"Ugh!" He grunted in an animalistic greed, dark desires pouring in. He pressed under her thighs harder, his fingers leaving red marks as he pressed her down into the bedding. Oh how much he loved those alarmed expressions on her face. Delirious from the fucking but still aware of the darkness that Joffrey hid underneath.
Sansa knew firsthand how blessed she was for he was a changed man. But in rough moments like such, she sometimes felt he'd returned.
The Joffrey of the old.
The monster that had gone to sleep.
And to that monster, she felt nothing but submission and to her own shame, love.
"Aaaaah… Joffrey!" Sansa moaned, squirting out her declaration of love and surrender, her juices aiding his warming climax too. "Make me… Make me… bear your… seed… aaaah!"
She couldn't lie anymore. She existed for this.
For Joffrey's pleasure and to bear him as many offspring as he desired.
No, she wanted it desperately.
For as long as her womb remained full, she knew the monster would never return.
She knew her Joffrey, her Prince, her King would always love her no matter how many silver-haired whores appeared.
"Ooooooh!" Utterly swollen and sore, she felt his ramming cockhead right at her womb's entrance, knowing he was about to gush out his virile seed. "Anything… I'll… do anything… Please love me! Yesss! Breed me!"
There she did it.
A complete submission.
"Gah!" Joffrey's pace became a messy, wet noise, his harsh thrusts bruising her cunt as he went harder for that final peak. He heard her and gave her what she desired.
No longer Joffrey held back and just as Sansa finished riding her orgasm, he lost himself in her milking cunt with a roar, painting her fertile walls white with his seed. He lost his grip on her legs and let them fall while he collapsed forward, his face smothering into her red, scentful hair. But he kept himself buried deep, pumping out spray after spray of his watery culmination.
He panted hard and almost gasped for air, all her final words had tickled a very dark part of his brain. He tried to keep that madness in control, it was hard, but coming inside her cunt had relaxed his mind.
"Hah…" He pulled out of her eventually and fell to the right, between the two girls. "Come here… both of you."
Joffrey spread his arms wide. Sansa instantly slid over and placed her head on his shoulder, hugging his naked frame, ignoring the sweat and scentful mess at their groins.
"You too, Arya."
Arya reacted to his direct command and hugged him too, her hand on his chest.
The three slowly caught their breaths and in silence, closed their eyes. Sansa and Arya fell asleep quickly, but Joffrey couldn't. Too many thoughts going on in his head made it hard to rest.
Even Arya desires to be bred. Joffrey saw that as his greatest accomplishment for the night. That meant the girl was truly his now. But her submission was still lacking.
I still have more than a month before Catelyn arrives. By then, I'll have these two fucking each other's cunt out with their tongues.
Why he felt such a strong desire towards depravity, he didn't know. In a way, he thought that it was simply his way of compensating for the lack of his other darker desires. He hadn't tortured or killed whores in years, and he'd definitely not sired bastards—unplanned.
So, he reckoned, his lust was to offset his other desires.
But he wasn't sure anymore.
Let's worry about this after I win the damn war.
####
It was darkness everywhere.
It was cold.
Where am I?
Joffrey felt aware that he was asleep. But he also knew this wasn't a dream. He could see his own body despite the darkness around him.
Shhhh~
In the distance he noticed something. A small flicker of light.
He ran towards it at full speed, frowning as he got closer. It was a pile of wood from the looks of it and on the wood was a body lying, arms crossed on their chest, clothes regal, a male.
Blonde hair?
Finally, Joffrey stood just beside the pile of wood and froze in shock. His hands instinctively touched his own face, confused as on the pile of wood rested his own body, eyes closed, arms crossed, stones on his eyes—last rites for the dead, he recognized.
"Me?"
Woosh!
All of a sudden the wood caught fire and his body began to burn slowly, skin melting, clothes burning, muscles sizzling.
"What is this!?" He barked in horror.
"That is your future, prophecy stealer."
He heard the voice, the same demonic voice of R'hllor, echoing from every direction, focused on him. But this time the voice felt different, less demonic and more godly, more clear and direct. Unlike before when he faced an orb of light, now, there was nothing but the voice.
And the pyre of himself before him.
"You cannot battle against your fate and win, prophecy stealer."
"Gods, do you ever stop prattling? I don't give a damn about whatever you're scheming. I will win—because I deserve to win. Every bit of it, I earned." Joffrey shot back in rage, eyes locked on his burning body. "Your petty tricks mean nothing to me."
"You were meant to be a blemish upon the world, Joffrey Waters, a shadow of sin born of incest, doomed to die by treachery for the filth in your soul. This time, you have cloaked yourself in false majesty and built a throne of deceit. Yet the flames see all. You live a stolen life, and fire will claim its due."
Joffrey rolled his eyes and crossed his arms with pride. "Prattle on if you must. I stand here, breathing, when death itself came for me. The realm bends to my will, its finest women in my grasp—earned, not gifted by sorcery. And this? This trick of yours? I care nothing for it. Your Red Witch once swore Stannis was chosen, and look how that ended."
"You compare me to a priestess who glimpses my truth in flickering flames, her mind too fragile to bear my full presence. She who reads my whispers in the fire, while I am the very source of those visions—You equate me to a mortal?"
Joffrey smirked, raising his chin with a hint of pride. "Ah, so I can endure your presence without losing my mind. I suppose that does make me quite remarkable, doesn't it?"
"Because you are already lost to madness, prophecy stealer."
"Not the first one to say that," Joffrey mused and exhaled. "If you've finished your pointless rambling, I think it's time I wake up. You, all so mighty, can't even deal with a pathetic lump of ice dares define my destiny. I'll carve it myself. Now, shut your mouth and keep those flames on my sword. Stop, and I'll leave Westeros, settling in the far East. By the time the White Walkers come for me, I'll be a frail old man, having lived the life every man dreams of."
Was it unsettling? Yes.
Did Joffrey feel worried? A little.
Did he care about what R'hllor said? No.
"Consequences you cannot fathom have arrived. It is not just you who has been revived. Be mindful, prophecy stealer, for prophecies tend to fulfill themselves one way or another. If not you, then the Other."
Woosh!
The darkness crumpled apart and vanished in an instant.
The next thing Joffrey knew, his eyes were pierced by morning sunlight through the curtains. The large bedchamber still smelled of sex and their culmination. He felt the two beauties still squeezed against his chest.
But Joffrey didn't get up, calming his heart.
What did he mean by that? Who else got revived?
####
Despite the haunting warning by R'hllor, Joffrey stuck with his original plan. For the coming month and a half, he bedded Sansa and Arya almost daily, sometimes together and at times individually. When he got bored he slept with Val or Taena. At times he shagged Mhaegan too, and other times his tall, dark-skinned Summer Islander Master of Whispers.
But his main focus remained on the two Stark sisters. He made them kiss each other eventually while sucking his cock together. Then he made them eat each other out until climax, and eventually finger fucking. He gave them tools, wooden, smooth sticks a size smaller than his cock so the only true pleasure they knew came from him.
He eventually claimed Sansa's rump and she loved it, surrendering herself even more. He spared Arya, he liked her tight cunt enough, the other one was for future special occasions. He mainly focused on turning her more submissive.
He fucked Arya against the wall, on the table, on the balcony, by the sea, and even on the Iron Throne. He also spilled inside a few times, but Moon Tea handled the consequences.
By the time the first lords started to arrive at King's Landing, he had turned the two Stark sisters into his loyal, daily bedwarmer who woke him up each morning with their delicate lips. Their cunts seemingly had his name written on them.
He owned them and their wombs.
Control, the very thing he chased. He finally had it.
And just like that, the day of the final Great Gathering of the Lords came closer.
Standing at the roof of the Red Keep he watched the King's Landing bustling, beside him stood Tyrion with a ledger in hand.
"They're spending gold," Tyrion merrily declared. "Chataya has outdone herself. The silver-haired whores are fetching quite the price—though I suspect some poor fools are paying for the illusion of royalty."
Joffrey nodded, not an ounce of smirk or smile on his face.
"Worried?" Tyrion asked.
Joffrey shook his head and looked down at the entryway into the Red Keep's walls. A carriage with the Stark sigil had just entered.
"Uncle, the Great Gathering is the most vital affair in the history of Westeros. While I know most lords will agree, I fear some will blather their useless tongues to hinder the preparations, too greedy for their gold."
"That is expected, nephew." Tyrion shrugged. "What do you wish to do?"
Joffrey nodded and finally a cold, sinister smirk formed on his lips.
"Arrest the deniers. I suppose Westeros could use a swift cleansing—For a righteous cause, of course. Treason against the Faith and humanity? Now, that sounds thrilling."
Tyrion gawked at his nephew to find out if he was serious and that was all he saw. "We have the men for such a campaign?"
Joffrey chuckled.
"Why, we have three dragons."
______________________
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