In silence, Robert looked at her face. Even in a thousand lives, he couldn't say that she wasn't ethereally beautiful. It would be a lie. But her expressions reminded him of Melisandre and her fanatic conviction of her faith. In this case, that fanaticism was directed toward him. The way she clenched her fist, her long legs seemingly shivered beneath that golden gown. It was all a sign.
"You're old enough to wed and bear children, Myrcella. Don't waste yourself pining for some ghost of a man who may not even be a man anymore. You're sweet, kind, and clever, despite the other flaws. If it's power you want, I'll carve you a fief from Westerlands and name you its Lady." Robert offered; an offer that any wise woman would have pounced on. "As for me—I've Margaery. She's given me a son already, and would soon give me more. I'll not shame her by chasing skirts like a fool again."
"I don't want riches or titles, Your Grace... I only want you. To stay near you, to feel you inside me—your warmth, your breath, everything. I don't care for fiefs or fine husbands. I don't want a throne or even children—I only want you." Myrcella urgently responded, stepping even closer, the scent of her perfumes finally filling the gap between them.
Robert sighed and rubbed his eyes with both his palms. No matter what he said, she always circled it back to how much she wanted him. And the way she wanted him, had nothing to do with his titles and power. She just wanted him, his body. What could even dissuade that type of obsession?
"I'll be marrying Margaery, Myrcella." He reminded her.
"She doesn't mind…" Myrcella whispered, stepping closer, the hem of her gown brushing his knee. Her eyes found his, and with trembling fingers, she traced his bearded jaw. "I spoke to her… before she left for Highgarden. She knows of Lynesse Hightower. When I asked her about me… she embraced me. Said we could be the dearest of friends. Said you're a King, and a King has needs. Needs that shouldn't be denied. And if she did… it would fester. She only asked that I never bear bastar—"
"Enough!" Robert crackled, his mighty large hand instantly gripped her tender wrist, pushing her hand away from his beard.
But Myrcella pressed on and with hitched breaths, she moved between his spread knees, only to turn sideways and sit down on his right thigh, putting all of her weight on his mighty leg, her hips squeezing and flesh spilling.
"Please… Your Grace." Her voice was soft, almost trembling. Myrcella's green eyes shimmered with longing. "I want you more than I want myself. I can't imagine myself away from you—I'll be good. I'll obey everything you say. I'll never complain. Just… give me what I want."
She wrapped a slender arm around his neck, the other slipping beneath his tunic to rub his bare chest. Her warm palm caressed him slowly, hips grinding against his thigh in lazy, hungry rolls. Her breath hit his neck, hot and needy, while her soaked heat dragged over his leg like she was already halfway gone.
Robert stared at her face, unable to help his right arm that moved and caught her waist to keep her from falling. She was fragile, soft, and tall but nothing compared to him. Her scent was exotic, and her voice utterly feminine. His cock screamed to burst out of his loose trousers that now grew tight around his loins.
"Gods, Myrcella, this wasn't the life I meant for you. I wanted you in silks, married to some lord with fat lands and no troubles."
He'd had enough. He knew the wall was breaking. He was in full control of his body and mind. But ever since he'd declared himself neither Robert nor Ned, he just did what he wanted, and right now… Myrcella's offer didn't seem that absurd. Yet, he tried it one last time. Giving her a chance to retreat and reconsider.
"This… is…" Myrcella suddenly slid off his thigh, downwards, between his legs. Before long, she was on her knees between his legs, both her hands eagerly unfastening his breeches. "...what I want!"
Just as she said that, Myrcella reached into his breeches and freed his flesh sword, like she had just unleashed the center of her obsession.
Robert's cock sprang out, proud and throbbing, flushed with need, the thick veins twitching against the cold air.
Myrcella's breath caught. Her lips parted. Her eyes widened in reverence, then lazily narrowed with worshipful lust, lashes fluttering as if overwhelmed by the sight alone. She didn't say a word. She didn't need to. Her lips descended, rubbing against the underside of his cock, tracing along the shaft like a lover's caress, while her nose buried in the base, inhaling deep, wet breaths like she had missed his scent with every cell in her lungs.
"Nothing else… just this!" She mewled, her voice soaked with yearning.
Then began her ritual, her act of devotion. She pushed her hair behind her ears, fingers trembling with anticipation, and curled both hands around his shaft like it were some ancient idol meant to be venerated.
His cock stood like a monument in her grip, thick, weighty, more than her fingers could cover completely. She started with slow strokes, letting her spit run down as she leaned forward and lapped at his swollen cockhead. Her tongue circled the rim, kissed the slit, and then moved lower to the base, suckling like she was marking holy ground.
Every time she pushed the foreskin back, she treated the reveal like a miracle, licking up the thickness like she wished she could bite into it and keep it inside her forever. It was a sight to behold for Robert. The beauty of just nineteen, venerating his cock like that.
She moaned deeply, wetly, like she was tasting a delicacy born from her dreams. "Mmmmm… This taste… I love this, Your Grace…. Please don't take this away from meeee-eh!"
It was filthy, hungry, devout. Her lips bathed him in drool, her spit leaking from her chin, her jaw aching as she pushed herself down further each time. Her cheeks hollowed from the hungry suction, her eyes fluttered shut with ecstasy, and her every breath came with heat.
Robert watched, entranced by the sight of her tight mouth working him like he was the last man alive. His cock twitched harder with every suckle, every lashing of her tongue.
Unable to resist, his hand reached down and seized a thick fistful of her golden curls, guiding her gently but firmly, gathering them into a tight bunch behind her head so he could see all of her face. See the enchanting sight of her lips stretching, her throat bulging, her eyes rolling when he fed her more.
"If that's… what you want… Myrcella…" Robert grunted and gave her just what she wanted.
Robert didn't hold back. His hips rolled forward, stuffing her mouth with thick inches, fucking her throat with the full weight of his lust. Her head bobbed as he used her face like a cock-sheath.
Gluk! Gluk! Gluk!
Thick sounds echoed in the chamber as his cock slid in and out of her warm throat.
Myrcella sputtered and choked, but never backed away from her obsession. The spit that couldn't stay in her mouth dribbled down her chest and pooled at her cleavage, while the squelching noises turned obscene. And whenever Robert paused to let her breathe, she coughed and giggled through her tears, licking her lips with a blissful grin.
"More… don't stop… please!"
Eventually, Robert had enough of holding back. With one final thrust that made her gag, he pulled out of her mouth entirely.
She gasped for air, her chest heaving, but her eyes never left his cock.
Without another word, he pushed her back and stood up, stripping his tunic and breeches off entirely. Then he reached down, lifted Myrcella by the arms to her feet, and yanked that flimsy, golden gown over her head, tossing it aside like it was nothing but wrapping on a gift.
She stood nude before him now. Bare, glistening, radiant. She wasn't voluptuous, but she was divine in her own right. Her breasts were petite, perky, and tipped tight with flushed arousal. Her waist was slender and soft, her belly flat and kissable. Her hips curved just enough to guide his eyes downward to the sultry, glistening heat between her thighs. She was trembling with need.
Before anything else, Robert grabbed the edge of her discarded robe and used it to wipe her chin, her cheeks, and her lips. Cleaning the mess of spit and cock-dribble from her face with a gentleness that contrasted the brutal throat-fucking before.
"How do you want it?" He asked, doing as she wanted. Giving her what she desired.
Myrcella gave a giddy, breathless laugh, eyes shimmering with hunger. She practically skipped backward, crawling onto the bed with a bounce. She scooted herself all the way to the pillows, then lay down on her back, spreading her tender legs wide, her glistening rosy slit already drooling with anticipation.
"On top of me, Your Grace…" she gasped, her voice rising with desire, "I want all of you… Everything."
Her body was on full display, her legs parted, knees bent high, arms open in surrender, and her eyes gleaming with worship. She wanted him on top of her, to be crushed beneath his mass, to be flattened into the bed as he pounded her mercilessly into the bedding. The way he'd claimed Sansa; she had seen it once, and ever since then, she'd yearned for it.
She wanted to feel that same rough, weighty press, mated like a beast in heat, to be split open and stuffed full under his full-bodied dominance.
Robert didn't hesitate. He'd fucked her before, and he knew just how much her tight cunt could take. Seeing her already dripping, her folds soaked and parted, he climbed onto the bed without a word.
But just as he positioned himself between her thighs for a regular fuck, Myrcella shifted. Her legs rose high, calves resting on his broad shoulders, her body offering itself with shameless surrender.
"All of you—don't hold back, Your Grace," she breathed, eyes glassy with lust. "Make love to me like you would… a lover… a whore combined."
That struck him deeply. Myrcella never used crude words, but the weight behind what she said lit his blood on fire.
He didn't reply, just moved into position, bracing his arms beside her head, her soft legs folded up against his shoulders. Her body curled into itself, minuscule under him. Her tight tits squished between her thighs, pale, creamy, and trembling, nipples stiff against her own skin.
From above, she looked perfect. Her golden hair fanned out like a halo. Her green eyes gleamed with craving, no venom, no schemes, just pure, aching want. She wasn't Cersei. She didn't hate him; she wanted him. And that stirred something primal in his gut.
He finally lined up his twitching shaft. Pressed his thick, swollen cockhead to her welcoming pussy. And pushed.
Her cunt bloomed around him slowly, greedily, reverently. She'd only ever known one cock, and it was his, and only once. The tight heat gripped him inch by inch like a sensual massage. Robert gritted his teeth. She was so tight, so slick, his cock pulsed as her inner walls stretched to swallow him. Every nudge forward sent a jolt through him. He could feel every squeeze, every twitch and flutter. Her hips arched higher the deeper he pushed, as if begging for more.
"Ummmmmh… Yes! Oh… Please… give me all of you!" she whimpered, eyes rolling back, mouth hung open in a moan that wouldn't end.
She reached up, hands brushing over his beard, stroking his face as if he were something sacred.
As Robert began thrusting his hips, her petite body started to bounce under his ravenous plunges; each thrust jostling her up and down into the mattress. Her legs twitched, toes curling towards the ceiling, arms shaking from the rhythm of his pounding. She looked up, saw her own legs draped on his shoulders, and then stared at the ceiling with a blissful smile.
Then, arms out, she called to him softly. "Please… kiss me-eh… Your Grace…"
Robert answered with a punishing slam. His hips crushed forward, burying himself so deep he wasn't sure if he struck her cervix or punched into her womb. He collapsed on her, chest to chest, weight smothering her entirely, vanishing her into the soft bedding. His elbows pinned her arms above her head, locking her in place, while his hands cradled her cheeks like something precious.
Then his lips found hers, and the kiss was anything but tender. Wet, ravenous, messy. He devoured her mouth like a starving beast. Tongues tangled, lips mashed, his mouth sealed over hers in a kiss that sucked the very breath from her lungs.
Their moans melted into it. Their spit mixed. Her jaw opened wider and wider, letting him lick, bite, suck, treating her like a feast. Robert was eating her alive, and she didn't want it to end.
"Ugnh… umhh… ahhhh!"
She felt it all. The sheer weight of him pinning her down, the size of him stretching her wide, throbbing deep in her core. She felt so insanely, obscenely folded, her legs pushed further up by his weight, her toes almost reaching the sides of her head.
Her belly ached with every thrust, an ache that thrilled her. The walls of her pussy molded to his beast of a cock like it was made for nothing else. Sore already, her muscles strained, and her breath caught. But she wanted more, could take more. She welcomed it.
She opened her mouth even wider, and let him kiss her raw, their bodies slicked in sweat and spit and something filthier. Her whole world melted into the mess of it.
"Ahhhhggh! Gooo–ds! Fucc~!" Myrcella came with a ragged, broken cry.
Her body struggled to arch violently beneath him, pussy clenching tight enough to nearly choke his cock. The orgasm ripped through her, wild and volcanic. Her nectar had nowhere to escape, stuffed full of his cock, her cunt bloated around his girth. It was only the sheer force of his relentless drilling that forced it out, her juices squirting around his cock in filthy, noisy gushes.
The squelching was obscene. Every plunge of his cock drove more juices out of her, loud, lewd slaps of skin on skin echoing off the walls like a perverse song of devotion.
Myrcella couldn't speak, she only exhaled sharp, breathless grunts as Robert hammered the air out of her lungs with every downward thrust. And she loved it. Loved how brutal he was, how thoroughly he used her. She was delirious, drunk on cock, and craving. His cock was her religion. Nothing compared.
Then Robert shifted. Propped himself up on his elbows, bent down, and suckled the fuck out of her modest chest. His beard scratched her sensitive skin, and his lips devoured her nipples, biting and sucking until they glowed red with fresh marks. All while his cock continued to hammer, animalistic and untamed, inside her trembling cunt.
"Fuuuuccc... Oh Fuck! Yes! Yes! Take me, Your Grace! Use me—eh!"
Another climax tore through her. It struck like lightning, her whole body trembling beneath him. Her thighs shook vigorously.
Robert felt her walls tighten again, and that was it. His own edge was near. His cock flexed and twitched inside her.
"Please… all of you… please… in me!" she begged when she noticed. Her eyes rolled up, voice hoarse with unholy lust.
Robert got the hint. He sat back, towering over her, and wrapped a hand gently around her throat. He used just enough pressure to make her moan louder, but not panic. Her eyes fluttered in pleasure when his hips slammed harder, faster. The strokes turned violent. Her entire delicate body jolted, and the bed creaked threateningly.
"Gaaaaah~"
He exploded; cock jerking deep inside her tight, spent cunt, pumping rope after rope of hot, filthy batter into her soaked pussy, likely her first time feeling that creamy, viscous batter burn inside.
It was messy. Loud and filthy. He grunted with each pulse, his balls emptying themselves inside the tight cunt that would never bear him an heir. Still, he filled her like it was made to hold his legacy. His thrusts became smaller, shorter, but no less intense. Cream frothed around his base, bubbling out from how full she was. Their bodies slapped together with squelching decisiveness, fucking through the mess.
Done, finally, he leaned back on his calves, panting. His palms stayed spread under her thighs, holding them up, making sure her cunt stayed on display. What he saw made him growl.
A flood, white and thick. His cum spilled from her twitching pussy in a sinful, creamy waterfall. It dripped down her ass, soaked the sheets, and made her look ruined, and impossibly beautiful. Her body still trembled, belly clenching like she was seconds from another orgasm.
Myrcella gasped between breaths, giggling with soundless joy. She threw the back of her hand over her face, smiling wide. Wrecked, sweat-drenched, thoroughly fucked, and loving every second of it.
"I… I-uh… Your Grace… I'll never mind this… Have me whenever… Just… never send me away."
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