Joffrey stepped into his mother's tent, drawn by something beyond mere curiosity. The soft sounds inside were unmistakable—moans, whispers, the wet noise of skin sliding against skin. His breath hitched as he peered inside, his eyes widening at the sight before him.
Cersei and Myrcella were tangled together, their bodies intertwined in a way that made Joffrey's blood run hot. His mother was on her back, golden hair fanned out around her head, lips parted in a gasp. Myrcella was between her legs, her head buried in Cersei's cunt, the flick of her tongue drawing a chorus of breathy moans from her mother. It was decadent, sinful, fucking perfect.
Joffrey licked his lips, the hunger in his chest swelling as he watched them. His cock stirred in his trousers, but he made no move to interrupt, his eyes drinking in every detail—the way Cersei's hips rocked forward, the arch of Myrcella's back as she worked, the sheen of sweat on their bare skin.
Then Cersei's eyes fluttered open, locking onto his. For a heartbeat, she froze, but the surprise melted away quickly, replaced by a knowing smile. Her hand reached out, beckoning him forward with a lazy, confident gesture. She wanted him to join them.
Joffrey stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. Myrcella's eyes widened when she finally noticed him, her face flushed, lips glistening. She pulled back, expecting the worst—expecting Joffrey to lash out or to expose their secret—but instead, Joffrey leaned down, capturing Cersei's lips in his own. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a claiming. Myrcella watched with wide eyes, frozen between shock and anticipation, unsure of what would come next.
Cersei moaned softly into the kiss, her body arching toward him, her hand slipping to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. When they finally parted, Joffrey's hand trailed down her body, fingers brushing over her stomach before sliding lower, between her thighs. Cersei's breath hitched, her eyes locking onto his as his fingers found her wet cunt, ready for him. His touch was firm but teasing, stroking her with just enough pressure to make her hips lift from the bed, craving more.
Myrcella sat up, her face flushed, lips parted as she watched her brother touch their mother with such ease. She should've felt fear, shame even, but instead, she felt a different kind of heat pooling in her belly. Her body moved of its own accord, crawling back toward them, joining the intimacy as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Joffrey's free hand reached for Myrcella, pulling her closer until she was lying beside Cersei, her breath quickening as his fingers danced over her exposed skin. He didn't rush; every touch was slow, calculated, designed to draw soft gasps from their lips. His fingers traced down Myrcella's neck, over her tits, pausing only to cup them, thumb brushing across her hard nipples before moving lower, trailing toward her navel.
Cersei moaned again, louder this time, her hips rolling as Joffrey's fingers worked her with practiced ease. Myrcella, not wanting to be left out, leaned in, pressing her lips to her mother's, kissing her deeply as Joffrey continued to pleasure them both. His hands moved back and forth between them, teasing one, then the other, keeping them on the edge, savoring the control he held over their pleasure.
Cersei was the first to break, her body trembling as she reached her climax, Joffrey's fingers still buried deep inside her, stroking her through every wave of pleasure. Myrcella followed soon after, her own body shuddering, breathless gasps filling the air as her brother's touch sent her over the edge.
When it was over, Cersei lay panting, her chest rising and falling as she looked up at Joffrey, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. But there was something unspoken in her gaze, a question lingering.
"Why don't you fuck us, Joffrey?" she asked, her voice a soft purr. "You've had your fun, but why not finish it?"
Joffrey smirked, shaking his head as he pulled back, wiping his fingers on the sheets. "The first cunt I fuck will be a virgin. I want to feel her break for me," he said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact.
Cersei laughed softly, turning her head to Myrcella, who was still sprawled beside her, legs spread. "You heard your brother, Myrcella. Are you still a virgin?"
Myrcella blushed, but she nodded, spreading her legs wider in invitation. "I am, Joffrey. Fuck me. Let me be your first."
Joffrey's gaze flicked over her, a mix of lust and calculation in his eyes, but he shook his head again. "It's too easy with you two," he said, almost dismissively. "I want a challenge. Something worth taking. Until then..." He smirked, crawling onto the bed between them, his hands finding their tits, his mouth moving between their nipples as he settled in. "I'll settle for what I get."
With that, Joffrey closed his eyes, his hands still kneading their tits as if they were toys to be played with. He didn't need to fuck them. Not yet. Control was more satisfying.
The North greeted Joffrey with a biting chill, but he embraced it with a courtly demeanor that wasn't often seen in the boy they once knew. His transformation in demeanor was apparent from the moment they arrived at Winterfell. The Stark family, known for their honor and propriety, was met not with the arrogant prince of King's Landing but a boy who carried himself with grace, offering a polite smile and well-spoken greetings.
Joffrey took note of each Stark, his charm subtle yet present. He found Ned Stark stiff and dutiful, exactly as he expected, while Catelyn's watchful eyes followed him, always cautious. But it was Robb Stark, the eldest son, whom Joffrey decided to target with friendship. The wolf prince had strength and confidence that appealed to Joffrey—here was a rival worthy of his attention.
After the feast that night, with the hall echoing with laughter and song, Joffrey approached Robb with a grin, proposing a spar. The boy from the North looked surprised, but not displeased, accepting the challenge with a hearty laugh. They clapped each other's shoulders, exchanging light banter, making it seem like just another friendly bout between future kings.
During the feast, however, Joffrey's eyes couldn't help but wander to the northern maids that moved around the room, their beauty wild and untouched by the politics of the south. Robert, his father, made no attempt to hide his desire, openly pawing at any maid that wandered too close, his drunken laughter echoing through the hall. Joffrey felt the same pull of temptation, the lust bubbling beneath his skin, but he controlled it. He turned his gaze deliberately from the maids, choosing instead to catch Sansa's eyes across the table.
Sansa Stark sat straight-backed and proper, as her southern training had taught her, every inch the picture of a lady. Her auburn hair gleamed in the firelight, her expression demure. But Joffrey could see the curiosity in her eyes, the spark that lay behind the mask of formality.
He smiled at her, a soft, calming smile. His voice, when he spoke, was low and soothing, meant to put her at ease. "Lady Sansa, the North suits you. There's a quiet strength here, like your family."
Sansa's cheeks flushed pink at the compliment, her lips parting in a shy smile. "Thank you, my lord. I've always loved Winterfell. But... the South has its own beauty, doesn't it?"
Joffrey nodded, keeping his tone gentle, coaxing her with every word. "It does. But I think you bring the best of both worlds. The grace of the South with the strength of the North. It's... a rare combination."
Sansa's blush deepened, and her gaze lowered. She was nervous, but intrigued. Joffrey watched her carefully, knowing exactly how to stoke the flame of her interest. The feast passed without further incident, though his father's debauchery continued into the night.
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