Jan. Week 3: Game of Thrones--Leah gets rides Mr. Baker

Mr. Baker’s response to her question was not subtle. With a lascivious glint in his eye, he announced, “Oh, I think the people would riot if they didn’t get to see the Dragon Queen ride one last time.” The pun burned with secondhand embarrassment, but Leah had long since developed a resistance to shame in this sordid routine.

She rolled her eyes and slid her hands up her hips, adjusting the turquoise gown so it bunched fetchingly at her waist, then straddled his lap. The synthetic strands of the blonde wig tickled her cheeks and neck, a cartoonish parody of Targaryen royalty; the reality was pure degradation. She pushed his cock against her opening and sank down slowly, her thighs bracketing his hips. She could feel his hands gripping her waist, thumbs pressed hard against the fabric, eager to leave marks if he could.

“Careful, my lord,” she said, giving her best haughty impression. “Wouldn’t want to be overthrown before you’ve even sat the throne.”

“Oh, Queen of Cocks, you can usurp me anytime,” he groaned back, hands now roaming from her waist to her ass, squeezing and pawing with greedy delight.

She began to ride him—slow at first, unfolding her body in deliberate, regal movements, as if mocking the powerful character she had been **** to embody. She balanced one hand on his chest, the other threading the ridiculous wig away from her eyes, and started to bounce against him with increasing pace. The first few thrusts felt awkwardly dramatic, almost like amateur improv, but as Mr. Baker’s arousal grew so did his need to assert dominance over the narrative.

“Now, that’s how you mount a siege,” he grunted, camera phone shaking as he tried to keep her in frame. “God, you look even better than the real thing.”

“Pretty sure HBO never filmed this scene,” Leah muttered, panting, as she lifted herself nearly off him, then slammed down harder, deliberately exaggerating each bounce for the camera.

“Well,” he said, struggling for breath, “their loss is my gain. Fuck. You’re going to make me cum, aren’t you?”

“That’s the idea, right? I guess I'm a Dothraki CUM rider Aghgugh!” she snapped back amid her grunts from the effort of riding him mixed with the revolting pleasure of his cock inside her.

The rhythm intensified. Mr. Baker’s hand slipped beneath the dress and squeezed her bare ass then he handed her the camera.

“Here hold this steady.” He said shoving the camera into her hand before she could protest. She took it awkwardly as he used both hands to hold her hips and bring her down on him again and again. His hands gripped her waist tighter as he thrust upward to meet her downward grind. The cheap wig kept sliding over her face and Leah fought the urge to tear it off, instead using it as cover to hide flashes of her disgust and—occasional, shameful—arousal. The friction built between her legs, compelling enough to distract from the humiliation, and she found herself moaning in rhythm to their vulgar, nerdy porn.