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Damon woke to the delightful feeling of a warm body in his arms. The weight atop him was settled over his chest, pressing along his flank. A woman's figure, he could tell. Soft, smooth, slight.. Yet somehow also bountiful.
There was the feeling of wisps against his chin and mouth as well. Hair from the head resting on his chest.
Damon cracked open an eye and saw gold, flowing, tumbling across the fair skin of a slender back. The bastard knight's mind sharpened quickly under the rays of the morning sun. A jolt of pride followed, swelling up through his chest. The man cracked a smile.
His bedding of Queen Cersei had not been a dream.
Damon drew his fingers over her back, brushing faint circles. His touch was gentle grazes, not meant to provoke - simple enjoyment of the feel of her skin, marveling at the heat of her body under his fingertips. The queen was a wonder to him, a joy for his roaming hand - as beautiful women tended to be. He could feel the life, the spirit, the ardor bubbling just beneath the skin. It poured into him next, trickling into his own blood, feeding the passion that still burned in his gut.
His cock stirred. A faint twitch had the damned thing lurching, brushing along the full thigh draped over his groin. Damon let out a quiet groan, his hand flattening against the softness of Cersei's body. His fingers sank into the swell of her hip.
That brought out a faint sigh from the queen. She stirred as his cock did, squirming upon his chest - pressing her thigh against his manhood yet again. Damon bit back a curse as he hardened further.
Just holding the woman in his arms was a pleasure. But he'd enjoyed a far greater ecstasy between the queen's legs. Her cunt was silk, soaking, and searing hot. He'd never had a woman so sinfully tight around him before Cersei. Now his cock craved more.
His length, swollen and maddeningly stuff, prodded her inner thigh again. The woman let out another little moan. Now she was stirring awake in his arms.
"Your grace." Damon welcomed her back to the world, pressing a small kiss to her head. "I hope you slept well."
The Lioness of Lannister let out a small, sweet hum. She drew her hand over Damon's bare chest, generous with her touch. No doubt she felt his hardness pressed between them.
She lifted her head, resting her chin on his broad chest to better see him. Green eyes held the glow of satisfaction.
"Such audacity to leave your queen feeling so sore." Her strained voice emphasized her point.
"I give you my deepest apologies. I only meant to satisfy." Damon's smile remained.
Cersei didn't match it - though he did note the faintest twitching at the corner of her mouth.
"You will give me no such thing. I demanded vigor and you gave me all you had and more. As you should have."
The blonde eased herself over Damon until she was settled over him completely, straddling him, her weight keeping him flat on his back. His cock slipped down and free, now jerking upwards with stiffness - every twitch bringing the shaft to nestle against Cersei's buttocks.
There were few better places for his cock to be, Damon figured.
Cersei spent a moment looking down, like she was studying him. Damon was much more invested in the way her breasts felt pressed against him. Soft mounds hanging down, faintly hardened nipples dragging along his skin. This new delight didn't last long, however.
The queen dipped her head down and stole the softest of kisses. Then she was rising, taking all her warmth and softness and pleasing company with her. The covers swept away as she departed the bed - and Ser Damon found new enjoyment simply watching her.
Queen Cersei was splendid in her nudity, even more alluring now in the morning light. The glow of the sun passing through the windows cast her body in perfect detail - and indeed, perfect was the most fitting word.
Skin so smooth and fair and flawless, wrapped lovingly over the sweetest, most delectable curves Ser Damon had seen upon a noblewoman. There had been a few whores and courtesans who boasted figures that could match the queen's… but none possessed the regal bearing of his lioness.
Cersei stretched as she crossed the room. Damon admired in silence, watching the shifting and shaking of flesh just from the simple act of her walking. And her hair, her mane of brilliant golden tresses, the way it swayed and brushed against her back… he wanted to run his fingers through it again. He wanted to grab it all in his fist. He wanted to take in the scent with his nose in her neck as he loomed over her.
But most of all, Damon wanted to reach out and grab at her ass. The shape, the swell, the way it shook as she walked… it called to him. Called to his lustful heart.
Cersei reached a table with a basin and white rag set aside. She took the strip of cloth and dipped it into the water. With a sigh, the queen started on cleaning herself. As she did, she glanced Damon's way.
He did not hide his appreciation, especially as Cersei drew the wet cloth over her breasts, over her belly. There was much appealing movement in the act. Enough to make his cock stir yet again.
Cersei saw and gave a scoff.
"After all last night, you desire more?"
"How could I not?" Damon countered.
Cersei drew the wet cloth further down, drawing it over her womanhood, wiping at her inner thighs. Damon smirked as he remembered all the offerings he'd left there the night before. All the emissions of seed his lioness had coaxed out of him.
From the look on the blonde's face, she remembered them too.
"Must be your bastard's blood." She muttered. "A creature born of lust. Charmed his way into the queen's bed and still he desires more. How much cunt does it take to sate you?"
"Yours."
At first Cersei just laughed, but as her giggling fluttered on Damon's gaze never wavered. Eventually her amusement faded as she realized he was serious. What came to replace it was softer. There was interest there, written on the lines of her face. A slight coloring crept across her cheeks.
She tossed the washcloth aside. Her body was glistening from the dampness. The faint sheen on her belly drew Damon's eyes - especially as she drew back towards the bed.
"You continue to surpass expectations, sweet knight. Fucked me to exhaustion, made me scream. Robert never did that. Not even at the height of his vigor." Cersei was at the edge of the bed now. Her gaze swept over Damon's naked form before settling upon the growth stretching up from his groin. More than interest now - hunger. "Though he didn't have a cock like yours. He didn't know how to use it either."
The number of bastards King Robert had sired told a different tale… but Ser Damon knew better than to contest the queen's words.
"You honor me with such praise, your grace." He said.
"The true honor is between my legs. You'd like that better, wouldn't you? Lecher."
"If the queen wishes."
"The queen demands."
Damon had no time to react as Cersei took his cock in her hand. Her fingers were slender, warm, bringing jolts of pleasure as they slid around his shaft. His cock was so thickened from morning arousal that her fingers could barely close around it. Her grip was firm, his cock even more so. Then came the strokes.
Up and down, up and down, she drew her fingers over the length of Damon's manhood, each stroke feeding into that damnable heat welling in his gut, in his balls. Cersei put both hands to work then, milking his cock with even more fervor.
Damon laid there, groaning, feeling like he was sinking into the bed as the queen's slender hands played upon his pillar and stones. Every so often, one of her hands would break from the strokes to cup and squeeze at his balls. A small part of Damon felt some pride at how big they felt in the woman's hand, her palm not quite able to cradle both churning bulbs.
There was interest in her touch, just as there was craving. Through lidded eyes, Damon could see how the queen marveled at his size, his length, his thickness, even enamored with the veins bulging along the shaft. The way her desire glimmered in her eyes had the bastard knight twitching against her firm grip. Wicked delight crossed her features then - he knew she could feel it.
The queen leaned over him, her hands working fast now. The crown was glistening as the first offerings came trickling out - clear fluid, not the true seed. It was a wetness that only aided her efforts, her stroking hands easing that slickness down the length of his cock, until most inches were coated in the stuff. Damon shuddered, groaning again in strained pleasure.
"Gods…"
New delight came in the form of her breasts, warm and soft, brushing maddeningly over the sensitive cockhead. The rod twitched at the faintest touch, swollen to the point of looking an angry red. Cersei knew exactly what sort of blissful torture she was performing - she licked her lips, taking his cock and smacking the darkened cockhead against her breast.
Then Cersei let go and crawled onto the bed, letting the shaft drift through the valley between her breasts. So soft and warm and delightful - but fleeting. She crawled up his body, his cock dragging down the swell of her belly, until she was looking Damon in the face again.
"I meant my offer from before. I can make you a lord." She told him, settling again in his lap.
The feeling of her buttocks smothered his cock once more, nearly making him come undone. But Damon grit his teeth and held on.
"I… still haven't thought of a house name." He admitted.
"You will. Later. First, you have some knightly duties…"
Cersei dipped down and kissed him. This one was longer than the first, her lips playing, enjoying, exploring. Damon gave her much to explore.
The woman sank her body against his, pressing her cunt flush to his cock. It felt so hot against his shaft, a furnace that could swallow a man whole. She felt wet, too. Soaking arousal smeared along his cock as he ground against her.
It was exquisite. For Ser Damon, it was better than any dream.
- - -
The Queen's embrace was even more rewarding the second time. Ser Damon found it a shame that he could not keep her in bed the whole day. But she was the queen and she had queenly duties.
She sent him off with a kiss. Even now, in the training yard with the other knights and guardsmen, her sweetness still lingered on his lips.
Her sweetness lingered everywhere, in fact. Her warmth was on his skin, like she was still there in his arms. Ser Damon found it hard to focus - Cersei's ghost made for a better lover than most of the women he'd bedded.
Echoes of her gasps, her moans, her wails of ecstasy, they slithered into his ear, ringing through his head. Carrying even over the sound of clashing steel and splintering shields. Ser Damon watched the other men train, but he did not truly see them. His vision was dominated by fair skin, golden hair, and green eyes bright like wildfire.
Before Ser Damon knew it, he was alone. The training yard was nearly empty when he finally shook himself to clarity. Nearly empty… save for one other man.
At least, Ser Damon thought it was a man. A figure approached, garbed in a long cloak in dark brown. The hood was pulled up, peculiar on such a sunny day, but Ser Damon could see the patchy beard growing upon the stranger's rounded jaw.
The bastard knight rose from the bench slowly, narrowing his eyes at the approaching man.
"You have business here, stranger? Come to train at arms?"
The stranger let out a bout of light laughter. His voice was much, much softer than his appearance would suggest. Feminine.
"Oh, gods no. Steel is as foreign to me as the farthest shores of Essos. I am not a martial fellow, I must confess."
Ser Damon found himself in agreement now that the man was closer. He was portly, rounded especially in the belly and face. His hands were pudgy, thickened fingers looking like pink sausages. Those hands had never seen a real day of work, Damon noted.
"Not every man is made for battle." He said, not uncharitably.
The stranger nodded.
"Indeed. I was fortunate enough to discover that my talents lied elsewhere."
"Are you a merchant?"
"In a way." Under the hood, a smile grew. "I make my trade in words and whispers, Ser. And you now hold a place where whispers are worth gold. Quite a bit of gold."
Ser Damon shifted on his feet, watching the man closely now. His curiosity was piqued… but he said nothing.
The stranger continued on, drifting ever so slightly closer.
"For a knight to rise so quickly in the royal court is so very rare. Especially when he holds a bastard name. You must be a man of great talent for the queen to favor you."
There was something in the stranger's tone… Damon did not like it. And he did not like how close he was getting. Was that perfume he caught in the air?
"Speak plainly, stranger. What is your business here?"
The hooded man drew his fat hands up, a show of no ill intent. Still, Ser Damon felt wary.
"I am here to make a friend. I've heard much of you, Ser Damon Storm. A man of low birth going to great lengths to improve his lot. We are alike in this way."
"Are we?"
There was a pause. A moment later, the stranger's voice came again. Not quite as soft as before.
"The queen trusts you. This makes you valuable - and not only to her." The stranger was close enough now that Ser Damon could just make out the details of his eyes. Tiny specks of light shining through the shadow of his hood. "You believe you enjoy luxury now? I can offer you much more. A partnership with me can be lucrative. In exchange, I only ask for information."
Ser Damon let out a scoff.
"You want me to spy on the queen?"
The words felt absurd on his tongue. Even more so to his ears. Ser Damon's brow pinched as he scowled.
"You wouldn't need to." The stranger placated. "She already keeps you close, does she not? She speaks to you. And as I said before, words are worth as much as gold."
Ser Damon peered at the man in silence. Then came a flash of clarity. Remembrance. He didn't recognize the hooded stranger… but he could just as well match the man to descriptions given by the queen.
Same height, same build. He even wore perfume. The stranger was no stranger at all. At least, not to the queen. This man was Varys the Spider. Master of Whispers. The Eunuch who spirited the traitorous Imp away before he could be hanged for his monstrous crime.
The bastard knight wore a smile. He stepped closer and offered Lord Varys his hand.
The eunuch's eyes shined under his hood - was that relief on his face? He took Ser Damon's hand, fat fingers warm and soft - but not at all in the pleasing way Cersei's was. Ser Damon squeezed tight, making sure his hold was solid and true. His other hand was at his hip, fingers closing around the handle of his dirk.
"My word is steel." Ser Damon told the disguised Varys. "And I already swore my blade to the queen."
The movement of his arm was swift and deadly. Varys was dying before he even knew what had happened. The dirk had punched through his chest, piercing his heart. Ser Damon made sure the blade was buried to the hilt.
Lord Varys stumbled back, clutching at the dirk stuck in his chest. His hood fell back, revealing his bald head and widened eyes. The man's mouth opened and closed in shock but no words came out. Only gasps, each one weaker than the last. The fat man lost his footing and tumbled to the stone floor.
He was dead by the time Ser Damon walked over.
"Guards!" The bastard knight called out, not taking his eyes off the body. "An intruder!"
Dirty business, this killing, but necessary. A traitor couldn't be allowed to walk free, especially in the capital.
The queen would be pleased.