Fruit Of The Vine

You didn't expect to spend the night this way. Sprawled in Daemon Targaryen's lap with Ormund Hightower's face between your thighs, but here you were, in the dimly lit club with bodies swirling around you. Lust palpable in the air. Desire seeping through every dripping pore. Who knew you would be the reason a temporary truce was proclaimed, bring the two powerful, controlling men to heel, and make them get along for five minutes? Ormund always said your pussy was a powerful little minx.

You made no secret of keeping both their companies. Daemon, with his alluring platinum hair and violet eyes, clad in Balenciaga, or when he was feeling more daring, would slide into Rick Owen's avant-garde designs. Ormund, with a red tint to his hair and piercing blue eyes, who preferred McQueen or Cucinelli. The two even had similar ear piercings: a golden hoop in Ormund's left ear and a Valyrian steel one in Daemon's right. Both men always dressed to the nines, except in the confines of their flats, where you witnessed them in buttery-soft loungewear. You loved to nestle in their soft t-shirts, curled against their sides while sipping some fancy beer, wine, or espresso.

Tonight, both men are bathed in Valentino in various shades of black, red, dark green, and gold, and the champagne flows like a waterfall. A thick golden chain dangles from Ormund's neck, gleaming in the dim light as his large golden ringed fingers slip up your thighs. Daemon presses the champagne flute to your lips, tipping the bubbling liquid down your throat, and some of it streams down to the corners of your mouth, which he eagerly licks away. Silver rings cling to his long, slender fingers, while one hand tangles in the hem of your dress, hiking it further up your hips to expose you to Ormund.

"I could smell you the minute you walked in," Ormund murmurs, kissing your damp inner thighs.

"No, you couldn't," you whisper, heat clinging to your cheeks as your lacy underwear is exposed.

"The man does have a particularly strong olfactory sense," Daemon hums in your ear before trailing his mouth over your neck. You wonder how much it killed him inside to compliment Ormund just then.

"No one can smell pussy across the room," you huff, and Ormund pinches your tender inner thighs before raking his short, manicured nails over the reddened spots.

"Stop overthinking it," he scolds, nuzzling his nose against the lacy crotch of your underwear.

"Mmm, he's right, just go back to being the dumb little whore you are and let us take care of you," Daemon purrs darkly in your ear.

All thoughts bleed from your head as you fumble for words. Daemon inches the thin strap of your dress down one shoulder, pulling the fabric down and exposing one breast. The cool air makes your nipple instantly harden. He licks his thumb before circling it over the stiff flesh while Ormund mouths you through the lacy fabric. You wonder if the intoxicated crowd has caught a glimpse of your almost woefully exposed body yet. It's a thrilling thought that made arousal pool through you, soaking your underwear further and making Ormund groan when he feels the wetness against his mouth even through the lacy fabric.

"Gods, you are a little whore tonight," he muses, lips twisting into an amused grin.

"When isn't she?" Daemon hums before pinching your nipple.

"Lift your hips, darling," Ormund instructs, and you obey, letting him slide the lace down your legs. He tosses the garment over his shoulder and landed on the blood red velvet banquette behind him. "There we go, good girl." He licks, nuzzles, and bites your inner thighs, leaving your lower half completely exposed.

Daemon's hand skims over your hip before letting his fingers stroke your damp pussy, making you writhe in his lap. You can feel his hard on pressing agaisnt the curve of your ass. Even Ormund's was visible against the lining of his designer trousers. Ormund lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, the heel of your red-bottomed shoe digging agaisnt his shoulder while you're spread open for him. Two of Daemon's fingers plunge inside, making you groan. He pumps them steadily for a few moments before withdrawing them, and Ormund closes the gap with his mouth.

Daemon's hand clamps over your mouth to muffle your wanton moans while Ormund's tongue dips inside you, feeling your walls flutter before he suckles gently on your damp flesh. Soon his attention turns toward your clit, tracing the sensitive bud with the tip of your tongue until you come, shaking in Daemon's lap. Ormund makes a show of sitting back and lewdly licking his glistening mouth clean. Dark chuckles vibrate through the air as they tumble from Daemon's mouth. He reaches under you to pull down his zipper and guide his cock out so fast and fluid that you barely realize until the tip of his cock presses against your dripping opening.

You whimper softly, lifting your hips and letting him guide you onto his cock until he's buried deep inside. Ormund stands in front of you, tugging down his fly and withdrawing his leaking cock. You shift forward and the angle makes Daemon's cock press perfectly against that sweet spot inside of you while Ormund taps his licking tip against your glossy lips. You're dizzy with lust as you part your mouth and draw him deep inside. Stuffed full of both men's cocks. It's intoxicating to be used like a little fuck toy, especially after a long week toiling away at work.

Your lips are stretched obscenely wide over Ormund's cock while Daemon's large hands take hold of your hips, guiding you into a rhythm. You close your eyes, letting them take control, and you sputter when you feel the warm gush leak down your throat. Salty, bitter, musky. Daemon's face presses against the back of your neck, his gentle panting spilling over your flesh, followed by a long groan as he comes inside you. You fall against Ormund's chest, momentarily exhausted.

Once their dicks are tucked away, the two men get to work, lifting you and using napkins to clean between your thighs. Ormund slips your underwear back on, and Daemon fixes your dress, making sure all your flesh is tucked away under the soft satin. You reached for a champagne flute, but Ormund pulls your hand away, tutting softly.

"Water for you," he says seriously, and Daemon places a fresh bottle in your hand. Blue and violet eyes fix intently on you as they watch you finish every drop.

"Champagne, please," you pout, reaching out your hand and batting your lashes.

"One more glass, then we are taking you home," Daemon says, before sliding the glass into your palm.

"Yes, daddy," you giggle teasingly, enjoying how the bubbles fizz over your tongue.

"Jesus, I didn't need to know that," Ormund complains, furrowing his brow.

"He likes it too," you wink at Daemon.

"Oh, I bet he does, the fucking repressed Hightowers are all secretly little perverts," Daemon sneers.

"While the Targaryens have their kinks spilled all over the tabloids," Ormund counters, ordering two glasses of whiskey.

Daemon laughs as he runs his fingers through his silvery-blonde hair.

"So whose place are we going to after this?" you ask curiously, downing the last of your champagne.

The two men exchange a look as the whiskey arrives, both taking a long swill as they contemplate the answer. Neither wants to let the other into their territory.

"Mine then. I have a flat in Highgarden," you reply.

"Interesting, I'm not paying for that one," Daemon says with amusement.

"Neither am I," Ormund quips.

You marinated in the jasmine scented bath, the delicate pearly petals floating in the balmy waters, while two handmaidens scrubbed under your nails and another brushed and oiled your hair. The dragon queen liked the sweet, sultry, musky smell that jasmine provided. She said she liked the way the fragrance danced on your skin, making her mouth water and her fangs yearn to sink into your flesh. Apparently, the taste of your blood matched the scent. Two of her trusted ladies had arrived in your private quarters earlier that morning to drain from your wrist. You felt half hypnotized as you watched the ruby liquid pool into the golden goblet, just enough to satiate Queen Rhaenyra in the morning to get her through her duties until she could gorge on you tonight.

It was a curse, or a blessing, passed down the Targaryen bloodline, diluted over the years. The conqueror siblings had the ability to transform into fully formed dragons, large beasts that made Westeros quiver, apart from the few brave houses who stood against them, but even they succumbed in the end. Except for Dorne, which slew Queen Rhaenys, shattering the gift passed down for generations through the matrilineal bloodline. After her death, their thirst for blood intensified while their transformations dwindled. Now they were mere changelings, with certain draconic features still evident. But now it was their blood thirst that kept the realm in line.

After your bath, you were wrapped in crimson silk, dainty golden chains decorating your ankles and wrists, and your damp hair twisted in elegant braids, sweeping away from your face. Rubies hugged your throat, fingers, and ears. The perfect little blood maid to serve up to the queen.

A sumptuous little feast was served before the dalliance, and you gorged on the best food King's Landing had to offer. Emulating the same gluttonous desire Queen Rhaenyra possessed. Roasted duck, tender bloody venison, sweet plums, and fennel salads, along with plump raspberries and juicy, red strawberries that left your fingertips and lips stained. The finest wine was served, a bold, rich red that went down smoothly and left a tart cherry aftertaste. After your stomach had some time to settle, two Queensguards escorted you to her chambers.

Dusk had just settled; a violet-blue hue bathed the once golden sky. Rhaenyra stood on the balcony, silver hair falling down her shoulders in a thick curtain that reached below the curve of her arse. In the dim light of the dying day, you caught a glimmer of her long, glassy nails. Sharp and strong as dragonglass. You had seen them slice through flesh with ease as scarlet welled beneath them. It was mesmerizing to watch her lick and suckle each one clean until not a drop remained. It was how the Hightower line was wiped out entirely. A vicious massacre for those who dared to usurp her throne. Her siblings stood at her side; five mouths a torrent of carmine, white fangs glistening as bodies twitched around the Iron Throne.

"Oh. You smell ravishing," she purred in that raspy, rich voice. "That taste of you this morning has made me salivate all day. She wore a long robe of black velvet, peeling it away when she turned to face you. Her pale, naked skin shone like a moonbeam, and her long, crimson tail curved around her left leg, hugging her calf tightly. Crimson wings remained folded against her bare back. Most of her skin was smooth and pale, apart from the small patches of crimson and black scales that clung to her right shoulder, left hip, and the small of her back just above her tail. She gave a slow roll of her neck, tendons cracking and popping. Her eyes took on an icy white hue, pupils tinged with red.

"Ready for you to devour, my queen," you purred, offering up a wrist.

Her fangs were delicate shards of pointed, sharp glass that pierced your skin easily. An ancient magic lingered in her salvia, a diluted venom that dulled the pain and caused an euphoric high to rush through you. It could be dangerous, causing the blood servants to chase the high to their detriment. To let themselves be torn apart and drained dry. If treated properly, blood servants could provide for years. Her three pronged tail swished through the air, diving under your scant silk dress and skimming over your cunt. You had been fucked with it, you had been whipped with it. The memory of Rhaenyra grazing her fangs over the welts she left on your arse came flooding through your mind, seeing it through her gaze as her thoughts melded into yours. Another side effect that servants suffered. The merging memories and shared mind.

Fully ensnared in her thrall.

Her forked tongue traced over the puncture marks, healing them quickly before ripping the silks from your body and lifting you onto the bed. It would never cease to amaze you how easily she could move and lift you, as if you weighed no more than a feather. Those sharp fangs pierced the swells of your breasts, matching scarlet streams leaked from the wounds, which she alternated lapping up. The curve of your hip and thigh was next, with deeper, ravenous bites this time. Old scars decorated these areas. They were meatier, allowing the beast inside her to come through. Those long, glassy nails raked down the curve of your stomach, leaving crimson slashes behind. Her tail wrapped around your neck while her wings slowly unfurled.

You hissed softly, waiting for her venom to dilute the pain. Very slowly, it seeped from your body until you felt as if you were wrapped in a floaty bliss. Bite marks soon covered your entire body, each wound bleeding shallowly, and her mouth drenched ruby red. She straddled your oozing thigh, rubbing her cunt over the slick blood. Eyes as white and glowing as the moon. She looked like a demon from the depths of the Seven Hells with those scaled wings stretched wide and the crimson horns now curving from her silvery scalp. Yet you yearned for her. Yearned for her to drain you until there was nothing left.

She rocked against your bloody thigh until she came, that pearly release mixing with your blood and making it shimmer like scattered rubies. Arousal clung between your thighs, nipples hard as rocks. You leaned forward, pressing your mouth to her full breast and suckling on her rosy nipple.

"Wait," she hissed, fisting her fingers in your hair and pulling you away. Those sharp nails grazed against your scalp, but didn't nick the skin. You watched with eager eyes as she sliced the top of her chest with one glassy nail, her blood pooling down her breast and coating her nipple. "Go on."

You pressed your mouth against her bloody nipple, suckling on her cold flesh and tepid blood. As a human, yours was warmer, which the zaldrīzesse preferred. They had tried feeding on only the bloodline over the years, and it did no good, causing most to grow sick and die out. Rhaenyra moaned, raking her nails through your hair.

"Which one do you want?" she cooed, one you broke free of her breast, mouth stained with her blood and the tart taste of cherries lingering on your tongue.

"The jade one, please."

You watched her naked body as she moved toward the chest with hieroglyphs carved over the top. Her tail slithered behind her, dragging over the stones like a slithering snake. She removed the jade phallus, thick and curved, with a bulbous tip, from the velvet pouch and returned to the bed, using your blood mixed with hers to coat it. Slippery with red. You lifted your hips, lining up with the shaft and sinking onto the phallus, moaning as it stretched you wide. She held the base, watching you with icy, hooded eyes as you fucked yourself on it. Sweat beaded on your temples and dripped down the back of your neck.

A squelch filled the air, and you trembled with a release. She slipped the soiled phallus from your cunt and replaced it with your mouth, gathering up your blood and come. That aqualine nose bumped against your swollen pearl, making you moan with delight as your wounds began to heal. Most likely from her blood that had filled your mouth moments earlier. Once she cleaned out your cunt, a lewd mix of blood and come smearing around her mouth, she wet a cloth to wipe you up with before studying the marks she had left.

"I'll have the maester tend to you in the morning. Two nights off, I think," she hummed, nails tickling over your naked skin.

"I don't want you feeding from another," you pouted. The jealousy thick and evident in your eyes.

"Oh, do not fret, little pet. Just a few drops here and there. I only wish to feed from you," she cooed, pulling you close against her naked body and wrapping her wings around you. That's where all her heat was kept, pulsing through her scaled wings. You tucked yourself close, nuzzling your face against her cold chest until the warmth of her wings enveloped you.