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Take Me to Your Dark Places

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The morning song of chirping birds had pulled Daenerys from her dreams. A cool breeze flowed through the open window, rattling a scroll of parchment left in Jon's place beside her. Stretching, she eyed it curiously, wondering what her husband had been up to, this time. After rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she broke the wax seal, dragging her gaze over the messy scrawl.

 

You are permitted to break your fast. Be sure to get your fill—

 

Each meal beyond that is prohibited until further notice.

 

Her temper flared as she read the words, twice to be sure. What game is he playing at this time? she wondered, slipping from their bed and into a robe.

 

Without even thinking, she left her chamber in merely her robe and slippers, her hair a right mess—garnering several strange looks and even a few giggles. She paid them no mind as she marched straight to Jon's personal study, certain he would be indulging in his regular morning routine of breaking fast alone and getting a head start on the day's work before the whole of their small council began to pester him.

 

The guards outside her chamber had abandoned post to follow closely behind her as Daenerys barged in on her husband without so much as a knock at his door, tossing the scroll onto his desk in a fit of indignation.

 

"You'd have me on a feeding schedule?" she demanded. "Gorging in the morning, then fasting until next sunrise? What is the meaning of this, Jon? I am your wife, not a child."

 

Jon visibly stiffened, irritated veins sprouting along his neck.

 

"What is the meaning of this, Your Grace," he corrected her.

 

"Your Grace," she lightly mocked him, plopping into one of the empty seats.

 

Jon's eyes darkened at her resistance—an impish smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He rose from his desk and crossed the room, his fast pace nearly matching the beat of her heart. Even through the bulk of his armor, she could tell his muscles were flexed, tense.

 

After closing the door to dissuade eavesdropping, he leaned into her with a low growl, "Starting tonight, your cunt is off limits."

 

Daenerys glared at her husband. "Why?"

 

"Because I don't want it."

 

He backed away from her, leaning against his desk with folded arms. Carefully, he eyed her as he awaited her reaction.

 

"You intend to use only my mouth?"

 

The smirk on his face grew with her exasperation. While Daenerys loved taking him in her mouth, even more than most meals, this premise was just absurd. He was taking this game of denial to an extreme and she was not happy to forgo her own pleasure for who knows how long, this time. He'd once made her suffer for nearly a month—which had nearly broken her.

 

Jon tilted his head, his eyes flicking to the curve of her bottom upon which she sat, "Not just your mouth."

 

A cold shiver shook her spine as she met his gaze, his sooty eyes narrowing as he examined her expression. Though trying her best to disguise her dread, she couldn't help but swallow the lump in her throat.

 

This territory was not quite new to her—but it wasn't something she wished to retread. It was only natural a married couple should try everything at least once—and to her credit, she'd tried it twice. The first time they were horribly drunk, and she'd hardly felt a thing at all—neither pain nor pleasure, she couldn't even remember if it had even been intentional on Jon's part, or if perhaps his drunkenness robbed him of his aim. What she had remembered, however, was the pain she felt all throughout the next day. The second time, she'd still had a fair deal of drink in her, and she could hardly bear a moment of it before pushing him off of her. They hadn't even entertained the taboo since, and she had felt safe in the assumption they never would.

 

"I don't..." she finally pleaded, "Don't..."

 

He raised an eyebrow as she stammered, chasing the words straight out of her mouth.

 

"Don't what? " he mildly mocked her. "Don't want to? Don't understand? "

 

Daenerys nodded.

 

Sighing, he unfolded his arms, raising a hand to rub his forehead in irritation. "I'm afraid I don't understand, as you had specifically requested that I indulge my desires."

 

"I didn't expect this."

 

After another penetrating look, he began again, "I don't believe that. You knew exactly what to expect when you set the terms."

 

When she averted her gaze, he stepped forward and knelt before her, sweetly lifting her chin with his thumb.

 

"Don't you trust me?"

 

"You know I do."

 

"You think I don't see that look in your eyes?" he purred, his gaze following hers. "You want to be broken."

 

After rewarding her with a quick, chaste kiss, his mouth moved to her neck, his voice but a hiss against her ear, "So let me break you."

 

As if weighted, her lids fell closed with a flutter, her stomach tying itself into anxious knots—half of her body crying out in dread, and the other half flaring with anticipation.

 

Jon placed a kiss to her forehead before rising, returning to the helm of his desk and taking a seat.

 

"You will follow my instruction."

 

"The only instruction I have is to take a meal and then spend what remains of the day fasting."

 

"No," he smiled. "To eat breakfast and forget all about that pretty cunt of yours. You had ought to pay better attention, my queen."

 

She sighed.

 

"I'll have none of that, either."

 

"Sighing? "

 

"No more," he waved his hand as if to dismiss it entirely.

 

Dany rose from her seat and walked toward the door.

 

"One more thing."

 

She turned, swallowing yet another lump lodged in her throat. "Yes, Your Grace?"

 

Her response had awarded a kind smile from her king. "I've cleared your schedule for the day. Our lord Hand will see to your appointments in the Great Hall."

 

"What am I to do, then?"

 

"Enjoy the children, perhaps. I'd prefer you relaxed tonight."

 

Tonight, she thought, a fresh wave of anxiety washing over her.

 

"I'll see you at supper."

 

"Supper? Am I not meant to skip it?"

 

"I'd still like your company."

 

"As you wish, Your Grace," she replied, giving a nod of consent before twisting the door open and making her way back down the hallway and toward her chamber.

 

.  .  .

 

Day 1: As Jon predicted, our children proved to be a welcome distraction from my nerves. Though, whenever I found my mind wandering, I'd suffer a phantom pain between my legs. Despite it, there was something else there—an inappropriate arousal as I waited for night to fall. A curious dissonance between mind and body.

 

Throughout the day, Dany's anxiety had persisted, ever-present as she waited in the dining hall for her husband, the king, to join her for supper. She sat alone at the high table, staring into her mostly full wineglass, tapping her fingernails on the tablecloth. With nothing to distract her, she waded into her thoughts.

 

Try as she might, Daenerys couldn't place what it was that made her desire to be utterly dominated by her king. I shouldn't want it, she'd reprimanded herself again and again. Sometimes she thought of her first husband. How helpless she felt as he rutted into her like a wild boar, tears staining her pillow each night. The memory was no longer fresh, but discomforted her all the same.

 

Likewise, the thought of any man aside from Jon handling her in such a way made her feel downright ill. It was only Jon she craved, like a drunkard craved his drink. With her husband, it was something different. He'd never forced himself upon her, but oh how she wished he had—going so far as to pray to the gods she didn't believe in, pestering them with her silly plea.

 

It was when her fantasies began distracting from her work, she knew it had been time to divulge them. When they first discussed the ways in which she dreamt of being taken by him, Jon was left red-faced and wary, as was she. In time, she realized it was her way of reforging those early memories of exploitation and casting them anew.

 

By now, Jon had grown fond of conquering her, the pair sharing an equal thrill from the power struggle. Without the constant underlying anxiety of a war-torn realm, they needed a different sort of battle to truly thrive, one in which to release the tension that resulted from the drab and inescapable reality of rule. And so they sought battle from one another, instead.

 

Jon had finally entered the dining hall. In an irritated huff, he stomped his way over to her before yanking his chair out from under the table and taking a seat.

 

Daenerys frowned. "What's wrong?"

 

"A raven from Winterfell."

 

"News from my good-sister?"

 

"Lord Glover claims Giantsbane's men are encroachin' on his territory to hunt."

 

Even Dany scoffed at the idea. "I'd say he's more like to hunt around the Grey Hills, pestering the poor Karstarks, if anything."

 

Jon took a swig of wine before nodding along, "You'd think bein’ two-hundred leagues apart, Glover could leave his old prejudices behind him. Either way, Sansa has requested council in mediatin' either house."

 

"If you're headed North, I'm coming with you. We'll bring the children, they can finally meet their cousins."

 

"While that sounds nice enough, I haven't decided whether it even warrants a visit."

 

"We could see Bran, too," she added, in an effort to convince him. "Greywater Watch isn't much out of the way..."

 

Finally, he turned to face her, his mouth twitching as he fought a grin. With discretion, Jon stole a peek of her cleavage as she dipped a finger into her wineglass, swirling the lukewarm liquid.

 

"Is that wine you're drinkin'?"

 

"Why?" she challenged. "Am I not allowed?"

 

"I'd rather you were sober."

 

"Honeyed milk, then?"

 

"Too heavy," he frowned before waving a servant over. After apologizing profusely for bothering them, as he was known to do, Jon asked them to bring his wife a light mead, instead.

 

They sat together, cordially discussing the content of their respective days. Jon delighted in hearing the secondhand account of little Robb's stories, the incoherent kind that only truly made sense to a child of three. Yet, he asked for each and every detail of the world his son had built using the many carved figurines he'd received from Davos, who had little else to do in his retirement, aside from wandering through the streets of Flea Bottom to reminisce. Rhaella had been quite the handful, as usual, throwing frustrated tantrums neither parent could properly decipher. Luckily, her elder brother of two years had been fluent enough in her baby babbles to translate for their parents.

 

Jon's meal had arrived after a time, a salad of sweetgrass with a side of sweetbread to match. Daenerys watched him empty his plate in front of her as she emptied her mug of mead, her stomach rumbling all the while. Another round of plates came soon after—buttered carrots and roasted heron seasoned with squeezed lemon. Another growl whirled in her empty belly as she caught wind of the aroma.

 

"I can't bear to watch you eat another round."

 

"Nor should you," he agreed with a mouthful of food, blotting his lips with a napkin. After swallowing, he continued, "Your next instruction is to see the maester. Afterward, you will bathe and then meet me in our chamber."

 

"The maester? I'm hungry, not sick."

 

His raised eyebrow told her all she needed to know—Don't question me, and, I shouldn't have to repeat myself. Daenerys drew in a large breath, intent on sighing, but his glare had spooked her out of it. Without another peep, she rose from her chair, carefully tucking it under the table before excusing herself early from supper.

 

.  .  .

 

Barefoot, Daenerys paced her chamber in a huff, her dark silk robe trailing behind her like ship's sail. Her trip to the maester had been, in itself, a small exercise in humiliation. He had been sent word that the queen suffered constipation, and so he flushed her bowels. Though the maester was practiced, the very same who delivered her children, and surely did not judge her for it—she had half a mind to slap Jon the moment he entered the room. Even a hot bath hadn't been enough to soothe her shame.

 

The door clicked, signaling his entrance as she silently seethed in her embarrassment. Jon came through the doors, wearing only ill-fitting underclothes and slippers, his long hair wet and matted to his skin. He set the bulk of his armor on their wardrobe, wriggling out of his slippers as he pushing them aside.

 

Daenerys unfolded her arms, letting them fall limply to her sides as she admired her husband, her irritation with him taking to the air and scattering.

 

Without so much as a greeting, Jon approached her, tugging at the loose knot of her robe and letting it fall open enough to glimpse her body before stripping himself of his clothing. Thoughtlessly, she gaped at him, as she often did, having never tired of such a sight. By candlelight, his muscles flexed and billowed beneath his skin.

 

As he moved forward to finish peeling her robe from her, she placed her palm against his chest to halt him. "I don't know... how this will work."

 

"You don't have to," he cooed his assurance, pushing the silk from her shoulders. He moved behind her to pull her arms free of the garment, before hanging it from the bedpost.

 

"You're sure you do?"

 

"Don't worry, love," he spoke softly as if to soothe her. "I've had a lot of time to think about it."

 

"Have you?"

 

"Ever since Dragonstone," he shyly admitted.

 

She scoffed, "The timid Jon Snow thought of taking his queen's ass? All the way back on Dragonstone? "

 

"She wasn't my queen yet, lest you forget," he chuckled, pressing his body into hers before his hands roamed south, taking a handful of either cheek to lift her to his lips for a quick, wet kiss.

 

"What can I say?" he asked against her lips as they bumped noses, "I've harbored a really sick mind this whole time. My only regret is bein' a drunken fool in all times I've tried it before."

 

Jon claimed her mouth again, this time with an ardent kiss. He walked her backward to the foot of the bed, the red-orange candlelight flickering over his dark features.

 

"On all fours."

 

Her nerves had suddenly paralyzed her so much that she couldn't move or budge.

 

"All fours," he repeated with a growl.

 

Spooked into action, she crawled up onto the bed. Before she'd even made it halfway, he barked another order from behind her. "Arch your back and spread your legs."

 

Jon groaned in satisfaction as she followed his instruction, presenting herself to him like a common whore.

 

"Good," he declared.

 

His first touch consisted merely of blunt fingernails—dragging over her calves and up to her thighs. Before she knew it, soft lips replaced his nails, leaving behind a wet trail in the wake of his kisses. He began kneading her skin, crudely stretching her further apart, pulling his face away to enjoy the view. Her heart gathered speed as she waited, her muscles pulled tight with both tension and unease.

 

After a moment, hot breath signaled the tip of his tongue, taking small, careful dabs along the crease of her thigh. Agony, pure agony, she thought, trying to ignore the reflex to jerk. Jon followed the curve upward, careful never to broach her cunt, even as it seeped and burned for him—the slight touch of his tongue so close drove her to hyperventilation and madness.

 

Dany let out a yelp as he reached the groove between her cheeks. She began to writhe and groan, slapping at the mattress in a show of surrender—still, his tongue tapped away lightly as he neared his destination—the small ring of puckered skin between her cheeks. With a more liberal swipe of his tongue, he'd set her entire body alight. This shouldn't feel so good, she thought, tugging at the sheets, trying to get a grip them, on herself.

 

He pressed the flat of his tongue against the brim, slithering over the forbidden entrance like a serpent. The cries that followed were unfamiliar even to her, like a woman possessed—her limbs flailing as if assisted by unseen forces, her howl like a bitch in heat.

 

By now her arousal was flowing from her cunt like blood from a wound, and he'd barely begun. With a tight grip on her hips, he pulled her close to his mouth—his tongue stiffened again, pressing against the muscle, probing for entry. Dany's body seized, pinching at his tongue before falling forward and abandoning his mouth altogether, quaking as if she'd already peaked.

 

"Daenerys," he groaned her name with disappointment.

 

In an attempt to regather her wits, she merely sighed, unsure whether an apology would only lead to more punishment.

 

"Turn around," he ordered. "On your back."

 

She did his bidding and rolled onto her back. Jon's hands cradled her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the bed. He hovered over her, inspecting her eyes.

 

"What did I tell you about sighin'?"

 

"That you'll have none of it," she gulped.

 

"I shouldn't have to remind you."

 

Sheepishly, she nodded.

 

"Nor should you need remindin' to spread for me. I want to see all of you."

 

Without a second's hesitation, she obliged, drawing in her feet before anchoring them on either side of her. Refraining from going anywhere near her cunt, he managed to gather her wetness on his fingers, spread apart to show the threads clinging between them.

 

"You act as if you don't like it," he chuckled. "Yet you don't make noises like that when I kiss your cunt. Why not?"

 

"I don't know," she admitted before taking a deep breath. She exhaled slowly through her nose, fighting the urge to sigh as his fingers returned just below her cunt, swirling and collecting more of her arousal.

 

"I want to hear what other sounds you can make."

 

Before giving her any time to react, her breath caught in her throat as he slid a finger inside of her, causing her to clench around it, a small ripple of shock scattering throughout her body. His eyes flicked between her expression and his buried finger, seemingly unsure which sight he liked better.

 

Dany clasped her lids shut as he wriggled and twisted, plunging deeper in an effort to prepare her for more. After getting enough of an eyeful, he climbed onto the bed, taking a stiff nipple between his teeth before he'd even settled properly beside her. The addition of his mouth had worked like a charm to relax her, she felt her muscles loosening around his finger. Without delay, he then added a second, stretching her further.

 

She cried out, still unsure whether or not she enjoyed the sensation. Everything about it had felt strange—especially the way she could feel her heart beating in the muscles wrapped around him. His hand pumped her a few times more before he let go of her breast. After nuzzling into her hair, he dropped his voice to a whisper. "Is this okay?" he asked, momentarily breaking character.

 

Though experiencing a measure of discomfort, she nodded her head, determined to please him if this had been what her king desired most. And with her approval, he pushed further inside of her, all the way to his knuckles. Once Daenerys slowly rocked her hips, easing herself into the rhythm, Jon's breathing became harsher, laced with almost imperceptible whimpers. She knew the reaction all too well—he'd be needing to bury something else inside of her, soon.

 

Jon withdrew his fingers with a shudder, licking his lips as he slid from the bed and fished his trousers from the floor. Daenerys felt strangely empty, almost deflated in his absence, her muscles already contracting back to normal. From his pocket he pulled a small bottle of dark yellow transparent oil, tossing it beside her on the bed. He moved to their wardrobe to retrieve several towels of varying sizes, the sight of which made her stomach flip. How messy will this be? she wondered.

 

After tucking a large towel underneath her bottom, Jon gestured for the bottle and Daenerys handed it over. He uncorked it before liberally pouring the oil into his palm. First, he stroked himself, thoroughly coating his cock until it glistened by candlelight. After slathering his fingers with more oil, he plugged the bottle and tossed it to the ground.

 

Daenerys spread her legs to accommodate his oiled thumb as it massaged her back entrance, dipping in and out to prepare her for the main event. It was still such a foreign feeling—she had no control over the way her body would squeeze him in response to each small invasion.

 

All too soon, his hand was gone and she knew what was soon to follow. A cold wave of fear washed over her as she watched him expose the head of his cock before pressing it against her impossibly tight hole. There's no way it'll fit, she convinced herself, trying to remain calm as she braced herself for the pain.

 

The first time he tried to push it inside, it slipped—a false alarm. She gave a silent sigh of relief. Again, she braced herself as-

 

"Agh! " she bawled as the fat head of his cock pierced through her. Hot tears sprung forth from nowhere, dribbling down her cheeks. Her muscles clamped around him in protest, which did nothing to help the torment, only making it worse.

 

Even Jon winced in pain upon gaining entrance, hissing through gritted teeth. He didn't move, rather, he reached down to stroke her body tenderly, leaving streaks of oil across her hips and belly.

 

"Relax," he cooed.

 

It hurt. It stung. It burned hotter than all seven hells.

 

"The worst is over," he promised, his dark and drunken gaze leaving hers and traveling over her twisted form, then down between her open legs. He pushed a thigh further out of his way, allowing the warm light to fall upon where they had been joined together. A deep shudder swept over him at the sight, encouraging him to slowly push himself further inside. With his thumbs, he massaged the surrounding skin in an effort to relax her further.

 

Strangely—yet just as promised—the deeper he plunged, the more the ache seemed to wane. Daenerys focused on Jon's pleasure, his chest heaving in short and uneven breaths, his quivering lips, slick and slavering. His enjoyment permeated her own and dried up her tears.

 

He moved gently within her, stretching her further open with each thrust. Still, his eyes darted between her crumpled expression and watching himself disappear inside the once-inviolable hole. Never more aware of her anatomy before now, Daenerys felt the walls of her cunt stubbornly clench, looking for something to grab hold of, finding only emptiness. In response to the unnatural, searing intrusion, her blood filled and engorged the unused cavity. Leaking like a sieve, her cunt begged and cried for the attention it was forbidden to receive—and she knew she wouldn't be getting any of it.

 

Dark curls fell, one by one, in front of his eyes as they wriggled from behind his ear. Brutally, his speed quickened as he bore into her, as if chasing her limit. The pain had dulled enough to find a thread of pleasure, and she tugged it, letting it unravel all around her.

 

With a squish, Jon drove his pelvis into her a final time, drenching his nest of curls in her arousal, pushing in as far as he could until he was awarded with the last of her hoarse, inhuman cries. He unloaded deep inside of her in a series of warm eruptions, flooding her recesses.

 

After collapsing, they lay locked up together, both reluctant to break apart. This was as close as Daenerys had ever felt to Jon, having relinquished her both her comfort and her last shred of dignity for his pleasure. It might've hurt, but the intimacy shared between them in those moments filled her with an unparalleled euphoria.

 

.  .  .

 

Day 3: My body aches from the daily ravaging I've endured. Each time I sit, I wince, reminded of the ways in which I've faithfully served my husband. And if he happens to catch me attempting to find a comfortable position in which to sit, he squirms, himself, harboring a wicked glint in his eye.

 

Dany returned to her chamber on the third night after her required visit with the maester, followed by another steaming bath to loosen the built-up tension in her muscles. Upon entering, she noticed Jon had preemptively set a small stack of towels at the foot of the bed.

 

She didn't have long before he joined her, uncharacteristically retiring early from his duties the past couple of nights—perhaps even arousing suspicion in his recent inability to wait even until proper nightfall before running to his chamber to plunder from his wife whatever he desired. Of course, she knew exactly what that would be.

 

Jon was fresh from the baths again, his hair a knotted wet tangle, the usual musk and leather of his skin replaced with a mild hint of soap. Hurriedly, he dropped what remained of his armor to the floor, kicking away his slippers and leaving his feet bare as he padded over to where she'd stood, awaiting his instruction.

 

"You're sore, aren't you?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Shall I kiss it better?" he smirked. "Or shall I give you a break?"

 

"Do with me whatever you please, my king."

 

"Good answer," he purred, encircling her like a wolf would its prey. On his second pass, he lifted his undertunic over his head, exposing all of the hard lines of his torso, just begging to be tasted. He untied her robe, gently pushing it from her shoulders. Daenerys shivered as the cool silk fluttered to the floor.

 

"Get on your back facin' me."

 

Though an unusual request, Daenerys chose not to inquire any further, obediently climbing onto the bed before flipping over. Once in position, Jon's hands slipped under her arms to drag her down until her head was hanging just off the edge of the bed, her long hair sweeping the rug below.

 

Stepping forward, just inches from her eyes, Jon tugged his laces free. Dany reached over her head to pull his trousers down past his knees, his cock bobbing above her.

 

"Open your mouth."

 

She gulped away the saliva that had pooled there before obeying. Pulling back his skin, he exposed the flushed head of his cock before rubbing it along the rim of her mouth, the silky skin soft against her lips. Craning her neck, she began to swallow him. Almost immediately, he pumped into her mouth, his girth prying her jaw open further to accommodate him.

 

"Give me your hand."

 

Dany raised her right hand blindly, unable to see anything happening above her. Between her fingers, she felt the sudden flitting of his tongue, and against hers, the slide of his cock. Soon, his mouth enclosed around her fingers, gently sucking and wetting them. Dany closed her eyes, enjoying the mirrored sensations.

 

A cool draft had chilled her saliva-coated fingers after Jon pulled them from between his lips, keeping a tight hold on her wrist.

 

"Touch yourself," he commanded, desire dripping from his voice like honey. "You know where."

 

With her mouth still plugged, Dany kept her neck as still as she could, clumsily drawing her knees apart. Carefully, she avoided her throbbing, sopping cunt, opting instead, for the still-sore band of muscles just below it, slipping a slick finger inside.

 

Roughly, Jon groped her breasts, pinching and tugging at her nipples as they bounced with each thrust. Eagerly, she met every stroke, using her left hand to fondle what she could reach of his body—dragging her fingernails over his hip before digging them into his backside. Once confident she could take more, she pulled him closer, trying her best to take him deeper. While upside down, hot blood had pooled and pounded in her head.

 

Jon groaned his satisfaction as she added a second finger, his hands traveling over her chest and collarbone before wrapping around her neck. He pushed into her throat, his thumbs grazing lightly to feel the stretch of his penetration from the outside. Hot, salty tears fell as fast as they appeared as she wriggled beneath him, his testicles continuously bumping her nose and blocking the use of her remaining airway. A gush of saliva spilled from the open crevices between his cock and her mouth as she slurped him down, her cries muffled each time he cut off her breaths.

 

Quickly, she reclaimed use of both hands, pushing him away from her, gagging, wheezing and gasping for air as she floundered about. Once on her hands and knees, she sniffled and wiped the tears away with her wrists.

 

Moving in, Jon cupped her jaw and planted kisses all across her tear-streaked and deeply flushed face.

 

"Targaryen red," he whispered, brushing noses with her.

 

Daenerys couldn't help but laugh. She must've looked a mess, but the high she got from Jon testing her limits was well worth whatever dishevelment or discomfort she had experienced in the moment.

 

Finally, Jon stepped out of his trousers. Bending down, he first grabbed a small towel, then fished through his pockets for the familiar bottle of oil. Instinctively, Dany's body tensed at the sight of it. After wiping the mess from her face and neck, he handed her the towel to clean her hands, tossing the bottle up toward their pillows.

 

"I'm afraid I'm not finished with you, yet."

 

Meekly, she nodded.

 

Jon claimed his wife's mouth with his own, his tongue intrusive as it pushed its way between her puffed, swollen lips. Though her jaw was numb, she returned his kiss with equal ferocity, dragging her hands from his shoulders down the scarred panes of his torso. He allowed her to get her fill before scooping her up into his arms and laying her on her back.

 

He fell on top of his wife, crushing her with his weight. Grunting in frustration at her inability to keep up with his kiss, Jon abandoned her mouth. Instead, he took bites all along her neck as he trailed down to her breasts. Incising the fleshy underside, he branded her with angry-looking teeth marks deep enough to bruise her. Though Dany struggled, whined, and tore nails down his skin—that he should mark her as his own was something she both relished and looked forward to.

 

Catching her wrists to stop her from further mauling him, he placed a kiss to the base of each palm before dipping back into the ivory expanse of her skin—tenderly retracing the path with his lips and scratchy whiskers. Sighing in satisfaction, Dany's face split in a wide smile.

 

Lifting himself above her, his eyes narrowed. "I'd punish you for that sigh," he warned, "But I think what's comin' next should suffice."

 

With that, he reached for a towel, handing it off to his wife to spread out beneath her body. The inevitable fear and dread set in, the soreness between her legs returning and begging her reconsideration. Instead, she spread her thighs in invitation, hoping to dodge unnecessary punishment for forgetting to properly expose herself.

 

Next came the drizzle of oil in his palm. Though she'd devoured him only moments ago, she lazily licked her lips as she watched him slather his shaft, fighting the urge to swallow him whole. Likewise, Jon bit into his bottom lip as he peered between her legs, eyeing his next target. His fingers followed shortly thereafter, evenly applying oil to her back entrance.

 

With a greasy smear, he pushed her thighs toward her chest. "Take these," he instructed.

 

Taking over, she slipped her hands under either knee, holding her legs aloft. Jon wasted no time puncturing the small hole with the blunt head of his cock, pushing right through the resistance. Unable to control it, Dany clenched around the still-bizarre intrusion, screaming in both anguish and ecstasy as her skin stretched and burned.

 

Though her fingers hadn't widened her nearly enough, the pain was becoming more bearable—gratifying, even, like a ruthless spanking, or the cruel drag of his fangs.

 

Jon moved forward, impaling his full length, compressing his weight on top of her. He buried his head in the hollow of her neck—his hands slipping under her back and over her shoulders, and she, wrapping her legs around his waist. Moving only his hips, he fucked her as hard as he wished, with little regard for her comfort, using her like a woman he'd bought and paid for, some nameless, painted harlot.

 

Dany's head spun, drunk on the taboo. Somehow, his speed kept increasing, his pelvis cruelly grinding against her abandoned cunt, as if purposely mocking it. By now the pain had ceased, except for the ache of her unused hole adjacent to where he'd pummeled her raw. Having been lost in the moment, she was dragged back to reality with the warm douse of his seed inside of her.

 

After catching his breath, he rolled onto his back beside her. This time it was Dany who reached for a towel to wipe herself dry, and a second to help clean off her husband. The wolf who'd just attacked her had since fled. In its place, a languid pup, his black eyes narrow and dreamy as he watched her. Dany picked the sweat-slicked curls from his face, smoothing them into his mass of still-damp hair.

 

Pulling her into an embrace, Jon drifted off almost immediately, leaving Daenerys alone with nothing to amuse herself with, save for his body. Lightly, he snored as her fingers swirled around his scars, dipping into the creases of his muscles. She had half a mind to shake him awake and ask for another go at it.

 

.  .  .

 

Day 9: For over a week, now, I've endured my husband's many incursions without relent. By this point, it is fair to say he's broken me in like a well-trained bitch. Yet, I sniff at his heels just waiting to devour any scrap that falls from his table, with which to sate my hunger. Wholly explored and conquered, I am finally able to play thrall to King Jon's every whim or desire. I am his and he is mine.

 

The day ran late for either monarch, robbing them of the chance to slip away and tumble about their bedsheets at the first sign of dusk. The queen's preoccupation as irritating to herself as those around her. Bored to tears tending to her duties, she wondered how Jon had fared. By now, Daenerys had become the perfect subservient vessel. This night had marked the first that she was truly excited to indulge in his forbidden desires.

 

As soon as she was released from her burdens, she ran first to the maester, who, by now, had seemed a bit worried by her constant presence and need for his assistance. She wondered whether he had been catching on. As quickly as she could manage, she bathed, scrubbing herself raw, washing only her underarms and thoroughly between her legs—the bare minimum—before rushing back to her chamber.

 

Inside, Jon was already in bed as she opened the door, looking relaxed with his hands clasped behind his neck. His torso had been bare, his waist and everything below it tucked beneath a thin sheet. Even at a distance, she could discern his erection through the thin fabric.

 

Dany closed the distance, tearing her robe from either limb in her approach. Something inside of her urged her to abandon all caution as she ripped the sheet from his legs, exposing his gloriously naked body—and the towel underneath it. Has he baited me with himself? she wondered before happily falling into his trap.

 

Ritualistically, she climbed the bed in the way she'd done each night, only this time, it was of her own volition rather than the result of his command. She had kept crawling until her mouth collided with Jon's, nearly clashing teeth as her tongue crammed inside. After unclasping his hands, they drifted forward to fondle her sopping mane as she sloppily sucked his tongue and lips. Cold droplets fell from her hair, dripping down her body before running off onto his.

 

Slipping a hand between her legs, Dany pushed his cock from his stomach so that it pointed straight into the air. As she lowered onto his abdomen, she tucked it between the cleft in her cheeks. After taking a moment to appreciate the shock in his eyes, she pulled him back into another slovenly kiss as she teased him. For a moment, she wondered what his order might've been had she not taken the incentive upon herself.

 

Reaching underneath the pillows, Jon retrieved a hidden bottle of oil, generously coating one palm before handing it off to Dany to cork. With both hands, he reached behind her, stroking his cock against her as he greased it up. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations as he nibbled at her lips. With both hands he clutched her ass, pawing at her and oiling her backside. Using just a fingertip, he swirled small circles over the only other hole she was permitted to use.

 

This time when he entered her, her body had accepted him eagerly. Jon expedited the process, pushing a second finger inside of her. Inattentively, she returned his kiss, rocking against his hand and encouraging him further inside, even lifting herself off of his abdomen so that she wouldn't accidentally stimulate anything he has deemed unnecessary—such as her cunt.

 

She didn't need long to adjust, this time—she was determined to take all of him, going so far as to welcome any potential pain so long as she could have him inside of her. Daenerys batted his hands away, already ready to take more.

 

Taking his cock in hand again, she aligned the tip at her back entry before embarking on a slow descent. The tight ring of muscle wrapped around the head of his cock as she pushed it inside, as if consuming him. Like music to her ears, Jon let out a strangled cry as he breached her, fisting his hands in the bedsheets. More than pain, Daenerys felt the shock of adjustment, but it wasn't enough to discourage her. With a series of grunts, she inelegantly swayed and rocked her hips in order to stretch the hole.

 

The angle at which he penetrated her had been different enough to influence her movements, as if she'd regressed into the clumsy virgin of her girlhood. Jon watched in awe as she planted her palms on his chest, anchoring herself there before bouncing her bottom against his groin. Baring her teeth in more of a snarl than a smile, the pair held eye contact as she continually impaled herself on his full length. Jon looked almost helpless as he watched the monster he'd created despoil him.

 

Suddenly, he lifted his knees, using his legs to push her forward. Dany tumbled onto him, grappling for balance. Twining fingers through her hair, he pulled her to his lips, never quite transitioning to a proper kiss. With abandon, Jon squeezed her body against his and began mercilessly rending into her, his groans muffled within her open mouth. Daenerys was trapped somewhere between his every hot exhalation and the total appropriation of her body.

 

The brutality paired with the noises spilling from his lips had implied that Jon wouldn't sustain such an assault for long. He pumped her ragged with a few final skin-slapping thrusts before she felt the familiar gush of his seed filling her up. Only a dribble escaped as he withdrew, the rest remaining locked up inside of her.

 

"Hold it in," he rasped.

 

After offering only a weak nod, Dany collapsed onto him, enjoying that curious mechanism which allowed her to stubbornly claim and hold his seed inside of her. The instruction to do just that had left her feeling deliciously debauched.

 

"You seemed to really enjoy yourself just now," he whispered.

 

Daenerys smiled, propping herself up on her elbows to meet his eyes.

 

"I've grown used to it."

 

After only a few moments of recuperation, she felt him stiffening again at her cleft. Her cunt pulsed in response, begging to be filled with it and painting his abdomen with a fresh coat of her arousal. She tried her best to ignore the unwanted urges, instead, she opted to inquire about his impressive stamina with an arched brow.

 

"Already? "

 

Jon offered a quick, playful smile before slipping back into character.

 

"On your hands and knees," he barked.

 

Though she wanted nothing more than to drive her teeth into those plump lips, she did as she was bid, lifting herself off of him and straight into the air. On all fours, she waited—his loyal pet.

 

After slipping out from underneath her, Jon positioned himself behind her with impressive speed. Instinctively, Dany arched her back for him, providing an awfully lewd presentation of both holes, yet careful to obey the earlier command to keep his seed from seeping out of her.

 

The whimper that followed was one she grew to rely on—no matter how many times she'd displayed herself to him in such a manner, her husband's appreciation for the sight of her most intimate parts had never faltered.

 

Abruptly, he entered her again, gliding inside almost as easily as he would her cunt—the cavity blazing hot and still slick with his seed. In unison they groaned as he lanced her, tugging on her hips and pulling her into his groin. Once his testicles began slapping against the swollen flesh of her cunt, she cried out on pain, shifting her weight to her left hand as the right went searching for the relief of climax.

 

Jon's movements slowed to a halt, likely in response to her insolence. Just as she parted her lips to apologize or explain her actions, he hunched over, settling his weight onto her back. He delivered her extrication with a whisper, "Go on, touch yourself."

 

Reluctantly, her hand continued along its path, brushing past her soft and sticky curls.  For the first time in over a week, she made pleasurable contact with her neglected cunt, her body shuddering with gratitude. Daenerys toyed with the hood of her clit, careful not to go too fast too soon.

 

To her surprise, Jon had snaked his left hand between her legs as well, stuffing her cunt full with his three thickest fingers, all the while keeping her ass plugged with his cock. Dany began sobbing, feeling overwhelmed—far too sensitive and packed to the brim.

 

"Don't stop," he reminded her in a well-timed gap between sobs.

 

Obediently, she rubbed herself as best she could despite Jon's hand obstructing her movements. But that didn't matter. She knew it wouldn't take long amidst the triad of unyielding stimulation. With hips bucking into her and fingers deftly wriggling and stretching the walls of her cunt, the seed of her climax cracked and splintered, weaving its way throughout her body and seizing her up. Her muscles all ran rigid, clinging so tightly to everything sheathed inside of her that she'd coaxed from Jon a primal wail. Just then, a second, gratifying torrent had burst within her as she trembled beneath him.

 

Thoroughly spent, her strength dissipated as her body fell forward again, luring Jon's along with it. Dany couldn't so much as lift her head, suddenly twice as heavy as her eyes spun a tiny constellation of stars that only she could see.

 

The air felt icy against her sweat-slicked back as Jon climbed off of her, his weight disappearing from the bed entirely. Daenerys giggled as he returned only a moment later, attentively wiping her down with a towel, going so far as to manually turn her over to clean away as much of the mess as he could before climbing back into bed.

 

After drawing the sheets over their bodies, Jon nuzzled against her.

 

Daenerys broke the silence with a scratchy voice, "I could've abstained for longer."

 

"Oh, I know," he agreed. "You just did so well I had to throw you a bone."

 

She shook with laughter, choosing to take the sentiment as innuendo. Jon knew that laugh all too well, pinching at her sides beneath the sheet before sighing, "My naughty wife."

 

"My fortuitous husband," she quipped.

 

Dipping down to reach her lips, Jon stole a quick kiss before resurfacing to look into her eyes. His smile had been distractingly large.

 

"What are you thinking?"

 

Almost bashfully, his gaze dropped from hers as he grabbed hold of her hand. "Just wonderin' if we might add it to our repertoire."

 

"Hmm," she contentedly hummed. "I suppose that depends on you."

 

"On me? " he huffed.

 

"Yes, on you. And your knack for denying me my desires."

 

"So you desire it?"

 

She gave a wide smile to match his, "Are you joking? I've never felt closer to you."

 

After flashing his wife a dreamy, doe-eyed look, he pulled her into a hug, crushing her against his body. Enveloped in his embrace, Daenerys lovingly ran her fingertips all along his arms. Her body still tingling head to toe, she drifted into a dreamless sleep in his arms—her favorite place in all the world to be.