Mamacita🌶️

Your husband cups your shoulder before addressing his brother. “We lie together often, Your Grace. A babe with the blood of the dragon won’t come a moment before it’s ready.”

The King guzzles his beverage. “You forget, brother, that we’re the blood of the dragon. If you’re really as devoted to babymaking as you claim, your spark should catch quickly. How long has it been? Four months? A season’s come and gone, and still she’s empty.” Metal clangs as his drained cup lands on the swords behind him.

Prince Aemond stares, danger thick in the air. “My bride’s body is perfect. I’ll not have you imply otherwise.”

“It’s not her I take issue with.” He swivels in his seat, boots finally meeting stone. Firelight dances off the crown atop his head. “My firstborn was sired in a week. Do you seriously expect me to believe you’re filling her womb properly?”

“I fill her plenty.” He’s totally still, save the fingertips tapping your shoulder. “What will it take for you to believe me?”

Aegon sighs dramatically. “Without witnessing the act myself, nothing short of a silver-haired babe from your wife’s cunt. Honestly… does it really matter which Targaryen puts heirs in her?” His gestures grow more animated. “Perhaps I’ll lend you my aid. I have no trouble keeping my wife stuffed full. No one would even know the difference. What’s bending a few rules when the Targaryen dynasty is at stake?”

Aemond leans into your space, lips brushing your ear. “Is my seed still where I left it inside you this morning?”

Heat pricks awake behind your navel. You nod. 

“Mm.” His fingers press into your arm. Warm breath wafts over your neck. “He’ll barely remember this tomorrow, but enough to get off our backs.” 

Electricity skitters from your gut to your groin like fingernails skimming skin.

“Come, wife. The King needs to see proof of consummation with his own eyes.” His hand trails down your spine, pressing at the base.

The steady weight at your back guides you up the dais steps until you’re close enough to touch the King.

“How quickly he works, now that he has the proper motivation!” Aegon mocks.

Aemond spins you around. Your stomach flutters with your back to Aegon. Are his eyes roving over every curve tucked under my skirts?

“Bow for your King. All the way, ābrazȳrys. Hands and knees.” Aemond’s voice is soft but firm. He helps you lower onto the cool stone. “Good girl.”

Palms planted two steps lower than your knees, your backside is angled upwards, presented to the Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Towering beside you, Aemond unfastens his sword holster. The heavy weapon clanks onto the melted swords at his feet. “Raise your skirts to your waist. Knees wide. Show the King your cunt.” A pause. “Don’t worry, he’ll love it.”

Aegon claps. “Oh, I do enjoy a good show.” 

Your skirts tremble as you move them. Aemond kneels behind you, smoothing them in long, slow strokes up your ass.

Cool air sweeps your exposed folds. Your heart hammers against your ribs.

A low whistle from the throne. “So much to admire. I’ll never tire of looking upon bare cunts. Especially royal ones.”

You survey the bare throne room as the one on the throne surveys you.

“You can look your fill after what comes next.” Aemond grasps your thighs. “I need to open you up a bit, love.”

Warm kisses blot your vulva. Gentle brushing on your bud. Your pulse skyrockets.

Broad, wet swipes along your slit. 

Swipe… swipe… swipe… 

Your clit swirled in rhythm. A hot tongue spiraling into your opening—teasing, stretching, coaxing.

Your breaths come heavier, blood racing to meet Aemond’s lips.

Hungry noises slip out of the mouth sampling you.

“As arousing as this is, I’m not sure what you’re hoping to prove with this little stunt. It takes more than a tongue to get a woman pregnant.”

Aegon is watching Aemond eat me out from behind! And, Seven Hells, he likes it—

“A tongue is how it starts, brother,” Aemond purrs.

Oh fuck— 

All thoughts melt away when his lips latch onto your swollen bundle of nerves. A moan stretches out of you. 

Aemond’s feasting turns feral. Deep suction on your pulsing nub. Nose grinding into your entrance. Vibrations groaned into your core.

Fire simmers your marrow—bubbling, sizzling. 

You’re speared open on a writhing slickness, driving inside.

Twin moans echo through the hall.

You’re impaled again—bigger, firmer, farther. 

Long fingers pumping… delving deep… curving… 

Leaving…

Your prince’s breaths come quickly. “This is from the load I gave her this morning.”

Aegon scoffs. “And what, exactly, am I looking at? That bit of creamy fluid proves nothing. There’s no way for me to know it came from you. For all I know, that could be her own arousal.”

Aemond growls. 

When you glance back at him, his face gleams in the torchlight with your combined slick. Chin to nose. Cheek to cheek. You yearn to lick it off his perfect jaw.

It ticks once. “Fine. Have your proof.”

Aemond holds your gaze captive in his, indulgently sucking his fingers clean, groaning deeply. “Tasting our flavors mingled inside you drives me to madness.”

Deft fingers rip at the laces of his trousers. His thick shaft springs free, tip flushed and weeping.

“Let’s show the King how well your pussy knows the shape of my cock.”

He grabs it firmly at the base and guides it to your throbbing entrance. Gripping one hip, Aemond grunts as his flushed skin meets your wet folds. He brushes himself up and down your wetness until he’s sopping. 

Your pussy clenches around air—insistent, desperate for more.

You and the King wait on the edge of a knife, but Aemond does not cede. Your prince sweeps the head of his cock back and forth against your clit. Seconds drag into long minutes as he leisurely rubs his hard length along your groove.

“Please let me have it—,” you pant, focus narrowed to the friction he suspends you in.

“Have what, jorrāelagon?” He drawls. “Princesses must be specific with their words.”

“Please give me your cock,” you whimper.

His voice lilts, taunting you. “But you already have it. Is that not my cock grinding against your lips as we speak?”

You whine, “I need your cock inside me, Aemond.”

He alters his angle, rubbing his slick length between your ass cheeks, head prodding your puckered hole.

You gasp, ass clenching. Your cunt throbs with need.

Your desperation pours out. “Please put your cock in my pussy! Breed me! My cunt needs your cock, Aemond. Please—I’ve been empty for hours. All I want is your cock where it belongs.” 

“Mmm.” Hungry. Pleased.

His next drag tilts suddenly, head catching in your opening. Every nerve lights up at the delicious stretch.

Aemond groans, long and deep. “Does this look like the wrong hole?” 

How does just the head feel so intense?

Cock barely breaching, he doesn’t move a muscle.

As quickly as it spiked, the shock of his entry starts to fade, bleeding into raw hunger.

This King’s voice announces his rapt enthusiasm. “No—that’s the right one. What are you waiting for? Thrust it deeper.”

“Are you always so hasty?” Aemond asks, tutting.

You swivel your hips—a silent plea for more sensation.

His shaft retreats just to sink back into you, pressing a little deeper. Each unhurried thrust drives farther into your channel, like he’s exploring each inch of your inner walls one at a time before claiming all of you.

When you’re finally full, he pauses. Every nerve ending is glued to the way you’re completely stretched open on his firm thickness. Just to feel how deep that hardness goes, you squeeze. 

Stars dot your vision.

Aemond hisses, then moans. “A perfect fit,” he grits out, “like a glove expertly tailored for me.”

Then your stomach drops.

He moves like a dragon’s tail during flight: smooth, precise, and completely sure of the path. The weight of his cock grinds against your slippery insides with every slow, confident pump.

Pleasure clouds the edges of your mind.

Aemond huffs. Voice smug, he says, “You never could resist a wet pussy, could you?”

Looking back, you find Aegon fixated on where you and Aemond are joined, one hand lazily jerking his rigid cock. 

Lightning zips down your spine, striking your stuffed cunt. Your teeth dent your lip as you stare at the effect you and Aemond have on the King. 

Aegon catches you staring at the swollen meat in his fist. His mouth slants. “Like what you see, Princess?” He keeps stroking. You keep watching. “How are you so soaked?”

Your pussy seems to gush louder around Aemond’s pumping shaft.

“My husband’s seed keeps me wet for hours. Plus, I love Aemond’s—,” you cut yourself off, turning away.

“Nuh uh uh,” he chastises, “out with it. Don’t be shy. Your King needs the truth.”

You chew your cheek, looking over your shoulder. “I love Aemond’s cock.”

Aegon grins. “There’s a good girl. And how often does he put it in you?”

Your eyes dart to Aemond’s face. A cocky smirk perches on his lips. He snaps his hips harder, as if to remind you.

Your toes curl. As if I need reminding. 

Gods, that morning wood. Harder than sapphire. Every. Fucking. Dawn.

“Every morning and most nights, Your Grace.”

Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. “And which hole does he use?”

Heat races up your neck as memories pour in from every angle. “…Whichever he pleases.”

Aegon groans, hand pistoning faster. “And do you like that?”

Your eyes flit to your husband’s.

Candlelight and lightning casting obscene shadows of our tangled bodies… My hands clawing into his hair as he rocks into me in the place I thought I’d never enjoy... Screaming so hard Ser Criston thinks something’s amiss... Dozing off curled against Aemond’s solid chest in the bath afterward…

“Yes. Very much. He can have me any way he likes.”

“Mnh.” A savage thrust.

Aemond likes my answer.

“Fuck,” Aegon whines, jealousy pinching his face as he glances at his brother. “How often does he cum inside your pussy?”

The slow, relentless push and pull of Aemond’s shaft makes keeping your mind focused on Aegon’s questions a struggle. “Most days. Sometimes multiple times.”

His demeanor sharpens. “Are you lying to your King?”

Your reply is instant. “No! I had to acquire more smallclothes after our wedding because they get drenched so often.”

Aemond sighs. “If I’d known this demonstration was going to turn into an interrogation of my wife—”

“So maybe it isn’t an issue of filling her,” Aegon interrupts. “Maybe your cock is broken. I bet she just needs some real Targaryen fire.”

Aemond’s hands press harder into your hips, dragging you back onto his driving shaft. “Keep your dirty cock away from my wife’s perfect pussy,” his voice cuts like a blade, “I’m more than capable of fathering an heir.”

“Hmph. Fine, I’ll take pity on you.” You look back in time to see him cup his balls with his free hand. “You have two months to successfully breed her before the crown intervenes.”

Are they really arguing during sex? Targaryens are truly of different stock…

“I’ll make sure that’s not necessary. I’ll redouble my efforts. Three breeding sessions a day. And every drop of my cum will spill into her cunt.”

Your insides clench at the implications of your husband’s sex plan. His cock feeding your pussy three square meals a day… 

I’ll gladly get skewered morning, noon, and night.

“Fantastic. And when that doesn’t work, I’ll put my cock to work. Maybe I’ll make you thank me on your knees for providing you with an heir.” Footsteps sound, then a hand grips your jaw, tilting upwards. 

Aegon’s cock is within licking distance. You barely pry your eyes off of it to meet the King’s gaze. “Tell me, sweet girl. How would you feel about a prince and a King fucking you at the same time?”

Aemond’s grip tightens, crushing into muscle.

Flame erupts under your skin, burning away every inhibition. 

Take me straight to the Seventh Hell.

“I’d be honored to receive two Targaryen cocks at once, Your Grace.” Saliva pools on your tongue.

“Such polite words for such depraved behavior…” He smirks. “Open your mouth. Your throat can have a preview of what your cunt will feel when I need to breed you.”

Your lips part, tongue darting out to meet the tip already moving towards you. You lick and swirl. King Aegon tastes like salt and sin.

“Show me how you suck my brother off.”

He only allows a few exploratory licks before he’s pushing his shaft past your lips—insistent. “Aemond, don’t take your eyes off my cock. Your King commands it.”

Aegon quickly fills your mouth, tip meeting resistance when it nudges your tonsils. He thrusts a few times, hard length gliding against your tongue. 

You open for him, allowing him deeper access.

Aegon moans, long and loud. “Good girl. What an eager little mouth.” 

Thrust, thrust, thrust. “Brother, why have you never mentioned how good a cocksucker your wife is? Now I don’t have to wonder why you want fuck these sweet little holes every day. I can feel exactly what you feel.”

Aemond wraps his hands around your ass cheeks and squeezes. “Yes, she’s simply divine. As her husband, I get to experience all of her every single day. You wouldn’t believe how eager she is to see me each morning.”

They’re playing tug-of-war, and your body is the rope. With every push and pull of their cocks and each volley of words, the coil deep in your gut winds tighter. 

“Your mouth feels so good puckered around my cock, darling. The way your lips… your cheeks… your tongue… all slide against my shaft. Truly a hole made to be fucked by royalty.” Aegon engulfs both cheeks in his palms. “What a minx. A prince AND a King. By the Gods—who’s next?!”

Aemond chuckles darkly. “If you think this is peak pleasure, you’d be dumbfounded by the end of a lazy afternoon with her.”

Aegon pauses with the tip of his dick resting on your lower lip. “Here—wear my crown while I fuck your mouth. We can all pretend you’re my Queen today.” He places it on your head. Its weight settles into your hair. “Look at you. You have the King’s crown on your head, the King’s cock in your mouth… Next you’ll have the King’s bastard in your womb.” He grins wide, full teeth. “But for now, I’ll breed this tight little throat.”

His quick, chaotic pace wrestles with Aemond’s aching, inevitable grind. Your hips yanked in one direction, your shoulders jerked in another. Competing rhythms collide in your navel.

Prince Aemond’s voice is dangerously quiet, like the slice of a knife in the night. “There are other ways for her to become Queen.”

Aegon barks a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Tell me, little brother, did you grow hot with jealousy when your wife agreed to take my cock so quickly?”

Your thigh muscles tense, every cell learning what it means to blaze. Aegon burns loud and fast, but Aemond smolders deep and slow. Both paths lead to incineration.

“On the contrary. My cock swelled larger with pride at her courtly intelligence. She knows better than to refuse a King.”

Aegon’s rhythm stutters. He pulls out with a pop. Saliva strings from your lips to his engorged arousal.

“So the monster calls me monstrous.” He throws his head back and cackles. Then he’s gripping your hair firmly by the root. “Tell me. Does my violent little brother ever get rough with you, dear? Ever fuck your face until you cry? Ram his cock so far down your throat your nose presses into his flat abs?”

Your husband chuckles under his breath, muttering, “ñuha sȳz riña.” He ratchets up his rhythm. 

“I—,” windpipe sore, shame clawing at your chest, you struggle to form words.

“Speak up, Princess,” Aegon says, “or has my dick stunned you into silence?”

You swallow. “I ask him to.”

His eyebrows shoot up, head whipping to his brother. “Wow—where did you find her? A lady who wants to play with villains…” He kneels suddenly, eyes at your level. “And do you wish to play like that with me? I ask not as King Aegon, but Aegon the man.”

“Yes. Please.”

He’s up in a flash, thumb pressing your lips apart. His thumb and shaft shove into your mouth at once, every movement rougher than before. He plunges deep with hard, wild strokes.

Aemond reaches around to toy with your clit, nimble fingers circling their target. It electrifies every internal graze of hard cock on soft tissue, connecting your holes with a live wire zinging down your spine.

Aegon stuffs his fat length ferociously down your throat. Every feral thrust jostles you from sinuses to tits. Your eyes prick with wetness.

“I love to watch gorgeous eyes shine with tears over my dick. Love when it’s totally hidden from view—because it’s stuffed inside a beautiful woman. Love when my cock controls when she’ll take her next breath.”

Your oral passage surrenders, obscene noises emanating from where he impales you. “That’s it, choke on your brother-in-law’s cock. Gag on the king. Want you spasming around my cock before I let you taste the air again.”

You feel your heartbeat drumming in your pussy, contracting around Aemond while you twitch around his brother.

Desire fogs your brain—thoughts sluggish, body taking over.

The King barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s spearing you again, spreading his fingers into a necklace around your throat—not hurting, just holding. “Want to feel my cock prodding my palm through your neck.”

Your pussy, your throat, your clit—they throb in tandem. Every sensation blurs into one—a molten, boiling volcano threatening to spill over.

“See, I can’t even tell if you’re sobbing or moaning with your mouth all full of the King’s cock. But I don’t care either way. It feels fucking fantastic.”

Liquid streams down your cheeks and your thighs.

“Watch your wife blow me, Aemond. Watch the way my cock disappears behind her lips. Watch me fuck the throat you thought was yours.”

His fingers whirl faster around your clit. “I’ve been watching. Excuse my boredom, Your Grace. Your technique lacks variety.”

“It is not my technique that matters, but hers. Take notes in case you need to thank my cock for giving you an heir.” The King leans in towards his brother. “You’ll have a front row seat when I breed your wife. When I claim her cunt. Enjoy your sole possession of that hole while it lasts. Won’t be long before I own that one, too.”

Heat shoots through every vein—two dragons burning themselves up inside you to see which one can survive the fire.

Sweat dampens the small of your back.

Aemond slowly drags his hand from your nape to your tailbone. “You think yourself clever, but you’ll never experience all the pleasures of her body like I do. You’ve not the patience for it. Gratification is sweeter the longer you anticipate its arrival.”

Aegon pumps into you faster. “Her body’s not the only pleasure I want. Once I’ve dumped my cum inside her, you’ll lick me clean to show your gratitude. You’ll suck your wife’s juices off my softening cock.”

“That won’t be necessary. Perhaps I’ll sire an heir into her womb right here in the throne room.” He drives his throbbing shaft into you harder until his thighs clap your ass with each jerk of his hips.

King Aegon raises his voice to speak over the noise, steamrolling right over his brother. “Then, I’ll jerk my cock off in your mouth while my seed is taking root in your wife’s womb. Perhaps if you’re a good boy, I’ll shoot my second load down your throat.”

The weight of Aemond’s body shifts forward, hovering over your back. His voice is close behind you. “If you want my mouth on you so badly, you could just ask. No need to invent elaborate ruses.” 

His new angle rubs that perfect spot inside you. Aemond’s targeting your clit from both sides. 

Heat and friction melt everything else. Brain silent, body roaring. 

You’re suspended—your whole world teetering on their pounding cocks. 

“It’s not your mouth I yearn for, baby brother—it’s your discomfort. I want to see the ire in your eye as you realize I’m King, you’re not, and you must serve me. Even against your will.” His fingers thread into your hair, hooking deep.

“Is this your attempt at enraging me?” As cool and smooth as ice.

The King’s cackle erupts out of him. “Careful, brother. Or I might proclaim you the Royal Cocksucker so you’ll spend your days on your knees with my cock in your mouth.” 

Aemond squeezes your hip twice in quick succession. “It’s best to tune him out when he gets like this, ñuha jorrāelagon,” he murmurs, “he must have fallen into his cups. You’re probably the only reason he can even keep it up.”

Aegon jams himself into you more quickly with every thought he utters. “—spend your days on a cushion under the small council table at my feet. I’ll announce your title to the city and hold a public demonstration in the throne room so the people might see your position. Perhaps I’ll persuade a Dornish nobleman to make a favorable agreement once he’s been softened by your throat.”

“Are you finished?”

He throws his head back, shouting to the ceiling, “You’ll be the crown’s prized whore.” His gaze snaps to his brother, leaning into his space. “What price do you think a prince’s mouth fetches?” Aegon’s eyes are wide—crazed. “What about one as pretty as you?” He stretches out his arm and cups Aemond’s jaw. “Probably not as much as your virgin asshole.”

“Mittys. Go ahead and get off on what you think is power.” Aemond snatches Aegon’s wrist. “But you should know—I love to take it up the ass.”

Your core pulls tighter—a drawn bowstring primed to strike.

Aemond peering up at me, face relaxed in full trust, eyes half-lidded with lust… Firelight gleaming off the glass dildo as I slide it in and out of his puckered hole… Silver hair swaying, rock-hard cock bouncing as he whimpers, “More”... His teeth indenting my skin as convulsions shudder through his frame… Petting his hair with his head in my lap…

You moan into the thick pillar of flesh wedged down your throat. 

Aegon’s thrusts turn jagged—chaotic. Breathless, “Sounds like Aemond will be depriving this sweet mouth its share of cum. I’ll fill it up instead.”

Your heart is kicking. Pores leaking. Calves twitching. 

“Face against my stomach,” he grits out, cock pressing down, down down—until your nose flattens. “Swallow it all. The next time, it will be your womb that swallows.”

Hot cum strikes your tonsils.

Your arms shake.

The King’s moan reverberates through the throne room.

Aemond’s hand and cock beat together. He plays a song—your body his instrument. Snares you in his rhythm.

Flames spout from your center, scorching flesh, blood, and bone.

Thighs whip against your ass. Cum slides down your throat. Your clit pulsates.

Cocks plunge into your holes.

Every muscle siezes.

Time drags.

No thoughts.

Just skin.

Dragon-hot.

In.

Out. 

In.

Out.

“Breed her full while you have the chance.”

In.

Out.

“Let the King see who you cum for. Show him our daily routine. Prove you can milk every drop out of my cock.”

You shatter.

Your pussy clamps on his shaft.

Every nerve combusts.

The second cock jerks.

Hot cum floods.

Aemond’s groan is dragged out of his soul. “Ñuhyz jaehossa!”

Your hearing dims.

Cocks lurching.

Cunt gulping.

You flutter.

They twitch.

Floating.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Heavy breaths.

A kiss on your spine.

The mouth cock retreats.

Your husband’s voice. “Let our consummation never again be in doubt.”

Footsteps. “Pull out so I can inspect your work.”

He slowly slides out. You groan together.

“Spread her cheeks apart so I can see clearly.”

Aemond’s warm hands gently part your curves. Totally exposed.

“Now there’s a hole fit for a King.” A pleased sound. “Engorged. Drenched. But where’s the cum?”

FUCK!

Fingers cinch your clit. Your fried nerves scream. You shriek.

“So responsive to my touch…” He taunts. “Everything back here just clenched.”

He hums a tune, as if bored with waiting. “Ah. There’s what I’m looking for. Aemond’s cum dripping out of this sensitive little hole.”

Your prince's voice is flat. “There’s your proof.”

“You know, brother, it looks exactly like what you showed me earlier. Pity I didn’t believe you.”

“Qubroti jās. We’re finished here.”

“Oh no, we’re not.” Aegon drags his fingers through your swollen, aching folds. “Can’t have any of it escaping, can we?”

You gasp as his digits sink deep into your raw pussy. He pulls them back just to shove them back inside. He plunges them in and out. “Get a load of that! You could hear this sloppy cunt from the dragonpit.”

You squeal.

Aemond’s voice cuts. “You’ve had your fun, Aegon. That’s enough.”

“She just took two cocks at once, she can handle a couple fingers fucking the cum back into her.” He drives them faster. “Really, I’m doing you a favor—helping make sure your seed roots into her womb.” A grunt. “Gods, still so tight even after Aemond’s had his way with you. Can’t wait to feel this pussy wrapped around my cock. Don’t worry, my cock will stretch you out better than his.”

You squirm against the overwhelming sensations. “Please, Your Grace…”

The pumping slows. “Ooh, I just love it when you beg.” His hand exits. “This pussy and I have a playdate.”

Relief sighs through your chest. 

The men shuffle out from behind you. You shift, sitting back, rubbing feeling into your wrists.

King Aegon shoves his smeared hand in Aemond’s face. “Suck your mess off my fingers, brother.”

Aemond stares. No one moves—breath held. His fingers twitch towards the dagger strapped to his thigh. 

He leans forward and opens his mouth, taking the digits in as far as they’ll go. His lips close, and he slowly draws back.

“Your lips look so pretty wrapped around me. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The prince says nothing. Just stuffs his cock back in his trousers and turns to help you stand up. 

Your husband doesn’t let go of you until you’re steady on your feet. 

Aegon sweeps in and kisses you straight on the mouth. He laughs. “My lips can’t be worse than my dick.” 

They taste like wine and damnation.

“Your turn, brother.” Aegon smirks. “She just went through a lot. We must make sure she knows we care for her. That she’s not just a set of holes for us to use.”

Aemond’s glare is pregnant with violence. 

He drinks in your gaze. Grips your jaw. Kisses you fervently, tongue roving over yours again and again until you forget where you stand.

The King whistles low. “Wow, you must love the flavor my cock left on your wife’s tongue. Practically sucked the remnants of my cum out of her mouth. I’d be happy to feed you your own portion.”

“That had nothing to do with you, jaos. I was simply showing my wife how deep my love is for her.” Aemond palms his sword, unsheathing it partway in his brother’s direction. King Aegon stumbles back, ending up three steps below Prince Aemond on the dais. 

Aemond drags his thumb along the flat side of the sword, never taking his eye off the reflective metal. “Do you wish to sire my heir more than you want the protection offered by Vaghar and her rider?”

Once sheathed, he takes his time fastening it to his hips. Plays with the pommel. Looks down at the King on his own dais. “You might want to consult your brain before committing to this farce.”

You clasp Aemond’s hand in yours.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps you knowing I can own your wife’s cunt whenever it pleases me is enough. Perhaps haunting your every coupling suits me better.”

With your free hand, you grab the chain strung across Aegon’s chest, tugging him firmly down to your level. You place a chaste kiss on his cheek. Your voice doesn’t waver:

“Thank you for the entertainment, Your Grace. I’ll send for you if I decide another demonstration is required.”

High Valyrian Glossary: ābrazȳrys = wife ñuha jorrāelagon = my love ñuha sȳz riña = my good girl mittys = idiot ñuhyz jaehossa = my gods qubroti jās = fuck off jaos = dog

Need more Targaryen smut?

“What if I say ‘yes’?” Aemond asks, “Then I'd have your head for that.” Aegon smiles which makes Aemond shift uncomfortably in his seat, “Come on! I was kidding, do you really think I'd kill my own blood-related brother over a woman?” Aegon laughs loudly and Aemond sighs but he furrows his brows, “She is your wife.” Aemond states sternly, but Aegon shrugs, “And you are my brother.” He replies.

Aemond lets out another heavy sigh, hoping that he'd escape this situation he'd somehow gotten into, “So?” Aegon pushes further, poking at Aemond to answer the question and Aemond hums in irritance before being fed up and answering Aegon's question. “Yes, I do fancy your wife.” He admits, slightly ashamed.

Aemond was a man of the faith, believing in the faith of the seven, and according to the scripture, desiring a woman is a carnal sin, diabolical if she's a married woman, abysmal if she's your own brother's wife.

But Aemond couldn't help it, it's as if though the gods were testing him, not only were you pleasant on the eye but you were also very polite and had the same interests as him, and most probably the only woman — besides his sister — who was not disgusted after seeing his injury.

He knew he had to stop developing an interest towards you once he found out that you were being married to Aegon, but for some inexplicable reason; that only made him want you more, perhaps it was the label of you being ‘forbidden’ that enticed him further, making him yearn to get the taste of the forbidden fruit more than ever.

How he had wished that it was him instead, the one getting married to you, he wished it was he who fucked you, he wished it was him who got you pregnant, he wished it was his babe you waddled all around the red keep with, he wished it was his child that you had given birth to.

But those were nothing more than just wishes, wishes that would never come true, unless a miracle happens.

“That wasn't hard now was it?” Aegon's voice snaps Aemond out of his train of thoughts and Aemond simply hums, “Why did you ask such a question?” Aemond inquires curiously and Aegon smirks at him, “I may not be sober most of the time but the way you stare at her doesn't go unnoticed, your desire burns deep for her doesn't it? I've especially taken note of it when she was pregnant with my child, your eye never left her womb.” He answers and Aemond rolls his eye.

The atmosphere is filled with silence once again as Aemond continues to silently read his book.

“I would've let you fuck her if you had asked me to.” that statement which left Aegon's mouth made Aemond choke on his spit as he stared at him wide eyed, shocked at what he had just said, “Pardon?” Aemond gazes at Aegon confusedly, and Aegon gets a thrill out of this, watching his brother be flustered.

“I said what I said, you could've just told me so, you're my brother Aemond, how do you think I will ever turn any of your requests down?” Aegon says it so casually, as if he was giving an item that belonged to him which Aemond had always wanted so badly, except you weren't an item or an object.

Aemond remains silent, unable to talk because of how baffled he was, but Aegon pressed on, “Don't you wanna feel her cunt around your cock?” This makes Aemond slam his book down and get up, and Aegon raises his hands in surrender, “It was merely an offer, I wouldn't mind sharing her with you, we've shared whores before.” Aegon tries justifying his reasoning and Aemond scoffs, “But she is no whore, she is your wife, you should treat her with respect.” he replies agitated.

“Enough with the sterness, reply plainly, do you want to fuck her or no? I won't ever bring it up ever again if you say no, we'll pretend we never had this conversation.” Aegon sighs before raising his eyebrow.

Aemond swallows thickly, should he take this chance? He always yearned for you so badly, it's like the opportunity presented itself; he could seize it, but he was in a dilemma, not wanting you to face such disrespect, your self respect will be obliterated to pieces, you'd be drowning in self shame.

You were a very dignified lady, a woman who carried herself confidently no matter what, this is why you weren't even affected when Aegon still visited the brothels. As long as the word didn't get out, you were fine with it. You simply did your duty as a wife and a mother. He couldn't imagine you allowing him to fuck you and ruin your honour.

“Decide fast brother, I have to leave soon, it's been a while since I laid with my wife, the maesters had told me to give her a break for a minimum of six weeks, yet eight weeks have passed, my cock craves her cunt so desperately.” Aegon speaks explicitly, and Aemond's breath hitches in his throat, imagining what your cunt would be like. “Then why do you visit the brothels if you seem to like her so much?” He questions, trying to change topics, “That's cause she can't satiate my depravities, otherwise I wouldn't even be visiting those wenches anymore.” Aegon talks as though it was a minor inconvenience.

“Either way, decide quickly.” Aegon urges and Aemond swallows.

He opens his mouths to reject it, but for some odd reasons his mind forms a explicit thought of burying his cock inside your cunt which causes his cock to stir slightly, the blood flowing to it at the mere thought of fucking you.

‘No Aemond, she is your sister in law, your brother's wife, you cannot let this desire succumb you.’

‘But didn't you want this for a long time? Imagine how her cunt would weep when you'd shove your cock into it hm? Her breasts bouncing up and down while you thrust into her.’

He swallows thickly, those internal arguments happening in the span of seconds before he has had enough and made up his mind.

“Yes, I want to fuck her.”

The babe in your arms cooed as you rocked him gently — caressing his chubby cheeks with your thumb as he slowly fell asleep due to your movements, “He's cute isn't he?” You ask the servant that was in charge of him and she nodded, smiling at you.

“Yes princess, the more he grows, the more he resembles his father, Prince Aegon.” She gives her commentary and you give her a small smile and slightly nod your head. The babe finally closes its eyes, going into slumber and you chuckle at his cuteness, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, just then, the door the nursery opens which reveals ser criston cole.

You were confused as to why the kingsguard was here himself, “Prince Aegon has sent me in search for you, he is calling you to his chambers.” Those words were enough to clarify the situation. He wanted to lay with you, “I'll be there in a minute.” you reply and he nods, you give the babe to the servant before smoothening your dress, and leaving the nursery.

You reach your martial chambers quickly, you turn around to thank Cole and dismiss him, you then open the door to the chambers and shut them just as quickly, taking a deep breath before turning around and venturing deeper into the room.

You spot Aegon sitting in his chair, but what was odd was that he was accompanied by Aemond, who you've meet occasionally and had nothing but a positive opinion on about, you were confused on what he was doing here.

Maybe Aegon did not want to lay with you? Maybe Aegon was trying to get closer to his brother for having a bond of a family? You knew how strongly bonded these brothers are, especially since after whatever happened at driftmark, so it wouldn't be weird to assume that Aegon is trying to get you and Aemond to become good friends.

“Ah, wife.” Aegon gets up from his chair, coming over to hug you, and you return it awkwardly, knowing that Aemond is in the same room, Aegon chuckles at your awkwardness. He quickly gets behind you, pushing you forward until you're right in front of Aemond who stares at you from below, all the while Aegon nuzzles his face into your neck.

You're confused not knowing what's happening, “Brother, undo her front laces.” Aegon commands and you furrow your brows immediately, baffled at how Aegon was behaving, perhaps he had drunk too much? You felt bad for Aemond, probably stuck in this unwanted situation, you try to give him an escape route but you are surprised when his warm knuckles graze against your collarbones as his fingers hook underneath your laces, beginning to pull them apart.

You were perplexed by his actions, not knowing what to do, you grip his arm from further undoing the laces but Aegon forcefully pulls your hands back, holding both of them behind you as Aemond pulls off the corset.

You were wearing a dress with no sleeves, but that did not mean you went completely shoulderless, your shift and chemise beneath you acted as the sleeve’s replacement, so when Aemond undoes the laces that were holding your long gown up, it immediately plummets to the floor, leaving you in your chemise.

Aegon nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck from behind, taking in your scent while placing small kisses on your shoulder, still not letting go of your hands, “Darling, I hope you don't mind Aemond joining us today, he had admitted to me that he fancies you, and as his older brother, it is in my responsibility that i take care of my brothers needs.” Aegon coos into your ear and you bite your lip, you are about to respond but you are interrupted by your own gasp when you feel Aemond caress your breasts, squeezing the flesh and playing with them.

“I'm afraid— I don't understand?.” You reply confusedly, staring at Aemond play with the mounds of your breasts, and Aegon chuckles into your ear pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear, “I'm simply allowing him to wet his dick inside your cunt.” Aegon puts it plainly, making you bite your lip in shame; all the while Aemond's hand slowly travels up your thigh, underneath your chemise, before it disappears inside; reaching your core.

You squeal when you feel him pinch your clit before he stroked small circles onto it.

“W-why?” You question, trying to free your hands from Aegon's grip but he doesn't budge, but instead watches with amusement as his brother's hand brings out such reactions from you, you whimper as Aemond's finger travels down your slit and to your opening.

“It's my duty as his older brother.” Aegon replies nonchalantly, Aegon loosens his grip momentarily, changing his grip so he can hold both of your hands in one of his. His free hand lifts your chemise up, as he peeks from over your shoulder to see what his brother's hand was doing to your cunt, he chuckles mockingly when he sees your juices dripping from in between your legs.

“Look at her leaking yeah? Her cunt is literally weeping.” Aegon comments and you clench your eyes shut because of the humiliation you are feeling, your husband is parading you out like a whore for his younger brother, and Aemond— whom you've thought of so highly— is letting this happen while participating in the act.

You gasp when you feel one of Aemond's finger enter you, your walls tightly clamping around his finger which makes him grunt, “Fuck you're squeezing my fingers.” He breathlessly says. Aemond suckles on your neck, biting your sensitive spot which makes you whimper. Aegon finally lets go of your hands and then holds you by your waist before rubbing his cock against your ass.

Aemond's finger trail over the spongy spot inside of you, that makes you let out a moan and he takes note of this and presses against that area that causes you to tremble in pleasure, your hands fly up to his shoulders to balance yourself, though you knew you wouldn't fall, Aegon was holding from behind after all.

You were trapped between these two men, both of them peppering kisses on the opposite sides of your neck making you feel dizzy so you rest your head on Aegon’s shoulder, revealing more of your neck for the men to claim.

Aemond adds another finger inside you, stretching you out whilst providing you pleasure, his fingers skillfully grazing your spongy spot, constantly hitting it with precision.

You didn't even feel your peak approaching; it was ripped out of you so suddenly, you let out a loud moan of Aemond's name, clenching onto his shoulders extremely tightly, tears streaming down your cheeks at the intensity of your peak. Aegon's warm tongue glides over your face, collecting your tears on his tongue and licking at them.

You feel Aemond pull his fingers out of you, and you watch with hooded eyes as he puts them in his mouth, licking your essence up before he hums in delight, before pressing a kiss to your lips, making you taste yourself.

You are surprised when you are pulled away from him by Aegon, he lifts you up hurriedly and carries you over to the bed before harshly throwing you on it, he is quick to undress, taking off his breeches and undergarments, getting completely naked and harshly grabs your ankle, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

His hands rip apart your chemise in a hurry, before he forcefully spreads apart your legs and positions himself in between, he gives you no warning before roughly shoving himself inside you, that make you slightly shriek in pain but eventually the pain fades, he moves in and out of you fast paced, ramming into your hole with such an intensity that it has you seeing stars.

“Are you jealous?” Aemond taunts Aegon and Aegon rolls his eyes, “No, I just couldn't hold back anymore, I've missed her cunt so much.” He replies to the taunt and Aemond chuckles, undoing his own breeches, freeing his cock from its confines. “Can I use her mouth?” He asks Aegon and Aegon grunts, “Do whatever the fuck you want with her.” he thrusts brutally into you.

You feel the space next to your head sink and you look over slightly only to be face to face with Aemond's cock, it forms a shadow over your face under the candle lights, you gasp when you see it physically throb. You've never seen that before.

He uses that slight opening as a chance, hooking his thumb in your mouth and spreading your mouth open before pushing his cock inside your mouth, you are taken aback by this and try to pull away but Aemond holds your head in place before shoving himself inside your mouth further, his tip caresses the back of your throat, which makes you gag on his cock, but that only further provides additional pleasure as he groans.

“Seven hells—” Aemond grumbles, his hand hold your hand as he thrusts into your mouth, thumb caressing the outline of his cock that forms in your throat when he pushes as the way, your eyes well up with tears and soon you're panting for air that makes you involuntarily suck on his cock, Aegon's thrusts from downwards make your body jolt upwards, taking more of Aemond's cock.

Aemond suddenly pulls out which makes you suck a sharp breath automatically, “Easy there sweetheart.” Aemond coos and you pant heavily staring at him with doe eyes, “I'll shove it once again alright? Breathe— through your nose— fuckkk.” Aemond instructs as he shoves his dick inside your mouth again, but this time you're prepared so you follow his instructions.

You hollow your cheeks which makes him grunt in satisfaction, “Good girl.” Aemond compliments you, which causes your cunt to clench around Aegon's cock, to which he responds by a chuckle, “Guess she liked that brother, she's squeezing the fuck out of me.” Aegon talks to his brother and Aemond hums in response, Aegon's thrusts speed up, that constantly hit your sweet spot, he bends forwards and takes one of your breast in your mouth, suckling on the nipple and soon– beads of white droplets begin to come out, directly into his mouth that makes him suck more harshly, enjoying the taste of your sweet milk.

“She's lactating? Fuck I wanna have a taste.” Aemond moans, noticing how the milk started to drip from the sides of Aegon's mouth.

Aegon's tip constantly caresses your spongy part, which causes something to tighten in your stomach before it eventually snaps, causing you to cry out in ecstasy and choke on Aemond's dick.

The sensation of your throat tightening around his cock makes Aemond finish as well, he shoots his load down your throat which you have no option but to swallow, and soon— Aegon is finishing inside, painting your inner walls white.

He pulls out immediately after, falling forward onto you and positioning you in such a way that he is able to suckle more, Aemond joins him soon after; shuffling and turning down to take your free breast into his mouth.

You couldn't help but whine as the two brothers suckled on each of your breasts, your recent high made you even more susceptible to sensitivity, yet you couldn't help but caress their heads gently, Aemond clamped his teeth down on to your nipple hardly which made you wince; but he later soothed the area with the wetness of his tongue. Aegon on the other hand was more careful to not graze his teeth against your sensitive buds, only using his tongue and swirling it around your swollen bud.

Aemond let's go with a wet pop, cleaning up the milk and sat up straight before tugging you, this displeased Aegon who wasn't done yet, but he had to let go, Aegon watches as Aemond settles in between your legs before he crawls down, by then Aegon had already caught on to what he was doing, and assisted him by holding you against his chest, your back pressed against him tightly, meanwhile you on the other hand; had no idea what Aemond was about to do.

“Aemond what are you— huh? Ahhh!—” You ended up squealing in surprise when you felt him place his wet tongue on your clit— you tried to shut your legs from the embarrassment but Aegon held them open— so you could only watch helplessly as Aemond gave kitten licks to your clit, which undoubtedly made you feel pleasure.

He licked a long stripe from your hole to your clit before fully engulfing it in his mouth, sucking on the flesh as if he's starving, Aegon's cock is already beginning to harden again as he witnessed such a depraved act.

Aemond groaned when he felt Aegon's seed in his mouth — which he sucked out of you — but he didn't let it stop from devouring you, his tongue licked through your folds before he sucked on your clit and let go of it with a pop before repeating the motion all over again, you unknowingly pushed his face further into your cunt, which made him moan knowing how desperate you were for him, the moan caused additional vibrations which sent pleasure through your body in waves.

You rested your head on Aegon's shoulder as you watched Aemond continue his ministrations, Aegon turned your head slightly before he connected his lips with yours and you moaned into the kiss.

The familiar feeling of the tightness began to form in your stomach again and you break the kiss with Aegon and start to hump Aemond's face involuntarily; trying to just desperately reach your high.

“You're such a fucking whore do you know that? You look so desperate humping your face against his face.” Aegon coos meanly into your ear and you whine, staring at him with teary eyes and he smirks meanly, pulling your hair harshly, “Whore.” He degrades you and your bottom lips tremble as you are about to start crying, but you aren't able to when your peak hits you at the same moment, making you moan in pleasure instead.

Aegon mockingly smiles at you, “Here I thought that you were a prim and proper lady, hell— you don't even let me do these things to you, but maybe my judgement was wrong, maybe you're a whore from the silk street disguised as a lady.” He accuses you meanly, you shake your head no at his accusation while trying to calm down from your high.

Aemond doesn't say anything to that, but simply sits up, and shifts positions once again, pulling you off Aegon and onto his lap instead, you cry onto his shoulders and he simply coos at you, he caresses your hair to calm you down, “Goodness brother, you've made her cry.” Aemond sneers at Aegon who just shrugs his shoulders. “I've only stated what I've observed.” He replies and you whimper.

“All of that aside— do you think she can take us both? In one hole.” Aegon speaks before Aemond could come up with a response and you furrow your brows, and Aemond is lost deep in thought, “We'll have to test it out.” Aemond responds and you push back, immediately staring at him wide eyes but Aemond just pecks your lips.

He lays down, taking you along with him, one hand holding you against him while the other is grabbing your hips and sinking you down on his boner, you bite your lip at the delicious stretch, you're in a position where Aegon can clearly see your pussy stretching around Aemond's cock. Aegon straddles Aemond's knees and lines his cock against your entrance and you turn your head back to see what he was doing, his cock bumped with Aemond's before he found a slight opening to shove his cock into the same hole. “Ah—!” You let out a squeal from pain as you feel his tip intruding and stretching you far than you're capable of taking.

Aegon grows frustrated, not being able to enter his cock fully inside you as your walls clamp down, resisting furthermore intrudence, however that only makes Aemond's pleasure elevate as your walls squeeze him tightly.

“Fuck this, I'm taking her from the rear.” Aegon gives up pushing his cock inside you, you gasp when you feel his thumb poking and pushing inside your puckered hole on your behind. You cover your face with your hands ashamed but Aemond pulls them away before crunching upwards to kiss you on the lips.

Aegon collects your wetness that's dripping from your cunt and smears it on your slightly stretched out hole before doing the same with his cock and lining the tip with the entrance and slowly pushing it inside.

“Ahh— Aegon— wait– I don't think— hgh!” You squeal once his fully settles inside you, and you couldn't help but tremble from the burn of the stretch as he slowly started to move, tears streamed down your face when you felt Aemond move too.

You were feeling highly humiliated, how your dignity has now been sullied, though this encounter wouldn't get out; you knew you wouldn't be able to see Aemond in the same light again, you'd always think about this day whenever you'd encounter him, a dirty little secret you'll have to keep hidden from the realm.

You are pulled from your thoughts with a sharp thrust from both of them penetrating you, you couldn't stop it but moans slipped from your mouth like prayers, you gasped and choked while calling out their names, the position; the act; the pleasure and humiliation you were feeling all combined made you feel hot, and to your horror, the pain began to subside leading you to enjoy this act.

You clinged onto Aemond as the brothers both rammed into you at such a fast pace that made you see stars, you clenched your eyes shut at the new sensations they were making you feel, and soon you're moving in rhythm along with them.

“Fuck fuck fuck I'm gonna cum.” Aegon grunts, his thrusts eventually becoming sloppy, “Me too.” You tell him and Aemond takes that as a cue to thrust faster into you, his hips ramming against you, the sound of flesh slapping rapidly fills the room.

Once again, you're blinded by the pleasure that was ripped from you, you came with a loud moan just as simultaneously as Aegon did, he pulled out and came on your back, he couldn't help but watch in awe as his seed dripped down onto your ass cheeks.

Aemond's pace became slow and messy, indicating that he was near too, “I'm gonna cum inside you, get you pregnant alright? This time you'll carry my child, not Aegon's. I'll make sure of it.” He grunts out mindlessly, pressing you down tightly to his chest, and Aegon just snickers. “Only time will tell, Brother.” Aegon replies snarky.

And with that, Aemond finishes inside you, shooting his seed far up into your walls, and you just nod silently, processing his words, his grip loosens after he finishes you fall off him and onto the bed, and soon Aegon collapses tiredly as well.

You hoped silently, that this would be the last of it, and that you'll not have to do this again, though it was enjoyable— it was humiliating, you were not that kind of lady that indulges in such depravity, maybe you'll be able to forget this and move on as if it never happened.

You prayed to the gods desperately.

But the gods are cruel.

Such encounters became frequent, Aegon and Aemond were enjoying it too much to stop, and soon you eventually got used to the routine, yet you couldn't help but feel guilty when you'd go to the sept with Alicent, when she prays that Aemond can find a good match, when she talks about the proposals that came for Aemond to you, unbeknownst to the fact that her son was constantly fucking you and was way too obsessed with you to let go of you and marry another woman.

He'd began fuck you without Aegon being involved and when you told Aegon about it, he simply shrugged furthermore simply allowing him to do so, telling you that it was his duty as a brother to let Aemond have the things he wants, the very same excuse he used during the first time.

“So, what do you think about Floris Baratheon? Do you think she's a good match for you?” Alicents voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you stare at her, who is addressing Aemond, who seemed to be as disinterested as ever.

“She's decent.” He replies shortly before he turns his gaze to you, and you immediately avoid it, staring at Alicent instead who sighs in annoyance, soon; the feeling of stickiness between your legs—which you've tried to ignore— becomes more imminent the longer he stares at you.

And guilt overwhelms you, you didn't know why you were even joining this meeting with Alicent, you –infact– hated it, knowing that moments prior to this, you were fucking Aemond in the secret hallways of the keep.

And that his seed was currently dripping out of you.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

“Rhaenyra…” You whimpered out. Soft moans of pleasure echoing around the war room as you were spread across the painted table. Your hands moving to the sides to grab onto something; anything at all. Your Queen only hummed. Her hot mouth completely captured your soaked pussy.

You couldn’t even remember how you got here; spread out in front of her. You were supposed to deliver a message. “I need..” You whimpered out, trying to speak as those bright eyes of hers looked up at you. There was something important you needed to tell. You whined and rocked against her.

Your legs shaking as her tongue slowly moved over your soaked folds. Your pretty face screws up in pleasure. Rhaenyra’s hands slowly moved up your inner thighs, gently stroking your soft skin. “I’ve missed you.” She whispered up at you as her fingers moved to play with you now. Her thumb brushing over your swollen clit.

You could only moan. Your head fell back as you reached to grab at her locks. “Daemon..?” You whimpered out; body shaking as you thought of her husband. Gods, she was married and you were in front of her, spread out like a feast. She slipped two of her fingers inside your soaked pussy that instantly hugged her.

“Gods, I thought you were married?” Rhaenyra teased. Her thumb moved over your clit as you tightened around her. She slowly moved to stand now as her fingers quickly moved inside you. Your breasts moving at the heavy breathing you now did. Her words nearly brought you back to the present; something she noticed.

Her thumb quickly moved over your clit now as your head fell back again. Your ripped dress moving for your bare breasts to bounce freely. “Rhaenyra..” You whimpered out; the cold air brushing over you. Your soft nipples pebbled in arousal as her palm hit your clit again and again.

“I wonder if they realise what a little gift they’ve brought to us.” The voice of the rogue Prince himself entered the room. Your eyes widened as your head fell to the side. Those eyes of yours quickly find him. You wiggled more now, that was until Rhaenyra had a third finger slipping inside you.

You arched from the table and missed the hungry looks the dragons gave each other as your cries of pleasure echoed out. It seemed playing the long game had worked in their favour and now you were in their web. “Daemon..” You whimpered out. Your body flushing as your wetness echoed.

“I have missed you, little one.” The rogue Prince purred as he stepped closer. You could hardly hear his words as Rhaenyra curled her fingers. She hit your soft spot again and again. Your legs began to shake in pleasure. The table was becoming drenched with your wetness; not that anyone cared at that moment.

“Have you missed us?” Rhaenyra couldn’t help but whisper. Half wanting to tease you some more and the other half needing to know the truth. You nodded breathlessly. “Missed you.” You babbeld out. Rhaenyra smirked before leaning in and passionately capturing your soft lips. Her fingers never stopped.

Your eyes fluttered as the soft pleasure you felt began to move around you. A touch on your face from Daemon had your eyes flashing open. His smirk only had you blushing even more as your stomach tightened. “DId she come with a message?” Daemon hummed as if you weren’t in front of him.

“Hmm, I believe so…we haven’t got there yet.” Rhaenyra giggled before leaning down and lovingly capturing your soft lips. You whimpered and cried against them as your orgasm ripped through you. You squirted around her fingers much to her delight as her thumb stroked your clit teasingly.

“Husband…do you want to play?” Rhaenyra all but purred to Daemon as she brought her soaked fingers to his mouth. “Always.” Daemon hummed around his wife’s fingers and began to suck. Your heart was racing as you watched the sight in front of you. Rhaenyra leaned in and passionately captured her husband’s lips.

You whimpered and allowed the moment to settle yourself; not that it lasted long as Daemon slowly moved in between your legs. His hands gently moved over your inner thighs as you arched from the table. “Next time, I'll take you in a bed.” Daemon whispered down at you. “Next time?” You whimpered out. 

“Oh, you didn’t think we would let you go now?” Rhaenyra purred into your ear; distracting you for a moment. Her words hardly brought you panic as you whimpered. The feel of his hard cock brushing against your already soaked pussy had you arching. “We shouldn’t..” You whimpered out breathlessly.

“No?” Daemon hummed and watched as more of your wetness left you as his cock tapped your swollen clit. “I’m married..” You whined. Gods, this was so bad. Your legs continued to shake as the Prince only smirked. “Haven’t you heard, sweet girl?” Rhaenyra whispered into your ear as Daemon’s large cock pushed inside you.

“Your husband is dead.” She hummed and your eyes widened at the news. You could hardly react anymore as his thrusts only quickened. Your legs instantly wrapped around his middle as you lost yourself. A flash of confusion came over your face as you tried to figure the situation out but you couldn’t; not when you were being played with so well.

“Good girl.” Rhaenyra continued to whisper sweet nothings as you gasped and arched into his thrusts. Her hands moved onto your soft, bouncing breasts and began to palm at them. “Fuck, you are so good.” Daemon moaned out. “Do not fear, lovely…you’ll be married again soon.” Rhaenyra darkly promised.

Her lips were soon on yours before you could ask. His cock pushing deeper and stretching you like the old Lord you’d been married off to never could. You whimpered against her lips as Rhaenyra’s tongue found your own. She took your breath away as your soft, ample breasts bounced.

Daemon had just returned from a council meeting and it had bored him to death, leaving his mind to wander to you. To the way you moaned his name. To the way your cunt felt wrapped around him. To the way your breasts looked bouncing up and down while he fucked you.

Your head turned to look at him with a soft smile on your face when he entered your chambers. He walked over to where you were sitting on the loveseat working on your newest embroidery design and sat down next to you. In one smooth motion, he had grabbed your hips, turned you both sideways, and pulled you back against him.

“I like that design,” he muttered, lifting his hand to pull your hair to the side and then wrapping his arms around you in a hug while his lips began softly kissing at your neck. “Keep working on it,” he told you, “I can use you while you work.”

A shiver of excitement ran down your spine. This was the fun part of the game for you. He would grope at you like you were only there to please him, even if you knew better than anyone that he would kill a man for simply looking at you wrong.

You went back to your embroidery while Daemon continued to kiss at your neck. His hands ran up and down your arms while you worked, making sure not to jostle you, and continued the motion just long enough for you to begin to truly be able to concentrate on your work again.

Sensing your comfort and distraction, one of his hands slid under the neckline of your dress and began gently groping at your breasts, causing you to pause your work and let out a breathy sigh.

“Such perfect tits for me to play with whenever I please,” he praised. His hands gently kneaded at your breasts, his fingers periodically tweaking your nipples.

He knew what he was doing. He was proving he had total control of your body and that you loved the way he did. A content hum left him while he played with your breasts, noticing the way your hands had long since stopped working.

He reached for your work and threw it behind him on the couch. “Up, I want your cunt wrapped around me.”

You did as told and then reached behind you to begin untying the strings of your dress, only for Daemon to take over and began doing so himself. His movements were quick and rough, just giving you enough time to have the thick fabric fall to the floor and step out of your dress before he was pushing the middle of your back.

You caught yourself on the edge of the loveseat, and in the same moment he was pulling your underdress up and around your hips. You felt one of his hands leave your hips, heard the sound of his pants drop, and then felt his cock rubbing through your folds.

“This cunt was the only thing on my mind that entire fucking council meeting,” he said in a throaty rasp. “I knew you would be ready and willing for me the moment I got back.”

Daemon pushed into you without giving you a chance to respond, smirking as he heard your moan.

“My lovely little wife,” he cooed, beginning to snap his hips against yours. “Doesn’t matter how many times I fuck you in a day, you’re always ready for more.” He sped up his pace and pressed his hand into the small of your back, arching your hips just enough for his cock to brush the spot inside you with every thrust.

“Daemon, gods,” you gasped out, reaching one of your hands back to hold onto his own while he continued his quick pace.

Daemon groaned low in his throat and reached around to play with your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts.

“Go on. Cum on my cock and show me how much you enjoy letting me use and play with your body.”

Your cunt clenched around him and your legs shook as his cock continued to stroke against your g-spot. Had it not been for your hands on the ledge of the loveseat, you would have collapsed as your orgasm hit you.

Daemon came a couple thrusts later, pulling and keeping you fully on his cock as his cum filled you.

“Oh, Uncle, please,” she begged, following Daemon’s flat refusal to teach her High Valyrian. “Aemond and I were taking our lessons together, but he learns much faster than I do, and I cannot keep up. Aegon’s grasp of the language is sloppy, and Helaena does not care to learn. Then Daeron…well, Daeron is not here.”

Daemon exhaled heavily through his nose, pinching the bridge of it, his patience for both his niece and this conversation had worn thin. She had descended upon him the moment she had caught him alone in a corridor of the holdfast, sweetly asking if he might spare an afternoon to help her with her High Valyrian. Daemon, without hesitation, had told her no. He had arrived at the Red Keep from Dragonstone with Rhaenyra and their children the day before – the purpose of their visit was to petition the king to maintain the succession of Driftmark to Lucerys, not to aid a spoiled princess in her lessons.

“Father tells me you are very good,” she added softly, scuffing her slippered toe against the stone floor as she clasped her hands behind her back with a soft tilt of her head. “He said you are why Rhaenyra speaks the language as fluidly as she does.”

He knew what she was doing, and he hated that it was working – he could feel himself softening, all of the rigidity leaving his spine and shoulders as he eyed her carefully, resenting how she manipulated the soft spot he had for both his brother and wife.

“Fine,” he relented with a roll of his eyes, “but you are to gather all of the materials you wish to learn from yourself, and you will have no more than an hour of my time. Is that clear?”

Daemon knew it would not be possible for her to become proficient in the language over the space of just an hour, however, he reasoned that any sacrifice of his time, no matter how menial, would stop her pestering. Plus, he was a fluent speaker of High Valyrian, so whatever wisdom he was able to impart in that time would be more valuable than the fruitless months she had already poured into her studies.

If she minded that he had so little time for her, she did not reveal it. “Oh, Uncle, thank you!” she exclaimed, leaning up to throw her arms around his neck, as she pressed a sticky kiss to his cheek.

Daemon huffed an amused scoff, his senses overwhelmed by the sweet, floral scent of her, and pushed her from him firmly, though not unkindly. She was a sweet girl, but still one of Alicent’s brood, and her overfamiliarity was becoming disarming – it was becoming an effort to remain aloof with her.

“It’s kepus, by the way,” he corrected over his shoulder as he brushed past her, continuing on his way.

“Hmm?” she responded, and the blank expression upon her face almost made Daemon want to write off the idea of her lesson entirely, as he wondered if there was anything of significance at all between her ears.

“Kepa,” he sighed, “is the Valyrian word for uncle. If you are going to address me as such, call me kepus.”

“Kepus!” she parrotted happily.

He turned before she could see the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips, walking away with a shake of his head.

“Silly girl,” he thought. She was far too soft to be true blood of the dragon, though perhaps that was a side to her that he could yet coax out of her.

They met the next day in the Keep’s library. She was already seated at the head of a long table in the far corner, a selection of scrolls and books spread out before her – particles of dust clung to the air like snowflakes, it was clear she had been thorough in digging through the shelves to retrieve absolutely everything she would need.

“Dragon commands?” he asked, lifting a tattered, musty smelling scroll from the wooden surface and examining it. “You do not have a dragon, what use are these to you?”

“The dragon keepers will not help me until I have a mount of my own, but I am unsure of how I would claim one if it cannot understand me,” she explained.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” he acquiesced, settling into the seat beside hers.

He began by asking her to list off the commands she knew already. She was able to recite them all – drakarys (breathe fire), lykirī (be calm), umbās (wait), sōvēs (fly), demās (sit!), angōs (attack), and māzīs (come) – however, her pronunciation for them was messy, and without the inflection upon the appropriate vowel sounds. Upon the third attempt to get her to elongate the third syllable of “lykirī”, he lost his patience.

“Stupid girl,” Daemon glowered, flinging the parchment away with a flick of his wrist, and learning back in his chair to glare down his nose at her. “How can you ever expect a dragon to follow your commands when the words stick to your tongue like unwatered porridge?”

“I am trying,” she whined, her brows knitting together in a pleading expression that caused her uncle to roll his eyes.

“There is too much of your mother in you,” he shrugged, “it is my fault, I suppose, for ever expecting a Hightower brat to master a language that is not meant for them.”

Daemon smirked, watching the fury that blazed in her eyes as her jaw set and her shoulders squared. Her fingers dug so hard into the pages of her book that she left behind crescent shaped indentations.

“I am a Targaryen,” she hissed, “now teach me.”

There it was; the fire he had been looking for.

She lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushing pink, embarrassed at having spoken out as Daemon watched her sag back into her chair. “Kepus, qūven,” she murmured. (I am sorry, Uncle.)

Daemon smirked, leaning in as he reached out, running the pad of his thumb gently across the plushness of her bottom lip. “Zaldrīzo ānogas iksā,” he murmured, “so you must never be sorry for anything.” (You are blood of the dragon)

His hand fell away and he watched the gentle bob of her throat, as she swallowed thickly, clearly affected by the intimacy of his gesture. He knew he should pull back, put some distance between them, but he was having too much fun toying with one of Alicent’s daughters, and he had enjoyed the glimmer of ferocity she had shown him – he wanted more.

“I think perhaps a different teaching approach may benefit you,” he suggested, his gaze raking over her form as he watched her struggle to control her breaths, her eyes wide. “What do you think, dōnus talus?” (Sweet niece)

She nodded eagerly, her voice a breathy whisper. “Kepus, kostilus.” (please, Uncle)

Daemon chuckled, rising from his seat, and swept her effortlessly into his arms. She gasped as he lifted her, before settling her on the edge of the table, uncaring of the parchment that crumpled beneath her. “I like it when you say that,” he leaned in to whisper in her ear, inhaling more of the sweet scent of her silver hair. It brought back memories of when Rhaenyra was this young and impressionable. “Say it again.”

“Kepus, kostilus,” she repeated imperfectly, but obediently.

Daemon was past the point of having any desire to chastise her for her cadence of speech, there were other lessons he wished to impart.

“Yne ūjigor,” he commanded, pressing his lips to hers before she had time to react (kiss me). She stiffened at first, before melting against him, her lips moving eagerly, following his lead. She was sweet as ripened fruit, and he wanted nothing more than to sink in his teeth and devour her whole.

“What does that mean?” she asked breathlessly when they parted for air, his forehead resting against her own.

“What did we just do?” he asked, grasping her chin and tugging at her bottom lip with his thumb. He watched in feline fascination as it pulled down, revealing the pink inner flesh of her mouth, before springing back.

“You asked me to kiss you..?”

“Correct,” he smirked, “sȳres riñus.” (Good girl)

He reached down, grasping the soft satin of her skirts, and pushed them up her legs until the bunched material settled upon her thighs, exposing the flesh of her legs where her stockings ended. He trailed his fingertips over the smooth expanse of skin, watching as gooseflesh broke out in the wake of the path his touch followed. When he reached the juncture of her thighs, he was surprised by how willingly she parted them for him.

“Ilībītsos,” he commented in quiet amusement. (Little slut)

“What’s that?" she asked, leaning back on her palms.

“Doesn’t matter,” he murmured, pressing the flat of his hand against her through her small clothes. He could feel the heat of her upon his palm beneath the cotton fabric, and had to bite back a groan as his cock began to twitch to hardness within his breeches.

“Aeragos,” he instructed, grinding the heel of his palm against her for emphasis, making her mewl softly. (Move)

“What…what are you telling me to do..?” she whined quietly, as her hips rocked against his hand instinctively.

“Exactly what you are doing now,” he replied with a pleased smile, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, “it’s incredible what we can learn and understand when we act based on instinct, isn’t it?”

Her answer was a desperate moan, as she ground harder against his palm, utterly lost to the sensation of his hand upon her. Daemon could feel the fabric of her undergarments growing sodden with arousal, and it took all of his restraint not to dive between her thighs and feast upon her like a man starved.

“Talītsos korus,” he spat, as her noises increased in pitch, her fingertips scrabbling at the discarded papers upon the table behind her (wicked little niece). As her body grew taut, on the precipice of coming undone, he pulled his hand away, making her whine helplessly, flushed and confused as she gaped at him.

“Not so soon, mērītsos,” he tutted, resuming his seat, glancing down to where his erection pressed almost painfully against his breeches. (Little one) “Your lesson is not over yet.”

Coaxing her off the table, he grabbed her hips, pulling her effortlessly into his lap. “You are not so good at commanding a dragon, so let us see how well you can heed commands yourself. 

“Yne kipor,” he uttered, bucking up against her. (Ride me)

Though he had promised his niece just an hour, Daemon knew as he sank inside of her tight, wet heat that there would be many more lessons to come – she may never master the Valyrian tongue, but he would ensure that her education was nothing short of thorough.

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He stands beneath a stone archway, watching you, before he steps forwards, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. 

You lift your head immediately, a polite smile on your lips. “Uncle.”

Daemon has seen you like this plenty of times before, your perfect posture, the perfect obedience, and it makes his teeth grind. He’s not the only one that notices what a stark contrast you are to your older sister, acting exactly the way that’s expected of her as the heir. 

A muscle twitches in his jaw as he approaches. “That is a dull way to spend the day,” he says, eyeing you with caution. 

You know there is not truly ill intention behind his words. Someone like him—someone that would rather spend weeks on end in his dragon’s saddle in complete freedom—just can’t seem to be enthusiastic about things that are required by duty. 

Your fingers briefly curl against the parchment of the book, before you’re smoothing it out with your thumbs again, schooling your expression in serene neutrality. “I was told it is my duty to read this,” you reply evenly. “Queen Alicent said knowledge of proper conduct is essential for a princess.”

There’s no protest in your voice, and no hint that you want to do something else entirely. It’s not accompanied by a sigh, a roll of your eyes or a completely different way of rebellion like your sister might’ve shown at being forced through another lesson.

He steps forwards without a warning, reaching out, and closes the book with one decisive snap. “Duties,” he repeats, tasting the word on his tongue like it’s sour. “Gods, you sound like a septa already.”

As the book snaps shut, you stiffen briefly, your wide eyes darting up to meet his. Surprise is etched onto your features, because even your uncle has never before dared to interrupt your studies like this. 

Daemon exhales through his nose, his jaw tightening as he looks down at you. It’s always about duties. He’s spent his whole life bound by them, too. The duty to serve Viserys, the duty to be loyal despite their differences, the duty not to cause trouble even when every fiber of him screamed for rebellion. 

But seeing it in you—in this sweet girl who he used to take for rides over King’s Landing on Caraxes’ back—makes something rise in his chest. “And there’s not a single thought of your own?” 

Daemon reaches out, and plucks Queen Alicent’s precious gift from your lap. The title glints on its cover—The Virtues of Noble Women—and you can’t help but remember when she has presented it to you with a saccharine smile on her lips, and the soft praises about “raising the future lady of a noble house”. 

Your fingers twitch instinctively at the sudden loss, and you simply watch as your uncle flips through the pages with deliberate disinterest. 

“I think plenty, uncle,” you say. 

He doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he turns over another page, and then another, scanning the dense text with thinly veiled disdain. Scoffing under his breath, he tosses the book to the side where it lands with a dull thud against the grass. 

“Plenty?” he echoes, turning his attention back to you. “And what do you think about when no one is watching? When you are alone in your chambers or walking through these gardens?”

His voice isn’t mocking—not quite, at least—but there’s an edge beneath it; something between curiosity and protectiveness. 

Your lips part slightly, as if the question genuinely surprises you. No one ever truly asks you what you think, and no one ever cares beyond checking if you’ve memorized the correct answers to questions about proper court etiquette or history. 

They want to know whether your lessons are being absorbed, not what swirls behind your lilac eyes when no one else is looking. 

Daemon waits patiently, enduring the silence between you without pushing. He studies you; the slight part of your lips, the way your lashes lower just a little as if you’re searching for an answer that doesn't exist. 

The garden hums softly around you with bees drifting between flowers, leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. The world keeps moving… but you stand still. 

“You read all these stories about perfect women who never stepped out of line,” he muses, raising a brow. “Tell me, do you think they were happy, or just… obedient?”

It has never occurred to you. The queens and ladies in these stories—these perfect, noble women—were always praised for their virtues. They were happy, weren’t they? At least, that’s what everyone implies with their approving nods whenever you recite a passage from one of these books out loud during lessons. 

You consider it, and for the first time in years, doubt creeps into your mind. And your uncle sees it. It’s a tiny crack in your polished mask, flashing across your face. 

That look hits home, because he’s had the same one back when he realized that Viserys would never truly see him as an equal, but just as a younger brother that is tolerated at court and not trusted with real power.  

A lifetime of being told who you are supposed to be until you forget who you really are. 

“You have been told your whole life what you must be,” he says. “Perfect, pure, worthy. But no one has told you what you do not have to be.”

A breeze lifts strands of his short, silver hair as he steps closer again, and crouches slightly so you’re nearly on eye level. 

You stare at him for the first time since he’s stepped into the garden; not as your uncle or a prince, but as Daemon Targaryen, the man who never bows to anyone’s expectations. Your breath hitches, and your hands still remain in your lap, but something inside of your chest tightens with an emotion you can’t name. 

“And what is that?”

An almost fond smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “You do not have to be perfect, niece,” he says. “You can frown when you are bored, or sigh if a lesson is dull. You can want things just because you want them, and not because someone says a princess should.”

You inhale a sharp breath before you can stop it. The concept of wanting something just because is foreign to you. They have drilled the idea that a princess’ desires should be controlled at all times into your mind, and a good lady doesn’t indulge herself. 

He rises to his feet, and takes a step back. “If you are content being what they have made you, then forget this conversation ever happened.” His lilac eyes drag over your sitting form. 

“But if you are not,” he starts, tilting his head slightly, his eyes sharpening with intent. “If even a small part of you wonders what it might feel like to choose for yourself—”

The sentence hangs between you, and he doesn’t finish it immediately. 

He turns, and begins to walk away, but stops just before the stone archway, glancing at you from over his shoulder. 

“Come find me.”

With these words, he disappears where he came from, leaving you frozen on the bench. Your heart pounds beneath your ribs with a traitorous rhythm that doesn’t match your composed exterior at all. 

Is it a command? An invitation? You can’t tell. Daemon never does things by half measures. He’s either direct or cruel or charmingly vague, but never in-between. 

—

When the night comes, you don’t find sleep. And if you do, it’s interrupted. You doze off, more than once, but always wake up plagued by thoughts.

You don’t want to admit it, but his words have left you not as unaffected—and uninterested—as you’d like to claim. And so, you rise, in the middle of the night. A simple robe is thrown over your dark nightgown, tied at the waist. 

You don’t choose to leave through the door, no, that would be too obvious at this hour. You push a narrow door close to your bed open, and disappear into the cold and dark tunnels that have been once built by Maegor the Cruel. Rhaenyra has brought you along more often than not, and therefore you’re quite confident in finding the path leading towards Daemon’s chambers. 

With a soft knock, you just wait, listening carefully to hear any commotion behind the door. It’s not a surprise you startle when the door suddenly opens and you’re standing across from Daemon. 

His eyes drag over your frame, and your widened ones do the same. He wears a simple tunic, unbuttoned at the throat with the sleeves rolled up, and some pair of dark trousers. 

The intensity of his gaze tears a shiver through your body, before you quickly hush past him into the warmth of his chambers. 

He closes the door behind you, and watches as you just stand in his chambers, the flames of the hearth casting long shadows across your clothes. He steps towards you, and catches the hem of your robe between his fingers, adjusting it slightly where it has slipped off one of your shoulders. 

“Should you not be somewhere… proper?” he asks idly. 

You open your mouth, and close it, swallowing thickly. The word proper sits heavy in the air, because proper would be your chambers with you tucked safely away behind locked doors with a guard posted outside to ensure no one disturbed your rest. Proper was attending the morning prayer or practicing embroidery under the septa’s watchful eyes—not sneaking through secret tunnels built by mad kings at night to find Daemon Targaryen of all people. 

A shiver runs down your spine, but not from the cold. “N-No, I–I should not,” you stammer beneath his curious gaze, pressing your lips into a thin line. 

His lips curve slightly, just very briefly, and make you terribly aware that he knows all too well that his words have burrowed into your mind like thorns beneath gloves. As he cocks a brow, you start to fidget with the fabric of your nightgown. “I could–I could not sleep,” you admit. 

Daemon scoffs and steps closer, slow and deliberate like he’s approaching a skittish animal. A hand rises, brushing a strand of your silver hair behind your ear. “No,” he replies simply. “I suppose not.”

You feel his fingers linger near your temple for a moment longer than necessary, the pad of his calloused thumb grazing your cheekbone. He studies you, the stiffness of your shoulders like you expect a punishment for being there. 

But that doesn't come. 

Something dark and possessive stirs in him at the sight, because you’re so clearly nervous. It plants a seed in his mind: the ambition to unravel all the training Alicent has forced on you to show you what it means to want, not just to obey. 

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, not mocking, but close. “Now why did you come, niece?”

Your tongue darts out briefly to wet your lips before you answer: “I–I thought about what you said,” you admit, your eyes flitting down to the floor. “About not being perfect.”

The confession—small but monumental for a princess that has spent her entire life striving for perfection—prompts you to swallow thickly. “And I did not know how to sleep with it.”

A low hum rumbles in his chest as he leans back slightly; not retreating, but giving you space. His gaze sweeps over you again. “And what did you think?”

“That I do not know if I want to be perfect,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I–I also do not know what else there is.” Exhaling a shaky breath, you glance up at him, searching his face for something. 

His expression darkens at your confession, and he’s suddenly close enough that you have to tilt your head up to keep meeting his gaze. “There are plenty of things,” he replies, and without a warning, he brushes his knuckles along your cheekbone. 

Despite the touch being featherlight, it sends a jolt through you. Your breath hitches, and your eyes widen as he moves with deliberate slowness. No one ever touches you like this. 

Without breaking eye contact, he leans in. The movement is gradual, giving you every chance to flinch or protest and say this isn’t right. 

But you don’t. 

He’s close enough for your breaths to mingle, yours coming in tiny, shallow puffs of air against his lips. Your lashes lower slightly, a subconscious tilt that betrays your curiosity—and perhaps even want. 

Daemon closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss as though he’s testing the waters first. 

For half a heartbeat, you freeze, before your body responds. It’s just a tiny lean forward, a quiet press back against his mouth and the slightest parting of your lips, and it’s enough to be noticed by him. 

A low sound rumbles in his chest, and his hands rise slowly; one cradling the back of your head with his calloused fingers threading into your silver strands, and the other sliding around your waist to pull you closer against him. 

His warm lips start to move against yours with hunger, his tongue brushing against your lower lip experimentally. It causes your lips to part, and he is quick to seize the opportunity to slip his tongue past them. 

Your hand finds his shoulder at the sudden intrusion, while the other rests at his chest with his tunic clutched tightly between your fingers, torn between pushing him away and pulling him in. 

You hardly notice him reaching for the bow at the front of your robe, and eventually tugging on it. Only when it glides off your shoulders, a chill hitting the now exposed skin, do you draw back from him. 

It suddenly feels too overwhelming, even more when you let go of him and the robe slides down your arms and to the ground, pooling at your feet. You now stand before him in nothing but the thin silk of your nightgown, a delicate strap slipping slightly from one shoulder where the movement has disturbed it. 

His gaze trails over you—slowly and hungry—forcing you to take another step back. As you put some distance between you, your calves are met with a nearby chair, the impact prompting you to sit down on it. With a slight shift, you adjust your position, and press your thighs together. 

You look up at him with wide eyes, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths that betray your hesitancy. “We sh–I should leave,” you mumble. 

But Daemon doesn’t argue.

Instead, he simply lowers himself, and kneels before you on the cold stone floor. The flames cast shadows across his sharp features, accentuating the strong line of his jaw, and these piercing eyes that study you carefully. He’s not towering over you anymore, at least not physically. The position shouldn’t be intimidating, no, it should’ve made him smaller, less imposing—but somehow it does the exact opposite. 

One of his large hands rises slowly, and rests gently against your knee where it peeks out from beneath your nightgown. 

“You were eager enough to come,” he muses. “Strange that courage fails you now.” He looks at you with patience written all over his features, clearly understanding that this scares you. Yet it’s evident he doesn’t let it stop him completely. 

“I–I do not know what I am doing,” you admit softly, flattening your lips. 

“Of course you don’t,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a mocking smirk. “If you did, this would hardly be interesting.”

You don’t have a chance to truly ponder over his words, not when he suddenly leans forwards and presses his lips gently against the side of your knee. It sends a jolt through you, and you watch silently as he slowly inches his way up. “B–But…” you try to protest, although you don’t really want him to stop, do you?

“Hush now,” Daemon purrs, pressing kisses along the inside of your thighs. He gathers the skirt of your nightgown in one hand, and brings it up to rest at your hip. “You need not think so hard, niece.”

The whimper you release is enough to bring heat to your cheeks, more so when his tongue suddenly makes contact with your cunt and coaxes another one to slip past your lips. A shiver ripples through you when he pulls back to drag his tongue through your slit. 

“You’re drenched, little princess,” he remarks, his dark blown eyes gazing up at you from between your legs. 

The profanity of it all prompts you to press your lips into a thin line and look to the side, a wave of heat crashing over your whole body. But Daemon isn’t having any of that. He merely tsks, and serves a light slap with the back of his hand to your cunt. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.”

Although it’s not harsh, you still squirm in your seat, meeting his gaze with your head nodding eagerly. 

“Good girl,” he praises, and takes that as his cue to continue, his lips finding your little bundle of nerves. One swivel of his tongue already has you arching your back, and the steady rhythm he builts is enough for you to start grinding your hips. 

Two of his fingers slowly ease into of you, the thickness foreign for a moment but forgotten when they start to brush your sweet spot in a come hither motion that has you tightly locking your thighs around his head. Your hand finds the short strands of his hair, fingers threading into them to tug on it not-so-gently which has Daemon groaning against your folds. 

No matter how badly you try to keep your eyes on him—knowing his own flicker up to meet yours every now and then—your head eventually tilts back slightly, and your eyes fall shut. Soft, quiet moans slip past your lips, slowly but surely growing in their intensity. 

The knot in your belly tightens far too quickly with the pace he sets up, lapping and sucking at your little bud in tandem with his fingers scissoring in and out of you. But it doesn’t seem like that’s what your uncle wants. He reads the telltale signs of your impending release as if he has never done anything else, and stops his ministrations without missing a beat. 

You can’t help but whine as the pleasure disappears at once. Your eyes open, and when you look down at him, you spot his chin, lips, and cheeks being coated in your arousal, glistening in the dim light of his chamber. 

“W–Why did you stop?” you whimper, your lips dropping into a pout as you try to reign his head back between your thighs. But Daemon is stronger, making it clear that that’s not sufficient enough for him. 

“I have scarcely begun, and you are already trembling, niece. Do you truly think that this will be all?” he asks, and rises to his feet. 

Not only do his words make your breath hitch in your throat, but also the visible, straining bulge in the front of his trousers. He’s achingly hard for you already, wanting to be buried inside of you. 

“You are always trying to be perfect,” he continues, leaning in to brush his thumb across your bottom lip. “Now let me see how lovely you are when you stop trying.”

Staring at the strained fabric of his trousers, you bite your bottom lip and nod sheepishly. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you to your feet. Noticing how shakily you stand on them, Daemon wastes no time and throws you over his shoulder. 

It catches you off guard, and you squeal right before your back already hits the silk sheets of his bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching as he rids himself of his tunic, the trousers, and the boots. 

One hand curls around his hard shaft, stroking himself slowly, and clearly making a show out of it for you. A shaky exhale is all that makes its way past your lips, not knowing if you should keep your gaze on his cock, his face or trail the countless scars littered all over his torso.

You settle on the first, and watch with hooded eyes as he comes closer, climbing onto the large bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight, and soon enough he’s towering above you. Your pulse thunders in your ears, much more when he roughly yanks the skirts of your nightgown up to your waist, before he aligns himself with your entrance. 

Your arousal makes it easy for his cock to slip inside, greedily sucked in by your cunt with little resistance. Despite the burning stretch of his girth, the feeling of him being buried inside of you brings you a sense of pure bliss, prompting you to clench tightly around him. 

Daemon sucks in a sharp breath, and when your hands fly to his shoulders for leverage, he starts to grind his hips against yours. His girth splits you open over and over again, reducing you to a submissive mess.

“S-Seven save me,” you whimper, arching your back beneath him. You have crawled willingly into sin, and now you pray for someone to rescue you from your own desire. It’s not like you actually want to be saved, it’s that you’re scared of the possible consequences. 

As your head lulls back into the pillows, your hands seem to have a mind on their own and land below his navel, weakly pushing him away. But Daemon tsks, swatting them away. “None of this,” he growls. “The gods have never saved anyone from me, sweetling.”

An impatient tug at the neckline of your nightgown is enough to free your tits, all but bouncing freely as he fucks you harder, slamming his hips into you. No words or sounds other than hiccuped moans and whimpers leave your lips, and you can’t focus on anything but him. 

The tremors that the snaps of his hips force through you have you gasping and whining, a tightness building in the pit of your belly. You have spent so much time being untouched that even the drag of the coarse hair at the base of his cock against your little bud brings you a pleasure beyond imagination. But not only does your need to peak become more apparent; Daemon doesn’t seem to know how much longer he will last, too. 

He towers over you, your small frame completely hidden by his. It’s such an easy game for him to keep you where he wants, to use you however he pleases, and at this point you’d let him do whatever he desires with you for as long as you get to relive the sensations you feel over and over again. 

Therefore it’s no surprise that your relief washes over you in an ambush, the pleasure all but soaring through your veins. Yet his assault on your cunt doesn’t stop, and when the urge overcomes you to squeeze your thighs together, it doesn’t seize either. 

Your mind goes blank, and you hardly notice Daemon toppling over, mercilessly grinding into your quivering cunt and filling you to the brim. You squeeze his throbbing cock ever so tightly in response, all but milking him for every drop. 

Daemon rocks into you with reckless abandon, your sweet whimpers and squirming body spurring him on. Squeezing your flesh, he trails both his hands over your body, mapping out the parts that are still hidden by your nightgown. 

But at last, the frenzy seems to leave him all at once. 

He exhales sharply through his nose and collapses onto his side beside you, remaining like this for a brief moment. You adjust the neckline of your nightgown and stare up at the carved canopy above you as though it might offer you absolution, while he proceeds to sit up, lazily draping one arm around his bent knee. 

“You regret it already,” he states. 

You can feel your throat tighten at his words, much more when you finally notice his seed seeping idly from your cunt. “I did not say that.”

“No,” Daemon replies, huffing a breath. As you meet his gaze, you spot his lips curving slightly. “You merely look as though the gods themselves witnessed this.”

Heat crawls up your neck, and you press your lips together. 

“Poor little princess,” your uncle continues, a mocking edge to his voice. “No one warned you that wanting something could feel so ugly afterwards, mh?”

The words make you flinch slightly, but still enough for him to notice and reach for you. His hand comes to rest at your wrist, his thumb pressing lazily against the frantic beat of your pulse. 

“You think this has ruined you now. That one night in my bed has turned you wicked,” he murmurs, his pale gaze drifting slowly over your face. “But sweetling, you were wicked the moment you thought about coming to me.”

Daemon shifts closer to you on the bed. There is no softness in his gaze, just the same consuming fascination he’s worn since you stepped into his chambers. 

“You wish to know the amusing part?”

“What?”

A low hum rumbles in his chest, and he leans in to press his lips to your shoulder. Once. “You are ashamed,” he says. “And yet, if I touched you again, you would still let me.”

The truth of his words settles over you like a heavy blanket. You are ashamed, yes, but not because you regret it. It’s the sheer intensity of it—the way your body has responded so eagerly to him despite you being raised to be proper. It’s that desire has overshadowed every moral teaching Queen Alicent and your septa have drilled into you. 

And despite that you would crawl straight back into his bed if he asked you too. Without hesitation.

The smell of campfire smoke was thick in the air, clinging to your clothes, your skin, following you no matter where you sat. It was the first time in a while you’d joined the others instead of sitting around the separate fire Merle usually built on the other side of camp. But with him gone on a recent run into the city with a few of the others, along with the sight of the pile of fish Andrea and Amy had hauled in, you told Daryl the best way to get a bite was to play nice and sit with the group—unless, of course, he wanted squirrel stew for the fifth night in a row.

But now, sitting there, you were starting to regret that decision.

Even with the world gone to hell and class lines erased overnight, some things hadn’t changed. They still shrank away from you, their discomfort as thick as the smoke curling through the air. And Daryl? They didn’t just avoid him. They dismissed him. Ignored him. Like he wasn’t worth a second glance.

You didn’t pay it any mind. You were used to people underestimating him, used to them not seeing him for who he really was. Beneath the sharp stares and sharper tongue, he was a good man. Your man. And these people—they’d never understand that.

The sun dipped lower, setting the valley in a wash of pink and orange, the glow of the fire growing brighter with every passing minute. Conversations murmured around you, voices low as they discussed camp security—how to reinforce their perimeter, how to keep the geeks out. So far, they’d been lucky, nestled deep in the woods with none of the dead stumbling through just yet.

Still, that luck wouldn’t last forever.

You shifted, glancing toward the tree line. “We could set up noise traps,” you offered. “Tin cans, broken glass—something to warn us if somethin’s comin’.”

The second the words left your mouth, Shane, a man with dark eyes and even darker scowl, scoffed as he paused mid conversation with another resident. You barely had time to blink before he turned on you, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you’d had the audacity to speak up.

“Yeah? That what you think?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Tell you what, next time I need advice on how to run this place, I’ll be sure to come find you, sweetheart.”

The word dripped with condescension, slow and deliberate.

Your lip curled, rolling your eyes as you turned away. “Dick,” you muttered under your breath.

Shane barely let a beat pass before he fired back, voice laced with smug amusement.

“Better watch your lil’ backwoods girl there, Dixon,” he sneered, dark eyes flicking toward Daryl. “Might just have to give her somethin’ to scoff about with that mouth on ‘er.”

Silence hushed over the group like an uneasy wave. The fire popped, the only sound in the sudden, tense stillness as the eyes of everyone in the camp turned to look at you.

There was a loud scrape of metal groaning, Daryl’s lawn chair shoving back under him as he stood abruptly.

“The hell d’you just say, asshole?” he snapped, voice sharp as steel.

Shane barely flinched. His jaw worked, tension coiled tight in his shoulders, but instead of rising to the fight, he let out a slow breath through his nose. He ran a hand down his face, shaking his head.

“Christ, Dixon,” he muttered, voice low, measured, not even smug, just tired. “Ain’t gotta get all riled up. Was just a joke.”

Daryl’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah? Didn’t sound like one.”

Shane exhaled hard, eyes flicking around at the others watching before landing back on Daryl. His expression hardened.

"Ain't my fault you can't take a joke, Dixon. Least when your brother was here, we didn't have to listen to you run your mouth. He at least kept you on your side of camp.”

Daryl’s knuckles went white, his fists clenching tighter as he glared. Across the fire, Shane held his gaze, eyes steady—calm, almost—but there was a challenge in them, a quiet go on, do it lingering beneath the surface, prodding without a word.

You felt the fight still coiled tight in Daryl’s body as you wrapped your fingers around his upper arm, could feel the way his muscles flexed under your grip, the way his whole damn being was strung tight. You stepped in closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Come on,” you murmured, his body warm as your hand curled tighter around his bicep, firm but gentle. “Let’s get outta here.”

Daryl didn’t move at first, his breathing still uneven, his fists still clenched.

Then, finally, he exhaled sharply and let you pull him back, turning away from the fire, from the camp, from the people who would never understand either of you.

The sun's dying light stretched long over the jagged rocks of the valley below, the water rippling in deep, coppery hues as you walked down to the quarry to get your mind off the argument at the firepit. 

When you finally got to the bottom, Daryl leaned against a boulder, his face half-lit in the glow of dusk. He'd been quiet most of the evening, despite his blow up earlier, deep blue eyes flicking to you like he was chewing on something he didn’t quite know how to spit out.

You stepped in front of him, close enough to smell the sweat and earth clinging to his shirt, the faint scent of pine from the day hunting. "I’m sorry about…about whatever that was,”

His jaw ticked. “Ain’t nothin’ for you to apologize for,” he muttered, but he wasn’t looking at you, gaze fixed somewhere past your shoulder. “Dickhead don’t even know good advice if it hit ‘em upside the head.”

You sighed, reaching up to brush a short lock of hair from his forehead. He let out a breath, more like a huff than anything, barely audible, but you caught it.

“You always get like this when you’re thinking too hard,” you teased softly. “What is this really about?”

His lips pressed together, jaw working, like he was still chewing on the words. Then, as natural as breathing, his fingers found your waist, rough and certain, pulling you in just a little closer.

“Just don’t want ‘em talkin’ to ya like that,” he admitted, voice gruff, quieter than the night settling around you. “Like you ain’t worth listenin’ to. Like you ain’t got a damn brain in your head. They only do it ‘cause you’re with me.”

Your chest ached at the frustration in his voice, the way it came out stiff, like he hated even saying it out loud.

“Daryl…”

“They already look at me like I don’t belong here,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Ain’t gonna let ‘em do that to you too.”

You cupped his jaw, fingers grazing over the rough stubble, waiting until he finally looked at you. His blue eyes were sharp, searching, like he was waiting for you to tell him he was wrong.

“I don’t give a shit what they think,” you murmured. “I chose you. You get that, right?”

Daryl swallowed hard, something flickering across his face–vulnerable and open, his brute mask slipping now that it was just the two of you. His grip on you tightened, his body pressing just a little closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em make you feel small,” he muttered, almost more to himself than to you.

Your chest ached at the way he said it, like he wasn’t sure how to handle the way he cared. Like the thought of letting them think so little of you was gnawing at the edges of his mind. Your thumb traced over his skin as you held his face, grazing over his bottom lip, his chin, until you leaned in.

“You don’t have to,” you murmured, lips barely ghosting over his. “I know who I am. And I know who you are. Even if they can’t see it.”

His blue eyes caught to yours, something different in them, something raw and sweet that no one else was ever allowed to see. Then, before you could say another word, his mouth was on yours, sweet and gentle, lips chapped but insistent. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but the fast, unsteady rhythm of your heartbeats.

You melted into him, hands sliding around his neck, letting the kiss ignite into need and heat, letting him pour everything into it—his frustration, his fear, the love he wasn’t good at putting into words. The quarry was silent except for the quiet rush of the wind over the water and the uneven breaths you shared between kisses.

When he finally pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he took a long moment just to breathe as he closed his eyes. His hands stayed on you, gripping you tightly against him, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged across your lips.

"Thinkin' too hard again?" you whispered.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Shut up," he muttered, but his lips brushed yours again, even softer this time, like he couldn’t help himself.

No one understood Daryl like you did. Not the folks at camp, not the people who side-eyed him like he was nothing but trouble, not even his own damn brother.

Thing was, no one really tried to know Daryl. They saw the brittle edges, the temper, the way he kept to himself. They saw the bickering between him and Merle, the way he came back from hunts with blood on his hands, all silent and brooding.

But you saw the man beneath all that.

Before the world turned upside down, you saw him for what he truly was. Gentle in ways he didn’t realize, kind in ways he never gave himself credit for. A man who had spent his whole life bracing for a fight, wearing his rough edges like armor, until you came along and showed him there was more to life than just surviving, even before the dead came back to life.

You were younger, but that never mattered to you. And once you finally convinced him that nothing—not even a pesky thing like an age gap, and definitely not his own doubts of whether he was good for you—was going to stop you from being with him, you watched him… soften. Let you in. 

You saw him on lazy summer afternoons, stretched out in the bed of his truck, hands behind his head, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he stared up at the sky. You saw him when he picked you up for late-night drives, old country rock humming low from the radio, one hand on the wheel, the other resting warm on your thigh.

Back then, he was just a man trying to carve out a place in a world that had never been kind to him. A man with rough hands but a soft touch when they traced the curve of your back. A man who met the world with a scowl but looked at you like you were a miracle—something precious, something his, something he’d spend a lifetime trying to deserve.

You remembered the nights he’d come to you after a bad fight with Merle, his knuckles split, his jaw clenched. He’d never talk about it, never tell you what happened—but he’d let you run your fingers through his hair, let you patch him up in the glow of your bedside lamp.

“You’re too good for me,” he’d mutter sometimes, voice low, like he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear it. Like he was afraid that this time you’d believe him and run for the hills.

And you’d brush your fingers through his hair, tilt his chin so he had no choice but to meet your eyes.

"You don’t get to decide that," you’d tell him, voice warm, certain.

He never argued. Just pulled you close, held onto you like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers.

And now, here in the middle of the world ending, he still held onto you like that.

The way those rough, calloused hands could still be careful, still be tender when they touched you. The way he always put himself between you and trouble, whether it was a walker shambling too close or some asshole in camp running his mouth. The way he let you get near, let you see him in a way no one else did.

Some things hadn’t changed, even when everything else had.

Something about those memories had your lips crashing back onto his, pressing him against the boulder with a force that made him grunt softly into your mouth. His fingers dug into your waist, like he wasn’t sure if he should stop you or drag you closer, but you didn’t give him a choice.

You grabbed the collar of his dirty shirt, fisting the fabric as you kissed him deep, claiming, letting him feel the way you wanted him. He let you have it—let you take and take, let you push up on your toes and press into him like you couldn’t get close enough.

Then, when your hips rolled just right against his, he growled. Low, guttural, needy against your mouth.

His hands slid down, gripping the curve of your ass, dragging you closer until your hips fit against the hard press of him. You gasped against his lips, nails raking up the nape of his neck, and pulled the short hair that stuck there, and that was what made something snap in him.

He twisted you around so fast you barely had time to think, hands gripping your hips as he pressed you forward, your palms bracing against the boulder. The rough stone bit into your skin, but it barely registered. Not with the heat of him behind you, breath hot against your neck, hands dragging under your shirt, spanning wide over your ribs before sliding down.

“You want somethin’ from me, girl? Hmm?” His voice was ragged but taunting, sending goosebumps down your spine as he leaned his body over you. 

A sharp breath left you when he pulled your hips back against him, grinding slow, measured, and the stiff press of his cock behind his jeans made your eyes roll, feeling just how much he wanted you too.

His lips dragged over the back of your neck, sucking in a breath like a hiss when you pressed your ass back into him.

“You, w–want you, Dare,” you murmured, the sound of his name breaking something open in him.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your denim shorts, yanking them down with a roughness that made your breath catch, the cooling night air biting against flushed skin.

After the clatter of his belt buckle and the sharp zip of his jeans, he was on you—kissing your shoulder where the strap of your shirt fell, your neck, anywhere his lips could reach. Then he was there—thick, warm, heady with a scent that made you dizzy. He pressed the tip of his cock into you with a need so desperate it made your knees weak. Your center was slick with wanton need just from his touch, his kisses, the way he took you like he had to—like it was instinct, carved into him, a hunger he could never ignore. His hands splayed over your stomach, dragging you back onto him with a solid thrust, his breath heavy against your shoulder as he took you to the hilt in one long press of his hips. 

“I love you,” he said, voice hoarse as he continued to press open mouthed kisses to your skin, “Love you so god damn much,”

The sun dipped lower, its dying light casting everything in cool blue and shadow, the only warmth now rolling off Daryl’s body. You turned your head, reaching back to thread your fingers into his hair, tugging until his lips found yours in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. It was haphazard, messy in the way that made it real—the slide of tongues, the clash of breath, the moan that tore from your throat, loud and shameless against the quiet night.

He groaned into your mouth, swallowing the sound, pressing his forehead against yours for the briefest second before dragging his lips down your jaw, your neck, everywhere he could reach with his mouth. His hips rolled in steady, aching thrusts, sinking deep before dragging his cock out slow, teasing, making you squirm against the rock.

“I love you too,” you murmured, voice wrecked, sincere. “Always, Daryl.”

His jaw slacked and he rested his face against your shoulder, his pace growing rougher, more erratic, each thrust punctuated by the sharp slap of skin against skin, his groans mixing with the wet, sinful sounds of your bodies joining in the cool evening air.

“So good f’me, baby,” he whimpered, the sound raw, unraveling. His hand slipped between you and the rough stone in front of you, fingers seeking, finding, calloused fingertips pressing into the heat of you. He knew your body too damn well—knew exactly how to wind you up, knew what it took to have you gasping, shaking, screaming his name just the way he liked it.

“Daryl, it’s—too much—they’ll hear—” you choked, gasping as his fingers worked tight, slow circles over your swollen clit, a shudder wracking through your body.

His lips dragged up the side of your neck, breath hot, voice ragged.

“Fuck ‘em,” he murmured, his voice low and grinding. “Wanna hear every pretty sound you make for me. Wanna feel you come on my cock, just like you always do—c’mon now, baby, give it to me. Be a good girl now.”

A shudder rolled through you, his words sinking deep, making it impossible to fight the pleasure coiling hot in your belly. His fingers pressed harder, circling your clit with devastating precision, his thrusts turning sharp and frantic.

You bit your lip, trying to smother the cry threatening to break free, but he wasn’t having it.

Daryl’s free hand came up across your chest, fingers gripping your jaw, tilting your head so his lips were right against your ear. “Don’t you hold back on me,” he rasped. “Wanna hear you, feel you, know you’re mine.”

Your body tensed, the pleasure mounting too fast, too sharp, and when his teeth scraped down against your pulse point, it sent you flying. 

Your moan broke free, loud and inhibited as your eyes rolled back, Daryl groaning in response, the noise tearing from his throat as his hips slammed in rhythm with his fingers against you.

“There it is,” he gritted out, voice strained. “That’s my girl, fuck—jus’ like that, baby.”

The pleasure tore through you like wildfire, your palms trembling against the rough stone. Your walls clenched tight around him, and Daryl let out a deep, wrecked fuck, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release.

With a sharp curse, he pulled his hand from your clit once he knew you were through, his breath hot and ragged against your shoulder. His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, rougher, chasing his own release. At the last second, he pulled out, his fist working over his cock, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his throat as thick ropes of cum spilled onto your lower back, hot and slick against your skin.

For a long moment, all that filled the night air was the sound of heavy breathing, the cool breeze ghosting over sweat-slicked skin.

You turned your head, looking at him over your shoulder, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Come wash up with me?”

Daryl huffed, still catching his breath, his hands squeezing at your hips like he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet. “Yeah? That what you want?”

You leaned back just enough for your ass to brush against him, teasing, knowing exactly what you were doing. “Well… we’re already dirty,” you mused, glancing at him with a glint in your eyes. “Might as well get clean together.”

Daryl let out a rough chuckle, his fingers dragging slow and deliberate over your skin. “You’re killin’ me, girl.”

You grinned, pulling off the rest of your clothes before taking his hand and tugging him towards the water’s edge.

“Ain't my fault. You look good like this.”

“Covered in motor oil and sweat? You've got some weird kinks, baby.”

His tone was teasing, but the slight flush of his cheeks made it obvious that he appreciated your words. You caught on and playfully mocked him.

“Am I makin' you blush, Dixon?”

“Fuck off.”

Not wanting to give in, Daryl rolled his eyes and turned his focus back to the car. There was no real malice behind his words, though. He always gave you what you wanted at some point. He was just being stubborn today. You picked up on this, and you were already worked up, so why not push your luck?

“Is the backseat still functional?”

“Seriously, baby? You're gonna start this now?”

“Just a question.”

Losing his already fragile sense of self-control, Daryl let out a low groan and looked at you again. He tossed his cigarette and let his gaze roam your body. His eyes were slightly hazy, and his tongue traced over his lower lip. You were about to get your way, and it brought a smile to your face. You feigned innocence and raised an eyebrow.

“Why're you lookin' at me like that?”

“Stop talkin' and hop in the back.”

As soon as the two of you were situated in the back of the car, Daryl lay you on your back. He wasted no time pressing searing kisses down the side of your neck and towards your chest. Your need had been building out in the heat, so this felt like he was just torturing you. You wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of you.

“Daryl, please. You're- you're not bein' fair.”

Pulling back slightly, he smiled and looked at you expectantly. “Use your words and tell me what you need.”

You groaned and whimpered softly. He was killing you, and he knew it. At this point, he was completely stiff, and you could feel him through his jeans. That only made you more restless, and your hips instinctively jutted towards his. You were so fucking desperate for some relief.

To your surprise, Daryl used one hand and pressed your pelvis back against the seat. He was unusually dominant today, and it was a pleasant surprise. You were getting frustrated, though, and you kept whining. He responded by grabbing your jaw and making you look at his face. His movements were rough, but he was careful not to hurt you.

“Stop fuckin' whinin' and tell me what you need. I ain't gonna do shit 'til you listen.”

“Okay. Fuck. Just touch me. Please.”

“Where? Where do you want me to touch you, baby?”

“Use your fingers or somethin'. Just fuck me. Please.”

Seeing his girl beg and watching her smaller body squirm beneath his, Daryl was pleased. You were being so good for him, and he was going to reward that. His expression softened, and he kissed you lightly.

“That's a good girl. I'm gonna give my baby what she needs, okay? You just lie back and keep quiet.”

Eager to get some relief, you nodded quickly and waited for him to continue. Daryl was still being gentle as he worked your denim shorts down your thighs - not bothering to undo the button. He saw the damp spot on your underwear, and he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. He could never get tired of seeing you like this. He pressed his fingers and applied pressure to your already swollen clit through the fabric.

“Is this all for me, baby?”

“Just for you. Only you.”

Your response satisfied him more, and he smiled softly. Holding eye contact, he slid his fingers past the fabric and swiped them against your wet core. He pulled them back and brought them to his mouth, but didn't touch them just yet.

“You want me to taste you, sweet girl? Want me to see how good my girl tastes?”

Slightly annoyed, you squirmed beneath him again and groaned. He was just being mean at this point, and you were getting desperate.

“Daryl, baby, you're just bein' mean. Please- please touch me. I've been good.”

With one hand, he sucked on his two fingers and held you still with the other. You were trying to listen, but fuck were you getting impatient. He'd teased you before, but he was going above and beyond today.

“Stop fuckin' movin' and you'll get what you want.”

You whimpered again and looked up at him through your eyelashes. You were used to getting what you wanted, and he usually gave it to you. Fortunately for you, you'd never been above begging, and that always worked with Daryl.

“Please. I'll listen real good and keep quiet. Just touch me.”

Another small smile graced his lips, and he nodded. Your obedience and begging reminded Daryl that he was in full control. His cock strained against his pants, but he was more focused on pleasing you. That was more than enough to get him off.

“There we go, sweetheart. Thank you for using your words.”

After a few agonizing seconds, he slipped off your panties and roughly pushed two fingers into your core. He started stroking you with languid motions - purposefully not allowing you to reach your peak prematurely. Pleasure pooled low in your belly, but you were careful not to move. You didn't want to do anything that would cause him to stop.

“Fuck, that feels so good. Don't stop, Daryl. Please.”

“Ain't gonna stop, baby. Not when you're bein' so good for me.”

You'd been compliant, so he increased his pace. He used his thumb to graze your clit as he used the other two to pump in and out of your cunt. Daryl could feel your walls pulsating around his fingers, and your bottom lip was tucked between your teeth in an effort to remain quiet.

“You like that, baby?”

Stifling another whine, you quickly nodded, and made sure that your eyes stayed locked on Daryl's. Your stomach felt coiled tight, and you knew that you were getting closer. Suddenly, he paused and twisted his fingers sharply before pulling them out. You gasped and felt something akin to panic. You had been right on that edge.

“What the fuck? Why'd you stop?”

“Easy, sweetheart. I want to taste more of you.”

With that, he lifted your legs and rested them on his shoulders. Daryl leaned forward and used his fingers to slowly spread your folds open. He flattened his tongue and lapped at your seam. The warmth of your pussy against his mouth made a low moan reverberate in his throat. The attention was almost too much, and you instinctively cried out.

“Daryl, oh fuck. I-”

You were cut off by his large, rough palm being clamped over your mouth. He pulled back and made eye contact again. “Sh, sh, sh. You said you were goin' to be good and quiet. Can you handle that?”

Wanting him to keep going, you nodded and quieted down. While the car wasn't the most public place to fuck, it was parked in your front yard and any loud noise ran the risk of attracting nosey neighbors. Once Daryl was assured that you'd stay quiet, he lowered his head back to your entrance and resumed his ministrations. His hand remained covering your mouth, as a precaution.

As the pleasure continued to build, you whimpered against his palm and your thighs squeezed around the side of his head. This encouraged Daryl, and he increased his pace with a fervor. The man was fucking devouring you. It bordered on being overstimulating, and he could feel your legs start to tremble. He lifted his hand from your mouth and gave you the chance to speak.

“You gonna come for me, baby? Right here on my tongue?”

“Can I? Please?”

“Come for me. You've been such a good girl.”

Not having to be told twice, your muscles tensed once more before releasing, and your body trembled. You were dizzy as Daryl kept going and worked you through your orgasm. Tears streamed down your cheeks, and your chest was rapidly rising and falling. Finally, he let up and sat back on his haunches. He wiped his damp beard and beamed at you.

“Atta girl. You were so perfect for me, sweet girl.”

He praised you softly and began kissing the tears from your face. It was a miracle that he didn't come in his pants watching you fall apart like that. He would find his release soon enough; this was about you.

As Daryl held you and rubbed your back while you came down, there was a sudden knock on the window. Thank God they were tinted so whoever was out there couldn't see what was happening inside. Your boyfriend groaned and let his head fall against your shoulder. Maybe the person would just give up and go. Rick's voice rang out, and you sighed softly. Apparently not.

“Daryl, you in there?”

“Hold on.”

Daryl groaned and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. Your time was officially finished. The two of you were into many things, but having sex in front of his best friend was not one of them.

“You were perfect, baby.”

Tattoo artist!Jeff lowers down beside your ear, lips brushing against your skin. “Comin’ here wearin’ that slutty ass skirt just to get fucked by a stranger you don’t know shit about, huh? Do you even know my fuckin’ name? Huh, bitch?” You shake your head, mewling helplessly against the leather. He’s fucking you so hard and so deep. The chair is squeaking. You’re sobbing a little and digging your nails into the cushions. You bite on the leather, eyes rolling back when he finds that spongy spot in the deepest part of your cunt.

Tattoo artist!Jeff rams inside your leaking, slick-coated pussy, seemingly rutting in deeper and deeper and deeper—

Tattoo artist!Jeff laughs almost maniacally when you squirt all over his station. He pulls out just in time to paint your cute little ass with his cum, pumping himself a bit more. (He was careful enough not to land anything on your new tattoo.)

Tattoo artist!Jeff gives you the service and tattoo on the house, smirking as he watches the tattoo bounce up and down just under your skirt. 

And smirking even harder when he remembers he made you keep his smeared cum inside your panties.

Camp ranger!Toby spotting a pretty little camper (you) looking all sweet and lost surrounded by thick trees and whatever goes bump in the night that you’re so very scared of.

Camp ranger!Toby swaggering over to your shaking frame, axe still in hand from cutting down pesky weeds. He breathes a little, staring at your (very uneased) body and face— mostly your body— before grinning impossibly wide at you.

Camp ranger!Toby’s face gash leaks a little more when he sees your poor little scared face. He breathes, “Are yuh– you l-lost?” Nodding, you shift a little on your feet. You notice how tall he really is, how big his muscles are. “I don’t know where my cabin is,” you shakily hand him your admission paper. He takes one look, nods, and grins. “Follow me.”

Camp ranger!Toby grips the skirt of your dress, almost ripping the seams. You glare at him for a moment, but your feet stumble on each other trying to follow him. A few minutes of almost tripping on small rocks and bashing your on face with risen tree roots, you realize this path isn’t the path you originally got lost on.

Camp ranger!Toby ignores you when you stammer how this isn’t my path mister and how I don’t recognize this path please stop pulling on my dress. He drags you back to his cabin, busting open the door with one swift kick and pushing you inside.

Camp ranger!Toby starts planting slobber-coated kisses all over your shoulders and neck. He looks up at you— why is he cute— before asking, “Can I taste you?” You freeze. Then, feeling a regretful but tempting ache in your body– you nod.

Camp ranger!Toby flashes a smile at you before dropping to his knees and shoving his face under the heat of your dress, pressing the tip of his tongue on your clothed clit, moving hungrily up and downed your panties, groaning when he feels the little bit of slick drip through the fabric and on his warm tongue.

Camp ranger!Toby eventually moves your panties to the side to plunge two fingers deep inside. Working madly up and down, he whines whenever specks of your fluids drip and spray on his tongue and the sides of his mouth, and Toby licks them all up like a filthy mutt. 

Camp ranger!Toby cums in his pants the moment you cum on his tongue, your fingers gripping his hair like a death sentence. He pulls off of you with a disgusting pop! Before looking up at you, so sweet and so thankful— muttering “Thank y-you…”

Camp ranger!Toby gives you a wet kiss before backing off of the porch of your actual cabin, stumbling back to his own trail before he disappears into the night.

You find his number scrawled on your flyer snapped against the garter of your panties the next day.

Autoshop owners!Tim and Brian laughing to each other when they spot you stumbling out of your own car. Brian tilts his head when you approach their desk. You ask for a simple pink tint. 

Autoshop owners!Tim and Brian nod and say their boys will get it done for you in no time. You thank them and sit down on one of the waiting benches inside their shop. However, you didn’t feel one set of eyes on your chest (that tank top you wore was dangerously low) and another set of eyes on your thighs (your shorts are showing more skin than you think it’s showing).

Autoshop owners!Tim and Brian approach you after your tint is done. They name 300$ as their final price. You search your purse— you forgot your wallet. You freeze in front of them like deer in headlights.

Autoshop owners!Tim and Brian were covered in car oil and grime, smears of black decorated their thick, strong forearms. Tim was wearing a white tank top that let his biceps flex and stretch and leave you with the unholiest of imaginations. You wonder how the fabric hasn’t ripped under his muscles yet. Brian, however, was shirtless— cocky while sporting his oily abs and V-lines, while a yellow hoodie was tied around his waist. 

Autoshop owners!Tim and Brian watch, smirking as you gulp and squeak how you forgot your wallet at home and if they had any online paying options. Tim grunts, “‘m real sorry, miss, but we only take cash.”

Autoshop owners!Tim and Brian pause for a bit, before Brian speaks. “We do have another mode of payment,” glancing at Tim, motioning to the stock room.

Autoshop owners!Tim and Brian have you on top of Tim, riding his cock while your tank top is pushed up to your collarbones, exposing your bouncing tits (“no bra, puddin’? Y’must be waiting for this.” Tim said.). Brian slips in behind you, hands kneading your tits, rolling your nipples in between his calloused fingers, whispering sweet nothings in your ear (“You’ve been riding him for the past half-hour, sweetpea. Mind giving me some sugar, too?”).

Autoshop owners!Tim and Brian takes you at the same time. Brian in your ass, while Tim fucks up into you (because your legs are practically jelly at this point). After about half an hour they both go non-verbal, loud grunts and groans filling the room accompanied by your whines and mewls.

Autoshop owners!Tim and Brian cums messily. Brian fills up your ass while Tim paints your body. 

Autoshop owners!Tim and Brian let you leave the autoshop without paying a dime.

You leave a five-star review on their blog a week after.

College professor!Jack clicking his tongue at your recent Biology test papers, shaking his head while he looks blankly at your wrong answers.

College professor!Jack seems to be calculating something in his head, before looking up at you from his desk. “You’re one more failing test from flunking Biology for the semester.” You cower, biting your lip and thinking of what your parents might think, working their asses off just for your tuition only for you to flunk general biology in your third year.

College professor!Jack hums when he hears you asking for extra homework for extra credits, slowly standing up, eerily silent and thinking. Suddenly, he speaks. “You need at least 30 more points to amount to a passing grade,” you nod, desperate for the extra points.

College professor!Jack pauses, then turns around. “I am in need of a test subject as material for my female anatomy worksheets due before finals.” silence again. Then, “It’s about reactions to arousal.”

College professor!Jack has you laid on his desk, naked with nothing else but your flats on. You prop yourself up, but he plants two fingertips on your chest and gently but firmly pushes you down. “Ah-ah,” he tuts, clicking his tongue. “Lay flat. I need to see all of you.”

College professor!Jack who at first runs the tips of his fingers up and down your torso, humming at the visible goosebumps following his motion. His tail wags gently side to side, but even that looks perfectly calculated. He brings the pad of his fingers firmly on one of your nipples, hearing you whine at the stimulation.

College professor!Jack trails his fingers down to your slick-coated heat, circling the soft nub of your clit before slowly slipping a finger inside. He watches your face change closely. Then, another finger, then another… but he doesn’t move. You beg him to please move your fingers please I want it so bad, but he doesn’t respond.

College professor!Jack finally obliges and moves— but painfully slow. You whine and writhe against him, the base of his palm merely brushing your clit. Jack leans in, slow and accurate, breath flush against your ear. “Ride my fingers. Prove that you deserve those 30 points.”

College professor!Jack watches as you lift your hips then bring them back down again on his long fingers, eyes rolling back and your hand gripping his wrist in place. He watches your orgasm take over you with silent delight.

College professor!Jack pulls out and brings his soaked fingers to his face. He smells it, silently humming. Then, he brings his tongues out, stretched and licking up from the base to the tips of his fingers.

College professor!Jack cleans off his fingers. “Arousal is… sweet. Like nectar.” he pauses. “Do you mind if I took body-shots for… educational purposes?”

College professor!Jack hands you the answer-key printed on an index card on finals day, nodding to where your seat is.

You’re gawking at your own bare body, with no face shown, printed on the test paper.

Freelancer!BEN whom you’ve paid 50$ each week for him to work on your consistently broken sink, which you might or might have not wrecked on purpose so he can keep coming back.

Freelancer!BEN who appears on your porch, lazy smile and equipment ready, hits you with a “Morning, ma’am. What’s broken today?”

Freelancer!BEN who slides under your sink pipes, grunting a “Let’s see the damage here…” before he arches his body just right for his shirt to lift up and show a bit of his faint abs. He has a small LUCKY YOU tattoo on the side of his hip. You bite your lip, imagining what his skin would feel like if it was pressed against your tongue.

Freelancer!BEN who after about an hour, finally repairs the broken pipe that gave out soooo suddenly and glances up at you from the floor. He gives you tips and tricks as to not wear out the epoxy, but you aren’t listening. You’re too busy imagining what it would be like to shut him up using your glossed lips (that you used your most expensive lipgloss for) and hiking your booty shorts a little more.

Freelancer!BEN’s eyes travel in all the right places you want them to travel. He smirks, pointy canines flashing while he politely fixes up his tools. His pants look a little tighter.

Freelancer!BEN was about to name the price but you stop him with a hand on his shoulder and eyes deep inside his. He gets a good whiff of your perfume as you speak. “Actually, I…” you trail a finger up and down his chest. “With all this work you’ve been doing for me, I thought it would be just right to give something far more special back than just loading your face with money.”

Freelancer!BEN cocks an eyebrow up, still grinning from ear to ear, setting his toolbox down ever so quietly on the counter.

Freelancer!BEN who’s whining and whimpering and moaning so pathetically under you, breath knocked out with how hard you drop yourself down on his cock. He begs you to pleasepleaseplease let me cum inside you, eyes filled to the brim with tears. You don’t stop nor slow down, hands planted on his chest for support, smearing your slick and his pre-cum all over yours and his hips.

Freelancer!BEN who blushes when you say “Thank you sooo much for helping me, Ben,” high out of your mind on sex, while he nods back frantically, lightly laughing out of breath, “No– ngh– no problem ma’am— anytime– oh fuck!”

Freelancer!BEN who accidentally gets very overstimulated, to the point of sobbing under your touch, gripping on his pillow behind him, holding on to basically nothing. Nothing but the last of his consciousness when his eyes roll back into his skull.

Freelancer!BEN pushes you off the moment he feels you cum around him— because he literally can’t hold it in anymore— and squirts hard and long, spurts of white, warm cum splattered on your body that reach in between your tits.

Freelancer!BEN spasms and writhes under you, while you ride out your orgasm flush on his cock, mewling when the rest of your orgasm out. He sobs quietly under you. “Can I… can I have a kiss please?”

Freelancer!BEN leaves with lipgloss kiss-marks all over his face, kissing you goodbye and scheduling another repair next week.

You don’t break your pipes this time.

First, he searched for your Instagram, letting out a faint whine when he found out that your account was private. He complained even louder when you ignored his follow request. His woe was only subdued noticing the cute, little link in your bio: your Twitter account.

The account was almost inconspicuous to a fault. But with someone monitoring your socials daily, things began to fall through the cracks. Eventually, someone tagged you and another account he didn't recognize in a gif of a woman sucking seductively on her fingers.

He'd recognize those lips anywhere. Those were yours, supple and soft.

Curious, he then clicked on the other account on the offhand chance it also belonged to you. The pinned image nearly made him drop his phone in shock. He never expected for his coffee shop beauty to be an online tramp.

There you were in lacy panties that you had pulled to the side, exposing a rhinestone plug that glimmered perfectly in the lighting. You had placed pink heart emojis over your bare breasts as if that left anything to the imagination. Honestly, he found the teasing adorable, and craved to see more.

That's when he noticed another link to an auspicious website, one he knew all too well through his incel colleague, Gyutaro.

But he wasn't like Gyutaro, right? Douma was just curious. Maybe if he spent enough money on you, you wouldn't have to resort to such filth. Yes, that's it. He was helping you. No ulterior motives whatsoever.

He sat at his desk for a moment, contemplating his actions before impulsively purchasing a subscription. The confusing rush of dopamine that coursed through his veins was exhilarating. It wasn't quite happiness, but he was beyond content for once.

Scrolling through your pictures was suddenly his newest indulgence, his greatest vice. His mouth watered a little, opalite eyes transfixed at the sight of you fingering your perfect, pretty cunt. He was immediately enchanted by the subtle moans that left your glossy lips with each curl of your fingers.

Douma was certain your nectar was far sweeter than any pastry he had ever purchased from you. All he craved was just a taste, overcoming his vice for sake in favor of you. Well, at least that's what he deluded himself into believing. In reality, he was a hypocrite. Just as horny and perverted as the men he cast scorn towards.

Convinced this was different, he only wanted to desecrate you, not any other online whore. Other men are addicted to pornography as a whole, not just a single user. Besides, he'd convince you to quit eventually — after he conveniently saves everything for safe keeping of course.

A notification popped up and his smile grew wider at the realization of what you were up to. Airy, amused bubbles cascaded off his diaphragm. You truly were a minx, milking your subscribers for all their worth, and Douma feared he was no better than them.

You were undressed and sprawled out on your bed with your legs spread for the camera. In your hand, you had a cute, pink, vibrating wand placed a little too eagerly against your clit. Inserted in your tight pussy was a large, fake dick that was attached to a machine.

Every so often, either one or both of your toys would stop working and you would beg, looking into the lens with half lidded, fuck me eyes. At the same time, your hips bucked against the silicon cock, desperate to get fucked by some simp who would never know the real thing.

“Please...” You rubbed pathetic circles into your puffy clitoris with the smooth wand. Your chest heaved almost delicately with each breathy whine. “I really wanna cum again.”

Taking pity on you, Douma paid for you to have thirty seconds of clitoral stimulation at a sensual pace. His face nearly lit up, but not quite, at the sight of your eyes rolling into the back of your head in euphoria.

Each subtle roll of your hips was like you begging for him to fuck your greedy pussy. Perhaps he would take his time with you, swirl his long, slender fingers around your needy clit long after you became undone. Holding you in place as you writhed beneath his touch, forcing you to cum for him until you could only utter nonsense.

Or perhaps that was too cruel?

He couldn't be sure. All Douma knew was that you deserved to feel good. So when the thirty seconds were up, he paid for both toys to simultaneously stimulate you at the lowest setting.

You were ecstatic, thanking him by name — well, his username — bringing a twisted smirk to his face.

Unable to hold back for a moment longer, he shimmied down his silk pajama bottoms down his thigh, allowing his erection to slap against his navel. He began fisting his cock to the sensual pace of your toy.

With your free hand, you caressed your warm breast, squeezing the soft tissue with every rise and fall of your chest, perfectly in sync with your mewling. Occasionally, you would pinch your budding nipple betwixt your index finger and thumb, rolling it three times before alternating back to kneading your tit once more.

He would give anything to suck upon your breasts, giving into worldly desires enough to picture you beneath him as he suckled deep contusions down your delicate throat. It was like painting the pretty hues of sunset, working the tender brush strokes of his lips to your bosom.

He'd begin by enticing your areola with the tip of his tongue, circling increasingly inward until it flicked against your nipple. Worshipping your heavenly body with torrid kisses, lavishing his way down your abdomen to between your thighs.

An impassioned moan spilled out as he fantasized himself littering playful bite marks along the plush of your inner thighs. He be bruising your skin over and over again before shoving your legs even further apart to devour your sweet and sour main course.

Precum dribbled from the slit of his pale pink cock. His balls clenched in agony, holding off his impending orgasm in hopes that he would finish at the same time as you. Hoping in the back of his mind that you weren't faking it like most adult models. He wanted this to be real. He wanted at the very least a modicum of normalcy.

His heart was racing and his face was flushed an amorous tint of red. Beads of sweat began to form along his forehead, slightly matting the pale hair that fell across his face. Never in his life had he ever been such a mess for someone.

Was this what love felt like?

As the toys stopped once more, you opened a small bottle of lubricant, pouring a modest amount against your abused hole. He frowned. Were you not enjoying yourself? Was it possible that the setting was inadequate? Or that you just didn't enjoy coming over all?

Generous at heart, Douma needed to get you out of this situation, quickly finding himself purchasing the most intense settings for you before some incel could get the opportunity. A staggering tip of an additional eighty-thousand yen was dropped on you on top of the already outrageous price tag. You truly knew your worth.

Douma chuckled to himself, noticing the immediate shift in your demeanor. The way your fingers curled tighter around that magic wand. How you also clutched one of your tits for dear life as the other bounced freely.

Your throat had tightened, eliciting strained cries between breaths. Between gasps, your teeth would rake over your bottom lip, making it increasingly puffy with each bite. Your lipgloss was ruined, and he wanted to mess up your mascara with blissful tears.

You had lined up your body perfectly with your perverse machine, allowing the tip of the toy to fuck into your sweet spot with each thrust. Your thighs trembled, noticeably struggling to stay parted as that coil in your stomach knotted tighter.

“Fuck.” Drops of saline descended from your tear ducts as you redundantly cursed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Douma flicked his wrist faster, feeling warmth pooling in his abdominal muscles. His self-confidence grew with each passing second.

Your clit was practically pulsing with need, begging for release with every moment of rapid vibrations. Then that coil snapped, your body jerking as clear fluid released from your already squelching pussy, staining the sheets with evidence of Douma's charity.

Overstimulated, you wanted to at the very least remove the wand as euphoria overtook your body. But you couldn't, not when the show must go on for at least another thirty seconds.

Your pussy squeezed that fake cock almost painfully, body steadily building another orgasm. Agony blended beautifully with bliss until the clock counted down to zero once more.

Eager to finish up, you tossed the vibrator to the side. “Cum with me!”

You dipped your hand between your legs, rubbing your almost numb, abused bundle of nerves with fervor. You rocked your hips into the stationary cock, grinding the tip deep within your velvety walls.

Douma switched up his pace once more, adding an additional fifteen seconds to destroy your weeping hole at a medium pace. He found himself holding his breath at the sight of it going a little too deep and nudging your cervix, smiling at the realization that you'd have to get used to it once he got his hands on you.

Yes. He'd ask for your number tomorrow. He'd work his way into your life until you didn't have to debauch yourself with these little shows. Should you wish to continue these lustful acts, they would be in private between the two of you.

“I- I'm cumming!” you cried once more, flooding your bedsheets once more with your release.

The tip of his cock twitched as he orgasmed with you, painting his midsection in white, hot ropes. Clarity did not hit him. The perfect picture of your salvation still plastered in his mind.

Yes.

He would save you from yourself… tomorrow.

Now he needed to wash away his sins. Or take the thought of you with him to the shower.

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store hummed overhead, casting a sterile, flickering glow over the aisles of stale chips and canned soup but the atmosphere between you and Daryl was anything but cold. It was caustic, the air was thick with the residue of a three-hour screaming match over a shredded tire and Daryl’s stubborn refusal to admit he’d botched the patch job. That frustration had curdled into a desperate, aggressive hunger and now, the only sound filling the store was the rhythmic, wet slap of skin hitting skin.

You were bent over the checkout counter, your palms pressed flat against the cold Formica, your pants and underwear pooled around your ankles. Daryl was behind you, chest heaving against your back as his calloused hands gripped your hips with bruising intensity. He was fucking you with a raw, punishing cadence, driving his thick cock deep into your pussy with every thrust, as if he were trying to drive himself right through you.

Even now, with your vision blurring and your breath hitching, you couldn’t shut your mouth.

"This...the only thing you're good at, Dixon?" you gasped, your voice strained and shaky. "Since you can't...oh fuck! fix a damn tire... you just...ah! fuck things dumb?"

The response was instantaneous. Daryl’s hand flew up, palm connecting with your right butt cheek in a loud, stinging smack that echoed through the empty store. The shock of the pain sent a jolt straight to your clit and you let out a loud pathetic moan, head tossing back.

"Watch yer damn mouth," he rasped, his voice a low, dangerous growl near your ear.

He didn't slow down, if anything, the insult fueled him. He reached forward, winding his fingers deep into your hair and yanking your head back sharply. The sudden tension in your scalp forced your throat open, leaving you exposed as he hammered into you. You rolled your eyes back in sheer pleasure, the sensation of being dominated and filled to the brim making your brain feel like it was melting.

The friction was intense, a searing heat that built with every plunge. You could feel the walls of your pussy stretching, gripping him tight as the wet sounds of your lubrication splashed against his thighs. You were being fucked dumb, the cognitive part of your brain shutting down until there was nothing left but the feeling of his cock hitting your cervix and the stinging heat on your skin.

"You're so...goddamn desperate," you teased, a breathless laugh escaping you. "Mmm angh! Can't handle...a little criticism...so w-what? have to just...shove it in?"

Daryl groaned, a sound of pure animal frustration and accelerated. He began to jackhammer into you, his thrusts becoming short, fast and punishing. You were shaking, fingers clawing at the counter as the pleasure became too much, forcing a tidal wave to crash over you. 

You felt your internal muscles seize, pulsing rhythmically around him as a forceful orgasm ripped through you. You screamed, the sound echoing off the linoleum floors, body shuddering under the weight of the climax but as the waves began to subside, Daryl didn't stop. He kept grinding into you, breath hot and ragged against your neck and cock still hard and insistent.

You panted, head hanging low and voice returning in a needy, blabbering whine. "Don’t fucking stop, ’m gonna cum again, fuckkkk agh! You wanna break me?" You shifted your hips, feeling the lingering sensitivity. "D-Daryl…If you actually...make me go again... I'll be quiet...all the fucking way back to the quarry. I swear."

Daryl tightened his grip on your waist until it hurt. He leaned in, lips brushing your ear with a gravelly, ruined whisper.

"That’s even if ya can still walk by then," he rasped.

The sheer arrogance of it, the promise of the wreckage he intended to leave you in, sent a fresh surge of arousal crashing through you. Your pussy clamped down on him in a sudden, involuntary spasm and the intensity triggered a violent reaction. You felt a hot, gushing release as you began squirting, the fluid spraying down and soaking your thighs as you wailed, body arching back into him.

Daryl let out a choked sound, his own control finally snapping. He let out a guttural groan, body stiffening as he drove himself in one last time, burying his cock as deep as it could possibly go. You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum erupting inside you, filling you to the brim, pulsing against your walls in heavy waves.

He stayed there for a moment, panting, forehead pressed against your shoulder, before he slowly pulled out. The sound of him sliding out of your drenched pussy was wet and loud and as he stepped back, he delivered one final, sharp smack to your sore ass.

"Now keep yer damn word and shut yer mouth fer once," he commanded, voice returning to that stubborn, gruff tone.

You collapsed forward onto the counter, limbs trembling and quaking, breath coming in shallow sobs of exhaustion. You felt completely undone, mind now a blank slate of pleasure and fatigue. As you slowly pushed off the counter and straightened, you felt a warm, viscous stream of his cum leaking down your inner thigh, dripping onto your panties.

You leaned back against the nearest shelving, staring up at the ceiling, body still humming with it. You thought about the birth control pills you had tucked away, enough for the next six months.