Elia obeyed, arms wrapping tight around her thighs to keep herself cruelly folded, knees crushed to her chest as he pulled free.
He slipped out of her creamy pussy with a lewd pop and crawled forward over her trapped body. His spread knees pinned her legs down harder, bending her nearly in two, spine straining as he loomed above her.
Bracing his arms on the carpet above her head, then shoved his soaked, throbbing cock straight between her parted mouth and into the warm clutch of her mouth.
He fucked her face with the same ruthless rhythm he'd used on her cunt, hips snapping down to bury inch after brutal inch down her throat. Each thrust pinned her folded body harder to the floor, his weight driving deep until her nose pressed against his pelvis, throat bulging around his girth. He cared nothing for the gags or the tears; let it bruise, she deserved the reminder.
This selfish, pampered noble bitch had lived in luxury while the realm starved and bled, thousands of smallfolk children wasting away without a thought in her pretty little head.
This was her true privilege now: being used nastier, rougher, more filthily than any whore he'd pay for.
"Gluk! Gluk!"
With a final, savage ram, he buried himself to the hilt and unleashed.
The first thick splash blasted straight down her throat, forcing her to swallow around his cock in choking spasms. Then he yanked back just enough to let the rest erupt in long, filthy arcs.
Scalding streams that marked her dusky, sweat-drenched face from chin to forehead, glazing her eyelids, splattering into her dark hair, dripping in globs over her cheeks and lips. Pulse after pulse painted her noble features white, the pearly mess pooling in the hollow of her throat, sliding slowly and lazily down her skin until she glistened.
It was the filthiest, most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. A woman of the highest nobility in the realm, reduced to a cum-starved, cock-worshipping harlot, utterly defiled and still looking at him with devotion.
Panting hard, Bronn pulled free and moved backward, leaving her folded and trembling on the carpet. He lazily tapped his still-leaking cock against her swollen pussy lips, smearing the last drops of his batter across her flushed lower lips, teasing the entrance she so desperately wanted filled.
"You'll live here with me, less chance someone sees you. You have years' worth of blessings to receive in this womb," He declared and got completely off her, wiping his cock with her gown and then putting on his humble clothes.
The whole time, he stared at Elia flat on the floor, a sight to behold. She panted, smiling, her hand scooping the mess he left on her face, only to lick it clean.
Your rightful place. Not the fucking Iron Throne, but right here on my fat meat.
He didn't speak anymore and returned to his seat, resuming work. For nearly half an hour, Elia just remained on the floor, blissful.
Eventually, she dressed herself up, fixed her hair, and left to take a bath upstairs.
####
While Bronn gave Elia plenty of cock and gallons of blessing, she hadn't come to him for that. No, she wanted to discuss expanding the Firewhiskey trade across Essos.
The drink was lucrative; it had generated Elia and Bronn enough coin to last many lifetimes. And the drink was rather popular amongst the rich.
But the Westeros market was limited. Most of the nobles couldn't even afford Firewhiskey. But that wasn't the case with Essos. The East was the land of merchant princes, masters, and magisters. Flaunting wealth was important in Essos, and a drink that was a status symbol could do well.
Bronn agreed to do it right away.
Currently, only he had the means of producing Firewhiskey, with his castle in Westeros being the sole major producer. To expand into the east, he needed a large production capability in Essos, and Braavos was the best location. It already had plenty of followers of the Faith, and the Sealord was a close friend.
He agreed with Elia's proposal and started working on it. At the same time, he began planning his next step in the conquest of Essos. His plan was to go to Lorath next, the smallest and the poorest of the Free Cities.
Only this time, he was going to travel with a force of two thousand behind him. Of course, he wasn't going to raise blades.
Only a lonesome, shining hand.
####
Lorath was somewhat of a wild one amongst the Free Cities. The religion of Boash influenced its capabilities and economy. The followers of Boash believed that all humans were equal; hence, women were equal to men, and slavery wasn't practiced. They had a large fishing fleet but not much of a military fleet.
That made it harder for Bronn. He didn't have a reason to force them into submission with his ships and swords, nor was that good for his plans. The best he could do was feed the poor because Seven cunts, there were too many of them.
He spent a year in that city simply because of how slow everything was. He also hated the climate, as the city sat in the Shivering Sea. There weren't that many women of interest either, nothing like Braavos.
Setting up a Sept of the Seven wasn't hard there, the people were welcoming. The annoying part was that they would come to his preaching, eat the meals, then forget about his preaching, going back to praying to whichever god they prayed to.
Even his magical feats didn't move them.
So, he had to use different means. It took a year to force the population of the city to chase wealth and food. In a year, he hosted so many lavish gatherings for working folks that the seed of greed grew.
The taste of Firewhiskey told them what the wealthy got to experience. What they were missing. It was still not enough, however. And it felt impossible to reach the halfway mark in terms of followers of the Faith.
In the end, he just finished constructing the Sept, ordered the Septon to continue corrupting the city, and left.
His next step should have been Norvos, but he chose to leave it for later. Norvos was a theocracy, ruled not by magisters, but men called bearded priests. The bearded priests controlled everything and wielded the true power in the city.
He had a plan to bring Norvos closer to the Faith, but it required a greater army and might, and that needed time.
Similarly, for Qohor, where the Black Goat was prayed to, was hard to conquer. To move Qohor, he needed to orchestrate a grand game, and once again, he needed manpower and time for that.
But Bronn still visited smaller towns on the way, even villages. He healed the sick, preached the faith, and showed miracles. He didn't expect them to convert right away, but after seeing him in the flesh, as long as they would hear his legend grow, their faith would grow.
Two years after leaving Braavos, he finally entered Pentos, the city closest to King's Landing of all Free Cities. And just like Braavos, it had mixed religions, which meant an easier point of entry for the Faith of the Seven.
"Now this is a city." Bronn liked it already. The weather was good, and the city was lively. High walls and many grand, walled estates that he could outright buy. However, he only chose to rent a rather grand mansion with a far bigger garden.
But of course, the city also had a large red temple, where red priests sang and lit night fires. Still, the city was to Bronn's liking. The Pentoshi were beautiful folks, with plenty of gorgeous women right on the streets. He could hear songs around every corner being sung.
However, in Pentos, wealth equaled power. While the Prince of Pentos was the titular ruler, who also got his throat slit as a sacrifice whenever Pentoshi believed the gods were angry at them, the true rulers of the city were the council of rich magisters.
And in that climate entered Bronn, certainly amongst the wealthiest men in the entire city already. But Bronn had what Pentos didn't have: soldiers and warships. Pentos was barred by Braavos, not allowing them to hire sellswords or hold more than twenty warships, a number Bronn already dwarfed.
Right after arriving, he took up residence in one of the largest available estates. Bronn received very preferential treatment in the city, even being invited by the Prince of Pentos. After all, Pentos enjoyed major trade with King's Landing, and in general mingled with Westeros far more than other cities.
Bronn's fame and value was known to all the rich magisters of Pentos.
"Lord Septon," Septa Bellegere leaned sultrily against his table. "Another invitation to a feast has arrived. This one is from Magister Illyrio Mopatis. He's quite well-known. Even I've heard of him."
Bronn nearly burped, having attended a dozen feasts already. That was all he had done since he'd arrived in Pentos.
"And…" Septa Bellegere frowned then, eyeing the bottom of the invitation. "Lord Septon, isn't this the sigil of the Targaryens?"
Bronn took the invitation paper from the woman. He read it from top to bottom, and then at the bottom was a seal of the magister and right beside was the seal of the Targaryens, the same three-headed dragon.
"Seven bless us, it says 'we' invite you. Who is 'we'?"
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