"Hold it, my Lady," he muttered low, a rumble that sent a forbidden shiver through her.
Shamelessly, he guided Alerie's hands to grasp her own gown, pushing the silken folds higher onto her lap until her entire legs lay nude before him, plush and soft, perfectly fitting for a mother who'd borne heirs with grace. He drank in the deep valley between them, her smallcloth a thin barrier, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at the warmth it guarded.
Yet he didn't try to remove them, yet. He wanted to tease her a little, to watch the flush creep up her neck as the heat built, her body betraying her with every subtle shift.
Alerie gazed at her sleeping son, his tiny chest rising peacefully, then down at Bronn, who knelt between her legs like a septon at an altar. Something simmered in her eyes, a resolute spark as she reminded herself this was for her son and family, the cost of being blessed by the Gods. A sacrifice she would bear with grace.
"Oh, Mother, accept this offering, may this gift be a new spring," he spoke with solemn intonation, his hands already itching to claim more.
With that, Bronn grabbed her right leg, raised it gently yet firmly, and kissed her ankle with a slow, deliberate press of his lips. He left a trail of kisses, loud, sucking, and wet. Up her shins, over her knee, and onto her inner thigh, his breath hot against her skin. Then he repeated it with the other leg, each touch lingering.
It tickled Alerie at first, a feather-light prickle that made her almost whimper. Her lips pursed tight against the sound, but as his lips met her bare skin, they felt rough yet insistent, evoking a shameful heat that pooled low in her belly. When his tongue flicked out to lick her inner thighs. It was slick and probing, a slow, moist drag that lit sparks in her core, leaving her flesh glistening and sensitive.
When their gazes met, she felt exposed, vulnerable, yet oddly anchored, making her submission feel like a holy surrender.
Finally, Bronn nestled his face between her thighs and started furiously licking and kissing there, both thighs trembling under his assault, all the way to her covered core, where he pressed his mouth without mercy.
He licked the thin veil of her smallclothes, flat-tongued and insistent, dampening her smallclothes with his spit until the fabric was soaked through, the pressure teasing the hidden folds beneath.
Gods, I can smell her ripening already!
She was dry until then, but no more. She felt the warmth of his spit seeping through, mingling with her body's heat, a slick betrayal that made her shudder from head to toe. She almost moaned, the sound bubbling up like a forbidden prayer, both her hands flying to cover her mouth as her hips twitched involuntarily.
"Oh, Maiden, your flower shall bloom, bless her, take away her gloom," his words vibrated against her skin.
Finally, he gripped her smallcloth, hands sliding to her waist on either side. Tugging at the ties as his fingers grazed her smooth hips. He looked at her, as if asking a question he already knew the answer to.
Alerie nodded, her breath catching, and raised her hips a little, letting him remove the flimsy barrier with a slow, deliberate pull that exposed her completely to his gaze.
Mmmm! What fucking sin! She's prepared for this!
To his shock, he found Alerie drooling from her lower lips, her pubes trimmed to the skin. Bare and inviting as if she'd readied herself for this offering, knowing full well what she was surrendering to him and the Gods.
And that made him so much more hungry, as if the Gods were teasing him with this noblewoman's secret eagerness, her body already weeping in anticipation.
"Let the Maiden's nectar flow."
Finally, Bronn drowned his face in her cunt, throwing both her legs over his shoulders, loving the warmth of her squishy thighs clenching around him as he buried himself in her heat.
He widened his tongue to pry apart her folds, the slick petals parting under the flat pressure as he delved deeper. The tip of his tongue slowly inched into her warm, moist core, swirling and probing the tight channel that quivered around him. He could feel her tremble from his slithering tongue, her body arching involuntarily as he lathered his spit around her vulva. He teased her sensitive bundle of nerves with flicking laps that made it swell and throb, the musky sweetness of her arousal coating his mouth like sinful honey.
Alerie whimpered softly at first, the sound muffled behind her hand, but as his tongue plunged deeper, she squealed uncontrollably. "Umph~"
That's it, just let go. Sing for me like a whore in heat.
She shifted restlessly on the settee, her thighs hugging his head tighter in a desperate embrace. Her one hand covered her lips to stifle the cries bubbling up while the other clawed at his hair. Fingers tangling and tugging before she caught herself and released, only to do it again moments later as waves of shameful pleasure crashed through her.
Bronn groaned into her pussy, the vibration rumbling through her core as he savored her juices. The sensations drove him wild with triumph. She was the Lady of House Tyrell, perhaps a notch below the Queen, but it still gave him the high he sought. Another victory, another conquest.
Gods, she tastes like wealth and petals...
Eventually, Alerie couldn't hold on anymore. Her body was trembling nonstop, hips bucking as ecstasy ripped through her, eyes watery with utter bliss that blurred the chamber around her. Her nectar flowed right into those relentless strokes of pleasure at her gates.
Bronn didn't stop, letting her flood fill his mouth with clear intent. He lapped her juices with no care for the mess, allowing it to sully his face in glistening streaks as he drank her down.
Finally, once her body relaxed, spent and quivering, Bronn moved away. Without missing a beat, he pushed her legs off his shoulders, stood up, and leaned forward.
He kissed her lips, letting her taste her own slick, his mouth insistent against hers. He kissed her so hard, whole tongue thrusting in, tangling with hers in a messy, devouring claim that shared every drop of her essence. The only man she now belonged to was him.
"Suckle the Maiden's nectar, my Lady," he murmured against her lips, his voice laced with dark amusement.
At his word, Alerie hugged his face closer and suckled on his tongue, drinking up everything he gave her with eager pulls. Then, she locked lips and sucked the air out of him, her submission turning fervent as she lost herself in the unholy communion.
All that time, Bronn pushed down his breeches, freeing his throbbing cock. He grabbed one of her dainty hands, placing it firmly on his hardness. The heat of it throbbing under her palm.
Shocked, she broke the kiss and looked down, her eyes widening at the thick, threatening girth. Long and needy, veins ridged along the shaft, bigger than she was used to, a beast that promised to stretch and claim.
As Bronn's hand rested on her head, heavy and guiding, she knew what it meant. Her will bending further under the weight of her devotion and need. She already submitted to the Seven, to him as their instrument. This time her body willingly and utterly gave in to the blessings and lust in her core.
Alerie leaned forward and instantly locked her lips on his cock, parting them wide to engulf the swollen head, her tongue swirling in a hot, welcoming caress.
She took him in with hunger, her tongue circling the crown of his cock in slow, teasing laps that traced the ridge. She savored the salty bead at the tip before sliding down his shaft as she widened her lips further, drawing the swollen head into her mouth with a wet, sucking pull that made him twitch against her palate.
"Umm… Seek the nectar, let it flow, swallow it whole," Bronn said, loving the way she was softly milking him, finesse in every flick of her tongue that sent jolts through his shaft.
Take it, take your due. Lady of House Tyrell… now mine.
Alerie sucked him slowly but full of fervor. Her slender fingers wrapped around the base in strong strokes that pumped him in rhythm with her mouth, suckling his cockhead with firm, hollowed cheeks. Her lips glided up and down the length in a hypnotic glide, building the pressure with each pass.
Bronn never pushed her down further onto his cock. His fingers caressed her silver, silky hair, threading through the strands with a deceptive gentleness that masked the throbbing greed in his veins.
Alerie herself took his cock deep into her throat, driven by some inner compulsion, even letting her nose flatten against his pubes a few times as she bobbed with fervent devotion. Her slender neck bulged at the intrusion of his cock, the outline visible with every plunge in and out of her scorching hot mouth. Her lips stretched around his girth, saliva glistening in lewd trails down her chin.
Between those deep strokes, she paused to lavish his heavy balls with her tongue, lapping at the wrinkled skin in hot, swirling circles, then drawing one orb into her mouth for a gentle suckle while her slender hand pumped his slick shaft, the dual assault making him throb harder as she alternated, tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive seam before returning to swallow him whole again.
Bronn could feel the pressure up to his head; it was too hot, too pleasurable. The sight of this noble Tyrell lady worshiping him was unraveling his control faster than he thought it would.
"Gah… All… drink," he groaned as release barreled through him.
His cock twitched wildly in her mouth, unleashing a hot spray of spill that flooded her with thick ropes of seed. His baby batter coated every inch of her mouth and throat in sticky warmth, each burst flowing on her tongue and sliding down her gullet as she swallowed greedily. The seal of her lips held just enough, though a few creamy dribbles escaped to smear her perfect chin.
Alerie felt blessed for some reason, as if this profane act sealed her pact with the divine. So warm and virile, it made her feel alive. The thick, creamy essence strongly scented like musk and salt, filling her senses as she gulped, sucked, and swallowed.
She kept lapping at his cock, her tongue swirling around the softening length. Even as he turned flaccid, she dipped lower once more to cradle and tongue his balls in lazy, worshipful strokes.
Bronn didn't stop her, wanting to get hard again so he could fuck her cunt properly, his hips twitching at the persistent suction on his sack.
Gods, she's good at this!
Her was mouth silky and tight, like gliding through warm molten honey, every stroke pulling him back to the edge.
"Uh… M-Mother…" A small voice stirred from a bit away, shattering the haze like a bucket of ice.
Clearly, the damned Gods had something else planned.
Bronn rushed to pull out of Alerie's divine lips with a wet pop, yanking up his trousers and tucking his cock away before the boy could rouse fully.
Alerie did the same, frantically pulling her smallcloth back on with trembling hands, wiping her lips clean of the glistening evidence, and rushed towards the bed. Her face flushed with a mix of lingering bliss and sudden panic.
Bronn sighed, walking over to the bed, eyeing the woman the whole time because now… now he had tasted blood and he wouldn't stop before having her completely. Her submission was a flame that only whetted his appetite.
A few damned months at Highgarden doesn't sound too bad.
After all, she was yet to receive the holy seed in her womb.
####
Bronn woke up that morning with satisfaction written on his face. He had already healed the boy yesterday, eaten Alerie's cunt, and made her feast on his holy shaft. Now, it was all about slowly savoring the rest of her. He really couldn't help but feel excited.
"Seven guide us. Septa Unella, have you looked in on the boy yet?" He asked the blonde septa as she tied his belt. His hands roamed over her toned waist. He really missed doing her in all the unholy ways imaginable.
"I did, Lord Septon. He has woken and taken some food. He feels no pain and moves with care."
"Gods be good. Anything else I must know?"
"There is. Lord Mace arrived but moments ago. He says a visitor has come to Highgarden for you. He waits outside to escort you to them."
That amused Bronn. He finished combing his hair quickly and walked out of the bedchamber. As Unella had said, Lord Mace was waiting outside, chatting with some Tyrell knights.
"Ah, what a splendid morning, Lord Septon! The Seven surely smile upon you. I swear, your very steps bring light to my halls. It seems the Seven heard your woes about manning the House of Seven Blessings."
What in the Seven's ass is he vomiting?
"Lead the way, my Lord."
Bronn honestly hated listening to Mace ramble. The fat fuck was obsessed with his own lies that he believed to be the truth. A dozen times he'd recounted how he won against Robert Baratheon in the Battle of Ashford. The realm knew it was Lord Tarly's victory.
In silence, he just followed the fat lord. Through the many corridors, he realized they weren't going towards a hall but rather an open ground. And when they did arrive at that open ground, Bronn almost reached for his sword at his waist.
An army?
In that open ground stood rows and columns of men in varying degrees of armor, each with a sharp look of a warrior. The ones at the front of each column were knights, clear by their full armor and coat of arms painted on their cloaks or shields. And the one at the forefront, the supposed leader, possessed a shield with a sigil Bronn didn't recognize.
Wait, I've seen that sigil before. Wasn't it in that book in the Great Sept?
Bronn pondered deeply, trying to remember.
Thud!
He didn't have to do that for long. As soon as he walked into that open field, the dozens of men showed movement, kicking one foot on the ground like good soldiers before falling to their knees.
The last one to kneel was their supposed leader.
By the end, Mace Tyrell and the Tyrell knights had stayed behind. Only Bronn was at the front, to whom those men were kneeling.
"Rise, my good men. What vexes you?" he asked, guessing they came seeking his blessing. Truth be told, he'd rather not turn away a whole host. His six Angelic Knights might shine bright, but light alone wins no war.
"O' Septon of the Septons!"
Huh?
Bronn became alert when the supposed leader of the army shouted, still kneeling, his voice heavy with reverence.
"You are the Seven's Angel, Bronn the Blessed. You heal the ailed, you feed the hungry, you seek no gold, no status, nor see one. O' Septon of the Septons, we kneel to you, our heads low, we submit our swords and shields to the Seven's authority you wield."
Seven whores and their daughters' cunts! He's…
Bronn recognized that sigil at last.
"O' Septon of the Septons, in your service we shall heal the fate's plundered. I am Ser Bonifer Hasty, and these are my pious Holy Hundred!"
I… have… a bloody army!
___________________
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