Enter Margaery's room

With Olenna gone, and the young Tyrell alone in her chambers, you enter.

There is a sharp intake of breath as you step into Margaery's chambers. She is lacing up her petticoat when she turns, stunned at your intrusion.

"My Lady, apologies, but I just wished to check that you had everything you needed." You decided to be relatively forward and to the point, loading your words with innuendo. Your cock was raging, and you couldn't stop picturing the teen riding her dildo sluttily. You wondered where she'd stowed it before you'd entered and after Olenna had left.

She smirks her renowned half-smile. "My Lord Lannister, I have a sufficiency, and have no need of your sword right now. As you can see, I am quite safe."

"Forgive me, Lady Margaery, I believe you misunderstood. I was offering a sword of another type. One that I believe you'd prefer to the steel one about my waist."

She turns coyly to you, and begins to saunter towards you, minx-like.

"Oh, well. That's an entirely different suggestion. What would your King make of this? What would your... sister...?" she pauses and takes great delicacy in that turn of phrase and question, "the King is known to have a temper, and the Queen Regent has a temper to match." She circles you, and drags one hand across your breastplate, sizing you up.

"Neither of them are here, Margaery," it feels odd using her given name, but there's a first time for everything, "but we are."

She stops her circling and stands in front of you a few feet away.

Her hands move to the laces of her bodice and she pulls, freeing them.

"Quite right." she purrs.

Her bodice drops to the floor, revealing her pert, small mounds. You cast your eyes down and take in her nubile, teen chest.

She grins, "it appears you approve. Your sword appears to need unsheathing, for fear of damaging it."

Her forward nature is even more of a turn on.

"Perhaps you should help then." You reply, as your begin to unbuckle your belt. Your sheath and belt come away and you toss them across the room on to the small chaise that the Lady of Thorns had recently vacated.

Cat-like, she moves towards you, with the grace of the best Pentoshi dancers. Her slender hips sway mesmerisingly as she walks towards you, putting her face mere centimetres from yours.

Her hands travel down to your breeches and unlace them, and you feel cool air on your stiff cock as she retrieves it. Her warm hands are silken on your member, but she never breaks eye contact, and her half-smirk never falters as she starts slowly masturbating you.

"Does this please my Lord Lannister?"