of the pleasure goddess that the Summer Islanders worship. In other words, if he wasn't so scared, Lyonel would have a full-on boner by now.

"I'll be in my room!" he snapped more harshly than he intended, seeing the usually composed girls gawping at the Stark sigil on Arya's dress. "Send your mother to me!"

"Yes, your grace," Alayaya replied with her slightly accented voice, but he had already turned around.

Dragging Arya, he climbed a long set of stairs up three floors, before reaching his secret quarters in the attic. Taking his key, he opened the door and went inside. He was met by a minimalist room, adorned with one table and a chair overlooking a window, and several far more comfortable chairs facing one another on the opposite side of the room, near to a simple cupboard. Lyonel went to the window and cursed quietly at what he saw outside. The Stark men have found themselves in a dice game, some with whores wrapped around them, eager to take whatever winnings they were going to make. It seems like they'll be here for some time.

Looking back, he saw an apprehensive Arya standing at the doorstep. "Come in and take a seat. We'll be here for a while."

"Well, that wouldn't be a problem for you," Arya snapped. "Seems like you are already at home in this whorehouse."

Lyonel smiled, seeing how Arya could be jealous. "I have had dealings with this establishment for a long time. But not that kind of dealings."

Arya snorted while taking a seat. "Is that why there's a room specially reserved for you in a brothel? I suppose you learned that from your father."

Lyonel flinched at the jab but could not fault her for coming to that conclusion. "I have a room, yes, but not for bedding women. Hells, look around you, there isn't even a bed here. I use this room for work, not pleasure."

"But then why-"

"I'm afraid he's right, child," a stately voice entered the room, followed by the woman who emitted it. Chataya was the tallest woman Lyonel has ever seen, taller than even his mother, almost as tall as himself. She was a woman in her fifties, but anyone who did not know any better would say that she was a decade and a half younger, both due to her beauty and because of the grace she carried herself with. While her daughter Alayaya was a dark brown colour, Chataya's skin gleamed in pure ebony, the norm amongst the Summer Islanders that she hailed from. Her red dress was decorated in a pattern of feathers, and a large red feather was tied to her tangly hair. Even the way she spoke was enticing, the vocabular of royal courtiers coming through an exotic Summer Islander accent.

"I am afraid he's right," Chataya repeated to Arya. "I had dealings with the prince for years, and many a time I tried to conclude the business in the way of our people, but I am sad to say that he rejected the advances of both me and my daughter."

Lyonel could see that the sheltered Stark girl was shocked at the notion of a mother running a brothel where her own daughter works in, especially considering they were so visibly well to do and not **** for money, but Arya still could not let go of her suspicions. "What other type of business would a man have in a brothel?"

Chataya walked to the window and looked out, where, on the opposite side of the street, lay the brothel of a man who was her biggest rival and competitor, whom the prince too, wisely distrusted. "Oh, I keep an eye out for him over these parts," the matron said nonchalantly before sitting down opposite to Arya. "But you are not here to discuss these matters, are you? Tell me what happened."

Lyonel shrugged. "I was strolling through the city with the Lady Arya. We got lost in the crowds, ended up here and got stuck. Now we can't leave without creating a major scandal."

"Hmm," Chataya said, looking thoroughly unconvinced. They met once every few months and Lyonel was certain that the next time they met she would grill him for details. But that can wait, and even she understood that. "Well, we can deal with you easily enough, my prince. Plenty of men come to this street. With one of those half cloaks and large hats that the Braavosi like to wear, you can walk out of the street with your face covered and no suspicions will be raised. You on the other hand," the brothel owner said looking at the Stark girl, "will be a problem to deal with."

Arya flushed. "It doesn't have to be a problem. Give me a dress with no sigils and one of those hats and I'll walk out right alongside him."

"Women don't wear Braavosi hats," Chataya cut her off briskly. "That'll arouse suspicions."

"So?"

"Child, child, be smarter about this. There's an entire street out there, filled with drunken, rowdy men. Half of them are looking for a woman, the other half looking for a fight. A suspicious woman will attract them like moths to flame. And that's exactly the sort of things you want to avoid, yes?"

Arya squirmed in her seat. "Septas cover their heads, and sometimes their faces. The Silent Sisters and the like."

Chataya smiled wearily. "And even if we were to somehow find you a Septa's robes, wouldn't the fact that a holy woman walking through the biggest flesh market in this side of the world arouse curiosity?"

A glum silence fell into the room, and Lyonel felt like he should his mention the idea that had been growing inside his head. It was extremely risky, unspeakably so, but with every option being eliminated, it seemed like the only course to take. "It seems like we are all thinking the same thing, but no one's willing to say it out loud, so I will. Arya, you will have to dress like a whore."

"How dare you?" Arya shouted and sprang up from her seat, face pale with anger. "How could you even suggest such a thing? You may be able to get other women to act as whores around you, but I am a Stark of Winterfell!"

"It is the only thing we can do, Arya," Lyonel said mournfully, looking at her with his gentle blue eyes, calming her somewhat. "Do you think I would suggest something like that if we had no other options left?"

"We can wait here," Arya said more quietly. "Wait until dark, then sneak out."

Chataya snorted. "Clearly, you have no idea what this place will look like after dark."

"Even barring that, we cannot stay," Lyonel said. "We didn't tell anyone we'd be going out, and my men were ordered to keep their silence, which they will. Soon enough, people at the castle will realize we are missing. They would search the entire castle, and once we are not found, they will close down the entire city and search all of it, house by house. And if they find the two of here, cooped up in a room in a brothel..."

Arya collapsed back into her seat and covered her face. Eventually she spoke up. "How would this even work? Whores reveal even more of their body, instead of covering up."

Chataya reentered the conversation now that her field of expertise was involved. "That's easy. You will be dressed up as a Braavosi courtesan."

Arya stared at her blankly, and Lyonel decided to elaborate. "Braavosi courtesans are famous for their masks. Your body may be a bit... exposed, but your face, and thus your identity, will be hidden."

After a moment of silence, Arya covered her face with trembling hands. "This can't be happening to me," she said in a voice that nearly sobbed.

Lyonel knelt in front of her and gently took her hands in his own. He was keenly aware of Chataya's gaze on the unfolding events, but he had to do this. "This is the only way, Arya. And it's not as bad as it seems."

"How?" Arya asked incredulously.

"We don't have to walk all the way back to the Red Keep, for one. There's another, hidden way, back to the keep, here in this very street."

"Ahh," Chataya said. "You mean to use my old building."

"Yes," the prince replied.

"What are you two talking about?" Arya demanded.

"Chataya's brothel used to be in a different building. A much older one, that had a secret tunnel connecting to the Maegor's Tunnels under the Red Keep," Lyonel remembered the books, of how Tyrion and Varys often used the tunnel for their schemes. Unfortunately, with the additional decade in this world, Chataya has grown much richer and moved her establishment to a better spot. He remembered the older Lyonel even supporting her in this move, so that she could keep a closer eye on his rival. "Chataya still owns that property, because of that tunnel and it's not even that far away, just a little while down the street. We just have to walk there. Once inside, we can change back to our normal clothes and use the tunnels to go back to the Keep. It would be as if nothing happened. But... but if you think that's too much of a risk, we can stay here."

Arya looked at the prince's honest face. He was asking her to do the impossible. But didn't they end up here because of her? Because she used her sword like an idiot and Lyonel, in his big-hearted way, promised her to help rebuilding it? And even now, he was thinking about her more than himself, risking his marriage and future allies to do whatshe would be more comfortable with. Thinking how much he cared for her made her heart ache. And, very quietly, she said, "we should go."

Lyonel smiled at her. If there wasn't anyone else around, he would have kissed her.

Chataya meanwhile, rose up from her seat. "Let's get to work then. My prince, kindly wait outside while I equip the Lady Arya properly. And be quick about it, please! The last thing I want is my business to go down because you chose here of all places as a refuge!"

Lyonel lounged around on the ground floor, newly equipped with his Braavosi cloak and a large, broad brimmed hat with a feather stuck to it at his side, playing a game of cyvasse with Alayaya. That's not the only game going on, however. Ever since his business with Chataya started, her girls have been very offended of him resisting their charms and has made a wager on which one of them could corrupt him first. While the older, stuck up Lyonel may have been able to resist their advances sufficiently, the current one had a far harder time concentrating on the game while his sensuous opponent showed off herself gracefully with every move, while the rest of the whores watched the game (or rather the player), like hawks. Then there was Lyonel's constant worries of what might be happening upstairs. Nonetheless, he must do his best. A single mistake in the game may betray his distraction, which would only embolden the girls further, and if he acted drastically different from his previous self, that might arouse suspicion. Oh well, at least it's improving his focus. He knew that he would one day contend himself with women who were both hot and politically ambitious, who would use the former to further the latter, and this was good practice to combat that.

However, everyone was distracted with the telltale noise of footsteps on the wooden floor, alerting the group that Chataya was finally done with Arya. Lyonel stood up nervously, as the everyone watched ahead with bated breath at how the old madame would have transformed the naive, honourable, Lady Arya Stark into a whore. And they were not disappointed.

Chataya came down first, and glowed proudly at Arya, who followed her. And there was much to be proud about, for Arya was nearly unrecognizable, her clothes taking Lyonel's special attention. Like the rest of Chataya's girls, A single strip of cloth, dark red in this case, wrapped around Arya's bosom. It was actually less translucent than most, but one can still see a great deal through it. However, it was the cloth around her lower body that was most... enticing. A golden rope was wrapped around the wolf girl's waist, from which two triangle shaped, red colour cloths came out at the front and back of her hips. The triangles flared out the lower they went, meaning most of Arya's lower legs were covered, almost as if she was wearing a skirt. However, it also means that the higher it goes, the narrower and narrower the cloth gets, revealing more and more, until by the time you reach her pussy, only the tiniest sliver of cloth covered it, and a strong gust of wind was all that was necessary to reveal Arya Stark's pussy to the wider world. When Chataya ordered Arya to turn around, the situation got even better. The cloth at the back was shaped the same, but the expanse of Arya's ass flesh was so big that it swallowed most of the cloth, with only a thin trail of red cloth stuck between the ass cheeks visible. For the first time, Lyonel witnessed Arya's ass with nearly no obstructions, and it dumbfounded him. It was utterly perfect, two large, pale, globes, completely round and visibly smooth, so jiggly that Arya's mere breathing sets it off.

As Arya turned back around, the rest of the whores stared at her resentfully. They may have practiced grace and composed elegance, but Arya's raw natural beauty was something they simply couldn't keep up with. Lyonel meanwhile, was so entranced, he didn't even realize he was walking towards his half naked, now very different looking friend, until he was halfway across the room, getting harder with every step.

Chataya laughed and placed her hands atop Arya's shoulders. "See that child? And you were worried up there that you are not pretty enough to pass for a whore. Well, look at what you are doing to that man and tell me you're wrong," the older woman's exposure broke for a second as she glanced at Lyonel's semi erection. "And what a pretty sight it is," she finished off, licking her lips.

Blushing, Lyonel quickly used his new cloak to hide his boner. He didn't have time to indulge whores, no matter how horny he is.

Chataya cleared her throat, eager to reassert her control. "Well then, you are all set to go. My daughter will lead you to the inn."

"We might best look like the roles we are playing then," Alayaya said, snuggling up to Lyonel, lifting his arm and placing it around her waist in a way that the flat of his palm landed on her ass. Despite his need for self-control, the prince couldn't help but give the juicy meat globe a good squeeze, causing Alayaya to giggle and for Arya to stare daggers at the triumphant whore.

However, under Chataya's instruction, she too got closer to him and Lyonel put an arm around her waist, making sure that his other hand at least doesn't wander anywhere inappropriate. Still, even having a man's hand on her bare midriff was too much for the sheltered girl, who blushed profusely, though her mask did its job and his most of her shyness.

Chataya completed the disguise by putting the wide brimmed Braavosi styled hat atop the prince's head, before stepping back and nodding in satisfaction. "Perfect. An important Braavosi, maybe a dignitary or a banker, here in Westeros for the biggest celebration in more than two decades, being homesick and lonely and hiring a courtesan from his homeland and the most expensive girl in the city to make himself feel better. Your air of wealth and the fact that my daughter's keeping you company will dissuade most people from troubling you. Good luck then!"

"Thank you, mistress Chataya. I will not forget the great help you gave today. We will see each other in our scheduled meeting next week."

Arya only managed to mutter a "thank you" herself, but her large grey eyes expressed many emotions that the prince couldn't catch. It seemed like the time they spent together has made Arya very fond and respectful of Chataya, about which Lyonel wasn't surprised. The older, headstrong but compassionate woman had that effect on everyone around her, especially on young women.

With that, they stepped outside the brothel. They had spent a couple of hours inside, and they now saw that the sun was already setting, casting long shadows across the street, which itself was far more packed with people. Scantily clad whores mingled everywhere, causing Arya to gape at them and helping her forget that she was more sluttily dressed than any of them. Drunken men openly groped these whores, and Arya couldn't help but feel thrilled as they stepped out into the street and being engulfed in a sea of debauchery. She also worried about random whores surrounding Lyonel as they did earlier, but him covering much of his body and face, and the fact that he clearly had two whores of his own seemed to have made them hesitant.

Lyonel, meanwhile, had the entirety of his mind filled with one worry: Arya. He wanted to be respectful, with his arm around her waist, but fate and biology seems to have other plans. Arya's ass was simply too massive and jiggly, with every step she takes, her buttocks swung wildly in every direction, including swatting his palm. And with a coat of sweat quickly building itself around Arya under the blistering Southern sun, Lyonel could feel his hand rapidly slipping down Arya's waist and down to her ass. Initially Arya ignored it, encouraging Lyonel to keep his hand on its new resting place. But he has been resisting temptation for so long, now that it was quite literally in the palm of his hand, he couldn't resist. Taking a deep breath, consequences be damned he started fondling the soft enormity that was Arya's ass, clenching his teeth to prevent himself moaning in the middle of the street.

Arya tried to give him an imperious look with a raised eyebrow, which would have worked if the wolf girl wasn't almost panting with simulation herself.

"It'll make the act more convincing," Lyonel told her, but the excuse felt lame even in his own mind.

However, all three of them were distracted as they stepped close to the Stark soldiers. Most were obsessed with an ongoing dice game and some had whores lounging around or on them. This was the big test, and Lyonel could feel Arya become rigid with fear and anticipation. They walked past the Stark soldiers, and one man, who has bowed to Arya a thousand times and was ready to defend her life with his, wolf whistled at seeing her fat ass, drawing attention to them from most of the surrounding crowd, while another soldier drunkenly stated, "gods I would kill for that ass."

Still, they passed the soldiers without too much hassle, though Lyonel could feel Arya shaking under his arm. Concerned that this was one too many shocks for the little sheltered girl, the prince looked down at her... and saw her grinning wildly, doing her best to keep her smile in.

After all, why shouldn't she be elated? All her childhood, Arya was constantly compared to her older sister and was called ugly and pain. Despite growing into a beauty, her fierce personality prevented any possible advancement from the opposite sex, which only confirmed her unfounded fears. Then she met Lyonel, with whom she undeniably had... well, something, but she chalked it up to the weird taste that some princes are said to have. But how can she deny her beauty now? An entire streetful of men, some still with whores on their laps, stared at her, ogling, salivating... lusting. For the first time in her life Arya accepted, that she was. in fact, beautiful.

Lyonel meanwhile, was confused as to what the hell was going on, but at least relieved that Arya seemed to be enjoying herself. Their attention was however soon recaptured by another eccentricity in a street filled with eccentricities.

It was a freak show, Lyonel finally decided, with a sexual tinge of course. Raised in various podiums were what Westeros would deem sexual freaks, with crowds gathered around them, and pretty girls going around, collecting coins from the audience. As Alayaya led them forward, Lyonel and Arya looked on at the show.

The first podium held two women in crumpled shifts, passionately making out with one another. It was pretty tame compared to everything Lyonel has seen, though he knew it must be highly taboo and erotic for a society that has banned and condemns homosexuality. The second held a former **** from Yunkai, a brown skinned girl that contorted her half-dressed body in a dance in ways Lyonel would have thought impossible. The deeper they went, the more **** the acts became. One held a dwarf that reminded Lyonel of his uncle, naked and covered in dark hair to the point he looked like a small bear. As they watched on, the man climbed the body of an unbelievably beautiful woman that was his wife, sucking on her tits while holding himself up by clutching her long blonde hair.

The last podium captured their interest as well. It held another two women, this time completely naked. One was on all fours, presenting her nude ass and cunt to the crowd. As they watched on, the other woman grabbed a long, thin stick and began to mercilessly spank the girl on all fours, whose moans of erotic pain was drowned out by the cheering crowd. Despite knowing that it was mostly an act, Arya was enthralled. The woman that was being struck, whose pale as was getting as red as a cherry also had red hair. She was tall too. Like Sansa. And as tears began to stream down the girl's face, another sort of liquid started trailing down Arya's legs. Embarrassed, she quickly adjusted her "skirt" glad of the quickly setting sun and the anonymity it provided.

Still, the image of the shorter black-haired woman spanking the taller, crying, red haired one stuck in Arya's head for a long time, though she had to temporarily put it into the back of her mind when they stumbled into a stop. "This is it," Alayaya said, pointing at a building.

They walked ahead to the establishment, and stepped into a long, cozy hall. There was a fire in the corner, big enough to provide heat but small enough to hide much of the room in shadows. Tables were set sporadically around the hall, and Lyonel could see what type of men frequent this type of establishments; merchants, high ranking officers and the like. Men who are rich enough to afford Chataya's services, but not important enough to maintain a reputation. Flitting around them were numerous maids, who seemed to be part of the services offered. It wasn't uncommon for a maid in any Westerosi inn to get occasionally groped and pinched, but these seem to encourage it, often wrapping themselves around the customers provocatively until they gave up and went upstairs to an empty room with one of the "maids."

Alayaya led them to a table under a staircase, covered in more shadows than even the other tables. "Wait here. The tunnel leads to a room on the second floor. I will go and secure it and come back to escort you. Stay silent and don't draw attention to yourselves," the ebony whore said tersely, her flirtatious attitude lost. After all, if someone witness the Crown Prince and the Hand's daughter in an establishment like this, it wouldn't just be ruinous for them but could also create terrible consequences to Chataya's businesses. Alayaya gave them a last look, grabbed a key from somewhere inside her skirts (Lyonel didn't know where, the cloth barely covered her figure) and left upstairs.

Lyonel and Arya sat at the table awkwardly. Lyonel waited tensely for a maid to come and seduce him, before realizing that none would do so, for in their eyes he came in with two whores with him already. With that, he looked over at Arya, who was fidgeting her fingers, but seemed to have taken everything that went down today well enough. The shadows hid much of her, but as he stared, he could still make out enough of her to admire Arya her beauty over and over again. Lyonel still couldn't believe his luck, even after the months he has stayed over in this new world.

Arya caught his stare and looked back at him with grey eyes hidden under a red mask. "What?" she said, subconsciously adjusting her skirt to see if she has messed something up. After all, she was supposed to look like a professional.

"You did well," Lyonel said reassuringly. "No one recognized us. Your acting was brilliant."

"You mean to say that I make a good whore?" Arya asked with an arched eyebrow.

Lyonel cursed himself, before he saw the smirk on her face. He chuckled and shook his head.

Arya too looked away. Despite her jokes, she was still very unsure of being around Lyonel now. He had gone from being Sansa's stupid, too perfect prince, to her dearest friend... and now what? How can they go back to normal when he has seen her like this? She could still feel his calloused but gentle hands kneading her backside. A friend does not do such things, specially to his betrothed's sister... but how can she complain when she probably enjoyed it even more than he did? Just thinking about it caused beads of moisture to form around her nether lips all over again.

Arya tried to distract herself by looking around the inn. The blatant perverseness in the inn would have shocked her even a few hours ago, but she has since then grown numb to it all. Her eyes rested upon a table of Lannister soldiers (she could tell that with their red cloaks and all) with some whore lounging in between. As she watched, a man said something to one of those, who went down on her knees and opened up his breeches.

Arya looked curiously at the first penis she has ever seen. It was a scrawny, pink thing, four inches tall, which from what she heard was very lucky. However, she had seen Lyonel's beneath his clothes back in the brothel, and his at half-mast more than twice as big as that man's was, so she wondered if what she heard was true or if someone was making fun on her naivety. As she watched on, the woman put her mouth on the cock, puffing up her mouth with air and grinning at him saucily. Arya could clearly see she was bored, but if there's one thing every woman in the world learn, from noble lady to strumpet, is that while a man may never, please you in bed, you should never let him know that.

She looked up and caught the eye of another Lannister soldier sitting nearby. Unbeknownst to her, his eyes had been on her ever since they stepped in and now that their eyes have met, he decided to make his move. Putting his beer mug down, he sauntered over to them, drunk and confident, red cloak flapping and steel armour shining. He was the typical Westerlander; tall and broad, blonde and blue eyed, tan from living near the sea and all in all very good looking though the cruelty in his eyes and smirk abate that somewhat.

"Good evening, Braavosi," the Lannister captain (the lion headed brooch on his shoulder indicated as much) said in a tone he thought was sufficiently polite. He did not sit down.

"Good evening," Lyonel said politely, not looking up from his wide brimmed hat, cursing how Westerosi he sounded.

"That's a nice whore you got there," the Lannister said, getting straight to the point.

"Yes. She's one of the finest courtesans in our city," the disguised prince said stiffly, offended on Arya's behalf.

"Is that so?" the Lannister said with drunken confidence. "Well... how much?"

"I'm sorry. But she is not for sale."

"All women is for sale, my good fellow," the captain said, his eyes now glinting unpleasantly.

"Not this one," Lyonel said firmly, prepared to throw his hat and reveal his identity if necessary. His standing and plans may be ruined, but at least Arya would be safe.

The man frowned for a moment, before removing the lion brooch and throwing it on the table in front of Arya. His red cloak unceremoniously fell to the ground, and Lyonel cursed under his breath. Tywin kept tight discipline in his army, and for a ranking officer to act so recklessly with his armour meant that the man must be seriously drunk, despite his seeming composure.

The man looked at Arya and pointed at the golden brooch. "That enough?" he grunted.

"I am so sorry, master soldier," Arya said in a pleasantly high voice and in a faux Braavosi accent that Chataya coached her with. "It is a matter of principle, see? If I break my contract now, my reputation would be ruined, and I would have no more customers. So, my deepest apologies, but I cannot accept your offer." With that she gently moved the brooch back to the soldier, respectfully in both hands.

However, being refused by a woman he deems so beneath him only served to infuriate the captain. He launched his hand to grab Arya's arm, but she drew it back with feline grace, causing the drunk man to stumble and fall. Lyonel started to get up, hand on hat, grimly resolute to show who he is and be done with this farce. Arya, however, saw him and put a hand on his chest, silently convincing him to sit down again. Whatever her complicated feelings for him are, she knew that he was at least the best friend she has ever had, and Arya didn't want Lyonel to get into trouble as much as Lyonel didn't want to get Arya into any.

Noble as that intent was, however, it didn't solve the deep mess they were in, and as the drunken, heavily armoured captain slowly scrambled his way up to her feet, Arya frantically looked around for inspiration, only to be met with scenes of debauchery. That one whore was still pleasuring the Lannister captain's companion, but now the man was so into it that she didn't need to pretend, and she lazily twirled the manhood with her tongue while doodling something on the ground with her unoccupied finger. But that would not help Arya, would it?

The captain, in the meantime, has gotten to his feet, embarrassed and leering. "Never seen a whore turn down gold before. And for what?" he sneered at the supposed Braavosi. "You really want to spend your night with him, girl? Don't you know that all these Essosi have small cocks?" he said, before smiling obnoxiously at his own joke.

What he said, and what she sees all around her, gave Arya an idea. It was completely crazy of course, but it was the only idea her **** mind that had been simulated for half a day could come up with. "Is that true, master soldier?" she asked, eyes wide under the mask.

"Oh yes, girl," he replied, leering even more nastily.

"Well, I doubt that," Arya said, and with a nimbleness even a Braavosi Water Dancer would envy, unlaced Lyonel breeches, causing the prince's semi-erect manhood to flop out. Arya gulped at its sheer size, before putting on her confident smile and looking back at the captain. The man had gone completely rigid, blue eyes fixated upon Lyonel's cock. Not willing to lose the momentum, Arya, mimicking the many whores she has seen today, grabbed the prince by his base and gave a couple of tugs, letting it get to its full strength. Lyonel closed his eyes, both from the utterly pleasurable, completely unexpected surprise of Arya's delicate and naive hands on his cock as well as from the pain caused by her nervous tugging, all the while wondering what the fuck was going on.

The captain too, was staring dumbstruck at the impossibly large cock. His own was a respectable three inches, not the biggest but certainly nothing to scoff at either. But this man's was easily four times as large, standing proudly as a pillar while being treated under dainty, pale hands. "It's... impossible. It's impossible!"

"Oh, but it isn't," Arya said, grinning cheekily.

"It... this foreigner must be using witchcraft! It can't be real!"

Arya was getting nervous. Her ploy worked, for a time, but the captain was getting agitated again. She needed something more, something even more ****, to push him over the edge. And so, while still holding on to Lyonel's cock tightly (too tightly) she bent her head over to it, so close that a strand of her silky dark hair got undone and fell downwards, tickling the prince's full balls and making him moan. Once Arya was close enough to his dick that a wonderfully queer aroma filled her nostrils, she drew a deep breath... and spat on it.

A large drop of clear liquid fell between her lips and onto his cock head, which she quickly caught with her hands and rubbed all over the cock. Lyonel moaned, completely surrendering to the pleasures, consequences be damned. His pillar of meat now glistened in the lamp light, making it seem bigger still.

"See, this is why I don't think you can keep your word," Arya said with a cruelly triumphant smile at the transfixed captain. "You don't think you can do better than this, can you? If not, I suggest you leave. Unless you enjoy watching?"

The man didn't say anything. His blue eyes were completely empty now, void of anger, confidence, humour or even humiliation. What he had was... acceptance. Acceptance of the inferiority of his own masculinity. The man silently picked up his brooch and cloak and went back to sit with his friends, though his continued to look at Lyonel with undisguised admiration.

Arya stared at all of this with a look of silent pride. Then, realizing he was still moving her hands up and down Lyonel's cock, she quickly withdrew them. The prince gradually came back to his senses, and an awkward resumed over the table. Lyonel's overstimulated dick still stood erect, with it being simply too big in this state to put back into his pants.

"I'm sorry," Arya said. "It was the only thing I could have come up with."

"It worked," Lyonel grunted as he tried to collect his thoughts.

Arya, meanwhile, started trembling now that the immediate danger has passed, and she began to understand what exactly she had done. What was she becoming? A month ago, the mere thought of entertaining a man in a conversation appalled her. But now here she was, dressed as a whore and having just pleasured a man in public when he could have just let him sacrifice his reputation for hers? And her hands were still itchingto wrap themselves around Lyonel's cock again, and she had to use all her willpower to not look at his... thing. What was this man doing to her?

Fortunately for the beleaguered She Wolf, a distraction came down that diverted her attention.

"I have secured the room," Alayaya said, climbing down the stairs. "All we have..." she paused, staring at the still hard manhood jutting over the table, gleaming under half dried spit. There were no more thoughts. The whore seized the chance she has long waited for. With one fluid move, she knelt under the desk, and using her considerable skills, engulfed his entire manhood with one go.

Lyonel, meanwhile, let go. He had spent the half a day around and coming into contact with beautiful, half-dressed women, but didn't let himself do anything more for pragmatism's sake. Well, now he decided to fuck pragmatism... along with Alayaya's face.

Putting a hand behind her curly head, Lyonel slammed his engorged cock into the ebony whore's mouth. His balls struck her in the chin, while lines of precum and sweat drooled downwards, drenching the whore's tits, revealing her hardened nipples underneath the cloth she wore. He had enjoyed Arya's hesitating, inexperienced hands, but for a pent-up man like him, a whore would serve the best.

Arya watched all of this with fascination. She was jealous, but she too was horny and looking at how her normally gentle and well reputed friend utterly dominate this man made her wet beyond compare. Slowly, she slid the triangle covering her mound away, revealing a slightly hairy pussy to anyone in the inn who cared to look. Arya has never even heard of the word masturbation, but she let nature guide her to do what feels right, trailing her fingers around her nether lips before gently and experimentally inserting a finger in. Arya gasped out loud, but fortunately the noise was drowned in the general debauchery of the inn.

Lyonel, his attention focused solely on the comely whore, already heady with how he dominated that other man by just showing off his cock, was ready to cum. Alayaya has been trained to catch all the cum out of a man's balls (letting it go to waste is an affront to the Goddess), but she was experienced with small puddles, not an ocean worth of cum. The white liquid began to overflow her mouth and fell everywhere, from drenching her body to coating the floor and the table and chairs.

His mind now clear after a long time, Lyonel quickly assessed the situation and took control of it. Lyonel grabbed the kneeling whore by her dark curls. "Not a word of this to your mother. Do you understand?"

"Uh-huh," Alayaya said in her cum drunken state, before managing to utter, "please come back again!"

Lyonel let her go, and Alayaya fell to the cum puddle on the floor, white liquid coating the black skin. Seeing what's around her gave a new life to the girl, who started licking the cum off the floor with renewed gusto.

Arya looked on with disgusted fascination. Lyonel didn't pay her to do any of this. Was his... she didn't even know what to call it... ejaculations... really that tasty?

"Come, Arya," Lyonel ordered, grabbing the key from Alayaya, who had progressed to licking flecks of cum stuck on the legs of the chairs and the table.

Arya followed Lyonel upstairs and passed through a series of doors (all giving of delightful sounds behind them) before coming to a particular door which the prince opened. Inside, in the dark, they removed their disguises and put on their normal clothes. Lyonel then lit a torch, and he and Arya looked at each other, looking once again like themselves. They had seen each other in similar clothes this morning, but a lifetime has passed since then. Arya has gotten a new Valyrian sword, walked through the Street of Silk dressed as a whore and pleasured her sister's betrothed. The utter absurdity of all that happened dawned on her, and Arya began to cackle with Lyonel soon following her. They knew that their relationship has utterly changed, that its undeniable that there was... something between them now but laughing at it all helped lighten the burden.

Eventually, Lyonel stopped and straightened out, feeling much better now that he knew Arya had taken everything that happened with good humour. But they had spent nearly the entire day away, and the castle, must already be searching for them. He opened the wood panels that led to the secret tunnel, which would connect eventually to Maegor's tunnels. Beckoning Arya to follow him, he stepped into the tunnel with his torch, lighting the way back to the keep.

Arya followed behind, walking slowly as she contemplated all that happened today. Suddenly, a gleam on her hand caught her attention. Lifting it up, she saw it was a drop of the prince's ejaculation, a single drop of milky white liquid that must have splattered onto her hand in all that excitement, gone unnoticed until the torch shone a light to it.

Arya remembered how greedily Alayaya drank this up, treating every drop as if it was gold. It was of unthinkable to contemplate even. But she had done a lot of unthinkable things today.

And so, the Wolf Girl raised her hand and stuck out a tentative tongue, licking up the dollop of cum. Then, Arya felt her entire world change.