Fetch me a stool…or perhaps a ladder
sub!dunk x fem!prostitute reader
18+ MDNI!!
Summary: Ser Arlan takes Dunk to a brothel for the first time, insisting it’s where he’ll truly find manhood. When he falls into readers service, she decides to teach him what it means to be good
Warnings: sub!dunk, inexperienced!dunk, use of sweet/good boy, prostitution/brothel work (obviously), handjobs, oral (m!receiving), riding, begging, gentle!dom reader, fem reader, fem anatomy, typical GOT/medieval misogyny
WC: 4.5k
note: not proofread- also, sorry if this is an inaccurate depiction of a medieval brothel, idk I wasn’t there LMAO- Also, im sorry the spacing is so weird, it turned into a huge pain in the ass so I hope it’s not too weird, thx!!
“You‘ve the body of a man, but not the spine of one, aye? Bit of stubble doesn‘t make you grown.“ Ser Arlan barked into the night air, Duncan in tow. Despite his squire being the age of twenty and…something, Ser Arlan insisted he had yet to be a man. Pretty adamant on the matter, actually. Perhaps it was because he still looked upon the same hunger-ravaged lad Duncan had once been. Or maybe the youthful glimmer that lingered in his gaze.
Regardless, Duncan was at his wit‘s end. After being berated with phrases like, you‘ve a man‘s height and a child‘s wits or, you‘re green as spring wheat and twice as foolish, what Ser Arlan deemed manhood was a riddle so thorned, not even the wisest minds could make sense of it.
Beneath the weeping heavens, they journeyed side by side. One wandering, one bound with purpose. They marched beneath the moonless rain as one debated in the chamber of his thoughts, where the seven hells are we going? And the other debated if he‘d spend his coin on a ginger or a blonde.
“Well now, this is where the realm stops coddlin‘ ya. Where men are forged.“ Ser Arlan remarks the brothel before them as though it was a gilded throne, eager for him to warm it. As the matter became plain to Duncan, he found himself stricken with unease. His nerves twist, restless with dread. He had been riddled with quiet torment as his eyes widened at the shelter ahead. Never had Duncan wielded a honeyed tongue nor the gleaming riches that women tended to favor. Still, coin in this establishment could succeed where his words failed. If he had any coin…
“Ser we- I mean no disrespect but, I‘m uncertain we can afford such…service.“ Verily, Duncan was ignorant of how heavy the coin purse was. But, it‘d make a fine plea to wait outside with the horses.
“Nonsense, boy, I‘ll buy myself the lowliest of the lot. You can spend the rest on a decent lady. The grimy ones are sold cheapest, and I‘d not shame ye with ‘em.“
To Ser Arlan, that phrase was even more endearing than “I love you“.
A restless quiver stirred in Duncan‘s blood as he envisioned his own hand offering the coin. The notion sickened him, striking foully against the image he had long held of himself. It defied every principle, every virtue and every moral he had. Regardless of the coiling dread in his stomach, he was highly aware of the inevitability of it all. Duncan opened his mouth in protest then closed it, in hopes to find wiser words on his tongue. He had never laid with a woman before. And he didn‘t wish to humiliate himself before someone who does it for coin.
Without so much as another murmur, Ser Arlan advanced upon the entrance and strode toward the brightly lit dwelling. Well, it appeared bright amidst the veil of impossible nightfall. With unwilling feet did Duncan stagger after, his heart beset by mounting fear as the haze upon his mind faded.
His senses gained clarity. Beneath the shroud of eveningtide there stood the house as he approached. A house of ill renown and impropriety. Yet, it was garbed in such splendor that even a septon’s eye might linger upon it. The timbered walls were painted a deep crimson and wine-dark velvet hues, whilst lanterns of amber glass hung from iron hooks. It casted honeyed light upon the rain slick cobbles below. Silken banners stirred languidly from the upper balconies, and from within came the muffled strains of girlish squeals, soft laughter and the clink of silver goblets.
Before Duncan knew what was hell and what was his reality, Ser Arlan pushed the heavy oaken door, amplifying every sight and sound from outside. The ceilings were draped with silk, sheer as a maiden‘s sigh. The gold thread glimmered like the eyes of the temptresses watching from their alcoves. Sweet perfumes of myrrh, rose and spiced wine wafted through the chill night air, entwining themselves with all who enter.
The madame of the house was quick to greet the pair of them, yet she couldn‘t help to think it odd a father brings his son to such a place.
“Cheapest you have.“ Ser Arlan grunts, placing coin in the madame‘s palm. Before Duncan could ask how much he ought to spend, he has nowhere to be seen, already escorted to the ‘cheapest accomodation‘.
“I- sorry, M‘lady, I‘m new to these…dealings. What‘s the fee? And- where do I head?“
The madame was a mere stranger to men of gentle make and virtuous heart. At once she perceived what should be amended in him, and where he must be sent. Duncan handed her the appropriate coin with a trembling, clammy palm. The woman takes it as though it‘s life blood, nodding vaguely down the hall.
“Eighth door to your right. Don‘t stray.“ Duncan nodded at her gruff words as though they were orders in battle. With a gulp, he began his death procession down the narrow hall. His ears were met with a growing symphony of skin against skin and restless pants. With eyes widened like silver platters, he cast his gaze from the gauzy curtains, behind which lurked filth scarcely shielded.
“Three…four…five…six…“
He counted each curtain as his feet carried him closer to what he thought was his certain demise. After a rushed recounting, he found himself before the eighth curtain to the right. He needed to be certain it was the right one. He didn‘t want to end up with the “lowly lot“ Ser Arlan entertains. Without another moment to lose, he clears his throat, reluctantly ducking through the archway.
The gruff sound from his throat alerted from where you lounged on your bed, tucked behind the silken canopies that shielded the bed from the rest of the room. Like muscle memory, you adjust the jewelry that sits heavy atop your skin. You then make sure your satin garment, (only worn for the sake of being taken off), sits right. Then came your speech, which also flowed from your lips like you had rehearsed it for years.
“Right then, shed your breeches and leave your boots by th-“ Your unenthused instructions were interrupted by a sharp hitch of your breath. You finally assessed the man that stood before you, awaiting your service.
A towering man of broad shoulders and abundant frame, fashioned strong as an oak yet fair upon the eye. His strength sat plainly upon him in the swell of arm and chest, though softened somewhat by a pleasing fullness around his mid section. His countenance was comely and warm, bearing the easy humbleness of a man often admired in tavern and hall alike. Even though Duncan found that far from the truth.
“Seven‘s bones…look at the height on you. I ought to tell someone to fetch me a stool. Or perhaps a ladder.”
You remark as you giggle at your own joke. He nodded politely at your crude comment, at an utter loss for words. Any would fail him if he tried. Still, there he remained, rigid and motionless, as though wit and will alike had abandoned him.
Tense in limb and uncertain in purpose, he obeyed what you instructed prior (only the second step), by removing his boots and leaving them by the threshold.
“You're quite the timid sort aren‘t you? May I have your name, Ser?“ You stood closer, radiant doe-like eyes peering up at him. The sight only made his words feel more scarce on his tongue. He opens and closes his mouth, anticipating sound. How would anything he say compete with your melodic, sing-song voice?
“Dunk…My name is Dunk, M‘lady.“ A flattered beam finds your lips as you blush at his formality. No man had ever addressed you as such. Somedays you were fortunate to even be referred to as “woman“.
“Please, spare me your fine formalities, Dunk, I am no lady. Unless, you have a knack for pretending…“ Your words trailed as he nervously interjected you.
“No, I do not wish to pretend anythin‘, M‘lady. You are a lady, so I‘d like to speak to you as one.“ Dunk managed to nervously choke out, to which you nodded in somewhat understanding.
You stole a moment to gawk at the kindness he had already shown you, despite being in your room for nearly thirty seconds. As you beheld the man before you, he finally allowed himself to drink you in properly.
You were fair in visage, (certainly the most beautiful woman he could‘ve bought his time with), radiant in youth. Your beauty was something gentle and natural, neither overworked or vain, but softly striking in its ease. Dunk thought the embodiment of grace had taken a particular liking to your form. Eyes bared bright, attentive life to them, keen as the morning sky.
“So, Dunk, what would you have of me? Or shall I decide, since you don‘t seem forward sort?“
“Pardon my ignorance, but I am untried in these matters. Not certain what‘s…customary.“
“Well, these sorts of places don‘t demand practice. All the girls know plenty of their trade for the likes of you. So, just tell me what excites you.“
“I suppose I don’t quite know, M’lady.” He curtly replied with a chuckle on his lips. You shrug at his response, having a quiet debate in your head. What were you to do with him?
You hum, beginning to drag your nails and finger tips across his chest, spurring him on. The muscle stiffened beneath the touch, but he seemed to relish the sensation. Still, there was much more to be done.
The idea took root in your mind, slowly lowering yourself to your knees. He appeared even taller from where you kneeled, and you appeared far smaller in comparison to his stature. Something foreign stirred in the pit of Dunk‘s stomach at the sight.
A faint, knowing curve of your lips betrayed your feigned innocence, taking delight in his slow undoing. You shifted your attention to the hilt of the long sword that rested at his hip. It was an old iron thing, clearly worn with use and age. Your fist grasped the base of it as your face neared closer to the handle of his sword.
“Does this excite you, Ser?“ Your sultry voice is followed by the breath stalling in Dunk‘s lungs, faltering as you drag your tongue up the expanse of the hilt. Through half lidded vision, you watch his brows furrow in what appears to be a wounded frustration. The drag of your tongue is met with the old taste of sweat from his palm, the masculine flavour going straight to the throbbing between your thighs. As he watched the lewd act, he couldn‘t help but picture the hilt of his sword as something much more…localized.
You brought yourself back to standing, your body in closer proximity to his than before. With an audible gulp, his stare conveyed a captivated terror. As though something he had been dreaming for was coming true faster than he could make sense of it.
“Or perhaps, this?“ You sang, eyes transfixed to where his stare lingered. As you began to fiddle with the clasps of your gown, the fabric bunched at your feet in one fell swoop. Leaving you completely bare before him, aside from the lavish jewelry adorning your form.
Before he could reply, his rigid cock strained against his breeches as he practically drooled beholding you. You tilted your head in hopes of finding his gaze, but it proved to be futile. His eyes feasted upon the sight of your breasts, mind restless with image. How they‘d feel in his hands, how they‘d feel in his mouth.
You took his rough hands into your own, guiding them to caress the tender swell of your breasts. The column of his throat bobs as he kneads the flesh in his palms, a muffled groan escaping him. His thumbs run across the pebbled buds of your nipples causing you tot shudder under his touch.
As you noted his newfound pleasure, you took his hands back into yours, escorting him to your bed with an unyielding smile upon your lips. He complied, his eyes now enraptured by your own.
You pushed him back onto the bed, surprising you slightly due to his size. He was entirely powerless under your gaze, pliant putty in your hands. His eyes peered up at you as though he was witnessing divinity. As though you were to pardon him from all worldly anguish. Unlike other men, who seek haste and efficiency, Dunk would not be hurried. He would have every fragment of time, and hold it close as though it were treasure beyond reckoning.
You joined him amongst furs and silks in slow, calculated movements. What was once dread had now turned to fervent impatience, a yearning for only nearness. He would deem it a blessed passing to die with so much as your company, without having to lay a hand on you.
In one swift motion your legs bracketed his, straddling him where he laid. The position somehow made him appear more helpless beneath you, completely at your mercy. Mercy you had, as you were inclined to be gentle and slow with the blushing giant underneath you. Your nails found their rightful place a second time, mindlessly tracing lines into his tunic.
“Do you touch yourself, Ser?“ Your keen gaze flicks to him as your lip catches between your teeth. The filthy question was spoken so innocently, so softly, he began to think he had misheard you. The question was a handy way of allowing your inexperienced clients to open up. Dunk turns a crimson that matches the silks the pile of you lay on top of.
“Most men do, M‘lady.“ Dunk nervously chuckles beneath you, still unsure where to put his hands. For now, they would lay tensely beside him.
“And… that means you do as well?“ The tease brought another wave of flush to his neck and ears, only making your smile grow wider.
“Show me.“ Your order finds his ears in a silvery whisper, to which he begins to fumble with the laces of his breeches. To save him the embarrassment, you place his hand aside, shifting your attention to the tangled prison. As your fingers work the strings, his hips buck into your hand as he suppresses a whine.
“Eager are we?“ You giggle in amusement, pushing his breeches to his ankles. For a moment, you deem yourself disoriented, that your eyes have betrayed you. You gulp in astonishment, unsure what to make of his…length.
“Your knight, Ser Arlan, you‘re certain he is not your father?“
“No, M‘lady.“
“Right then.“
You deny yourself a witty remark like your cock would do a better job impaling me than that sword on your hip, or perhaps, so men can just carry lances however they please? You did not wish to subject him to further embarrassment, considering it was his first time in a brothel. You wanted to give him a reason to return, you thought.
Dunk kicks them off, instantly taking his cock in his fist. With eyes half-lidded in languor, he keeps you vigilantly in his sight, as his hand squeezed amidst his clumsy strokes. You shifted where you laid, positioning yourself to replace his hand. His breath came in sharp exhales through his nose, cheeks redder than a field stained by battle.
“Dunk,“ the name crawled off your tongue, “you‘re blushing in front of a whore.“ You remark with an amused tone, watching as he tries to shield his face from you. Gently, you grasp his wrist, pulling his hand away.
“Allow me, sweet boy.“ You purr into the shell of his ear, taking his length into your palm. His breath hitches in his throat at the feeling, head thrown back against the furrs. He‘s sensitive, you note mentally. You start working him in slow, languid movements, his mouth falling open into an ‘o‘ shape. He feels heavy in your hands, finger tips just barely touching due to his size.
“M‘not a boy.“ He grits through his teeth as you continue stroking him exactly how he showed you. To his comment, your hand hastened in speed only slightly, watching his heaving breaths grow more laborious. You remarked every twitch, every stiffening muscle. As he lost himself in the abyss of his own pleasure, he became far less mindful of his sounds. It was a pleasure to bear witness to his unraveling.
“Forgive me, Ser. It‘s a fair assumption to make, when you're so needy for me, like a good boy.“ Despite his best efforts, he seems to cherish the title, a needy groan escaping him. You buried yourself against the crook of his neck, leaving a lingering path of kisses upon his skin, as though you were marking him with the memory of your closeness. The dual sensations draw needy whines and groans deep from his chest. Your fist quickens at the sound.
“D-don‘t stop, M‘lady, mmph, feels so g…“ His words trail off as he loses himself in the sensation, pleading eyes finding your own.
“Does my hand feel better than yours, Dunk? Am I making you feel good? Such a big strong man…so handsome when he‘s begging.“
The pad of your thumb drags over his slit, his hips bucking at the feeling. He nods and agrees listlessly, so enraptured by your touch. You maneuver yourself down the bed, your hand still working Dunk through his pleasure. His eyes snapped open as he felt your breath on his tip, your face a dangerous proximity to his cock.
“You musn‘t- I‘ll s-spend too soon.“ His empty plea draws a breathy laugh from you. A lumbering giant who could surely break firewood with his palms, reduced to a writhing mess beneath your touch.
“I won‘t tell a soul.“ You whisper, swearing yourself to secrecy. To your assurement, Dunk nods vigorously, eager to feel your lips around his cock. You began by placing sloppy kisses on his reddened tip, gently licking ever so often. It was pure anguish for Dunk, growing even needier as you continued. The tip of your tongue dragged right along his slit, causing him to nearly cry out.
“Shhh, ‘gonna take such good care of you. Just relax for me, sweet boy.“ He nods again at your assurance, watching intently as your soft lips wrap around him. It was rather challenging to deny such an offer when faced with your tempting, darling eyes. His lips part as he feels the warmth of your mouth, smothering him so sweetly.
The feeling was intoxicating, a surge of bliss coursing through him. He whined at the sensation, carding his rough fingers through your hair. Not with the intent to force or push, solely to ground himself to the moment.
You peered up at him through your glossy eyes, meeting his gaze, clouded with pleasure. A wistful part of his mind wished he could be subjected to the view of you every day. His reasoning warned him that such fantasies were but folly. He thought of your sweet kindness as purchased, not something he had rightfully earned.
Through the chamber resounded the lewd strains of your mouth, rich with sinful delight, until Dunk felt his senses reel. It was wicked indulgence, yet incredibly tender.
You grew bolder in your efforts, taking him deeper into your throat. The act was followed by wet sounding gawks coming from the walls of your mouth. His cock twitched and pulsed against your tongue, signalling you he did not make his claim in falsehood. He really was about to spend too soon. You hummed against his length, a pleased purr from your throat as his breathing grew more erratic.
“I can‘t-fuck- I‘m gonna…Gods I‘m so sorry, M‘lady,” His pleas are followed by strained groans that rattled in his chest, earning him another content hum from you. The vibration of your voice, the wet eyes boring into his, the soft tousled hair tangled in his fist, was enough to send him over the edge. He came with a hoarse, whiny moan, hips involuntarily bucking further into your mouth. Dunk had never felt such invigorating bliss in all of his days.
As you swallowed each drop of his release, your eyes never dared to leave him. You watched as he convulsed with each spurt, his eyelids fluttering with a pleasure he didn‘t think achievable. His chest rose and fell with each quivering breath. There was something so enchanting about a man who has entirely surrendered. As his breathing slowed and stalled in his lungs, your bare form crawled up the furrs to run your fingers through his wayward hair.
“So good for me, Dunk. Such a good boy for me, hm?“ He nuzzled into your touch as you tenderly caressed his head. Your other hand finds his flushed cheek, stroking the feverish skin as he regains his bearings.
With one elbow propped on the mattress, you lean into his chest as you touch him. You feel the raw heat of his body as one of your bare tits press into his tunic. With a newfound courage, his palm kneads your exposed breast, groaning at the contact. A few gentle squeezes then turns into him maneuvering you on your back.
The angle grants him access to both, nuzzling his face between the swells of supple flesh. To Dunk, air was a trifling matter. He could suffocate between your tits without a single lament on the matter. Your fingers continue gently stroking his scalp as he explores the skin. Open mouth kisses and nudges with his nose sends a pleasurable hum through your veins.
“Want t‘please you, M‘lady. Wanna be so good for you.“ He murmured with a strangled voice still buried between your tits. You gently tug on his sandy hair in hopes he‘d speak clearer.
“That‘s sweet of you, Dunk, but I can fetch us wine in the meantime. It is not my intent to overwhel-“
Your words are cut off by a soft gasp as he begins to suckle on the tender peaks of your nipples. His tongue flicks and sucks the skin as you feel yourself writhing beneath him. Your fist tightens in his hair as he bathes them in wet heat, the suction of his lips sending blood straight to your throbbing clit. And to your astonishment, he‘s hard again. Hard as stale bread.
The slavering sounds of his mouth on your tits fill the room, accompanied by your gentle sighs of bliss. His mouth left your tit in a wet pop, eagerly latching to your other one. In the midst of his movement, you clasp your arms around his torso, flipping him onto his back quicker than a flea on a farm dog.
He makes a vexated, wounded sound as you find yourself straddling him again. Your tits gleamed with the slick of his mouth in candlelight, bestowing a delicious vision unto Duncan‘s eyes. You drag a finger over his lips, hushing his confused pleas.
“Y‘wanna make me feel good, Dunk? You want this brothel to hear me cry your name?“
Dunk keenly nodded at your words, partial to that last suggestion. You tugged at the hem of his tunic, implying you wished to see it on the floor. Drool pooled in your mouth as you watched him comply. His muscles bulged from his flesh with every movement.
Dunk writhes beneath you, his chest heaving as he stared at you intently. With your eyes fixed on his, you lean back slightly, your hands finding the mattress behind you. You bare your dripping cunt to his gaze, watching his pleased grin turn to a wounded pout. As he watches your slick pussy, you begin rubbing your slickness across your folds, displaying how wet he makes you.
“See what you do to me? Need you to fill me like a good boy. Need you to fuck me so good, Dunk. You can make me feel good, can‘t you, baby?“
“Uh-huh, I can please you, M‘lady. Please- let me be good for you.“
You nod, humming at his words. Your leaking pussy hovers above his eager cock, practically begging you to sink down on it. Who were you to deny it such pleasure?
In slow, deliberate movements, you lower yourself onto him, feeling your walls accommodate him in a delicious stretch. His mouth falls agape as you sink further, a low groan rattling his throat.
“Gods above…“ He loses the thought on his tongue as your bare hips meet his, feeling himself entirely buried inside you. A sweet moan leaves your throat as you feel him reach places none of your customers could. So thick and deep, you were completely full with him.
Your hands take hold of his wrists, pinning them beside his head. The act startled him, his eyes widening in sweet bewilderment. You were a hair‘s length from his face, his ragged pants fanning your cheeks. The grip on his wrists tightened as you rolled your hips, feeling his tip rub against the spot inside you that made your knees limp. Your lids fluttered shut as he bucked into, feeling deeper than you had before.
Your chamber rings with the sharp, wet slaps of skin against skin, and strangled moans. With aching knees you bounced atop him, one hand groping your tit, the other scraping its nails down the plane of Duncan‘s chest. You were pleased by the helpless groans that escaped him, hypnotized by the sight of before him. You were even more pleased by the new red marks marking his pec.
“Fuck- Dunk, it‘s so fucking big- filling me so perfect. Such a good boy for me.“ You choke out through the haze of your pleasure. Shameless moans left your lips as you bounced with a newfound vigor, taking him from tip to base every thrust. Dunk began to meet your hips each thrust, brushing your sweet spot each time. The mounting pleasure in your stomach began to coil, threatening to snap.
“Oh Dunk, I- I‘m…mm…“
You listlessly warned as your pleasure thrashed upon you, igniting every vein in your body. Your aching pussy clamped down on his length, a surge of wet slick coating his cock. You were slightly humiliated by how fast you managed to finish. The feeling lessened as you felt Dunk coat your insides with hot ropes of cum, a shudder racking his body. He came with a groan more strained than the last, surrendering to his pleasure.
Soon, the only sounds that remained were your uneven breaths and the muffled commotion from the other rooms. You gaze upon the man, so spent, yet so swallowed by pleasure.
In a rare, defiant act of your morals, you leaned down to claim his lips with your own, tenderly kissing him. His hands clasped your jaw and he clumsily reciprocated the kiss. Duncan‘s inexperience was clear, but his enthusiasm was a force of nature.
Perhaps you didn‘t need a stool or a ladder, to take such a man
another note: sorry for the rushed ending, I had a bit of a writers block at the end- hope u enjoyed !!
I need this.
