Her hands weakly held on to his waist, brushing over his skin in a bid to show affection. Her mind was drowned by the pleasure of his large cock inside her. Each strike was like a dull thump against her cervix, forcing her to come once more. But this time, she made no sound, a silent exhale of pleasure. She was spent, running on the last bit of sanity clinging to her mind. She stayed there like a fuck doll, her flushed pussy swollen red and sloppily leaking over and over on his thrusting flesh rod.
"Gkk!" Robert grunt into her neck, hugging her body underneath, his knees firmly between her quivering thighs, his massive cock sliding in deep with each thrust.
Eventually, his body craved that final release, and his pounding went even faster and harder. Their flesh collided with wet, sweaty slaps. The bed's one foot actually cracked from the heavy sways, but he kept moving on the slightly limping bed, too close to finishing.
"Gaaaaahhhh!" Margaery screamed out, her body stiffening. All her muscles protest in pain and pleasure, beating her to insanity. Her mind went black as it exploded into a thousand pieces of pleasure, leaving her vulnerable, naked, and trembling. She utterly lost it all, her consciousness slipping into a blissful, wet, and wild dream as her climax gushed through for the last time.
Robert groaned hard as he felt the extreme grip on his cock, but he held himself back. It was too early to gift her his seeds, so he immediately pulled out of her.
He didn't even have to stroke himself and sprayed a massive, thick, fat load of white batter all over her heaving belly, and small breasts, some reaching her mouth and cheeks. The pure white residue of his release contrasted against her rosy, exhausted skin.
He sat back, tired and catching his breath. He saw her cunt throbbing, a gaping entrance visible where his cock had been before, throbbing still as if searching for his plundering shaft. His girth had stretched her wide, opening her up to more than she could take. He was almost sure that he had ruined every other cock for her.
Her moans should be enough for proof. Robert shifted off the bed and poured himself a cup of wine. He gulped it down in one go.
Then he grabbed a towel and wiped himself clean before putting on his clothes again. He then walked over to the bed and cleaned up the spent climax over Margaery's belly, breasts, and face too. He felt that was the least he could do to retain some semblance of honor and sanity.
But seeing her sleeping face from up close, Robert hoped for one thing only.
This should be enough to tame her. Next time, I'll have to find a way to put a leash on her.
In the end, Robert desired control over matters.
After that, he slid back into the bed and pulled Margaery close to himself in an embrace. The girl needed to believe she had succeeded in winning the King, after all.
Cat was right… The South does change folks… for the worse.
Easing into fatigue, Robert eventually closed his eyes.
####
As Robert had guessed, Margaery couldn't walk straight for a day after that night.
Yet she willingly and excitedly visited him every single night and stayed in his bedchamber. Mace Tyrell was overjoyed, and certainly Margaery too as she got more than what she wanted. A king's love and a king-sized love too.
But Robert gave her everything except what she wanted—his seed.
He made love to the flower of Highgarden in all the ways imaginable. Some could be called shameful, and others ambitious. He bent her, he folded her, he pressed her around the room. On the bed, in the bathtub, on the table, by the wall, lifted in his arms.
Margaery Tyrell met a whole different Robert Baratheon and she couldn't help but slowly get addicted to seeing him each night. The way he made her squirm and climax time and time again each night, the way she'd wake up in the morning sore and fresh.
She even forgot there was a political motive behind her actions. It became a mere exchange of carnal pleasure with each other's body. She gave him her tight warm core and he gifted her his royal manhood.
Of course, Robert never lost sight of his goal. He knew what had to be done. He maintained a firm wall between his emotions and Margaery.
But it couldn't be denied that he enjoyed his nightly meetings with Margaery. Her willingness to his whims had helped him calm his thoughts and control the hidden, fiendish creature inside him.
And just like that, a week passed, nearing the day when Olenna would arrive at the Red Keep and have a serious discussion with Robert about the future.
"Your Grace, the men are ready."
"Right then, let's ride." Robert swung himself onto his horse, his eyes hardening. "We'll see what little Tyrion has managed in a year."
Around him were ten Kingsguards and more Gold Cloaks. Right beside him were Ser Barristan, Jon, and Tommen, accompanying him on his inspection of the entire city. King's Landing was his absolute possession and he hoped to make it his gold mine.
He was no trader, but he knew a thing or two about keeping order and maintaining justice.
"Barristan." Robert looked at the old man on his right. "What's your evaluation of Jon?"
Over the past week, Robert had made Ser Barristan test Jon in all the ways possible and give him a quick evaluation. The week was now over and Robert was curious what to do with the boy. He wanted to give him Dreadfort but not before preparing him for lordship.
Ser Barristan eyed Jon's horse ahead of them. "Jon is efficient but too idealistic, Your Grace. By the time he settles on a course, the troubles have grown, and blood has been spilled. He leads with his heart when the head is what the moment demands."
A fault that I also carried. The same thing that led to my end. If I hadn't gone to Cersei that day and…
"But he's a good man, Your Grace. Not one meant to be a lord or a knight, but a skilled fighter if I may add. But too indecisive when to swing it," Ser Barristan finished and eyed the King. "What's on your mind, Your Grace?"
"Can he rule the Dreadfort, Ser Barristan? What say you?" Robert asked back. "I want Myrcella to wed Jon and settle in the North. It seems the right course."
"Myrcella?" Ser Barristan pondered. "She is a fine child, full of grace. And I have no doubt that Jon will cherish her as she deserves. But I fear for him. A man who cannot separate his heart from his duty will never be a true lord. There is a time for kindness, yes, but also a time for cold steel. He must learn when to be ruthless, or else he will falter when it matters most."
Robert hummed and stared ahead at Jon and Tommen riding their horses side by side and talking. "Take me to Flea Bottom, Barristan. Let's show these boys what real misery looks like, and just how low men can crawl."
The men then rode fast into the streets of Flea Bottom. Robert hadn't been there in a long time, so at first sight, he failed to realize it was still Flea Bottom.
"Where is the filth?" Robert asked.
"Lord Tyrion took it upon himself to see it cleaned and mended," Ser Barristan explained. "He hoped to transform Flea Bottom into a place capable of producing goods for export at a cheap price. While the crime still lingers, the filth is not as overwhelming, and the food, at least, now contains true meat."
Tyrion did all this? Robert felt awe as he moved through the Flea Bottom. For the first time, he didn't hear the splash of sewer water but the clop of hooves. A pungent scent was still there but it wasn't shit anymore.
Soon enough, they came across an active crime scene too. A man just slit the throat of a cheap whore after finishing his business and refusing to pay. With Robert there, the King's justice was instant.
"Remember this, Jon. You too, Tommen. Men can bring about the worst of madness, yet at the same time," Robert swung his heavy sword, cleaving the murderer's head from his shoulders, "they're just as capable of bringing justice."
Splash!
Blood soiled the streets of Flea Bottom.
"Remember, as the King or as the Lord, my duty is not just to command, but to give these people a place where they can live in peace, without fear. My sword may have spilled blood today, but it was so that a common man could walk these streets without looking over his shoulder. Whether a whore or a noble, all fall under the protection of the Crown and the lordship."
From there, Robert moved on foot and inspected Flea Bottom. Over the day he saw many more criminals and dealt with them on the spot. He made Jon execute some too, but Tommen was too young to do it.
He made them see smallfolk without clothes begging. He made them see whores standing with their bleeding cunts, barely alive yet inviting any man that walked the street. He made them watch children play in filth, and he made them watch men gambling their lives away.
It was a long day and Robert eventually ended his excursion around evening. Along with Ser Barristan, his Kingsguard, Jon, and Tommen, he stopped at a well-off tavern for folks with more coin than most.
"Have no more than one cup of wine, lads. We still have to return to the Red Keep," Robert ordered his men and took a seat himself near the center of all the guards. He glanced at Tommen while pouring himself a drink. "Tommen, what did you do in Bear Island?"
"I fell in love."
"..."
Robert's head turned towards the eleven-year-old boy who still had milk teeth. Jon and Ser Barristan were doing the same. That wasn't the answer any of them were expecting.
"What? Child, you're one and ten," Robert awkwardly reminded him.
"Age is just a number, fath… Your Grace."
"You can call me father if it pleases you. And don't fool yourself—age is more than just a number."
Tommen puffed out his chest and replied, "But you're marrying Margaery. She's barely older than Myrcella."
When did he learn to speak like that? It's as if he grew a spine.
"Who's the girl?" Robert asked.
"Her name is Lyanna Mormont. She's a year younger than me. I swore to her that I would win five tourneys, and then, with great pride, shall take her from her home."
"Hah!" Robert bellowed, his laughter booming across the room. The others joined in, chuckling heartily. He slapped Tommen on the shoulder. "Aye, no blood of mine, but you're my boy. Jon, you'll be Tommen's sparring partner. I'll test you two every week. We can't have our Tommen fail in love, now can we?"
Clank!
"Hm?"
All of a sudden, Robert heard the sound of a coin clanking on the floor and then something hit his boot. He looked down under the table and noticed a small coin near his toe.
"What's this?" Robert muttered, alerting Ser Barristan.
The old Knight quickly grabbed the small coin and placed it on the table. "It's not a Westerosi coin. Looks like High Valyrian…"
Frowning, Robert looked at the coin closely and noticed some characters written on it. He wasn't an expert in High Valyrian, but thanks to Targaryen influence during his childhood, he knew some.
"Va... Valar? Morgh-ulis? What in the seven hells does that bloody mean?"
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