Imagine Dunk accidentally being a peeping tom on Lyonel and Reader and getting invited along to play OUGH. Or Dunk refusing penetrative sex early on, focusing on hands and oral, because he doesn’t want to hurt you and won’t think it’ll fit so you push that big lunk on his back and ride him counting the inches and making it fit OUGH
To quote the other anon today, IM SO HORNY!!!! THIS BLOG IS AN OASIS OF SMUT FOR MY HORNY FEVERS!!! YOUR WRITING IS HORNY DAYQUIL!!!
what about both?
The Stag and His Doe
Ser Duncan The Tall x Lyonel'swife!reader x Lyonel Baratheon
✿ lyonel invites his loyal friend to join him and his wife in the sanctuary of the baratheon tent (or, you and your lord husband make dunk feel good)
✿ 18+
✿ wc: 4.9k
✿ cw: fem!reader (you are lyonel’s wife), no y/n, SMUT, literally all porn no plot, like seriously guys this is 4.9k of lyonel’s absolute dream, threesome, slight voyeurism at the start, sub!dunk/dom!lyonel/switch!reader, unprotected piv, oral (m!&f!receiving), slight fingering, finger sucking!!, riding, multiple orgasms, praise!!! like seriously dunk is having a great time, lyonel is possessive over both his wife and hedge knight, dunk and lyonel kiss >:), strong language
Dunk didn’t mean to stare. But how could he not?
You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he watched with rapt attention as you draped yourself—covered only in a thin black nightgown, embellished in gold—across your husband’s lap. Your husband Lyonel Baratheon, the Laughing Storm, of all men. Your fingers worked the ties of his trousers, Lyonel’s large hand caressing the back of your neck as you kneel against the pillowed floor seating of the Baratheon tent. Dunk’s mouth has long gone dry, his tongue heavy in his mouth, watching, waiting as your fingers spin the knots free and dip beneath the fabric.
Lyonel groans loudly, head rolling back on his shoulders as you pull his hard cock from his trousers. Dunk watches you bite your lip to hide a smile as you pump him, eyes fixed on the flushed reddy-purple of the head. With a wiggle of your hips, you arch further forward, taking it into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you drop down.
Lyonel groans again, the hand on the back of your neck tightening.
Dunk stands rigid with his back pressed to the closed flap of the tent. He can feel his own cock, heavy and hard, pitching a tent in the front of his coarse cotton trousers. His hands ball into fists at his sides, the muscles in his forearms pulling tight as he listens to the wet sounds of your mouth and the characteristically unabashed moans of the Storm Lord himself.
Lyonel had summoned Dunk to his tent just moments ago. Lord Baratheon requests your presence in his tent, ser, the guard had said with a light nod of his head. And of course Dunk is a man to come when he is called upon.
Lyonel’s head hangs forward now, and he opens his eyes slowly, pupils wide. They lock on Dunk, who stares back with his mouth agape and a lurid flush across his cheeks. Lyonel just smiles, the points of his teeth flashing, before he was using his hold on the back of your neck and shifting your line of sight towards the tent flap, his cock still deep inside your mouth.
“Here’s our knight, little doe,” Lyonel breathes softly, petting the back of your head. You moan around his cock, watery eyes finding Dunk’s with a silent plea that has the giant man’s cock jerking within his breeches. Lyonel hums, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment before they open, and he was looking Dunk up and down. “He’s a big lad, isn’t he?”
You moan your agreement around his cock again, your fist gripping the base in short, jagged strokes. Dunk can’t maintain the heaviness of Lyonel’s eye contact, and his eyes drop to watch the stretch of your mouth and the shine of spittle coating the lord’s cock.
He can’t speak. An invisible hand has seized his throat.
“Must I extend a formal invitation?” Lyonel utters, leaning back against the floor-level chaise with one arm stretched across the back. That arm raises two fingers, crooking them in Dunk’s direction, while his other hand pets the back of your head.
Dunk takes one step forward, almost out of instinct, but then stops. He swallows thickly, eyes darting between your pretty face and Lyonel, who was staring at him with a predatory glint in his eyes. Less the preyed buck, more the hunting wolf.
“M-my lord…” Dunk finally manages to grind out, but it tapers off when you whimper around Lyonel’s cock, the tip nudging towards the back of your throat. Your hand is tugging your husband’s trousers too, fingers and palm shifting to cup his balls, earning a rumbling groan from Lyonel’s chest.
“You have won the attention of the buck and his doe,” Lyonel drawls, hand brushing across the back of your head as if he were petting a cat. “We would care for you to join us, if you so wish. If not, leave now so I can get my cock sucked by my pretty wife in peace.”
You moan something around Lyonel’s cock, brows furrowing just so, and that makes Lyonel chuckle. His hand returns to the nape of your neck and pushes, eliciting a gag from the back of your throat as his tip hit inwards.
Dunk gapes, flexing his fingers. Of course he wants this. Of course he wants Lyonel, but most of all, of course he wants you. Only a stupid man would let this opportunity slip through his grasp.
So he takes another step forward, and something mischievous flashes in Lyonel’s eyes.
“That’s a good lad,” the lord utters, watching as Dunk willfully crossed the tent. The hedge knight slowly drops to his knees, just on the edge of the cushions, his light eyes roaming along the arch of your back, following the dip of your spine and the curve of your arse. Lyonel smiles, nodding down at you. “You can touch her, Ser Duncan. As a matter of fact, I believe she would have my head if I did not allow you to.”
At your husband’s words, you hum around him, squeezing his balls just tightly enough for him to release a shuddered exhale.
Dunk’s arms tentatively extend, and reach across to trail his hands down your sides. Your eyes close in bliss as the warmth of his palms and fingers smooth down your waist, running hot against the threadbare material. Dunk watches closely as your body reacts, curiosity boiling-hot within him as your back arches further as his two large hands run across the curve of your arse. The material of your nightgown sits just where your arse meets your thigh, and Dunk drops his head to the side, finding you bare of any smallclothes.
His mouth drops open, your pussy slick between the fat of your thighs. “Oh, Seven above…”
Lyonel watches Dunk carefully, his tongue pressing to the corner of his mouth as he smiles. He notices the way the hedge knight’s hands still at your hips, as well as the thick imprint of his cock in his trousers.
“Take what you need,” Lyonel says, his hand leaving the nape of your neck. Palm coarse with sword-hilt callouses, he drags it along your spine slowly until he finds Dunk’s hand. He grasps it then, and Dunk’s breath hitches, as he allows the lord to shift his hand over the split of your arse and dip between your thighs. Lyonel presses Dunk’s hand onto your wet core, and you let out a loud moan around his cock.
“Gods,” Dunk whispers, the pads of two of his fingers finding your clit. You keen at the feeling as your husband’s hand pushes incessantly.
“Have you ever seen a pussy as pretty as this?” Lyonel asks, cocking his head and watching the heat that rises up Dunk’s neck. The larger man’s eyes don’t leave you, watching obediently as Lyonel’s hand begins to move, guiding Dunk’s fingers to grind circles into the bud of your clit.
“I—” Dunk breathes. “I—I haven’t, uh—”
Lyonel pauses, and so do you.
Slowly, you drag your mouth off of Lyonel’s cock, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth as you look over your shoulder at the blushing knight. Lyonel’s strong hand keeps Duncan’s pressed firmly to your core.
“Have you lay with a woman before?” Lyonel questions. There’s a subtle, mocking humour in his tone, but it is largely overwhelmed by genuine gentleness. You watch with watery eyes as Dunk’s ears flush a brilliant red, his eyes snapping away from the slick heat of your pussy to find both yours and Lyonel’s eyes on him.
He groans, attempting to draw his hand away, but Lyonel doesn’t let him. The lord’s mouth curves into a wolfish grin, eyes flitting between Dunk’s bashful expression and the large tent in the front of his trousers. Then, he bends, and presses a tender kiss to the top of your head.
“Our poor knight, little doe,” Lyonel mutters, hand finally releasing Dunk’s. It finds your hip as he guides you into a sitting position between his spread legs. “Has never been inside a cunt in all his life. Never tasted one, hm? Never had a pretty mouth wrap around that big cock.”
The lewdness of Lyonel’s words make Dunk moan, the sound strangled in his throat as the lord angles his leg and presses the ball of his foot against the knight’s covered cock. You watch the interaction with butterflies ravaging your stomach as Dunk’s head drops, lips parting in pants, strands of his shaggy hair brushing over his furrowed eyebrows.
“Our poor boy,” you whisper, and Dunk’s head shoots back up to look at you. His pupils are so wide in the bright candlelight that his irises appear black.
Slowly, you spread your legs, hooking them over Lyonel’s, exposing your core. You can feel the way your hole drools—courtesy of Lyonel’s tongue and fingers prior to Dunk’s arrival—and coats the soft curve of your arse. Dunk’s breath hitches.
Lyonel drags a hand down your front before wrapping his fingers around the hem of your nightgown. In one deft movement, he rips it over your head, your breasts spilling out into the warm air of the tent.
“Come on, Ser Duncan,” Lyonel says as his two large hands shift to pinch at your slowly hardening nipples. You whine, hips twitching, and the sound makes Dunk’s cock leak into his breeches. Lyonel kneads the flesh of your breasts as he speaks. “Put your mouth on my wife.”
Dunk pulls his tunic over his head, burning hot before he’s crawling between your spread legs. His muscles ripple as he drags himself onto the ground, chest raised slightly against the cushions as his hands find the flesh of your thighs. He lifts his eyes to watch your face as he massages you there, big hands strong and firm.
You moan softly, rolling your head back to capture your husband’s mouth. You moan again, louder this time, as your tongues meet, and Dunk feels something tighten in his gut as he watches the way your mouths move together, tongues meeting in flicks and curls. The sound of spit swapping has his ears burning hotter too, and he watches, transfixed, on the way Lyonel kisses you and cups your breasts simultaneously. Your body trembles in his hold, and Dunk marvels at the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
Then, a hand finds his head. Blindly, you thread your fingers into his hair and grip tight enough for Dunk to whimper. Smiling against Lyonel’s mouth, you push down on the knight’s head and guide him towards the heat of your pussy. Dunk whimpers again when he breathes in the smell of you, warmth washing over his lower face as he dips forward. He presses a chaste kiss to your bud, before he nuzzles it with his nose as he shifts his head downwards. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but this feels right.
Your head tips back, and Lyonel’s teeth nip along the line of your jaw. Your fingers tighten in Dunk’s soft hair, your hips twitching as you urge him closer.
“Just like that, Dunk, just like that,” you whisper, Lyonel sucking kisses down the curve of your neck now, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefingers.
Dunk opens his mouth against you, the thick of his tongue pushing through your slick folds. He groans when he tastes you—heady, warm, a clean-water musk—on his tongue, and his stomach clenches tightly again at the way his vibrations make you quiver.
After licking a trail of wet kisses along your neck, Lyonel pitches his chin on your shoulder, beard tickling your skin, peering down at the large man nestled between his wife’s thighs. He watches the way Dunk’s hips jerk against the firm floor, the way his bare back, littered with small scars, tenses with restrained strength as his hands grip you. Lyonel listens to the way small, breathy moans fall from your lips as Dunk’s tongue works down, and down still, until finally, the lord knows when his tongue enters you, as your body tenses up and a high-pitch whine fills the tent.
“That’s a good lad,” Lyonel utters, sinking his teeth into your shoulder for a moment before licking over the shallow indents. “Make my wife come.”
Dunk moans into your heat, and you moan back. Lyonel’s wet cock twitches heavily against your back as one of his hands moves from your breasts and trails over your stomach. It travels over your mound, and then finds your pussy, middle and ring finger pressing tightly to your puffy clit. You whine, and Dunk’s eyes lift to find Lyonel’s hand inches from his face.
Lyonel draws circles across your clit, your stomach clenching tightly, pleasure quickly tingling up your spread legs. Dunk’s tongue is warm and thick and big inside you, your pussy stretching around the muscle as he curls and thrusts without a discernible rhythm. You dry to guide him, to settle his nerves, with your hand in your hair, and it works for the most part. He bobs his head, eyes falling closed as he whines through his panting as his tongue moves in and out. The sounds are wet and obscene, and it makes his ears burn even hotter than before.
“Dunk,” you whine out, hips bucking to meet his face. “Please, please, I’m—”
Lyonel kisses behind your ear as he works his fingers over your clit. “Good girl, little doe, tell our knight you’re going to come for him.”
You choke on a moan, body fiery hot. “Oh, gods, Dunk, I’m—ah, you’re going to make me—make me come.”
Your words force a groan from the deepest part of Dunk’s chest as he continues to work his tongue. He doesn’t dare change the pace, or the rhythm, or the pressure. He keeps steady, jaw practically unhinged as he laps up the ichor of your pussy. He’s never had anything like this before, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to get enough.
You shake, body strung tight, before the pressure in the base of your belly is splitting into thousands of pieces and you come with a shaky moan into Dunk’s mouth. He moans into you as you gush, pussy drooling across his tongue and dribbling out the corners of his mouth. Lyonel’s fingers work you through it, tapping your swollen clit a couple more times before his hand is pushing Dunk’s head away.
Dunk whines, petulant, as Lyonel’s fingers dip into the slick that leaks from your hole. He shoves himself all the way to the knuckle, and you stutter around a surprised gasp as he pumps you once, twice, three times before retracting. Then, while your hand still grips Dunk’s hair, he presses his fingers to the knight’s lips.
“Suck,” Lyonel orders simply, and Dunk’s mouth opens instantly. A dog following the orders of his master. Lyonel pushes his fingers into Dunk’s mouth as you fizzle down from your high, the taller man’s tongue instinctively wrapping around the digits. His eyes are glossy, brow pinched as he looks up at Lyonel. The tears that well in his lashline have you moaning for him, hands shifting to cup his flushed face.
“Oh, gods, Dunk, you’re such a good boy,” you tell him, patting his cheeks.
He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as he sucks on Lyonel’s fingers. You can hear Lyonel puffing against you, feel the deep rise and fall of his chest at your back, feel the heavy twitch of his cock behind you as well.
You run your thumb over Dunk’s cheekbone, directing your next sentence at your husband. “I need his cock inside me.”
Dunk’s eyes wrench open as Lyonel pulls his fingers away.
“You heard the lady, Duncan,” Lyonel says boldly. “Now take your fucking trousers off.”
Dunk scrambles to his feet, and you crane your neck to watch him untie his trousers and shuck them down his legs. His breeches follow, and both you and your husband moan softly at the knight’s cock, hard but drooping under the weight. The giant sinks back to his knees, one large hand clutching the base of his cock, the side of his hand lowered against the thatch of light hair at the base. Even swallowed by the size of his hand, Dunk’s cock is huge: thick and long, ridged with veins along the underside, head a painfully bruised red, slit wet with precum.
“Mm–uh,” Dunk breathes through a moan, clutching his heavy cock, eyes staring at your wet cunt. “S’not—It won’t… uh, m’too big.”
Lyonel laughs, the sound making Dunk shrink back a little. The storm lord tuts as his hands rub up and down your sides idly. “Oh, you’ll fit, sweet boy. Our little doe isn’t as fragile as you think—isn’t that right, my lady?”
You nod eagerly, eyes on Dunk’s cock. Despite your enthusiasm, the muscles of your stomach clench with nerves, your pussy tightening around nothing as you take in the sight of him. He’s bigger than Lyonel, bigger than the guard your husband practically spit-roasted you with three moons ago, and bigger than anyone you’d ever even seen.
But it’ll fit. You know it will.
“I’ll show you,” you utter softly, pulling yourself up and away from your husband, who lets you go with a smack to your arse.
You wrap your hand around Dunk’s wrist and guide him over to the chaise, clambering onto his lap and pushing him down against the pillows. His head finds Lyonel’s chest, and he looks up with round eyes and parted lips as Lyonel’s hands find the sides of his face. As that happens, you’re taking Dunk’s cock in your hand, fingers barely reaching all the way around his girth, and the foreign contact makes Dunk groan. It’s whiny and desperate, and mirrors the way his cock drools in your hand, leaping with each small squeeze of your fingers.
Lyonel holds Dunk’s face tenderly and leans down. His lips press a small kiss to the larger man’s cheek, then his cheekbone, then the corner of his mouth. Dunk whines, and it’s him that turns his head to push their lips together. It’s brief, but wet and deep, Lyonel’s tongue too dominant, too strong. Their teeth clack together, and Dunk’s pulling away with a whimper when the lord’s teeth find his bottom lip.
You huff, stroking Dunk’s cock. “Lyonel.”
Lyonel lifts his head, eyes sparkling. “What?”
“You have to be gentle,” you say pointedly, straddling Dunk’s hips and leaning forward with your other hand pressed to the warmth of his bare chest. “Need to take care of him.”
Dunk ducks his head to meet your movements, his mouth slotting to yours and the sound he makes has pleasure searing up your spine. It’s a breathy whimper of your name as your tongues meet, and you’re so much more gentle than your husband. So much sweeter, so much softer. There’s no teeth, just the languid stroke of your smaller tongue against his, your lips across his, as your hand idly strokes along the length of his cock.
A grumbling purr leaves Lyonel’s chest. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s a good girl, being so gentle with our poor knight.”
His hands stroke Dunk’s face as you pull away slowly, a string of saliva connecting your lips. Dunk pouts when it snaps and you sit straighter in his lap. Suddenly, you’re grinding your wet slit across the heat of his length, and his breath stutters against his ribs at the flush of pleasure that overtakes him.
“Now…” Lyonel leans down to whisper in Dunk’s ear, teeth skimming the shell of his ear. “Our pretty little doe is going to show you just how good she is, okay? And you’re going to be a good lad and count the inches. You can count, can’t you?”
Dunk nods dumbly.
“Good boy. Now hold her hips.”
He does. The hedge knight reaches up and places two massive paws on your hips as you angle his cock to your hole, the fat head hot against you. You whine out, chewing on your bottom lip as you lower yourself gently until the tip all but pops inside you with only a small amount of slick resistance. The pressure is heavenly, and Dunk feels his eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head as heat envelops him. His balls twitch, the muscles in his lower abdomen contracting harshly. His fingers grip against your hips.
“That’s it, now fucking count,” Lyonel utters darkly, tone heavy with lust.
Dunk blows out a breath as you begin sinking down, your brow furrowed as you take him an inch at a time. Dunk doesn’t quite know his exact measurements—or numerical measurements, really—but you help him. Each time you stop and tremble against him, a soft mutter of Duncan or so big leaving your mouth, he whispers out a number.
“One… two…” He grits out, and he watches as your pretty little pussy swallows more and more of him. He holds you firmly, scared of hurting you, eyes finding your face as it screws up. Not in pain, but in pleasure. He continues breathlessly. “Three… f-four…f-uh-five…”
Another inch, and then another.
One of Lyonel’s hands strokes Dunk’s chest, thumb brushing a scar beneath the curve of his pectoral muscle. Dunk’s counting becomes stuttered, more of him sucked into the tight, wet clutch of your cunt as Lyonel’s finger flicks over one of his nipples.
And he’s still whispering in his ear all the while. “You’re a proper knight now, huh? Got a pretty sheath for that big fucking sword, yeah? S’all yours, lad. What’s mine is yours.”
Another inch, and gods, then another.
He fits.
By the Seven, he fits, and he lets out the loudest fucking groan as you finally take all of him. You whimper his name so sweetly that he’s scared he’ll spill straight away, pleasure hot in his belly, balls painfully tight. He’s never felt anything like this. It’s euphoric.
“Tell her to move,” Lyonel orders. “She won’t move until you tell her. She’s a good girl like that.”
You sit so pretty on his lap, waiting patiently. Your hands are on Dunk’s stomach, your legs trembling either side of his wide hips.
Dunk whispers your name. “Please move. Please.”
You smile down at him, before raising yourself, dragging your cunt upwards and then slamming yourself down onto him. Dunk’s moan gets caught in his throat as you lift yourself again, then drop back down. The stretch knots pleasure tight above your womb, a dull pain lingering at the edges as the thick head of his cock rams against your gummy posterior wall, nudging towards the plug of your cervix. His hands are impossibly heavy on your hips, the muscles in his arms working as he helps lift your weight.
Your pussy is so slick that his ruts begin to glide, slick dripping down his balls as his hips start to lift. He meets you as you work yourself onto him.
“Uh, uh, fuck—” he moans as he watches the way you practically bounce in his lap.
Meanwhile, Lyonel’s hands feather across the larger man’s ribs, his mouth sucking harsh, bruising marks along the strong curve of his shoulder. He presses his nose to the thrumming pulse beneath Dunk’s ear, kissing it gently.
“Tell me how good she feels,” Lyonel whispers to his knight.
“S-so good, my lord,” Dunk replies, words strained, strung taut with pleasure. “Feels—uh, fuck—feels so fucking good.”
Lyonel lifts a hand from Dunk’s side and beckons you to him. With a huff, you lean forward, anchoring your hands against Dunk’s broad chest. Your husband’s hand wraps around the front of Dunk’s throat as he meets you at his shoulder. You kiss, and Dunk turns to watch your lips slot together, the two of you panting into each other’s mouth as Lyonel grinds his cock against Dunk’s lower back, and you continue the stuttering movements of your hips. Dunk slants his head up, his forehead pressing to the warm skin of your cheek as he whines for the both of you.
Lyonel smiles into your mouth, and you return it. The hand on Dunk’s throat tightens a fraction as it forces his chin up. You hum out from the back of your throat as you and Lyonel both press your mouths to Dunk’s, lips parting against his, tongues converging. Dunk groans into the kiss, his hips bucking faster to meet your lazy grinding, hands trailing downwards to knead at the fat of your arse. He’s drunk on the taste of you both; Lyonel’s tongue mellowed with the taste of arbor gold, yours sweet with honey.
The hedge knight is quivering beneath you, and you pull out of the kiss to drop your hips onto him faster. Skin-on-skin, hurried slapping. You pant, mewling his name as you chase the high that builds thick amongst the warmth of your womb, pleasure blurring the edges of your vision like a black-lined tunnel.
“Told you you’ll fit,” Lyonel utters, fingers swiping up and down the column of Dunk’s throat. He feels the bob of the knight’s nervous swallowing beneath his palm. “Gods, fits like a fucking glove, doesn’t it? Our little doe’s pussy’s just made for you—made to take that big fucking cock, huh? Just look at her, Duncan. Look at the way she takes all of you.”
Dunk moans. “Gods—”
His cock twitches inside you, and you whine, looking down at the knight below you with soft eyes. “Dunk, need you to spill inside me. Please.”
Dunk’s mouth drops open. When he doesn’t hear a response from the lord behind him, he peers up, finding Lyonel smiling, canines flashing as he watches his wife.
“Well?” Lyonel looks down at Dunk, still smiling. “You heard our lady. Be a good knight and do what you’re told.”
Dunk knew what it felt like to release, mainly over his knuckles in the privacy of a forest clearing, or a dilapidated room in a quiet inn. But he knew this was about to be a whole different experience as something hot burned through the base of his belly, zapped along his spine and bloomed through his chest.
The warm clutch of your cunt sucks his cock in with each thrust, the head rutting up against the base of your cervix, and he can’t help the moan of your name that falls from his lips as he comes. His balls tighten and his cock twitches, seeming to swell inside you as he releases—pump after pump, filling you as you continue to move.
You groan, thrusts quickening as your orgasm builds, spurred by the warmth flooding you. “Fuck, Dunk—that’s it, that’s a good boy.”
You come apart not long after. The knot in your belly springs apart again and you clamp down around him, fingers curling against the soft muscle of his abdomen. Your head rolls back and your wanton moans fill the tent, a mixture of curses, pleas, and whimpers of his name as you rock yourself in your lap, chasing the shadows of your retreating orgasm as it slips from you slowly, slowly, until you still. You pant above him, and he caresses your hips as you lean forward, collapsing onto his chest with a grunt.
Dunk presses a kiss to your forehead, arms wrapping around you. His cock remains wedged inside of you though, only half-soft.
Above you both, Lyonel chuckles. His hands pat along Dunk’s head, and down your back, soothing his wife and his knight, bathed beautifully in the candlelight of the tent.
After allowing a moment of respite, the lord grows slightly restless, cock still painfully hard against Dunk’s back. So, he takes his hands and grips the two of you on the backs of your necks, guiding your heads to one another until he’s all but forcing you to kiss.
It is welcomed, and you and Dunk drink in each other’s whimpers as your mouths meet, lips lax with pleasure. You barely move, just swapping air and spit with lazed tongues as Lyonel watches, rutting his hips against the strong, firm muscles of Dunk’s back.
“That’s it, that’s it,” Lyonel mutters, before he’s using all of his strength to push the two of you to the side. You squeak as Lyonel switches the position of you both until you’re splayed either side of his lap, still holding the napes of your necks. Then, with as much boldness as you would find usual of your husband, he guides your kissing mouths to the head of his hard cock, your lips meeting against the sensitive skin of the tip. Lyonel groans, “That’s it, doing so well for your lord, just fuckin—hngh—”
He spills against you and Dunk’s conjoined faces, seed splattering your lips and skin in warm spurts. He groans your name mainly, but Dunk’s is thrown in there too, as his hips rock against the cushions and his hands go limp on your neck. You and Dunk pull apart, staring at one another with glossy eyes and parted, kiss-swollen lips.
“Are you okay?” You ask Dunk gently, reaching a hand up to wipe some of Lyonel’s cum from Dunk’s cheek.
Dunk nods. “This… this was great.”
You can’t help but laugh.
Lyonel pats the knight on the top of the head like a puppy. “We told you, Ser Duncan, you’re our knight, and you’ve got our attention. I think you’ll look good in black and gold, wouldn’t you agree, little doe?”
big fan of when a character is dead and the narrative frames them in a very angelic, soft, gentle manner but then it turns out not only are they still alive (plot twist) but theyre alive in the most gruesome and horrific way. your loving kind mentor who motivates you to fight in their memory came back wrong and theres blood and dirt under their fingernails from clawing they way out of the grave.
pixelskylines
origamiaround
