He slammed his royal shaft in with every word, letting her release a splash with every heavy, powerful thrust.
"Yes, yes, yesss~" Asha became a lost cause. Lost in lust and heat, full and fucked to delirium by his cock.
Seeing her surrender, Robert finally slowed down a bit and pulled his cock out. He unlocked her wrists, freeing her from the restraints. Letting her exhausted body drop to the floor. However his manhood was still standing, still not satisfied yet.
One thing to note about Robert Baratheon was that once the beast woke up, there was no way of restraining it before the 'end'.
He pulled her up from the floor by her arm and pushed her to face a wall. Standing behind her, he smeared his cockhead all over her sensitive, swollen, freshly fucked pussy lips.
"I still have some questions…"
"Ummm…" Asha moaned without care, sticking her ass out for him as her hands supported her leaning body against the wall.
"Heh!" Robert almost wanted to laugh at her eager willingness now.
He gripped her short hair with his fingers spread through and pulled her face back. He kissed her from the side while his throbbing cock rammed into her soaked cunt. His thighs slapped against her tight, shapely round ass, over and over. His straining cock widened her pussy lips again and again to ruin, going in and out with no mercy.
His other hand crawled in front of her body and grabbed her tight, small breasts for a hard squeeze and finally slid down to her belly, searching for her pussy. He teased her wet clitoris, letting it slip and slide around his fingers.
"Did you ally with the Vale or the Lannisters?" Robert interrogated.
"Maybe… I-ah… don't knooooowh!"
Asha couldn't take it anymore, so full and stretched her muscles tightened until her body trembled. She came again with an explosive frenzy, utterly squirting her juices out. Her nectar splashed down to the floor, staining her legs and leather boots.
Robert felt the grip around his cock, so taut and heavenly it pushed him to the edge.
"Grk.." He grunted and quickly pulled out, pulling Asha by the shoulder to make her fall to her knees and face him.
With a few quick strokes on his length, he delivered his royal seeds all over her blushing red face and small tits, painting her white everywhere. From her dark, messy hair to her nose, every last bit sticky, stringy, and slimy, stuck to her body.
Asha didn't say a word in protest, gleefully opening her mouth to take in his cream. She licked her stained lips, the corner of her mouth curling up. Her ass wiggling like a pet getting a reward.
She's enjoying this?
Robert still felt some tingles in his cock from the sight of her, and in the heat of that moment, let that animalistic instinct slip over.
He stepped forward and rammed his spent cock into her mouth. He gave a few long fucking plunges to her throat until her back was pressed against the wall behind her. He kept his twitching cock in her mouth until it completely calmed down, throbbing alongside the deepest edge of her throat.
A while later, he pulled out slowly, letting her suckle the last bit of batter around his cock, the sticky, long strands as if the last bit of flavor for her to taste. She even cleaned him off with her tongue.
"Yet again, the Ironborn loses." Robert scoffed at her freshly fucked and spent form on the knees. "I have no darn clue where your confidence comes from despite losing each time. It's better you become a whore than hold grand ambitions."
With that, Robert retreated and left the cell. He wasn't sure if Asha was being truthful with him, so he didn't bother to tie her up again since he planned on 'interrogating' her some more.
If that was the only language she understood, he was a master of it.
####
Castle Cerwyn fell to Ser Barristan's led army. The Northern forces killed every single Ironborn and continued to march forward. By the fourth day, they neared Winterfell.
It was a joyous occasion for the nobles and the knights. And thanks to the King's grace, a small feast was held for the lords at Winterfell.
Inside the Great Hall, Robert sat in the middle of the long table that oversaw the rest of the perpendicular tables where men ate, drank, and bantered. To his right was Robb Stark, and to his left was Catelyn Stark. His cup was full of fine wine, and on his plate were the bones of his finished meal.
"I'll return to King's Landing in two days. The realm is a mere snap away from falling into chaos, bastards…eh…" His words slurred a little, having had a little too much to drink that night. "From the moment I woke up, I've done nothing but fight for peace… but those fuckers don't care about peace. They want to shove their whore daughters on my lap for power."
"Your Grace, you're drunk," Catelyn softly spoke, trying to keep the King from getting too loud.
"I know… I needed this. Gods, what sin am I paying for? Lost Cat… lost my best friend… and that damnable Cersei, she's ruined me," Robert muttered, hardly thinking. His heart spilled over, he snarled, "Seven hells, what am I now? Just a ruin."
"Your Grace," Catelyn said softly, placing her pale, slender hand over Robert's clenched fist on the table. "You've been a blessing to my family. Without your strength, I dread to think how much darker our days might have become. You saved my sons… you've given House Stark a debt we cannot hope to repay."
My own sons, Cat. My own bloody sons. Robert glanced at Robb, who was also drunk and watching the few lords dancing with some ladies in front of the table. He's not fit to rule. Not in these ruthless times. Too soft… too honorable.
He despised himself in his heart. He had failed as a father and an uncle. He failed to tell Jon about his true heritage. He failed to teach Robb how to be an efficient lord. He failed to protect Bran from Jaime.
"Your Grace!"
Robert heard Ser Barristan's loud voice, his armor clanking with his rushed steps. He slammed his hand on the table, his breath heavy.
"Your Grace, Moat Cailin has fallen again! All our men butchered—twenty thousand Ironborn soldiers have blocked our path back!"
"I'm the one who drank, and you're the one drunk? Hah! A miracle if the Ironborn could scrape up five thousand men, let alone twenty! Victarion's lot was the main force," Robert slurred, waving his cup. "Twenty thousand? Tell me, what damned house has that many swords to muster…"
Midway, Robert stopped speaking, his eyes clearing up. He stared back at Ser Barristan. "Do these 'Ironborn' have blonde hair?"
"They do, and their armors are all gravely deformed. But they carry the sigil of House Greyjoy," Ser Barristan answered. "Your Grace, the Lions have made their move. They plan to trap you in the North."
"For what? Claim the throne? Stannis is still at the Red Keep!"
"Your Grace, I doubt they care for the throne now—they seek you," Ser Barristan said, his hand falling instinctively to the hilt of his sword. "We must ride for White Harbor and press on to King's Landing without delay."
Bam!
Robert slammed his fist on the table and rose with a scowl. "Leave the North unguarded? Not a chance. I'll stay right here until every threat to Winterfell is buried and gone. Tywin, Balon, or that whore Lysa herself—I'll cave their chests in as I did Rhaegar's."
Creak!
Finally, Robert left the Great Hall. He didn't need anyone to guide him to his room, nor did he desire any company. The wine, the sense of loss in that ancient castle, and the new danger—they all weighed heavily on his mind. Enough to keep him awake the whole night.
Thud!
He slammed the door shut and dragged his body towards the warm bed. On his way, he threw the fur cloak off his shoulder, then lazily stepped out of his boots. The boon of Winterfell was that the castle was warm inside, especially in the bedchambers.
Krrr!
The bed creaked as he rested his body on the bed. He lay flat and straight, the heels of his feet still dangling from the lower edge due to his great height. So drunk, yet he couldn't shut his eyes. They felt dry, yet he felt no fatigue.
Why this second life? For what? I see no peace on this path.
He felt no sense of closeness towards Stannis, nor did he have any other blood family left. While the ones he did feel close to, didn't share his blood. A Stark who longed to be close to Winterfell yet was forced to live as a Baratheon.
Knock! Knock!
"Who is it? Your king's resting!" Robert growled at the door, reckoning it was some servant. He really was in a bad mood.
Knock! Knock!
"It's Catelyn, Your Grace. May I have a word with you?"
"Cat?!"
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