Tlou, HOTD +Maurauders

Pieces of straw tickled Claras hair and face as she shuffled on the beanbag. She could feel the presence of a body not far from her. Abby yawned softly, stretching her arms and rubbing her eyes. They lock quickly onto Clara who scrambles away like a kitten from a bath. Abby doesn’t react to this, just explains the situation in a cool tone. 

“Good morning.” She says with a cautious smile. Clara shakes her head, covering herself with the blanket. 

“I…I…” Stammers Clara in response. Abby exchanges a soothing look. “You came here in the middle of the night.” She starts to say. “You were tipsy and looking for me. I made sure you were alright, we talked, you fell asleep, I got you a blanket and then slept here to keep an eye on you.”

“But I…” Claras head is a metal tool rattling against steel. She tries to focus on the memories and they flood a chorus of nonsense in return. 

“I’m naked.” She blurts out. Abby’s face warms at this. 

“Half naked.” Abby corrects. “Nothing happened between us you…were coming onto me a little, I guess…but as soon as you took off your shirt I went and grabbed you a blanket straight away.”

“Coming onto you?? I wasn’t-“ Finally, one solid memory flashes through her like a bitter plague, the taste lingering on her tongue. She had torn her shirt off for her only hours ago. Begging for some sort of affirmation. Of approval. Clara didn’t know why she needed it so much. Not just approval but particularly from Abby. She had known the girl a few weeks and already she meant more to her than any other stranger she had aquatinted herself with. Clara sighs, nodding her head in defeat. 

“I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” States Abby matter-of-factly. “It was the alcohol. It’s fine I get the same way. All…fuck-the-closest-non-family-member-ey.” Clara laughs shortly, then her smile drops.

“Wait that’s not…I didn’t come here just because I was looking for a warm body. I wanted to see you. You know to…talk.”

Abby nods her head, fidgeting a little with her fingers. “It kind of felt like you wanted to do more than that.”

“I’m sorry. God I’m sorry. What did I do exactly?”

“Um…well you started reciting Shakespeare, so…I learnt that you’re a little English literature nerd.”

“Hey!” Clara gasps, finally laughing genuinely for a moment. 

“We talked about some things and then you took your shirt off. You wanted me to tell you if I thought you were hot.”

“And did you?”  Silence. For so long it felt like eons.

“Did I…what?” Abby finally pushes herself to ask. Clara shrugs, staring up into Abbys eyes with an innocent look that made Abbys stomach spin.

“Think I was hot?”

“I didn’t look. You were drunk.”

“Okay well it wouldn’t have been the first time….so” Clara steps towards her with an air of false confidence that makes even a woman of Abbys size shudder.

“I can’t discuss this.

“Oh come on. I’m not drunk anymore, it’s just an opinion, I’m a big girl I can handle it.”

“Stop that.”

“Abby-“

“Fine, fuck…yes you were hot…I don’t…” Clara stretches her hand up to Abby’s face which drops Abby’s mouth instantaneously. 

“So what are you going to do about it?”

And then, the delicate fuse, unable to control it’s proximity to an open flame, burst. Abby reached for Claras arms, grabbing them over Claras head and pushing her against the barns rough, wooden walls. She kisses Clara deeply, unaware or perhaps unbothered by Claras lack of experience in anything remotely romantic or sexual, immediately pushing her tongue into her mouth and drawing both a sound of surprise and allurement from the girl beneath her. 

Abby Kneels down.

“This is a bad idea.” Abby speaks, making her thoughts known more to herself than to Clara, as if trying to find her moral compass. This was not what she did. It shouldn’t be. Clara tilts her head back in anticipation.

“Abby…I don’t fucking care.” Abby nods, unzipping the skinny jeans that fit on Claras body like it had been hand crafted for her.

Finally, the jeans fall to the ground, revealing light blue panties and perfect skin. Abbys own body reacts at the site of it, and her face makes a smile of satisfaction. She pulls Claras shirt up just enough to reveal her stomach, leaving an assortment of kisses there. Then, she moves down to Claras waistline. Kissing and licking, building the anticipation to a point where Clara considered begging. She was saved from needing to, though, as Abby ripped her panties down and starting licking, unable to resist any longer.

Abby tongued her deep, lapping up the mess of all Claras sweet fantasies and desires, savouring the taste like fine wine. Gasps and gentle moans are strung from her lips so effortlessly, and when Abby finds the sensitive bundle of nerves that has Clara singing out in pleasure, Abby increases the pace.

“F…fuck mmm……..ahh~” Abby didn’t let up her movements, now grabbing onto either side of Claras body and digging her nails in. Clara extended a hand mindlessly to Abbys braided hair, gripping and tugging at it.

“S…s good FUCK- Mmm…” It was almost desperate, and Abby fucking loved it.

She pulls away for a moment and Clara looks down at her, worried Abby has changed her mind or starting to hate it.

“What’s wrong?” Clara asks, voice shaky from all her heavy breathing. Abby smiles reassuringly. 

“I’m gonna add a finger mkay?”

“What?” Clara gasps out, surprised. 

“I mean…I’m sure you finger yourself right?” Abby asks. Clara shrugs.

“Well sure, sometimes…I usually use the shower head..” Abby laughs at this. 

“Mmm shower head, huh? Classic. Well this shouldn’t hurt, but it might just have a little bit of a sting if nothings gone up there before.” Clara listens to her with wide eyes and Abby chuckles ever so sweetly again.

“You’ll be fine. I know you can take me, sweet girl.” Clara blushes at both the name and the vulnerability of Abby telling her this with her head inches away from her exposed cunt. Abby continues her licking and eases her index finger into her.

“FUCK~” She practically cries out, not expecting to feel so much. Abby laughs into the warm, delicious space she had immersed herself in. Abby thrusts her finger hard and fast now, each moan relaxing a nerve inside Abby, slowly pushing her into a space of absolute serenity where she would happily spend the rest of her days. 

She’s about to slide in another and Clara is so fucking close to completely losing herself to Abby when they barn door starts to open. 

“FUCK.” Clara whisper-screams. Abby continues and god Clara want’s nothing else but for it to continue, but with her last bit of will she pulls Abby’s face away.

“Abby stop, I think it’s my…my dad.” She moans. Abby looks up at her, glassy blue eyes just as shiny as her, rather drenched, face. “Fuck…really?”

“Yes- fuck get up.” She does as she says and Clara hides under the blanket. Abby quickly heads down the ladder, meeting him as the door opened. 

“Oh, Miss Anderson, you’re here early.” Addresses Clara’s father. She blushes profusely. 

“Oh I um, never left. I was milking the cows in the afternoon, I filled up the water tanks and then when I got to herding the sheep it was already pretty late so I just slept here…” Abby rambles. He nods.

“That’s very efficient. We’re glad to have you. I’m not sure how acquainted you’ve gotten with my daughter, Clara but..well usually she helps on the farm but… well sure as much as I’ve tried to inspire her in the world of ranch owning I can sense her wanting to flee the nest soon. Go off to college or…to meet boys or whatever it is young adults do. Anyway, it will be nice still having the company. And the help, of course.”

“Yes Sir, I’m happy to do it.”

“Have you seen Clara at all today? She usually makes me coffee in the morning but I guess she slept in. She wasn’t in her room so I thought maybe she wandered over here. Her mum and her used to come in here a lot.”

“Oh I see…no I haven’t seen her. I wasn’t expecting you back though. Weren’t you on a trip?”

“No, just in town this time. It was going to turn into one but a deal didn’t follow through.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Um…I…can make coffee. If you can’t find her I mean.”

“Oh sure, thank you miss Anderson.”

“Oh Abby is just fine Sir.” He gives her a gracious smile. 

“Abby then.”

The politics of the realm have always been a complex affair. While it is true that wars have been settled for less, it was simply disheartening for both nobles and common folk alike. Watching a family, those who are considered by many to be gods, fight over power and title. 

Not only did brother fighting brother leave a distaste in the mouths of those who were forced to account for it, but it causes chaos, anguish, death, and it has been causing devastation since the crowning of Aegon. 

Rhaenyra Targaryen was but one piece on a board far bigger than her, perhaps larger than her entire bloodline. Born an innocent, with her fathers smile and logic, as well as his desire to solve issues with peace, rather than with the fire that danced in her veins. 

Mysaria, “white worm,” had always been a character in Rhaenyras youth. She had heard of her skill in various fields. A consort, a mistress of whisperers. She had also heard at length from various sources the extent of her beauty. It certainly enthused her uncle. 

It was strange that 15 years later she would be practically kneeling at Rhaenyras mercy. This wasn’t to say she begged, however. No. Mysaria always believed her life to be valuable, even when men, no matter how old, stupid or ugly, would tell her otherwise. 

 A knock, one night, at Rhaenyras chambers. The hour is quite late and there is but a single guard posted at her door. 

“The white worm, your grace.” The guard informs her, and Rhaenyra gets out of bed with such exertion she is worried she has strained something. A hand goes over her silver hair, putting any loose strands into the correct place in her extravagantly braided hair. She isn’t sure why she is fixing her appearance, or even now why she is so conscious of it. 

“Your grace…”

“What? Oh yes, bring her in.” Rhaenyra says, her fingers still caressing her hair. Perhaps as a nerves thing. 

“I apologise for the disturbance, your grace. I understand the hour is late, I would not have come if I thought it could wait.” Mysaria explains. She nods simply, her eyes tracing every inch of the white worm, as if looking for something. A reason for Rhaenrya not to trust her, perhaps, as there had already been so many people she couldn’t trust in her life.

“It is alright, Lady Mysaria. What is your news?”

Mysaria nods, her expression serious as she begins. “It has come to my ears that Prince Daemon has been sending his men on missions of great brutality. The tales of their actions grow more gruesome with each retelling, and his men...” She pauses, frowning slightly before continuing. “His men are starting to question their loyalty to a liege who makes them commit such horrors. It would not be surprising if some of them deserted.” Rhaenyra groans, her patience growing weary. 

“So in fact he does not which to usurp me at all? No. My husband would rather create more enemies in my name and cower back to me like a babe cowers from their punishment. What else have you heard?”

Mysaria hesitates, her gaze flickering to the others gentle blue. “There are whispers, your grace, that the Lannister army may be preparing for battle.” Mysaria announces, the warmth of the candlelight feeling all the more hot. 

"You think their movements are advancing already? A result of criston coles stupidity, no doubt, and now at the hands of prince Aemond."

“I wanted to tell you as soon as I heard. Daemon often acts quickly and without a second thought. Telling you now may give you time to consider a strategy to pursue before he conducts a new idea that will no doubt rally more enemies against us.” 

A peculiar smile pulls at the queens lips at this. The smile was gentle, genuine. It offered a sense of childlike peace that brought Mysaria back to when they were younger. Simpler, potentially, though not necessarily better. 

“Us?” Rhaenyra asks through a soft chuckle. “You got comfortable fast.”

“True that it wasn’t long since I was thrust into the darkness. An echo of a great spy. But when new pathways alight, I am not one to wait for the opportunity to run away with the candle.” She bobs her head in agreement subconsciously appreciating her mannerisms.

“You could have gone anywhere.” Rhaenyra reminds her, stepping closer and touching her hand. She wasn’t even sure she had made a decision to touch her. All she knew was she had stepped out and suddenly her hand was caressing Mysaria’s. Her skin was so soft and the contact was electrifying. Logically, of course, Rhaenyras own hand was warm from being under the covers of her bed, but to Mysaria it only confirmed Rhaenyras birth right, a true born dragon. 

“You know, I could have had your head for that?” Rhaenyra says with a grin. Mysaria’s eyes widened with confusion before she elaborates. 

“For waking me up to hear MORE disappointing stories about Daemon. He is all I hear about these days, from everyone who wants to undermine me. I hear his name more than I speak it myself as he is never. fucking. here.” Mysaria smiles weakly. 

“Daemon is a…troubled mind. A character to be certain but, well.”

“His issue is he goes around taking what he wants while genuinely believing there will be no consequences. People like that shouldn’t have a dragon.” The caressing spreads to up Mysarias arm, making her gasp in enthusiastic surprise. 

“He was everything I wanted when I was a child. Everything I wanted to be. Perhaps both.” Rhaenyra explained, and Mysaria watches intently, like there is no sound she would rather hear, even late at night on the edge of war. 

“I was everything he wanted too. The rightful heir, young enough to…mould into whatever he wanted.”

“I do not like that he took advantage of you, but, I certainly see why he was so captivated.” The soft movement across Mysarias skin stops and she takes a cautious step back. It’s so small it’s barely noticeable.

“What?”

“I remember your father. Kind, peaceful, humorous, I see him when I look at you. But without that, you are strong, intelligent, beautiful. You are a great mother and a great queen. One who appreciates the subtleties of war. A level headed ruler the realm deserve-“

Mysarias gasp of surprise is silenced by Rhaenyras tongue as it enters her mouth. She presses her warm hands on both of Mysarias cheeks, moaning and deepening the kiss, feeling a passion unmatched to anything she had ever felt before. Those words were like honey. They affirmed her in ways she wasn’t sure she had ever felt. Always so worried about her claim, her children’s claim, the whole being-a-woman thing. Never did she have someone loyal and beautiful who would actually speak to her without hidden agendas or to disagree. No, these words were gratifying and intrigued every part of Rhaenyra.

Mysarias pretty light grey gown was the first to drop to the ground, revealing beautiful skin and curves that had been so criminally concealed. Rhaenyra smiles as her eyes familiarise herself with her body. Her perfect breasts are a refreshing sight for someone who practically had only seen the pair she, herself, possessed. The cool air hardened her exposed nipples, and at this point her head is spinning. Even so, Rhaenyra managed to pull her attention to the rest of Mysaria. Her perfect cunt Rhaenyra started to imagine she was tasting was becoming more inviting by the second. Her stomach too was an image of perfection, much like something she would see sculpted in the galleries back at kings landing. 

“I’ve never…” Rhaenyra began, surprised by the sound of her voice in the deathly quiet room. It was rare for her to depict such vulnerability in these scenes. With most men she had been with, she was the one in charge. Always towering over them, taking what she wanted, using them to feel good, to feel as powerful as she was deep down. Even during her first time she was the one who instigated, never like this. Mysaria gives her a reassuring smile.

“If it is any constellation, your grace, I have never had royal pussy, either.” Rhaenyra laughs at her rather vulgar statement, feeling less tense than before. 

“I want to taste you…” Rhaenyra says, clearing her throat and installing a shroud of false confidence to her words. “May I?” Mysaria nods, sitting at the edge of Rhaenyras bed and spreading her legs. Rhaenyra follows suit, kneeling in front of her. When Mysaria is in view fully now, she notices a scar through her folds which causes her to look up for reassurance. 

“Will it hurt?” She questions. Mysaria shakes her head. 

“My father gave that to me when I was very young.”

“Oh.” She mutters, caressing Mysarias thigh. “That’s awful. I’d understand if you don’t want me to-“

“No. I want you to. Giving me pleasure in the same place he cut seems a rather satisfactory form of revenge would you agree?” Rhaenyra smiles at this.

“I would.” She hums into her inner thighs, kissing and sucking at the skin there. 

An excited gasp leaves her mouth and Rhaenyra notices the way Mysarias excitement drips.

“Need to…” Rhaenyra lets out, tone desperate. Mysaria nods. “Go for I- mmm.” Rhaenyra licks quickly over her clit and the higher sections of her cunt. The pace is eager and unrelenting, causing Mysaria more pleasure than she had anticipated from someone new to all this. Mysaria wraps her hands over her head, fingers weaving into the silver braid she so adored. Now Rhaenyra goes lower, in between her folds and all the way down to her pretty hole, tongue exploring the entrance and pulling a cacophony of noises from Mysaria all at once. 

She tugs on the braid a little and uses strands that had fallen down onto her face to guide her to where she wanted, bringing her closer by the second. 

“fuckfuck…so…ahh-“ Rhaenyra goes even faster, if possible, moving her head now in rhythm. 

Mysaria tugs her hair tight as she cums. Her orgasm rippling through her in waves. Rhaenyra licks every delicious drop, moaning in satisfaction at her new found favourite hobby. She almost felt angry at herself for not experimenting with girls in her youth. Especially when she could have been doing this the whole time. 

She stands up, smiling nervously at Mysaria. 

“Was…that…um…” Her chin is glistening, like that wasn’t answer enough, but Mysaria new words of affirmation was needed right now. Maybe always.

“You did amazing, my queen.” She speaks breathily. Rhaenyra grabs her hips, pulling her in. Then she starts licking and sucking over her chest, making Mysaria gasp again. When she pulls away, Mysaria sucks on Rhaenyras neck, hard, untying the string of her nightdress as she did so.

“This alright?” Mysaria asks. Rhaenyra nods, letting out a hushed “yes.”

Rhaenyra is a sight just as breathtaking. Her smooth, beautiful Targaryen features making Mysaria flush. Perhaps she had chose the wrong Targaryen all those years back. Not that it was much of a choice. 

“You must have a lot to teach me…” Rhaenyra says, feeling exposed in the cool air. Mysaria chuckles softly. 

“Go to the bed and lie down. We will test the waters. See what you like.” Rhaenyra nods. Her imagination could think up many things to be certain, but at the same time she had no idea what she was in for. 

Mysaria gets on top of her, legs on either side of Rhaenyras waist. Her body travels from her collarbone to lower stomach, then to her sensitive cunt. Mysaria raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re so smooth down there.” She remarks. Rhaenyra laughs. 

“The hair that grows there is very fine but I still like to remove it when I have the chance. You like?” Mysaria puts her middle digit onto Rhaenyras tight bundle of nerves, drawing a satisfied “mmm” from her lips. 

“I like.” Mysaria agrees. Her two middle fingers continue, going a little slow just to offer the chance to revel in every sensation. Then, Mysaria curls her fingers inside her loosening walls, hitting every inch so good her eyes were rolling back. 

“Y…you’re good at that.” Rhaenyra breathes out. Mysaria gives a grateful smile. 

“I have been wondering something my queen.” Mysaria says, going a little faster. Rhaenyras eyes flutter.

“P..please… if we are acquainted enough for you to…put your fingers in me…you can at least use my name. Mmm…”

“I have been wondering, Rhaenyra, if it’s true about Targaryen’s being immune to fire.” Rhaenyra lets out a half laugh, half moan.

“That is meant to be legend. Though I hear some Targaryen’s truly can withstand… ohgods..ahem…um…fire.”

“And you?” She asks, removing her fingers and grabbing the flickering candle by her bedside table. 

“Can you be burnt?”

Rhaenyra nods slowly, her eyes dancing with the flame. 

“Some women like mixing a little pain and pleasure.” Mysaria explains, moving the candle in circular motions in the air. “Do you?” Rhaenyras gaze is deadly and intoxicating as she ponders her words.

“Perhaps…we can see.” She says, and Mysarias eyes sparkle in response, well, that and the candlelight reflecting so brilliantly in Mysarias deep coloured eyes.

“We should have a word to say if you want me to stop.”

“A word? What’s wrong with…’stop’” Rhaenyra questions genuinely. This brings another smile to Mysaria. 

“Often when pleasure or pain is overwhelming us in the best way possible, we say stop stop. Even if theres nothing we would want less than to stop. A word like…tart, is an effortless distinction to put a foot on the wheel.” Rhaenyra nods. 

“Tart…I like it.” Mysaria switches the candle to her left hand, putting her fingers back into Rhaenyra with her right. Cautiously, Mysaria pours the wax onto her body, making Rhaenyra shudder in pain. The combined sensation of her nearing orgasm caused her to cry out.

“Do…you need to say tart, Nyra?”

“N..no…Fuck it feels…I’ve never felt…” Mysaria nods in silent understanding, continuing to pump in and out of her. 

The wax solidifies on her skin and Mysaria puts the candle down, rubbing her fingers over it, already sensitive from the burning. 

“So…so good.” Rhaenyra hums, eyes shutting tight.

“I know…let it out I know you can.” Rhaenyra obeys, orgasming intensely and grabbing onto her tightly. 

“What else?” Rhaenyra asks when she finally catches her breath. 

“Need more.”

Mysaria is both surprised and impressed. She starts pulling off the thin bedsheet that was previously perfectly sat on Rhaenyras bed. She gives her a confused look.

“What are you doing with that?” 

“This,” Mysaria starts to say as she pulls at the sheet. “Can be used for restraints. Put your arms up.”

Rhaenyra does so and Mysaria ties it. 

“Have you ever experienced such intense sensations you wanted to scream and writhe around in your pretty bed, but you couldn’t move your arms at all? Couldn’t…defend yourself, almost.” Rhaenrya shakes her head, the idea already exciting her in a way she doubted was healthy. 

“Remember the wor-“

“Tart. I know.” Rhaernya says impatiently. Mysaria grins at the queens eagerness and spreads her legs before climbing over them and positioning her own, wet cunt above Rhaenyras. Slowly, she rotates her hips, making Rhaenyra immediately moan in surprise. She watches Mysarias movements and wants so badly to level herself with each hand and move with her, but they remain very much bound.

“Ahhh…fuck…” Rhaeyra moans again as Mysaria goes even faster, grinding right over her clit over and over again. The sound of them sliding together, slick coating warm skin, it was a melody that would sell for millions. 

The familiar, scream worthy feeling in her stomach swirled and her head revelled as Rhaernyra grew closer to orgasm, eyes rolling back, curses and moans falling out of her lips constantly. That was when Mysaria got off her, standing up in front of where she lay on the bed. Rhaenyra groans in frustration.

“Why did you stop?” She asks bitterly. Mysaria says nothing, ensuring she makes direct eye contract as her fingers plunge into herself. Rhaenyra gasps at this.

“Wh- in front of me?”

“You must have been close, huh?” Mysaria taunts. Rhaenyras eyes darken.

“Mysaria. Get back here.”

“Beg.” Mysaria says. Her words are dangerous. Status wise Rhaenyra has almost infinitely more power than Mysaria, and with men that power always translated. Never would she beg for anything. Never…

“Please.” Mysaria smile is wider than the narrow sea before she returns to her position on Rhaenyra, rocking her hips back and forth.

“Ah~ seven hells that- fuck you, don’t stop..” A mischievous look paints Mysarias eye as she obeys Rhaenyra. She wasn’t going to stop. Not even if she was begging for it. When Rhaenyra cums harshly, her hands still restrained. She expects the unrelenting pace to let up, her cunt already so sensitive. 

Mysaria stands up, curling her fingers inside Rhaenyra again. 

“Gods- Mysaria what are y- ohfuckstopstop mmm”

“You know the word.” Mysaria reminds her. And she does. Tart. A word as bittersweet as the ones she used to pick the lemons off of as a child. It was a lot, in truth. She had cum all over her fingers, she had her pussy soaked against Mysarias and now her fingers were inside her again. She was covered in sweat, wax and slick, whether it was hers or Mysarias she didn’t know. It would be a perfect point to stop. To clean herself and lie in Mysarias arms. But as her fingers pumped in and out, making her scream in pleasure and pain, she simply couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

“I kn…know.” Mysaria hums in satisfaction, continuing her thrusting harder now. When Mysaria finally lets up after her third orgasm, she unties Rhaenyra and kisses her deeply, tongue caressing the inner walls of her cheek. Rhaenyras hair is a mess. The braid, whatever remained of it, was over half out, with strands sticking to her face in different places.

“That was…yes.” Rhaenyra says a little awkwardly. Mysaria nods.

“Does this mean I can say I have ridden a dragon?” Rhaenyra laughs at the statement. 

“Daemon is a targraryean too. Thought you were already a dragon rider.”

“That was a long time ago. I’d rather be with you any day than the father of a school of bastards who runs for the hills and makes bad choices.” Rhaenyra sighs at this. She is right, of course, but her words sting to hear.

“My sons…they” Rhaenyra started to say. Mysaria smiled brightly. 

“I know. They are perfect.” She says, exchanging a knowing look that lasts long enough for the silence to spread.

“At least you needn’t worry about mothering my children, Rhaenyra. We don’t exactly have the requirements for it.”

The unexpectedness of the sentence causes them both to laugh and Rhaenyra pulls her in to a hug.

“Thank you for your support.” Rhaenyra mumbles. Mysaria nods.