good morning! remember every day is a chance to begin anew [breaks off and sits on the edge of the bed staring blankly for 23 minutes before running a hand down face like a tortured movie protagonist] my god where did it all go so wrong
Dunk doesn't know how to read, so Lyonel always sends letters with drawings and symbols to express what he wants to say. Gradually, his skills begin to improve. Dunk learns to read little by little from Egg, but he still doesn't tell Lyonel about it.
lyonel baratheon is an absolute freak when it comes to sex. so, when he is married off to you - a sweet little lady who is far too innocent for the likes of him - he makes it his new life mission to teach you the ins and outs of pleasure.
your wedding night would forever be ingrained into his memory, your soft, shy little moans and gasps, and the way you clung onto him and shook beneath him. he'd never been with a woman or man so shy and timid and inexperienced, and he held your head in his hands, fingers smoothing down your hair when it was all done. "my poor, sweet wife," lyonel had cooed, a grin etched into his words because he just couldn't help himself. "has no one ever touched you so?" and of course no one had. not even yourself. he doubted you were even properly educated on the act itself, other than to avoid it, to save your purity for marriage. bullshit. but your innocence did give him some ideas...
you're sat upon the edge of your marital bed in your husband's lap, legs spread across his thick thighs. lyonel had positioned a mirror at the end of the bed, freshly polished and framed in painted wood. you were spread open like an utter feast, his eyes glued to your wet cunt. "shh, hush now. patience," he commanded gently when you began to whine and squirm in his lap. "i want to teach you a few things, sweet doe."
he knows that you know nothing about how to properly touch yourself - and how on earth were to cope without his cock whenever his duty required him to leave for a few days? "here, love, give me your hand," lyonel instructed. he could feel your trembling body, and when you didn't obey right away, he gently took your wrist in his own, palm spreading across the back of your hand whilst his fingers splayed over your own. "keep looking in the mirror."
an utterly wicked smirk spread across his lips as you whimpered at the sight of yourself, and his hand - big and warm and calloused - guided your own through the coarse hair on your mound and to your folds. his free hand reached forward, middle and forefinger spreading your lips with a pleased groan. "look at her," lyonel mused, eyes glued to the mirror, and the reflection of your spread pussy. your folds were already puffy, and slick with the evidence of your need. "she's already wet. all for me, hm?"
"y-yes, husband."
the reward for your answer came in the form of a kiss to the temple, but lyonel didn't linger long. after all, he was here to teach you a very important lesson. he guided your fingers, his own laid perfectly over yours, to the little bud beneath the hood of your mound. your fingers met your pulsing clit, your back curving into a delicate arch with a sharp intake of breathe. "shh, easy, sweetling," lyonel tutted, amusement laced into his words because you were just so sensitive from even the smallest of touches. it was hard to not grin. "let yourself feel good." his fingers pushed against yours, a light pressure and small movements to form slow circles around your clit.
you whined at the new feeling, trying desperately to close your eyes only to earn a sharp pinch to your inner thigh. "keep your eyes open."
and you obeyed. lyonel shifted your fingers, circling them just a little faster. you could feel your clit throb and swell, your thighs tensing up as your breaths came in little gasps and whimpers.
"mm, look at you," lyonel growled, eyes darkening as he stared at your cunt in the mirror. "you're getting even more wet, little doe. does it feel good to touch yourself, to feel your sweet little cunt ache and clench for more?"
"yes, gods! yes!" your reply came as a desperate squeak, voice pitched high and breathless. your brow furrowed, eyes beginning to roll back despite your best efforts to keep your focus on the mirror. lyonel's fingers pressed harder against yours, gliding across your achy clit with ease from your slickness. a warm coil tightened in your gut, your tummy clenching up as your whimpers shifted into cries and moans. you were close, so close, and a soft nip to your earlobe had you cumming on your fingers.
your hand fell away, but lyonel's remained. calloused fingertips slowly stroked your bud, working you through your orgasm until you were left with trembling legs and whiny breaths. his strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind, hands rubbing up and down your sides and grabbing at soft flesh. "you did well, sweet doe," lyonel cooed, lips brushing the shell of your ear. he kissed lightly down your throat, licking up small beads of sweat. "take a moment, but gather your strength. the night is still young and your stag still restless."
*Me eyeing up a shirtless Daniel Ings*: The Seven above made you hairy. So be hairy. Or I will burn these show runners and costume designers as heretics.
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