After a few long moments, Joffrey was sure Sansa was asleep. So, he acted asleep too and suddenly turned sideways and hugged the body closest to him—Arya Stark. His naked chest pressed against her small back, his half-erect cock pushed against the middle of her rear, perfectly landing in the deep valley.
His arm quickly slid over Arya's lithe, thin waist, hugging her and pulling her closer. Meanwhile, his face rested behind her nape, his breath giving her goosebumps, the softness of his lips like a dangerous tease.
"Umm… Sansa…" Joffrey mumbled and took complete liberty to touch Arya all over. His hand hugging her waist moved, going up from her belly to rest on her small breasts, barely filling his palms. But he still touched there, stopping once he felt the softness. "My… Sansa… hm…"
Joffrey's eyes were opened, and he heard Arya's gulp. Let's see how long you stay still.
He moved his lips right then, kissing her neck sloppily as if moving in his sleep. His cock arose to its complete strength as well, probing her gown from behind, trying to squeeze between her clenched legs.
Let's see. But he was very interested to see what she had done to herself. So, his hand moved from her breasts to her belly again, and then it slid down further towards her loins. Oh, I like this.
As he had expected, her gown was bunched up at the front, her slender short legs were naked, and her smallcloth missing as well. He thanked the gods for the Stark sister's sleeping habits without smallclothes.
Aroused or not? It was hard, but Joffrey lazily, sloppily kept moving his hands while taking Sansa's name. He tried to squeeze his fingers between her clenched tight legs and claim her virgin tight slit. He reached the trace of her pubes, but the way further down was tight. Alright, I'll play this game then.
"Hmm… Oh, Sansa…" Joffrey moved his hands, giving Arya a sense of relief. But his palm traced her hips and raised her gown from the backside as well. Right away, his straining cock felt the warmth of her naked skin, her round but petite ass couldn't tuck him in between.
Joffrey smirked and pulled his hips back a bit, then with a slightly harsh push, he shoved his cock between her thighs. His length grazed past the opening of her virgin flower. It left the girl stiff, jolts of pleasure, no doubt.
Much better. Joffrey relished in the warmth of Arya's thighs around him, throbbing with each subtle twitch of her body. But she was thin, and not as developed as Sansa or any other woman he had been with. He was sure his cockhead was peeking out in the air from her front.
"Ummm… One more time… Sansa-ha…" Joffrey moaned into her ears, his hand once again reaching for her slit. With his cock now stuck between her thighs, there was enough space for him to squeeze in one finger.
Wet as Winterfell. Joffrey smirked, feeling the slick heat of her slit on his finger, only getting wetter as his cock felt it too. Should I move? No, that's too much.
He kept his cock planted there, only clenching so it'd faintly shift. But he wanted to feel her more, so with her gown already bunched around her waist, his hand 'innocently' slid underneath, reaching her slender midsection. His palm was spread, and he swore by the Seven he almost felt her waist wiggle under his hand.
But he didn't stop and continued up, and finally, his palm landed atop her small breast, her tight nipple not as defined, but traceable under his palm. He kept rubbing there instead of fondling, touching both her hills.
Good… Squirm against me, Arya Stark. Joffrey felt Arya reacting to him. It took every ounce of control to not start thrusting, or sliding right inside, take her right then and there, ruin her, and make her scream his name.
But he knew it might work that night, but in the long term, it'd be a lost battle. So he maintained the illusion of his sleep and continued to rub his palm all over her breasts, her belly, squeezing his hips and cock.
With his height towering in comparison, and with his body muscular and trained, he felt Arya's form stuck entirely against his front. You've grown into a fine toy, Arya Stark.
"Hmh… My Sansa…" Joffrey murmured, realizing Arya had begun to move her hips on her own, loosening a little and sliding his cock back and forth, making sure it rubbed her unexplored entrance, teasing her petals to no end.
She's warm... Joffrey knew she was searching for a release. He wondered if she had ever been touched by a man before. But he felt she was experienced enough to at least know what she was doing.
Oooh? This girl! Joffrey almost gasped when he felt Arya's hand reach between her legs. With her slender fingers, she captured the underside of his cock and pressed it harder against her entrance.
She kept moving her hips, each time almost getting impaled by his cock. But each time she merely let his cockhead tease her tight lower lips, coating the rest of his length with her juices. Her breathing was audible, suppressing her moans.
Joffrey stopped doing anything from there. His lips pulled back from her neck, his palm stopped rubbing her breasts and landed over her belly as if lifeless.
No, no, Arya Stark. Not this early. Joffrey abruptly hummed and shifted back, away from Arya, and then turned to lie flat on the bed. You'll have to earn that sweet climax with your sweat, tears, and… blood.
He could feel Arya was disappointed from the lost sensation. She stopped moving, fearing Joffrey would notice her movements. At that moment, she lost the heat with great dissatisfaction.
As for Joffrey, he had his lover Sansa to hold. He turned towards the redhead a few moments later and spooned her, once again sliding his length between her feminine lush, soft thighs.
Although free to drive in and make love once again, he decided to sleep since his days had started to grow more and more busy. However, he couldn't deny this was an enjoyable night.
I'll have to make Sansa want to have Arya continue to sleep with her. Slow and steady, I'll have her soon.
He decided and closed his eyes.
####
His daily schedule had become too formal and punctual. So scared of his death and the White Walkers, he always woke up early in the morning just before sunrise. It had become a routine, a mental clock that made him wake up at the same time every single day.
Finding himself sandwiched between the two Stark sisters, he carefully slid off the bed, kissed Joanna's forehead in her cradle, and left the room. It was time to complete the morning training that began with a jog across the Red Keep towards the terrace arena.
Following that, some weighted exercises for his arms, and legs, and finally trained with his warhammer and sword. Jaimie wasn't available, so he trained with Sandor Clegane instead. He preferred Sandor in reality, as the man had no concept of holding back.
Same for Bronn, as the man was brilliant when it came to winning. Unlike the Knights that Joffrey considered fools, he only cared about winning a battle no matter what. In that aspect, there was no better teacher than Bronn. There was no honor in death, Ned Stark was a prime example.
Three hours later, panting like a dying dog, and dirty from the mud on the arena floor, he took a bath and donned his regal clothes, but less eye-catching than before. No longer he maintained a cape on his back or any expensive rings. Being practical and decisive was all that he had learned in this second chance at life.
He understood that all the luxuries he had were his because of his status as the King. To maintain all those luxuries, he needed to remain the King.
Soon, he arrived at the throne room and sat on the Iron Throne. His various members of the small council presented themselves at the same time to assist him. Only two days were left for the wedding, and the entire city was cheering up for it. King Joffrey was no longer hated—the man who cleaned up the gutters, fed the poor, and won wars.
Plenty of gold was spent from his pocket on sending bards to spread rumors, make songs of valor about Joffrey, and turn him into a legend. It was working greatly as Lord Varys often informed him.
"Your Grace, there is only one person requesting an audience." Tyrion read through the parchment that was usually full of names. "It's the owner of Chataya's Brothel, Chataya herself who seeks help."
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