Missandei

You chose Missandei with a single nod.

She did not hesitate. The Naathi woman set her cup aside, unlaced the front of her gown, and let the fabric fall. Bare feet crossed the solar stones. She paused only long enough to look at you, eyes steady, before she walked out into the night and climbed the narrow stair to the battlements.

You followed at a distance, Margaery trailing behind still naked and marked by the day’s use. The three of you reached the high wall where Drogon waited. The dragon’s head swung toward Missandei the moment her scent reached him. A low, vibrating growl rolled out of his chest. His cock had already begun to emerge from its sheath, dark and ridged and impossibly thick, glistening with the same heat that pulsed through the bond.

Missandei stepped forward without flinching. She laid both hands on the hot black scales of his muzzle, then lower, along the powerful neck, until she stood between the great forelegs. Drogon lowered his belly to the stone. The movement presented the full length of him. Even half-hard the shaft was longer than she was tall, the head flared and heavy, the shaft thick enough that her fingers could not meet when she wrapped both hands around it.

She stroked him slowly. The dragon’s hips jerked. A thick, clear fluid welled from the slit and ran over her wrists. Missandei sank to her knees on the warm stone and opened her mouth. She licked the broad head, tongue working through the slippery fluid, then stretched her lips wide and took as much of the tip as she could. Her jaw strained. Spit ran down her chin. Drogon rumbled approval and pushed forward another inch, forcing her mouth open wider.

You watched from the edge of the battlement, one hand already between your own thighs. Margaery pressed close against your side, breathing hard.

Missandei pulled off with a wet gasp, strings of saliva connecting her lips to the flared head. She turned, presented herself on hands and knees, and reached back to spread her own cheeks. Her cunt was already wet from the day’s earlier use and the raw need rolling off the dragon. She looked over her shoulder at you once, seeking final permission. You gave it with a small motion of your hand.

Drogon mounted her with careful, crushing weight. The great head of his cock pressed against her entrance. For a long moment nothing happened. Then the flared tip began to push. Missandei’s mouth opened in a silent cry. Her cunt lips stretched obscenely around the intrusion, the dark flesh of the dragon’s cock forcing her open far beyond anything human. The head popped inside with a wet, filthy sound. She sobbed once, high and broken, then forced herself to push back.

Inch by thick inch he sank into her. Her belly bulged. The ridges along his shaft dragged against her inner walls, stretching her wider with every slow thrust. Spit and slick ran down her thighs in shining ropes. Drogon’s hips worked in short, careful strokes at first, each one burying more of the impossible length inside her. Missandei’s arms gave out. She dropped to her elbows, face against the stone, ass high, taking it. The wet slap of the dragon’s heavy sac against her spread cheeks filled the night air.

You stepped closer. Margaery followed. From this angle you could see everything: the way Missandei’s cunt was stretched into a thin, shiny ring around the dark shaft, the way her clit stood swollen and untouched, the way her stomach distended with every inward push. Drogon bottomed out as far as her body would allow. The remaining length of him still jutted out behind her, slick and throbbing. He held there, grinding, and Missandei came with a shattered scream, her release gushing around the massive intrusion in thick, clear pulses that ran down the dragon’s cock and pooled on the stone.

He did not stop. The thrusts grew longer, deeper, the wet sounds louder and more obscene. Each withdrawal pulled her cunt lips outward before the next stroke forced them wide again. Missandei’s voice broke into continuous broken moans. Her fingers clawed at the battlement. Her tits swung hard beneath her with every impact. Drogon’s pace increased. The bond between you flooded with raw, animal pleasure. You felt every ridge, every stretch, every filthy pulse as if it were your own body being opened.

When the dragon finally spent it was with a roar that shook the walls. Thick, hot ropes of seed flooded Missandei so hard her belly rounded further. The excess erupted around the seal of her stretched cunt in heavy white gushes, splattering the stone and her thighs. Drogon kept thrusting through it, forcing more into her until she was dripping and overfull, the mess running down her legs in continuous streams.

He pulled free with a wet, filthy sound. Missandei collapsed onto her side, legs still open, cunt gaping and overflowing, the stretched hole twitching and unable to close. Seed continued to leak from her in thick pulses. Her eyes were glassy, lips parted, body trembling through the aftershocks.

Drogon lowered his head and nuzzled her once, almost gentle, before settling his great bulk along the battlement with a final, satisfied rumble. The restless heat in the bond had eased.

You crouched beside Missandei and brushed sweat-soaked hair from her face. Her cunt still gaped, shiny and used, the evidence of the dragon’s relief glistening on the stone beneath her. Margaery knelt on her other side, staring with open hunger at the wrecked, stretched state of her.

Missandei looked up at you, voice hoarse but steady. “It is done, Khaleesi.”

The night wind moved over the three of you. Below, the captured town slept under your banners. Ahead, the road to the next city still waited. And on the high wall Missandei lay open and dripping, the first of your people to take the dragon’s need into her body and survive it.