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A Taste Of The Dragon

It's been forever since I wrote something for Daemon Targaryen but since the new season is premiering I just had to, enjoy :)

A brothel girl is called to Daemon Targaryen's chambers to please him after his return from battle.

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, blow job, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamic, dirty talk, cocky!Daemon, dom!Daemon, shy!reader, sex worker!reader, power imbalance, objectification, praise, paid sex, pet names (little lamb, little one etc), little bit of degradation, Daemon is unpredictable, no aftercare

Wordcount: 5,077

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You curse quietly through tight lips, supporting your body with your hand pressed against the wall.

"This way," your escort growls at once, pointing toward the long corridor.

"Forgive me," you whisper, head low, hands tangled in front of your belly.

You could explain yourself, tell the guard that you nearly stumbled, but it's not going to change anything about his orders, which only include bringing you to the Rogue Prince's chambers as quickly as possible. They are as simple as your orders, only that yours require a lot more sensitivity and effort, tangible in your hammering heart.

You wonder if the guard's pulse is as wild and intense as well, but you doubt it. It certainly isn't the first time that a guard has taken a young whore to the prince's chambers after he returned from war.

Once the guard gestures for you to halt, you swallow hard, straightening up. What terrifies you the most is the unknown, the fact that you have no idea what to expect behind the heavy oak door, what's going to await you as soon as you step inside. You've never been sent to the Rogue Prince before, and the only instruction you were given is that he just came back to the Red Keep this morning and that you're not to speak unless specifically asked and to behave the way you learned it.

Quiet, obedient, compliant.

That's your mantra, and it is going to bring you through this night as well, just like it brought you through so many more.

"What are you waiting for?" the man by your side grunts, throwing you a lecherous glance before taking a stride in the other direction. You wait for a heartbeat, take another deep breath and then knock on the door.

At first, nothing happens, but you refrain from announcing your presence again. Prince Daemon is expecting you after all.

After what feels like an eternity, you hear a loud voice, bellowing "Come in," which is all the assurance you need to push against the door.

You feel so nervous that the world around you is tilting, and your knees are so shaky that you hold onto the doorframe longer than necessary. You've worked as a whore too long to be anxious before meeting your client, but this is Daemon Targaryen, not some drunk, wanton tradesman who's passed out before you even took your robe off.

You're expected to perform, and not just that, you're here to please. But what do you do when you don't know how to please the Rogue Prince out of all people? What do you do when the usual treatment just doesn't work on him?

"Ah," you hear his voice again, causing you to blink. You're staring at the ground and don't move, awkwardly pinching the fabric of your dress while you sense movement from the other side of the room.

"Don't just stand there," he grunts, walking toward you from the sound of it. Finally, you raise your eyes, throat drying up as you take his whole presence in.

He's taller than you expected, but his hair shines in the exact color you pictured. It's a silvery white tone, long and thick strands with the front part bound at the back of his head. He's clad in black, simple robes that smell of fresh flowers and spices, indicating that he just got rid of his battle armor and perhaps took a long and extensive bath to clean himself of the blood and dirt clinging to his skin.

It's definitely better than lying flush against the chest of a smelly, filthy man who hasn't seen soap in months. For a girl like you, it's very rare not to recoil from the second you lay eyes upon the man who spent a few coins to have a couple of hours with you.

With Prince Daemon, that isn't the case, though. Without knowing what he's like, you know one thing for sure. He cares about the way he looks, and fortunately, he has the means to translate that into his appearance.

"Now, what do we have here…" he hisses and thrusts his arm out, seizing your chin without any hesitation. There's no need to be shy or reluctant, he paid for you. "I said I want someone pretty and young. You are that. And I said I want someone obedient, someone easy. Are you that too?"

His eyebrows cock upward, his eyes glinting with something you can't figure out yet. It might be amusement, but it might just be hostility as well.

"Yes, my Prince," you say quietly, your pupils scurrying around. You learned to look to the ground while speaking with highborn lords and ladies, and this is the Rogue Prince before you. But with his unyielding grasp around your chin, it's an impossibility.

"Look at me when I talk to you, little girl. I'm going to be inside you in a few minutes, and yet you try to stare at the ground like I'm some foreigner you refuse to get to know?"

"Forgive me, my Prince," you quickly breathe, restraining yourself from curtsying, which wouldn't align at all with what he just demanded from you.

"You are pretty," he hums, tilting your head to regard you from all angles like you're a piece of art he's analyzing. "I think you're gonna be sufficient. Are you a virgin?"

"No, my Prince," you reply with big eyes, though it sounds more like a question.

"Good. I can't stand virgins. I don't know why they keep sending them to me like I'm interested in wasting my time listening to their gasping. I want easy." His fingers tighten around your face, his intense gaze lingering on your lips for a while longer before he suddenly lets you go and points to the chair in the corner of the room.

"Get over there, take your dress off and kneel."

That, you can do. After all, he might just be a man at the end of the day, not some white-haired god as they sometimes say around the brothel. Daemon Targaryen, the divine being who can't be satisfied by the common methods of a common whore. That would be a tale you wouldn't be so proud of telling, and your friends back in the whorehouse are desperately awaiting your reports.

You quickly head for the big chair, slide your dress over your head and let it drop to the ground beside you. Your form naked and exposed to the cold breeze wafting through the open window as well as his scathing hot gaze, you lower yourself to the floor, facing the wall rather than him. You assume that he's going to take his seat in the armchair, and so it happens.

Judging by the low thud, he takes another sip of wine, exhales loudly, and then crosses the room with two large strides. You briefly flinch when you feel one of his massive hands on the back of your head, causing him to chuckle.

"Are you scared, girl? Are you a frightened lamb?"

You shake your head, even though you don't know what his favored answer might be. He wants someone obedient and easy, but you don't take him for the type to want someone utterly passive.

"No? Then show it to me. Show me that you're not scared of a hard cock…"

With a sigh, the prince plops into the chair, immediately spreading his legs for you to crawl between. His pupils flit downward to your naked breasts, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

"Yeah… As I said. Pretty."

At first, you're hesitant, not knowing how fond he is of you taking the reins and pleasuring him on your own account. Men are like different types of fruit, you find. Some like to take while others like to give, some enjoy laying back and clearing their minds while others want to remain in charge and reclaim what little power they weren't given throughout their day. Your job is to comply without questioning why they are the way they are.

With Daemon, you're not quite sure yet what he wants.

You slowly open the lacing of his pants, eyes flickering up to him every now and then to read his face, which unfortunately gives away nothing. He looks indifferent and neutral, so you assume he might be about to snap or have the time of his life. Since it's not helping you the slightest, you decide to just go along with it until he gives you further instruction and guides you the way he wants you.

You pull down his pants and breeches, swallow hard at his immense girth and then glare up at him.

"What are you waiting for, mhm?" His hand locks around your chin once more, his face coming closer, which makes your blood run cold. "I remember asking for easy and obedient. I rarely take whores to my bed because they're usually not to my liking. Your job is to prove me differently. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, my Prince," you stammer, and Daemon seems to like that because he frees you with the hint of a grin creeping up on his face. So he might just enjoy the frightened lamb after all.

Now that his warnings still ring in your ears, you're fast to wrap your hand around his shaft and bring your lips to the head of his cock. This is precisely what you're trained for, so you operate automatically with not much thought going into your technique or how to move your tongue. Most men are the same when it comes to their pleasure, which is why you stroke his thick dick while kissing and making out with the tip.

After a minute or two, you allow yourself one quick look up to harvest the fruits of your actions, but unfortunately, his face is still a void. You have no clue whether he likes it or not, which unsettles you profoundly.

The secret behind your talents is watching, analyzing, assessing what a man likes and doesn't like to adjust your movements. But with a man as cold and unbothered as he appears to be, there's not much to work with.

Only when he places a hand at the back of your head and buries his fingers in your strands does your pounding heart calm a tad, as you deem it a good sign. First, he uses his power as guidance, slowing you down when you're too rapid for his taste, but after a while, he becomes more active himself, and your hair becomes leverage as he rocks his hips forward.

"You have a good mouth, little lamb," Daemon says calmly, as if he actually doesn't really care about it. Most men would have been panting at this point. At least their voices would have been raspier than usual, but he comes off as perfectly composed.

"Open wide... Show me how wide you can go." He gives you some room to move, but for the most part, you comply with his thrusts, his cock impaling your throat to his liking.

After a while, your knees ache from being scrubbed open on the floor, and drool begins to leak from the corner of your mouth. You wonder if he minds it or if he enjoys watching you make a mess of yourself, but as always, there's no way to tell what goes through his mind.

You wish he would talk to you, praise you for what you're doing well, and tell you what he wants you to change, but Daemon doesn't seem too eager to become very vocal. He curses occasionally, sometimes even chuckles as though there's a fun inside joke he has with himself, but he lets you take no part in it.

"Do you want me to cum down your throat, little lamb?"

Taken by surprise, you raise your gaze, lashes fluttering as you slide your tongue along the shaft of his cock. It's warm and soft, a little salty, and his veins are prominently bulging, which you consider a good sign.

"Mmmm, I don't think so," Daemon growls in his gravelly voice, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "If I wanted to dump my cum inside a pretty girl's throat, I could've told a handmaid to go on her knees. But I got myself a nice whore. And I think she can be useful for more, don't you agree?"

Faster than you're able to process his words, Daemon pulls you up by your bicep, his mouth twisting once you stand in front of him, knees wobbly, which surely doesn't go past him.

"Turn, little one. Slowly."

You do as you're told, though you feel a bit exposed and put on the spot as you rotate your naked body while his eyes are glued to your curves.

Sure, as a whore, your body oftentimes is the center of attention for men who walk into the brothel looking for a girl to take their stress out on, but under Daemon's gaze, you feel a trifle more flustered and jittery than usual.

"Pretty," the prince hums, gliding his hand up your thigh, then stopping at the curve of your hip.

"Thank you, my prince."

"Now I want you to touch yourself, little one."

"You... What?" you whisper, speechless at the uncommon command. You're going to do as you're told because that's how you learned it, but you have to admit that you've never been commanded to do that before.

"Am I going to have to call you my frightened little lamb again?" Daemon speaks quietly, yet there is a threat lingering in his tone. "Go to the bed. Lay down. And touch yourself. Between your legs. On your little cunt. Do I have to get more precise?"

"N-No, my prince," you quickly state and walk toward the bed in the center of the room, crawling onto the mattress.

It's sheathed in silk more expensive than anything you have ever touched. Definitely more expensive than the stained, smelly sheets in the brothel. They are the kind that are supposed to look pricey but don't cost more than a bottle of cheap wine. No, these salmon-colored blankets are going to feel like a gust of wind against your skin, barely even noticeable. You know that it's true without having to be covered by them.

You get comfortable on your back, hair sprawled across the pillow. Then, you look up to catch Daemon's gaze. He's still sitting on the chair, his legs spread, but he seems even more relaxed than he was before, watching every single shift of a muscle in your body.

"Go on," he mouths, but his tone is softer now.

Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you slip a hand between your parted thighs, carefully moving it up to your cunt.

Certainly, you touch yourself at times while you're alone in your room with only the moon regarding you through the window, but you have never done this in front of a man, nor have you ever considered it a possible way of pleasing a man. Perhaps Daemon Targaryen is different, perhaps there is something distinguishing him from other men.

"I want you to go slow," is his next command after he's been watching you for roughly five minutes, circling your clit and using your natural juices as lubrication. His eyes are hooded, his tone sultry and lewd. You can't see every single line around his mouth as he's engulfed by dim light, but nothing can hide the raw lust resonating in his voice, not even his own urgency to remain a closed book.

It's not long after that when the first moan escapes your lungs. You haven't consciously avoided showing any sign of pleasure, but you haven't faked anything either. You only do that with simple-minded, arrogant men who like to hear that they are the best and most extraordinary man in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Daemon might think that of himself as well, but he's too smart to be fooled by your acted whimpers. Besides, you feel that it wouldn't have fit the scene.

"Good girl," Daemon mumbles in response, precisely studying your hand between your thighs.

You wonder what it is that he wants. This is not what you supposed would happen. It's not him taking the stress of his past weeks out on you, it's not getting rid of accumulated adrenaline, it's not even him celebrating his victories in the war. He seems... calm and at ease.

"Put a finger inside. Just one. But keep your thumb on your pearl."

You couldn't possibly tell how different his voice sounds compared to before, but at this point, the enjoyment brewing in your belly is too hot and large to pay attention to it. You're not even embarrassed about getting instructions from Daemon anymore, the man who is supposed to rail your cunt at that moment. At least, based on your expectations.

You obey quickly, although you doubt that he would be capable of discovering if you didn't do as you were told in the dark. Still, Daemon watches you like it's all that he ever wanted and asked for, like he called you to his room with the intention of getting you naked and telling you how to touch yourself.

You're wet, soaked, actually. It's more than enough to glide a finger inside and simultaneously coat your bundle of nerves in enough wetness to stroke it nicely.

"Oh gods," you whine again, drawing a loud breath from Daemon.

"Yeah... Go on. You wanna get yourself there, little one. Don't be shy. I'm telling you right now to get what you want. I want you to claim it. What do you want?"

He's on his feet suddenly, closing the distance to the bed and standing by the edge like a dark shadow.

"I... I just -" you start, and for the first time, you can't bring yourself to keep your good manners in mind. Instead, you just uncontrollably shiver and whimper through clenched teeth.

"You want to cum... You want that tension to leave your chest. You want to feel this pleasure everywhere inside your body."

It's not entirely true, since your normal wishes before entering a private room with a man are that he's not going to hurt you and that you're not going to be sore afterward. Your own high, your orgasm, is rarely on the table. Not on yours, and not on the one of the man you're with.

Still, you nod, knees buckling as a jolt goes through your spine.

"Stop."

You freeze, your hand coming to an abrupt pause between your legs.

"Good girl... Look at you. Well taught and well behaved..."

With that, Daemon finally mounts the bed as well. Before he lowers himself to the same level as you, he takes off his robes, which he lets fall with a dismissive click of his tongue. He looks just like the rest of him: broad, wide, strong, and muscular. A true warrior, like the ones in the tales you heard about Aegon the Conqueror and all the other brave soldiers of Westeros.

Involuntarily, you lick your lip, which Daemon comments on with a scoff.

"There she is. You know what you want, don't you?"

Before you can even think of an intelligent reply, the rogue prince suddenly dips lower until his shoulders are between your legs, holding you open.

You're so startled that air catches in your throat, and your face and ears turn red. Out of all people, Daemon Targaryen feels the need to carry out a deed that's so foreign to most men you have met. It's absurd to think about it.

The prince settles between your legs, licking a strip from your drenched hole up to your nub, skillfully swirling his tongue around to collect the wetness. Unfortunately, when it's over, you haven't been able to catch up just yet, which is why, barely a minute after Daemon has left the place between your legs, you don't know whether it actually happened or if he only kissed you down there in your imagination.

Either way, he's caging you beneath him now, one hand on your waist and the other around his cock.

"I want you to keep your eyes open, sweet thing. The entire time. No looking away, is that clear?"

You nod gently, jerking when his hand clasps around your chin once more.

"Say it. Use your words..."

"Yes. I won't look away."

"That's a good girl..."

Daemon's eyes twinkle with mischief, his hand slowly trailing down your throat until it settles at the base of your neck.

"Take a deep breath for me. And relax..."

You're not convinced that you need any of the preparation he's offering you, but it's the gesture that counts. You're wetter than you usually are when men stick their cocks inside you, and you're already quite aroused, which is why his dick glides inside you with no resistance.

Daemon seems pleased by it as well, since he takes his lower lip between his teeth, chest heaving.

"There it is, little lamb. Right there. Tell me how it feels."

You gasp gently, glaring down to where your bodies connect, but Daemon is quick to lift your gaze with his index finger under your chin.

"No. Look at me and tell me how it feels."

"Feels - good," you stutter, utterly taken aback by what he demands of you.

Maybe he is different from all the other men at the end of the day. Maybe there is something special about him that drives him to treat you this way. He's definitely more delicate than the other men, but you wouldn't call him exactly gentle. Rather... measured and deliberate.

"You have a pretty cunt, sweet thing... It's a shame. You know why?"

His voice is quiet but distinct. Given the way his tip twitches in the back of your pussy, you would assume that he's barely being held together by a thin thread anymore, but his face is the perfect facade.

"Why?" you breathe, brow contorting as he begins setting a steady rhythm inside you.

"Because it's too pretty to be split open by drunken, foolish fishermen who fall asleep on top of you after they spill their seed inside you. You taste too good to be ruined like this."

Your teeth grind, your shoulders tensing ever so slightly. It's easy for him to say that. It's not like you feel any differently while you do your duty as a whore, but what are you supposed to do until you find a man suitable to marry?

"Did I say something to offend you, pretty lamb?" Daemon coos at once, cupping your cheek and tracing the curve of your mouth. "Are you denying it? Are you telling me that it's not true, that you don't feel disgusted by those men?"

Your spit gets stuck in your throat as Daemon delivers a deep pound, your hands instinctively grasping his broad shoulders even though he hasn't explicitly told you to do it.

"Answer me, little one. Or I'm going to pull out, put you on your knees again, and wait until you find your voice."

"Y-Yes, I - it's true. It's true, I feel - disgusted by them."

The words stumble out of you, your eyes wide with need.

"Do you feel disgusted by me?" Daemon wants to know, nearly making you curse under your breath.

You didn't expect the rogue prince to be so vocal, and it's starting to become a problem. You would rather just give in to him completely, not have a single thought, and instead get fucked into the mattress until you find relief. You don't doubt that he could make you orgasm if he wanted to, not for a second. The only question is whether he's going to be gracious enough.

"No. No, I don't."

Even if that weren't the truth, you would have said the exact same thing, which Daemon must know for sure. He laughs loudly, his chest vibrating before he leans in to grab your breast.

"Oh yeah? And how do I know that you're telling me the truth? All whores lie. They lie about how much they want a man... how good the fisherman's cock feels inside them... How they have never been with someone more extraordinary than him..."

"Please," you choke, your cheeks growing hot when Daemon's hand flies between your legs, pressing into your pearl.

"Please what?"

"Please... I wanna... I wanna cum. Please, my prince, ohh."

You try to turn away from him, feeling embarrassed by the arousal brewing inside your body, but Daemon seems to want to watch every second of it.

"Oh yeah? And how do I make sure you're not lying to me?"

Seven hells, you don't even know if he's playing a game or if he's being serious. How are you supposed to read a man you have never met before, a man who spent his entire life involved in the political weavings of the great houses? Putting up a facade and hiding his true intentions must come as easily to him as faking an orgasm does to you.

"Please," you whimper, squeezing so hard around him that Daemon's lips purse and a throaty chuckle rips from his throat.

"Right... There it is... This is how I can tell, don't I? Your body is not going to lie to me."

The next few minutes are filled with heavy panting and the smacks of his hips crashing into yours. Your face is a mess, your forehead sweaty as it normally only is when you run up all the stairs to your room back in the brothel. Everything is a little blurry around you, the air seems stuffier than it was when you entered the room, and even the noises sound like there is a wall separating them from you. The most remarkable thing about it is that you're not used to this kind of sensation, not while you're with a client, anyway.

"Ohhh gods. Oh, yes," you moan, sliding up his thick bicep, his muscles flexing beneath your palms. He feels large inside you, but first and foremost, it's his finger on your pearl creating pleasure that feels like someone is pouring pleasantly warm water over your back on a cold day.

"Yes, my little lamb, don't you hold back on me. I want you to let it all out, alright? I want to hear everything."

Considering that he's been fucking you for roughly ten minutes now, you're surprised to hear him articulate himself so well. You're positive that if you were to open your mouth right now, there would be nothing intelligent slipping past your lips, just muffled moans and whimpers.

"It feels good," you whisper reverently, purposefully staring at his face as he told you.

He holds your gaze, then a muscle beside his brow feathers, and a grin spreads across his face.

"Yeah? Have you ever felt like this before, sweet girl? Does it feel as good normally?"

"N-No," you squeal, his thumb circling your clit skillfully.

"What a shame that is... You're so reactive, so sensitive. Means you're easy to make feel good. I want you to cum for me, little one. You think you can do that? You think you can please me like that?"

It takes you forever to answer as his thumb moves every time you're about to open your mouth, your thighs convulsing.

"Yes. Yes, my prince," you press out at last, gripping his bicep so firmly that his already pale skin turns white as the snow in the North that you have only heard tales about.

After a few more minutes and a little more of his encouraging talk whispered in your ear, you reach your high with a croaked shriek and fall apart for him. Pleasure and lust unleash within you, flooding your system until every last corner of your body is relaxed and at peace. It's certainly not much longer than a few seconds, but the thrill of it all makes it feel like hours. Very good and enjoyable hours.

When your breathing goes back to normal and your limbs fall limp, you realize that Daemon has spilled his seed inside you by now, something you barely perceived. The only evidence is the wetness sticking to your walls, as well as his cock thrusting in you a few more times before the prince pulls away with a loud sigh.

"You did well," is all he groans as he straightens up.

Daemon looks at you for a few seconds longer than necessary. His eyes linger on your forehead, then your lips, and then his shoulders slacken as he clears his throat. Perhaps you would have found his reaction stranger if you weren't so exhausted, but even in your fuzzy state of mind, your brows shoot together, and you feel the urge to find out if he's content or not.

You're not given the opportunity to do so, though.

As if something just interrupted him or he remembered some important appointment, Daemon is quick to put on his robes and breeches, empty his cup of wine, and briefly run his eyes over your naked, flushed form.

"Rest as long as you need. A guard is going to bring you back."

The last thing he does before leaving the chambers is place a coin on the table, which you assume is yours. Then, the door falls shut, and it's the silence that spreads that makes the oddness of the whole situation so apparent.

The Rogue Prince just called you to his chambers, fucked you like no man has ever done before, gifted you a spectacular high, and then left as soon as possible?

Slowly, you turn onto your side, resting your chin on your hand. You have no clue what he meant by giving you the chance to stay here as long as you need. The sheets are comfortable, and dropping your head onto the soft pillow is tempting, but after what just happened, you have too many questions swirling in your head.

Still, you lie back after a while, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

He's a strange man, the Prince, that much is for sure. He's different from what you expected, and a part of you feels unsettled by the unpredictability of his character.

But despite it all, you're not disappointed. You would rather call it... intrigued.

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