Some men were gifted. Gifted but ultimately put into a wheel of fate that spurned them forward into greatness. Others were gifted but lay on the wayside. Starving, meek, pathetic.
Daenerys Targaryen was not an easy woman in any way. She was mighty. She was widowed. She stood with the legacy of dragons behind her. Clad in a grey silks that clung to her hourglass figure, nipples poking, she rested her chin on a pale hand. Her violet eyes were fixed on the young man kneeling before the dais.
No man could deny her majestic and sensual allure. The silver-gold hair was styled in a long, intricate braid. Her complexion was unnaturally pale, a characteristic handed down by her ancestors. It did not matter whose looks she inherited; rather, what mattered was that the beauty of the Targaryens had lived on. Classically Valerian or not, she churned every man's ballsack upon entry. Crude, oh yes, yet accurate. A wife could only glare angrily as her husband's jaw fell and his cock twitched. A to-be-wedded man would have to swallow and look to his otherwise pleasing betrothed, regretting slightly that he could not marry the most beautiful woman in the world.
"So," Daenerys cut through the silence, melodic and sharp as Valyrian steel. "Lord Alaric of the Storm Marches. You've come a long way to bend the knee."
The lord, no older than five-and-twenty, kept his gaze on the carved stone floor. He had a soldier's build and dark hair cropped short. "I have, Your Grace. My father is dead. The winds of war are blowing. I would pledge my house and my men to the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Words." Daenerys declared as she rose and descended the steps. She circled him, a dragon assessing its prey. "Words are wind, my lord. I have heard many pledges. Some are true. Some are lies that cost me dearly. How do I know your heart is in it?"
Alaric looked up, his eyes a clear, honest blue. "Name your test, Your Grace. I will not fail it."
Daenerys stopped in front of him, so close he could smell the lavender and iron scent of her. Her voice dropped to a murmur, meant only for him and the Unsullied guards lining the walls. "A simple test, then. A show of… sincere submission. Stand up."
He did, towering over her petite form. She was not intimated. She had tamed bigger men, like Khal Drogo. This man was nothing.
"Now," Daenerys said, her eyes holding his. "Drop your pants."
Alaric's brow furrowed. "Your Grace?"
"You heard me." Her tone brooked no argument. It was the voice that had commanded dragons. "Let us see the lord behind the titles. All of him."
A flush crept up Alaric's neck, but he was a man of his word. His fingers went to the lacings of his leather breeches. The room was utterly silent save for the rustle of fabric and the heavy thud of his belt hitting the floor. He pushed the breeches and smallclothes down his muscular thighs in one awkward motion, letting them pool around his boots.
Daenerys' violet eyes narrowed with a queen's disdain.
Lord Alaric of the Storm Marches had the rigid posture of a soldier. Oh yes, his thighs were well-muscled…and that was all. Between his legs was a perfectly serviceable cock, flaccid and darker than the rest of him. It was maybe three inches of soft flesh, crowned with a neat thatch of dark hair, his balls shrivelled up. It was the most average thing she had ever seen. After Khal Drogo's thick, angry member, after Daario's long, curved member, this was a child's practice sword.
An incredulous laugh escaped her. It wasn't merry. "Pfft!"
Alaric flinched.
Daenerys took a step closer. She tilted her head, a predator examining a peculiarly uninteresting bug. "So this," she said in a melodic, cruel dagger, "is the might of the Storm Marches? This is the sword you would pledge to your queen?" She reached out, not with desire, but with clinical detachment. Her cool fingertips brushed the soft skin of his shaft. He twitched, a pathetic little jump that stirred nothing in her. "Please," she sighed, the word dripping with false hope. "I hope you are a grower."
Lord Alaric said nothing, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on a point above her head.
Her hand closed around him. It was… small. Her slender fingers easily met her thumb on the other side. She began to stroke with a bored motion. Up, down. Up, down. There was no weight to him, no heft. No promise. "So this is your cock?" she murmured, more to herself than to him. "Cute."
The eyes and the hair and the wealth and the power—this was Daenerys Targaryen, the most beautiful woman of this continent.
Alaric grunted. "Y-your fingers, my lady, s-so soft."
Ugh. Daenerys focused on the motion, her mind elsewhere—on the endless scrolls of governance, on the nagging, hollow ache between her own thighs that nothing seemed to fill. She used her thumb to rub the small, soft head, feeling it begin to stiffen slightly under her attention. It grew, but the transformation was underwhelming. From a stub to a… slightly longer stub. Five inches, perhaps, at full mast. A respectable enough length for some, she supposed. But for her? After what she'd known? It was an insult.
Alaric's breath began to quicken. A groan was trapped in his throat. She saw the tension coiling in his stomach, the shame and the building pleasure warring in his blue eyes. 'Good,' she thought with a cold spike of power. 'Let him remember this. Let him remember that his queen held his fate in her hand, and found it… lacking.'
"Your Grace," he gasped. "Y-your Grace—!"
"Hush." Her strokes became faster. She wanted this over with. The sheer mundanity of it was exhausting. She twisted her wrist on the upstroke, imagining it was something else, something worthy of her time.
With a choked, shuddering cry, Lord Alaric came. It was a quick, paltry affair. A few streaks of white that splattered against the fine grey silk of her dress and the stone floor between them. Alaric sagged, spent and humiliated, his now-limp cock retreating into his balls.
Daenerys released him, wiping her hand disdainfully on a fold of her own gown. She looked at the mess, then at his bowed head. She sighed, the sound holding the weight of seven kingdoms.
But she had to sound neutral and cruel. She had to be firm but not overtly cruel. "You may pledge your loyalty, Lord Alaric. Your men will be fed from my stores, positioned in my vanguard. You will have your place." She turned her back on him, ascending the dais steps. "But do not seek a private audience again. You are dismissed."
The doors opened. Alaric scrambled to pull up his breeches, belt jangling, and fled without another word.
The moment the doors thudded shut, Daenerys slumped onto the hard stone throne. The hollow ache in her cunt too much. It was a tight, wet emptiness that clenched around nothing. Daenerys was horny. Not just desirous, but raw with it. A fire in her blood that no political conquest could quench. She was a queen, a dragonrider, a widow, a woman in her prime with the power to summon any man in her vast encampment. And yet, she felt utterly… bereft.
Missandei, her dear friend and interpreter, entered silently from a side door. She was etched with concern. She took in the scene—the mark of cum on the queen's grey dress and her tense posture—and understood without words. "Your Grace?" she ventured softly.
"It is nothing," Daenerys snapped, then instantly regretted it. She pressed her fingers to her temples. "No. It is something. It is a problem. I am surrounded by lords with tongues of silver and cocks of… of pewter. They bend the knee with one breath and disappoint with the next." She looked at Missandei, frustration boiling over. "Is there no one in this entire fucking camp who is built for more than just talk?!"
Missandei hesitated, then spoke, head low. "The lords and captains… they are chosen for strategy and bloodline, Your Grace. Not for… bedroom prowess."
"Exactly!" Daenerys stood, pacing before the throne. "I need a distraction. A proper fucking distraction. Not a political alliance with legs." An idea, born of pure, frustrated impulse, struck her. "The stables. The men who tend the dragons and the horses… they are strong. They work with beasts all day. Bring one to my chambers. I'd rather try something new. These knights…just pathetic."
Missandei's eyes widened, but she was the soul of discretion. She merely bowed. "At once, Your Grace."
Daenerys retired to her private chambers, a spacious room warmed by a large hearth and adorned with Dothraki tapestries and Westerosi maps. The Unsullied were there as guards until she briefly ordered them to turn so she could re-dress. She changed into a simpler, but no less fine, robe of azure-blue that clung to her hips, left her arms bare, and had a boob window. Daenerys poured a cup of wine but didn't drink it. The fire in her blood needed a different kind of quenching.
A soft knock arrived ten minutes later. Missandei entered, followed by a young man.
He was about her own age, perhaps a name-day or two younger. He was tall, with the lean, ropy strength of a man who lifted hay bales and calmed spooked stallions. His hair was the color of dark honey, tied back in a simple tail, and his face was open, handsome in an unassuming way, marked with a light dusting of freckles across his nose. He wore plain trousers and a tunic, smelling faintly of hay, horse, and honest sweat. He looked curious, not fearful, his hazel eyes taking in the queen's chamber with calm interest before settling on her.
Their beauties were perhaps a mismatch. Here she was, Daenerys Targaryen, with large, bouncy breasts. In the past, they were contained in order to keep the eyes of men away. Not anymore. Daenerys dressed as she liked. The boob window was intentional. She noted that he had not yet glanced at it.
"Your Grace," he said in a pleasant, easy baritone. He bowed, a natural movement devoid of aristocratic flourish. Already, she was smiling. She liked him. Him and his commonfolk…parts.
"Rise," Daenerys commanded, circling him just as she had Lord Alaric. But the feeling was different. There was no political calculation here, only a deep, hungry curiosity. "You are called…"
"Rohan."
"Rohan?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"You tend the dragons?"
"I help with the horses, Your Grace. And sometimes with the dragons' feeding. They're… particular about their meat. But I'm not the main man, just an assistant." Trying to be fancy but not being able to. His casual tone was a balm. No flattery, no groveling.
Confidence, put simply. Good.
"And are you particular about anything, Rohan?"
He met her gaze. "Good ale. A clear sky for riding. Not much else. I am happy to serve you."
He still hadn't looked at her boob window. Fascinating. Daenerys stopped in front of him. The hollow ache between her legs pulsed. "I have had a trying day, Rohan. My… courtiers have been inadequate. Deeply, profoundly inadequate." She let the robe slip from one shoulder. "I find myself in need of a different kind of service. A physical one." Her eyes locked on his. "What do you have to offer?"
Rohan's gaze didn't waver. He didn't stammer or blush. He simply absorbed her words, his eyes drifting appreciatively over the exposed pale skin of her shoulder. That calm, confident ease was more intoxicating than any lord's pledge. "Well," he said, his smile turning a shade warmer, a shade more knowing. "I'm told I'm good with my hands. And I'm a hard worker."
"Show me."
He nodded. His hands went to the lacings of his trousers. With no ceremony and no hesitation. He pushed them down, along with his simple smallclothes, letting them fall to the floor.
Daenerys' heart stopped.
It was… impossible.
She had seen men. Khal Drogo, her sun-and-stars, a stallion of a man in every sense. Eight inches erectly and supremely girthy. Daario Naharis was more slender in comparison but his length matched Drogo's and had a peculiar arch to it. It was phenomenal the first, second, and third time.
But this…
Rohan was flaccid. Utterly soft. And yet, what hung between his legs was a monument of flesh that dwarfed any erection she had ever taken. It was a heavy, thick weight, a stunning cascade prominent veins resting against his powerful thigh. It had to be ten inches already, a staggering length of soft, pliant meat, and the thickness…
'It's thicker than Drogo's…!'
She wished not to say but it was true. This flaccid dong was like her wrist. A god's own cock, bestowed upon an oblivious mortal. Beneath it, his balls were a heavy, full sac, already impressive in their dormant state.
"By the…" The words died in her throat. A sudden, wet heat blossomed between her own thighs, so intense it was dizzying. This… this was a dragon.
She couldn't tear her eyes away. "Guards, leave us. Missandei, see that we are not disturbed."
The Unsullied at the door filed out without a sound. Missandei, with a last, knowing glance, slipped out after them. The great door sealed shut. The silence they left was electric, charged with Daenerys' ragged breathing.
She stepped forward, her small hand trembling slightly—not with fear, but with avaricious lust—as she reached out. Her fingers traced the staggering length from root to tip, feeling the incredible weight and girth even in its passive state.
Rohan jumped at her touch, a slight thickening beginning, a wave of firmness moving through the massive shaft.
"Your Grace," Rohan breathed, his voice strained with a sudden, matching tension.
"Yes, I know," Daenerys murmured, her mind a riot of lust. She wrapped her fingers around him, her hand barely able to circle the immense thickness. She started at the tip which was dully bigger than the rest of his cock.
The tip was always bigger but on him…
'In the name of all that is holy…'
Witnessing a cock's erection was practically a passing time for Daenerys. So why was it different this time? Because it was bigger. Much bigger, she realized, mesmerized, as his schlong began to change. It was like watching a dragon unfurl from stone. The soft flesh hardened, swelling, thickening further, veins rising like cords of steel beneath the skin. It lifted from his thigh, rising toward his navel, an awe-inspiring, terrifying ascent. When it was fully hard, it was a sight that stole the air from the room.
Fourteen inches long, the pillar of rigid, flushed flesh reminded her of her forearm. The head was a broad, smooth dome, already glistening with a bead of clear arousal. It pulsed in her grip, a living weapon of pure, primal need. His balls had drawn up tight, a weighty, fertile pair the size of plums.
Daenerys was stunned. A laugh, half-hysterical, half-worshipful, bubbled from her lips. "Gods… look at you." The first thing she did? Compare it to her forearm. Hand pressing his pelvis as she matched to her forearm.
This stableboy fucking dwarfed Drogo. He made the life of her life seem…tiny. 'Maybe I should consider renaming Drogon…!'
Because this was a dragon cock. This was…truly worthy of her. She licked her lips.
Before Rohan could form a coherent thought, before he could even process the queen of dragons comparing his cock with her forearm with awe in her eyes, the blonde beauty surged up and crushed her mouth to his.
Boobs pressed to his chest, her hands grabbed his hair and caressed it. The kiss was rough, her touch was not. She was passionate. She was hot and heavy and needed him. He groaned into her, his own shock melting into a roaring hunger. His calloused hands came up, one cupping the back of her head, the other grabbing a handful of her silk-clad ass, pulling her tight against his impossibly large cock, grinding it against her stomach.
Daenerys broke the kiss, panting. Only a single strand had spilled atop her forehead. She was still pristine. Her boobs were still smushed to his chest. "On the bed. Now."
He gulped, nodded, and lay back on the thick furs of her bed, his monstrous cock standing straight up. A tower of big manly dick that destroyed any potential arguments Drogo could have. He was dwarfed. He was nothing.
Daenerys had found an upgrade.
The queen shed her robe, letting it pool on the floor. She was slender, pale, her C-cup breasts tipped with pink. Her waist was narrow and her hips flared. She was very, very breedable.
Staring at this cock, her eyes darkened.
'Well, perhaps, maybe today…'
Maybe. Depending on his performance.
She crawled onto the bed, straddling his hips, but not taking him inside yet. She just stared down at it, pressed against her stomach. Her cunt was dripping.
It reached so high up…so high…fourteen fucking inches…no wonder…!
Her pussy continued to clench at the air. "Drogo was a big man, but you're far, far bigger than him." She leaned down, taking his massive shaft in both hands, and licked a long, slow stripe from his balls all the way up to the tip. She swirled her tongue around the broad head, tasting his salt.
"T-thank you, Your Grace."
"Don't thank me, I'd like to thank you. I'm going to fucking ruin myself on this cock."
She took him into her mouth. It was an act of ambition. She could only get the head and maybe two inches of the staggering girth past her lips. Her jaw ached immediately. She sucked, her tongue pressing against the thick vein on the underside. She reached down between her own legs, finding her clit swollen and throbbing. She rubbed herself as she sucked, moaning around his girth.
Daenerys pulled off, saliva connecting her lips to his glistening crown. "L-Lords, this is massive." One last stroke with her hands. "You really are something, aren't you Rohan?"
She giggled and as though cum drunk, she dipped down and slapped the fat cock against her cheek. There was no reason for it. She just wanted to do it. Maybe it was a message to her Drogo that this cock was going to fuck her. He was watching from somewhere, she knew. She wondered what kind of face he was making…
Ah well.
Daenerys rose up on her knees, positioned the broad head at her wet entrance. She looked into his calm, hazel eyes. He smiled up at her, a gentle, encouraging smile that was so at odds with the beast between his legs. "Go on, Your Grace," he said softly. "Take what you need."
"So humble, aren't you? I am Queen Daenerys. Please…" She mirrored his gentle smile. "Be more confident in yourself. For me."
Daenerys proceeded to sink down on the fourteen inch monster dick.
"Oh GODS—!"
Instantaneous. Blinding. Taking his cock was a fullness so profound it crossed into a kind of unknown ecstasy. It was pleasure multiplied by more pleasure. Her cunt could take it, she was experienced and a queen at that. She was well-fed. She was—
"Ohgodsohgods—"
Rohan was so much bigger than Drogo, so much bigger than anyone. She felt her inner walls strain, parting for him, molding to his impossible width. She moaned, a long, ragged sound, as she impaled herself by inches. It took forever. She had to pause, panting, her body shuddering, before she could take more. He didn't rush her. His hands settled on her hips, steadying, not forcing.
"Ngggh! T-this is where Drogo stopped…"
But for Rohan? There was still plenty left. He cocked his head. "Oh? Your husband was quite small, it seems."
Daenerys let out a laugh. Nobody had EVER insulted Drogo and gotten away with it. But him? She could tell he didn't mean it. He was saying it as it was—and it was true.
"H-h-he was, it seems."
Gasping, Daenerys took another inch of cock.
"S-so much smaller!"
The girth was just…fuck. It was almost double that of Drogo's. His cock was her first, so it was the comparison that she instinctively made. Every woman did it. Their first cock. Their first…everything. She figured men were the same with their first pussy.
When Daenerys finally had all of him inside her, when his pelvis met her ass and his heavy balls pressed against her, Daenerys felt full in a way she had never known. She was stuffed, stretched to her limit, her cervix nudged by that massive head. She saw stars.
"Oh, fuck," she whimpered. "Oh, you feel… you feel monstrous."
Of his own volition, Rohan began to move. He lifted his hips in a slow, deep roll. It was casual, effortless. The motion dragged his incredible girth through her clutching channel and…oh fuck, it had her crying out before she even knew she could.
"Y-y-you're making me see stars—!" She tightened up again. "T-think this is—cumming…!"
Just like that. Take that big cock, Daenerys.
He didn't say a word and yet he made her cum. He made her feel submissive. Daenerys tried to fight back and putting her hands down flat on his abdomen, she began to ride him. Quickly, she found a rhythm, bouncing on that thick pillar.
She saw his face transformation. "I-I've been taught, you see! And b-b-b-been told I'm quite talented!"
"Y-yes, Your Grace!"
She smiled. She was confident. But in her head?
'Holygods, holygods, holygods—!' Her eyes almost rolled back. 'T-T-THIS COOCCCCKK—!'
Each descent was a conquest, each ascent a sweet agony of loss. "Want me to…"
He didn't complete his sentence and just did that.
Daenerys' eyes rolled back and she slumped over. Innocent Rohan took that as a sign to start pounding away.
CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!
He met her thrust for thrust—oh, well, at least up until a certain point. The gasping, moaning mess that was Daenerys certainly tried, but come on. This cock and his young upward thrusts were devastating. She could feel every ridge, every vein, and she said herself. "Cshshshkkk~!! Kgpshhh uppp~!!"
Ah, right. Once again, she could only try to do something. "Can't keep up!" was what Daenerys muffled into his shoulder. She came suddenly over and over and over again. Daenerys didn't have a fat ass but the way he slapped it and used it…
"CUUUMMIIING~!!"
Daenerys swore her scream would be heard from here to the Seven Kingdoms.
"KEEP DOING THAT! PLEASE DON'T STOP! YOUR DRAGON IS MAKING ME FEEL SO GOOD!!!"
He held her through it, his thrusts never ceasing, fucking her through the convulsions. But when it was time to cum, schliiick, Rohan pulled out. Spurt, spurt, spuuurt! His cumshots sprayed Daenerys' pristine face while she fell back, arms and legs twitching. She lay there, between his legs, writing and closing her eyes when she felt his cum shots fall on her.
They were long, thick virile strings of cum. Her beauty was coated in what must have been three or four ropes of his creamy cum. The queen just had to take it. She had fallen backwards, not forward, and had completely lost.
"Hgggnnnh…"
Spurt, spurt, spuuurt! Rohan sat up so that he could aim his cock on her stomach. He jerked off and spilled his manly load on her tits too, pink and perfect and now covered in white. Breathing hard, she could only be a witness to what was effectively the must cum she had ever seen.
"I-incredible…"
Rohan smiled apologetically. "Apologies, My Grace. Doing it inside would be…problematic."
It would indeed, he had let out more cum than Drogo had in their entire marriage. Not spoonfuls but mouthfuls, Daenerys wagered. She gulped. She imagined getting pregnant by this man. Passing her genetics on with this…hung stableboy.
Strangely, it didn't sound completely ridiculous. His body, his cock…they were very desirable.
"Oh."
Daenerys just realized…he wasn't softening. Not at all. That fourteen inch donkey dick remained as rigid and proud as ever. She had heard rumours of this but…Drogo certainly didn't have this. No man had. No man could cum and just stay here.
"Your Grace?"
Until this stableboy.
Daenerys licked her lips.
…
…
…
"OH GOOODDD, THIS DICK IS RUINNNIIING ME~!!!"
Queen Daenerys' back arched off the roughspun sheets, her pale hands clutching at the corded muscles of his forearms. "Gods, Rohan! I'm CUMMING! I'm CUMMING ON YOUR COCK!" Her vision whitened, the world dissolving into a shuddering wave that crashed from her clenching cunt all the way to the roots of her silver-white hair. "Fuck! Yes! Yes!"
He didn't stop. He didn't even grunt. The stableboy just kept up that same casual rhythm, his thick cock pistoning into her soaked, quivering channel. His hips moved with an easy, powerful grace that spoke of an unshakeable stamina. He was propped up on one elbow beside her, balls-smacking, his other hand tangled gently in her hair, watching her face contort with pleasure as if he were observing a particularly interesting cloud formation.
"Thank you, Your Grace."
The climax seemed to last an age, each throb of her inner muscles milking his length, drawing a hum. When the last tremor finally subsided, leaving her boneless and panting, he finally stilled, buried to the hilt inside her. The superior size of his cock was a constant, breathtaking shock. Daenerys gasped for air, her lavender eyes wide and dazed as she stared up at the wooden beams of the stable loft.
"Seven hells. You… you're thicker than he was. So much thicker. And longer. And better." The comparison to Drogo, her sun-and-stars, fell from her lips without a shred of guilt, only awe. It was a simple, carnal truth.
Rohan just smiled. Looking over her shoulder, she only saw the good. He was handsome in a plain, sun-browned way, his hair the color of dark straw, his eyes a warm, earthy brown. Meanwhile, her complexion was so white and her eyes were so alien that it almost seemed like this was wrong.
"Just doing my job, Your Grace," he said, and she felt the words vibrate through where they were joined.
"Your job is to tend to the horses," Daenerys panted, a hysterical laugh bubbling in her chest.
"Aye," he agreed, his hips giving a minute, teasing roll that made her gasp anew. The movement made his heavy balls slap against the damp skin of her ass. "And to ensure the royal mounts are… properly attended to. You seemed like you needed attending."
"Oh, a jokester now? I like it."
But she had. Oh, how she had. The pressures of the march south had all coiled into a tight, feverish knot low in her belly. A need only a specific, brutal kind of pounding could unravel.
Now, as the aftershocks of her orgasm faded, the hunger roared back, hotter and sharper. "Don't you dare stop," she growled, the Dragon Queen surfacing through the haze of lust. She pulled his cock out of her, only to pull it back into her cock from the front, hooking a leg around his waist. Her heel wrung into the firm muscle of his ass. "I am not finished with this cock."
Rohan's smile widened. "Didn't plan on it." He withdrew slowly, the ridged length of him dragging against her oversensitive walls, making her whimper. Then he surged back in, not with a savage thrust, but with that same infuriatingly steady, deep penetration.
In. Out.
In. Out.
Face to face, her fingers splayed around his cheeks. She stared into his eyes and soon couldn't. "Oh fuuuck~!"
Each stroke was a masterclass in efficiency, the thick head of his cock rubbing against a spot inside her that felt like a live wire.
"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! Fuckfuckfuck—!" Daenerys chanted, head tilting back. "Just fuck me, Rohan. Fuck your Queen. Fuck this cunt. It's yours. Fuck!"
The only sounds were the slick, wet slap of flesh on flesh, the creak of the wooden floor beneath the blanket, and her louder moans and appraisal. He leaned down, capturing a pale pink nipple in his mouth, sucking and lavishing it with his tongue as his hips worked. The sharp pleasure on her breast and the deep, grinding fullness below made her sob. Her hands massaged higher, fingers threading through his short, sweat-damp hair, holding him to her.
She liked it. No, she LOVED it. This fat cock stretching her wide. How it pounded that sweet spot.
"Yes! Gods, yes! YES~!!!"
"Your Grace?"
He cocked his head. She couldn't look at him. She could only throw her head back, gasp and scream her worship.
"I LOVE it! I LOVE your FAT fucking cock! It's splitting me open! It's better! IT'S THE FINEST COCK I'VE EVER HAD~!" Daenerys was babbling, every shred of regal composure incinerated by the fire he was stoking in her core. Sorry, fucking into her core. His casual dominance was more intoxicating than any worship. He wasn't her subject in this loft. He was the man whose cock was ruining her for all others, and he knew it with a calm certainty that drove her mad.
"I'M YOUR LITTLE SLUT! I AM! I AAAM~!!"
He fucked her like that for what felt like hours, until the moon had climbed high and silver in the sky visible through the loft window. He brought her to a climax again and again, letting her experience and think that was it, that she was exhausted, only to keep going. Daenerys begging, screaming as it happened.
Each orgasm was a little different—a sharp, clenching peak; a long, rolling wave; a sudden, shocking burst that left her seeing stars. And through it all, he remained unflappable, his breathing only slightly elevated, his strokes never faltering.
Sometime near the second hour of the morning, he pulled out. Daenerys whimpered at the sudden, awful emptiness, feeling her own pussy juice flood out onto the blanket. "R-Rohan, nngghgh, w-w-w-why did you stop?"
"Turn over," he said, giving her hip a light pat. His tone was the same he might use to direct a skittish filly.
She should have said, "Ordering a queen?" but didn't.
Greed overcoming protest, Daenerys scrambled onto her hands and knees, presenting her pale, round ass to him. She looked back over her shoulder, her white hair sticking to her damp cheeks. He was kneeling behind her, stroking his immense cock, his heavy balls hanging full and tight between his legs. The sight of it, so thick and veined and hers to take, made her cunt pulse with fresh need.
"You want this back inside you, Your Grace?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question. He lined the broad head up with her dripping entrance. "We can take a break, you know."
"D-do not underestimate me! Rohan, fuck me! Give it to me!"
He didn't thrust. He pushed, stretching her wide once more, the sensation so intense her arms trembled.
"Y-you—"
Her hands and legs collapsed. Flat on her stomach, gasping into the mattress, she understood what he wanted. Not backshots. This. Pronebone.
"Going slow is nice too, right?"
She had to slam her mouth into the pillow to chant, "Fuckfuckfuckfuck—!" He couldn't hear it, muffled as it was by the pillow. However, it was the only thing she could do. This dick was TOO good. Too deep.
When he was fully seated, he let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Good girl," he murmured, and the praise sent a jolt of pure heat through her.
Then he started to move. This was different from before. This was deeper, harder, more primal. He gripped her hips, his fingers sinking into her flesh, and began to piston into her. Each forward drive buried him to the root, his balls slapping against her booty with a wet, heavy thwack that echoed in her chambers. Each withdrawal was almost complete, the thick head threatening to pop free before he slammed home again.
"Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck, y-you and your balls! T-they make quite the, haah, s-sound!"
She stifled a shriek. The sound alone was filthy—the rhythmic plap, plap, plap of his flesh meeting hers, punctuated by the heavier slap of his sac.
"S-s-s-surprising me once again! Nggghh~! I-i-impressive!"
She could hardly sound confident like this, lifting her head for the briefest of seconds, only to smack back down when he thrust.
Daenerys took it. She took this cock and these backshots. Her Targaryen cunt felt it was made for this pounding.
He varied his angle, sometimes driving straight in, sometimes circling his hips to grind against her deepest walls. One hand left her hip and snaked around her front, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed rough, tight circles over it in time with his thrusts.
"Nggghhh~! Y-you...!"
Getting smart? Yes.
The gods had blessed him with a cock for a brain. He was otherwise average until it was time for sex. When it came to sex, no man could rival him in any capacity. Not in size and not in mentality.
The coordination was maddening. The pleasure became a feedback loop—the huge cock going twice as deep as Drogo ever could, the shocking slap of his balls, and the regular stimulation on her clit. Daenerys dissolved into a mindless, screaming animal. Her pillow was her best friend as her words became a slurry of curses and pleas. Her arms lay by her side and he grabbed her pale ass and positioned high up. He wanted her to take this monster dick HIS way.
It was working too. The blanket beneath her was soaked through.
He fucked her through another shattering climax, her inner muscles clamping down so hard she saw flashes of light behind her eyelids. Her royal cunt milked him desperately, and he groaned, a deep, resonant sound that was the first real sign of his own pleasure. He slowed, but didn't stop, letting her ride out the convulsions while he remained buried inside her, pulsing and hard.
"Fuck," he breathed, resting for a moment. "You squeeze this cock like you're trying to steal my soul, Your Grace."
She barely, just barely, turned her head over and smiled. "I-I am the Queen of Dragons. D-d-d-do not underestimate," she said before her world went white as he slammed back in.
That time, she passed out for two minutes. Rohan didn't even notice and just kept fucking, thinking she was just able to take his dick. Sorry to say, but Queen Daenerys was outclassed here. No amount of apologizing to Drogo could change that fact.
***
Later—the sky outside the loft window a deep indigo, the darkest hour before the dawn—Daenerys found herself on her back again, but this time at the very edge of the blanket. Rohan stood at the foot of their makeshift bed, looking down at her with those calm, appraising eyes. His cock was a formidable sight jutting from his body.
The queen wished to suck on it again.
Upon her request, there was a flicker of surprise, then approval, passed over his face. "Have at it, Your Grace."
Like she needed his permission. She propped herself up on her elbows, her white hair fanning out behind her, and leaned forward to take him into her mouth. The taste was musky, salty, uniquely him, mixed with her own tangy arousal. Daenerys reveled in it. She licked up the length of his shaft, from the base to the fat cockhead, swirling her tongue around the crown and lapping up the pre-cum beading there.
"That's it," he murmured, his hand coming to rest gently on the top of her head. "Use that pretty mouth, Your Grace."
Was that arrogance she detected? Hmm, she must have doing a good job~!
She took him in deeper, her lips stretching around his girth. She could only manage about half of him before her jaw began to ache. One hand wrapped around the base of his shaft to stroke what she couldn't swallow. Then she decided she needed both hands to jerk him off. There was that much cock left.
She looked up at him, her eyes watering, and tried to seem relaxed. Tried to seem like she could take more. Rohan understood and guided himself with a hand on his shaft—atop Daenerys' hands—feeding himself into her mouth slowly. She relaxed her throat, willing her gag reflex down as the thick head pressed past it. It was a struggle, a delicious, choking strain. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She got about two-thirds of him down before she had to pull back, gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock.
Such a good fucking cocksucker for a queen.
Daenerys dove back down, taking him as deep as she could, again and again, establishing a rhythm of her own. She sucked the tip with a desperate hunger, wanting to taste his pleasure, to feel him lose that infuriating control. She jacked the base of his shaft with her fist, her mouth a hot, wet sleeve around the upper half. She felt him swell, felt his balls pull up tight against his body.
She could feel him about to cum. He grunted and that was when she knew she did.
"Gonna cum, Your Grace…!"
Like Targaryen royalty would pull away. Sucking hard, her tongue fluttered against the frenulum and that was what made him erupt.
For Daenerys, it felt like the Doom of Valeria all over again.
She swallowed convulsively, taking the next pulses directly but…
"Mmmpph~!"
There was too much. Way too much. Most spilled from the corners of her lips. But she did not give up. Like her people before her, she fought to the end. She milked him with her hand until he was twitching and spent, until he gently pulled himself from her mouth.
She was still on her stomach, gasping and panting. "L-Lords have mercy…" His creamy load fell from her lips in heaps. She couldn't catch it all and put it back on her mouth.
Then again…
"Still hard…"
Looking up, she was met with an impatient fourteen inch cock. Rohan smiled.
"Apologies, Your Grace."
How many loads was that at this point? Drogo on his best day came three times in one day. But this man…he had already nutted six times and showed no signs of stopping or softening.
*********
FULL PART ON PATREON!!