Chapter 58
Taena of Myr was a delectably sexy woman, tall and shapely with olive skin and long, luxurious black hair. Her full lips pulled back into a pleased smile, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth as she ran her hand down her long leg. Soft, smooth skin was on full display as she lay in bed, wearing practically nothing. Her large breasts hung bare, and her dark nipples were stiff and aching to be touched. She reached out and plucked a goblet of wine from the small table next to the head of her bed. Her full lip touched the goblet's rim, and she drank half of its contents before placing it back on the table. She adored wine. Especially the sweet wines that Harold, the supposed King of the Dreadlands, was now producing. She just couldn't get her fill. They were quite expensive, however, and it was costing her husband a small fortune to keep her cup filled. That fact annoyed her to no end.
When she had first met her husband, Orton Merryweather in Myr, she had seen the potential to live a life that she had always dreamed about. Growing up as the daughter of a high-priced Courtesan, she had always been around rich and powerful men. Unfortunately, the stain of her mother's profession meant that no man would dare to offer her marriage … at least none of the men that she wanted. So when the Merryweathers were stripped of their titles and lands and were exiled, it granted her a great opportunity. She stuck by Orton, charming him with her wits and false flatteries. What he couldn't truly resist was her body. Taena had been taught well by her mother and was skilled in the sixteen seats of pleasure. After their first weekend in bed, Orton jealously kept her close at all times.
Taena, of course, felt no true affection for the man. He was simply a means to an end. He had a decent amount of gold stashed away, and she wanted it for herself. Her initial plan was to marry him, and after a year, he would come down with a mysterious illness. With no apparent cure, he would die and leave his poor, brokenhearted widow with only memories of their short romance and what was left of his family's fortune. Before she could put her plan into action, she received surprising but welcome news. King Robert of Westeros had agreed to reinstate the Merryweathers as Lords of the Kingdom and give them back Longtable, their ancestral seat in the Reach. Not wanting to be parted from the love of his life, Orton whisked her away and immediately married her upon their return to Westeros. Shortly after marriage, she received some shocking news. In return for granting them their land and title back, Robert emptied their treasury, leaving them barely better off than the peasants that they had ruled over. Given the opportunity, she would have killed Robert with her own two hands.
So there she was, pregnant in a strange land while being forced to scrimp and save. It was a severe blow to her pride. Her dreams were going up in flames. All she could do was hope that her situation would eventually change for the better, and it slowly did. Eventually, they collected enough gold that she could live a decent life, by her standards. However, that wasn't enough. Her dreams as a little girl in Myr were still firmly ingrained in her mind, and she would settle for nothing less. When news of that fat, lecherous slob, Mace Tyrell, getting himself killed on the battlefield reached her ears, she knew that it was time to strike. She would never have dreamed that his sons would quickly go right after him. It was like a gift from the Gods. If she didn't act now, the opportunity would quickly pass them by.
It didn't take much convincing to turn Orton over to her way of thinking. He had always been wrapped around her delicate fingers. He turned a deaf ear to the rumors of her constant infidelities, instead believing that she would always remain faithful to him. How little did he know, she would laugh to herself.
"With the Tyrell men gone, who would be a better Lord of the Reach than you, my love?" she would whisper into his ear while riding his unimpressive cock. It was becoming a chore to fake her moans and cries of pleasure while pleasing him. She couldn't wait to be rid of him. "You can take your rightful place … The one that was so callously stolen from you long ago. What did the Tyrells do for your family when you were cast aside? They laughed and merried in your misery. It is only by luck that you found me and were able to regain your lordship. They deserve nothing from you, my darling … especially your loyalty."
"Your loyalty is to me and our son," she told him, thrusting her beautiful chest out while moaning in pretended pleasure. She squeezed her muscles, tightening around him. She found it easier to manipulate him when he was close to climaxing. "You have a vast army of well-trained men. With you at their head, they will be unstoppable. Highgarden will fall to your might, and I will be there to reward your gallant efforts," she gasped, running her hands up her breasts while bouncing her ass faster and faster. When he screamed out, "YES!" and finished inside of her, Taena knew that he was coming around to her way of thinking.
Since then, she worked on him a bit more until he seriously began planning something. He wouldn't tell her what, afraid that he would implicate her and their son if things turned sour. That suited her just fine since she would have tossed him to the wolves at the first opportunity if things went badly. Pleased that he was finally doing something productive to turn their fortunes around, she went back to her daily activities … drinking wine and fucking the young, comely servants that she had intentionally surrounded herself with.
There was a knock on her door. "Enter," she called out. A pretty, young servant many years her junior came in with a fresh bottle of wine.
"Your wine, My Lady," the young servant bowed. Taena smirked.
"Put it on the table, then remove your dress and start licking," she ordered as she began sliding her panties down her long, shapely legs. Her legs opened, revealing a set of hairless lips that were shiny with wetness. The servant blushed deeply. This wasn't the first time that she had to pleasure Lady Taena, and she was certain that it wouldn't be the last. She was, at least, gladdened by the fact that it wasn't the Lord of the castle who was ordering her into bed. She placed the wine bottle on the side table and slowly slipped the dress off of her thin body. Soon after, the room was filled with the pleasured moans of Lady Taena.
The Dread Lord of Essos
"Your skin is so soft," Harry teased Alerie Hightower, who was on her back in Harry's bed. Her legs were spread wide, giving him full access to her dripping wetness. Her outer lips were slightly spread open, giving him a peek at the light pink of her inner lips. Harry's hands glided up the outside of her legs while he laid soft kisses up and down her inner thighs. Her whimpers were magnificent, Harry thought as his lips climbed higher. As his lips neared the junction of her legs, she thrust her hips upward, practically stuffing her wet cunt into his mouth. Her wetness smeared across his cheek and lips. Harry pushed her hips back down, flat against the bed. He wasn't done playing with her just yet.
Since the sudden demise of her former husband, Alerie's sexual aggression had increased many times over. It was getting to the point where she wasn't even hiding it anymore. Earlier that day, she had been brazen enough to grab his crotch and fondle him right in front of the servants. It was no skin off of Harry's nose. He didn't mind one bit, but he was sure that the news would spread. 'Maybe that's why she's doing it,' Harry thought. Perhaps it was her way of spreading the news that she had a new, powerful lover. Maybe it was just her vanity coming into play. It wouldn't surprise him if she wanted every Lady in the kingdom to know that she was the one warming the bed of the rich and powerful King Harold. Whatever her reason might be, he wasn't about to stop her. She was allowed to have her fun. In the meantime, he would enjoy the way her wet, silky insides clung to him so desperately.
Harry kissed her smooth mound and found her scent intoxicating. Her clit was swollen and wet, and all it took was one quick lick before she started cumming. He penetrated her with his fingers, curling them in a way that he knew would drive her mad with desire. While her body thrashed, Harry grabbed her, flipped her body upside down, and lay back on the bed. Now in the sixty-nine position, he dove into her wet pussy, licking, sucking, and making her cum even harder. Her squeaks and squeals eventually were muffled as she began slobbering all over his cock. Alerie wasn't the best cocksucker out there, but she was skilled enough to bring him some pleasure. He particularly enjoyed having her in this position. Her constant moans felt wonderful as she bobbed her head and took him halfway down her throat. Harry was surrounded by the smell of her cumming pussy, and his mouth was nearly flooded by the torrent of juices squirting from her cunt. Wrapping his lips around her throbbing clit, he sucked hard and immediately felt her body start to quiver. She pushed down hard and began grinding her hips against his face.
Suddenly, Harry received a mental ping from one of his drones which was tasked to invisibly follow Margaery around the castle. Harry kept her under constant watch to both keep her safe and to listen to all of the secret meetings that she had been having with her grandmother. At that moment, Margaery was taking a nighttime stroll through one of the many gardens that Highgarden had to offer. It was an activity that she often did, especially when he was spending some quality time with her mother. Normally, that wasn't a cause for concern. Security had been tightened by Olenna since the deaths of the Tyrell males. She knew very well that they were ripe for the picking after being left politically vulnerable. However, as tight as their security was, it wouldn't stop someone with enough motivation, and the chance to take the Tyrells' place as Lords of the Reach was as good as it gets.
At that very moment, a shadowy figure was hiding between two thick bushes and was only discovered by a quiet, muffled sneeze that would have gone unnoticed if not for the enhanced hearing of his magical drone. Instantly, another invisible drone was sent to investigate. Harry was looking through its eyes … seeing what it saw. There was definitely someone there, crouched and ready to spring forward at a moment's notice. The open-air garden was dark, but there was enough moonlight to see the glint of a steel blade. Another mental ping captures his attention. Asleep in her bed, Olenna had no idea that several men were slowly making their way to her room, dressed as servants. Harry watched that scene unfold for a second. As they came upon a guard several corridors away, they were stopped for questioning. One of the men was holding a tray of food while another was holding a pot of tea and a cup on a silver tray. This gave the guard enough pause that he didn't see another servant pull out a knife. A short, surprised yelp left his lips as the blade was jammed straight into his eye socket. The guard was quickly grabbed and slowly lowered to the ground so as to not make any noise. They finished him off by slitting his throat.
This left Harry with a bit of a dilemma. Olenna was useless to him. Either alive or dead, it wouldn't change his plans. She was a callous, coldhearted woman who would kill Harry herself if she thought it would bring her family more wealth or power. Letting her be killed would leave Margaery even more heartbroken, but then again, it would also push her further into his control. However, saving the old bat's life would cement Margaery's trust that he was the only one able to keep her and her family safe. In the end, Harry decided to save the grizzled, old cow.
Alerie was squealing around his cock while furiously humping his face. He sucked hard on her clit and magically filled her body with pleasure. She pulled off of his cock, throwing her head back, and screamed as she suffered through an explosive orgasm. He then hit her with a Stunner, knocking her out cold. He pushed her off of him and stood up. With barely a thought, his clothes were back on his body.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Margaery loved taking long walks through the gardens at night. Some of her favorite flowers only bloomed at night, and their lovely scents would fill the cold night air. Shivering slightly, she wrapped her white fur coat tighter around her body. It had been a gift from Harold. Margaery loved showing off all of the gifts that he had given her. She reveled in the jealousy that she could plainly see in the eyes of her many handmaidens. That night, however, they weren't the only ones who were jealous. Once again, her amorous mother had secretly slipped into Harold's room and was likely bouncing on his perfect cock while she was left to her own devices. It wasn't fair, and complaining to her grandmother had gotten her nowhere.
"Oh, just let your slut of a mother keep spreading her legs. She may as well be of some use to this family," her grandmother had said when she complained. Margaery wasn't going to lie, this was beginning to annoy her. How could she win Harold's heart if she was constantly being blocked by her own mother? So with nothing better to do, she decided to take another walk through the garden to help collect her thoughts.
The moon provided just enough light to see without a torch, though a bit of light was also produced by the torches that were hung along the walls of the courtyard. A slight breeze made the flowers and plants dance from side to side. Walking along a narrow path, she reached both hands out and brushed her fingers across the flowers' delicate petals. She would miss these flowers once the cold, winter air caused them to wilt and die. The night was almost silent. There were no frogs croaking or birds chirping, and there was no buzzing of insects. There was only the quiet rustling of plants to keep her company. Two guards stood at the entrance of the garden, but they were far enough away that she couldn't hear their quiet chatter.
Margaery followed the same path that she had always walked. The far end of the garden was just ahead where she would turn left and follow another stone path back to the entrance. The trek was very familiar to her. She had walked it at least a thousand times before, but this time, it felt different. There was an eerie feeling that she just couldn't shake. It almost made her turn back, but she decided that she was just being childish. These gardens had always been a place of joy for her, especially as a child. She continued on, the smell of blossoms filling her nose. When she reached the end of the path, she turned left like she always did. Far away from the wall torches, she found it a bit hard to see. The moon was suddenly blocked out by the tall courtyard wall. The shadows were thick there, and she used the tall bushes on her right and the dying sunflowers on her left to help guide her through the darkness. The heels of her boots clacked loudly against the cobbled ground, sounding louder than normal in the silence of winter. She heard a rustle behind her, and she spun around violently. One of the castle cats burst out from the hedge, holding a squealing mouse in its mouth. It took one look at Margaery before running off to enjoy its dinner. Margaery let out a nervous laugh as she placed a hand over her upper breast. Her heart was thundering in her chest. Not wanting to be out there any longer than necessary, she turned back around and quickly walked down the path.
She hadn't made it far when she thought that she had heard the guards up front say something. As she turned her head to look, a hand covered her mouth, muffling her scream of fright. Her body was yanked hard, and she felt someone press against her from behind. Thrashing in panic, the hand moved from her mouth to her throat. The crushing force of the man's squeeze was enough to block all the air from entering her mouth and nose. Margaery's eyes bulged as she struggled for a breath. Then his face was near hers.
"Stop fighting, girl, and I'll make this quick," he whispered in a hoarse voice. His free arm rose, and in his hand was a jagged blade as long as his hand was wide. It felt like an eternity waiting for the blade to come down and plunge itself into her chest or belly. A million different things flashed through her mind. Her childhood … summers with her brothers … the family trips to the lake … the time she had spent behind the stables with her first crush. All of it would quickly come to a brutal end.
There was a glint of light too fast to truly see. She would replay the image of the man's hand with the dagger still in its grip tumbling through the air over and over in her mind. Then his bloody stump began to squirt blood. His screams were blood-curdling. The hand holding her throat eased up before he was violently pulled from her body. Margaery hunched over, gasping for breath. She heard thumps and thuds behind her, and when she finally turned around, she saw her lover, Harold, standing there with his black sword drawn. Still in shock, she looked down to see her assailant unconscious … or possibly dead. Her body was trembling, and her legs nearly gave out. Thankfully, Harold was there to take her into his strong, warm arms. As her head touched his chest, she breathed in his wonderful scent. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she squeezed him tightly. She was safe.
The Dread Lord of Essos
"Sound the alarm!" Harry shouted to the two guards.
"What's goin' on?!" one of them shouted back.
"Intruders in the castle! Assassins tried to kill Lady Margaery!" he responded.
Margaery was clutching him tighter than she ever had. He thought about peeling her off of him, but he decided to let her have her moment. She was likely traumatized by the whole situation. "Come along, Margaery … We need to get you to safety. There could be more men in the castle," Harry told her. He felt her nod against him before her arms loosened their tight grip. Harry wrapped an arm around her waist and quickly walked her along the path and back into the castle. It wasn't long before guards were running up to them.
"Over there on the ground," Harry pointed. "Get him some medical help, and then lock him in the dungeons. We need him alive for questioning," he ordered. They nodded and ran over to the downed man who was just coming to. Harry could hear his pained groans as he escorted Margaery into the castle.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Olenna was abruptly woken by the ringing of the castle bells. She lay in bed for a moment, blinking away the drowsiness before she realized that something major was happening. The guards didn't ring the alarm bells on a whim after all. She was on her feet as fast as humanly possible, which wasn't very fast considering her advanced age. Dressing as quickly as possible, she went to her bedroom door and opened it up. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Then, she realized that something was missing. Where were the guards who were supposed to be right outside of her door? Stepping out further, she turned her head and looked left. Nothing. Turning her head to the right, she spotted several men surrounding her two guards who were on the ground. One of the men pulled a dagger from one of her guard's chest and looked up. Their eyes met.
"Go get her!" he shouted. "We need to hurry!"
As they were getting up, Olenna did the only sensible thing and bolted back into her room. She slammed the door and locked the bolt from the inside. There was a loud bang as they tried to force the door open. Olenna stepped back in a panic. Coming to her senses, she hurried to her bed and pulled out the hidden dagger that she kept as a last line of defense. Holding the handle tightly in her shaking hand, all she could do was wait.
The Dread Lord of Essos
As Harry escorted the frightened girl into the castle, he watched through his drones' eyes as they tore down the long hall and turned the corner. Three men were taking turns kicking a thick, wooden door that he knew was Olenna's. Obviously not worried about their own safety, his drones ran down the hall with their swords drawn. The beating of their feet against the stone ground quickly caught the men's attention.
"Shit! The guards!" one of them shouted. Not willing to enter into a sword battle with only daggers, they did the sensible thing and ran. They had no chance of escaping his magical drones. The last in line was tripped up, tumbling to the ground, where a drone pinned him in place. Another was hacked in the shoulder by a drone's sword. The man dropped, his head striking the stone ground hard with a hollow thunk. Only a few twitches from his leg indicated that he was still alive. The third made it to a narrow set of stairs that led to the floor below. As he took his first step, he was violently shoved from behind. Falling headfirst down the first flight, his body bounced off of the steps, and he came down on his head. His head bent almost completely backward so that the back of his head was touching his upper spine. The crack of bones was sickening. Harry watched as his body became limp and the last few wheezing breaths left his lungs. There would be no interrogation for that man. Still, two out of three wasn't bad, Harry thought as he calmed the panicking Margaery with gentle words and soft kisses, promising that he would always keep her safe.
Chapter 59
Roose Bolton looked back at the sorry state of his men. An army that was once fifteen thousand strong had been whittled down to just less than ten. Instinctively, he peered up at the sky, searching for the scaled beast that was causing havoc amongst his ranks. That damn dragon would show up periodically and feast upon his men, snatching up and eating five or six for every meal. The worst part was that it was forcing them to take many unnecessary detours and extend their miserable trek across the frozen expanse of the North. This caused more problems than he would have liked.
Sickness had spread, and thousands had died during the freezing nights. Often they were too sick to continue marching, so they were left behind. It was a cold-blooded decision to be sure, but there could be no other way. They needed to get to Winterfell as quickly as possible, and the longer they continued traveling, the more of his men would succumb to the elements. Thankfully, they were aided by the small villages along the way. The villagers' food stocks and beddings were taken to help replenish their ailing supplies, and their wives and daughters were taken for entertainment. The men of the village were given a choice. Join their ranks or lose their heads. Roose was surprised by the number deciding to bend the knee. Those who didn't were dealt with by his bastard, Ramsay. In his opinion, his bastard had a little too much fun with that task. He would have to keep an eye on the boy. 'In these times, no one can be trusted,' he would often tell himself. Just then, the bastard joined his side.
"They say that according to the maps, we should reach the White Knife by afternoon tomorrow," Ramsay stated as he pulled his horse alongside his father's. Roose merely grunted his understanding. After reaching the river, they would still have a long way to go, but at least they could fill up their waterskins and fish for some fresh meat.
"We'll march for an extra hour tonight. Inform the commanders," Roose ordered. Without a word, Ramsay left his side to issue his orders to the men. They would grunt and groan, but that was inconsequential to him. Winterfell was the prize he had his eyes on, and nothing would stop him from taking it.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Sitting on a flat rock next to the river, Harry tore off a bite of his beef jerky and chewed the spicy meat. Next to him was Lord Manderly, the leader of the waiting army. He was looking longingly at the bag of jerky resting on Harry's lap. Harry took the bag and handed it to the plump man. Manderly's face lit up, and he eagerly tore into it. How he had such an appetite at a time like this puzzled Harry. All around them, his men looked nervous and slightly sick to the stomach. Nerves from the upcoming battle were heavy among the men.
The land on each side of the White Knife sloped downward into a river valley, giving them the perfect, natural hiding spot for an ambush. Harry tore off another chunk of his meat just as someone nearby retched into the river. Ignoring this, he continued to enjoy his afternoon treat.
"How long until they arrive do you reckon?" Manderly asked through a mouthful of spiced jerky.
"Soon," was Harry's reply.
A few minutes later, they heard their cue. Daemon's mighty roar was heard in the distance, making the men jump in fright. It amused him how scared they were of his dragon. He supposed that he couldn't blame them. Daemon was a massive brute with teeth the length of a longsword. Harry lazily chucked the remaining piece of jerky into the water and grabbed his black helmet. Standing up, he looked down at Wyman Manderly and said, "It's time."
Now Lord Manderly lost his appetite. He closed the sack of meat and stuffed it behind his metal breastplate, clearly afraid that one of his hungry men might steal it in his absence. "Against the slope!" he called out loudly.
"Up against the slope! Arm yourselves!" his commanders repeated down the line. The clanking of metal armor and weapons was loud, but they were far enough away from Bolton's army that it went unheard.
After some spying on Harry's part, he discovered that Bolton's army was roughly ten thousand strong … twice as large as Manderly's five thousand men. Manderly, however, had several advantages. Bolton's army had been marching nonstop for weeks, while Manderly's men arrived at their chosen spot several days ago. They had had time to rest and fill up on trout from the river. Bolton's men would be tired, hungry, and probably weak from illness. Then there was the fact that they knew where Bolton's men were. Bolton had no idea that Manderly's men were lying in wait. Of course, the biggest factor was Harry himself and his dragon. Daemon alone would make up for thousands of men. Manderly waddled up next to him right before another roar was heard.
"Archers," Harry reminded Wyman.
"ARCHERS AT THE READY!" Manderly yelled out. His commanders repeated his order, and the archers moved to the back of the line, crates of arrows at their sides and ready to be fired.
Harry placed the black helmet over his head, and he pulled Fiendfyre from its scabbard. He held the dark blade up to his eyes and examined the edge. It was razor sharp, just as always.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Roose looked back over his shoulder, terrified by what he saw. The giant, black beast was breathing walls of fire over the furthest ranks of his men. Even from so far away, he could still feel the heat of the inferno, and he could hear the screams of his men burning. He snapped the reigns and made his horse gallop faster. His men were panicked and scattering with most running toward the river with the desperate hopes that they could somehow find safety from the hellish flames in the depths of the frigid water. The beast's roar made him angle his head away, lest his eardrums rupture. In the close distance, Roose could see where the land began to slope down. However, he could only see a sliver of the water from the far side of the river before the valley wall sloped back up. His horse was panting, blowing out huge clouds of mist from his flaring nostrils. He didn't know where his son Ramsay was, nor did he care. All his thoughts were focused on getting as far away from that flying menace as possible. His next thoughts were confusion mixed with terror.
Roose found himself hurdling through the air before slamming into the snow-covered ground hard. "OOF!" he grunted in pain, though thankfully, the thin layer of snow provided enough padding to keep him from breaking any bones. He rolled onto his knees and immediately discovered the problem. His horse was flat on its side, thrashing with an arrow shaft sticking out of the side of its neck. Behind him, the other horse-mounted riders were sharing similar fates. Arrows rained down on them, piercing any bits of flesh that they could reach. Horses were dropping like flies, hitting the ground and sending clouds of snow and dirt into the air. One of his commanders, Horrlo he thought it was, took two arrows in the chest. His horse reared, and he tumbled over the back and hit the ground where he was crushed under another falling horse. This didn't stop the horse riders from further back. They galloped through the bed of fallen bodies, ignoring their screaming brethren and sometimes even trampling them as they fled from the black dragon that was getting ever closer. More arrows followed, taking them out as well.
'Where in the seven hells are those arrows coming from?!' Roose asked himself. He then turned to the river and saw flying from below the closest side of the shallow valley. "Shit," he cursed and pushed himself to his feet. He was about to run the opposite way and stopped short. There was a massive wall of terrified men running in his direction with a dragon flying right behind them. Then a war horn blared from the river. Roose quickly spun on the spot and witnessed thousands of men climbing over the lip of the slope, fully armored and armed.
The Dread Lord of Essos
The horn boomed in Harry's ears, and the men all around him let out their warcries and began climbing the sloped wall, weapons in hand. Harry let them go first since they had a harder time climbing the cold, frozen slope. Turning to Lord Manderly, Harry smiled amusedly. Wyman looked ready to vomit. It was one thing to romanticize war, but actually fighting in a battle was another thing altogether. The stout man began to tremble so hard that his armor plates were rattling against each other.
"Are you ready for battle?" Harry asked him as men pushed past them.
"Uhhh," he responded with a blank, fearful expression.
"Good," Harry smiled. "Let's go," he said, grabbing Manderly by the back of his metal breastplate and dragging him forward.
"Stop shoving!" he complained as Harry helped him up the slope. The man was too heavy to climb the incline without help. Harry was ratcheting him up the dirt wall with his shoulder.
"I wouldn't have to shove if you could just get your … fat … ass … up … the … goddamn … hill," Harry punctuated each pause with a mighty shove against the man's wide, round ass. Finally, Harry placed his hands on the man's ass (something he really didn't want to do) and gave him a powerful push. Wyman screamed as he flew up into the air and landed on the top, his round body rolling away from sight. Harry huffed and grabbed his sword. With a powerful leap, he jumped clear over the incline and landed next to Manderly who was still trying to roll off of his back. Harry grabbed him by the front of his breastplate and tugged him to his feet.
"Oh … Yes … Thank you, King Harold," he huffed and puffed, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. How the man could sweat during the winter was a mystery to him, but that was beyond his concern. Wyman Manderly was on his own now. Hopefully, his men would keep him safe.
It had been a while since Harry had last enjoyed the chaos of battle, and his sword was begging for blood. Without waiting, Harry eagerly charged into battle. Within a minute, he was far ahead of Manderly's charging men, and arrows were falling all around him. Ahead of him, a soldier was coming right at him on the back of a speckled white and brown horse. With his perfect vision, he could see that the man was heavily armored as he lifted his sword with the intention to strike. Harry angled directly for the charging horse. The man's scream of anger was loud … even louder than the maelstrom of disarray going on around them. He had his eyes locked on Harry. Only feet away, the armored warrior swung mightily for his head. Sidestepping and ducking, Harry spun and used the momentum to cleave the man's leg off mid-thigh. His metal leg guard did nothing to stop his dark blade. Harry didn't look back as the man's leg spun away while he screamed in agony.
Harry could sense the arrows above him and occasionally changed his angle of attack to avoid getting hit … not that it would have done anything to him. His armor was made of Dragon Steel and couldn't be pierced by the sharpest swords on the planet, but that didn't mean that an arrow couldn't find a seam. Another horse rider galloped by and swung for him. Harry's sword collided with his, sending him falling over the back of his horse, his cheap sword cut in two. A spear-wielding rider with a shield was coming up on his left. His shield was held up high in an attempt to block the falling arrows. Harry threw his sword and watched it tumble through the air. The tip of the sword pierced him right below the armpit, driving itself deep into his ribs. With just a thought, the sword appeared back in Harry's hand before the man had time to scream. Further in front of him was the main body of Bolton's army. The ground soldiers were running in a panic, looking back with fearful glances. Daemon did another pass by and unleashed a stream of white-hot fire along their flanks. This created a wall of fire behind the scared men and blocked any chance of retreating. Harry ran directly toward them.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Roose saw the waves of men coming over the slope, some of whom were holding turquoise banners with a white merman holding a trident. 'Manderly!' he hissed in his head. He knew that Lord Manderly was nothing but an overweight buffoon, but that mattered little in his current situation. All he could do was turn back and rejoin the majority of his men.
Running as fast as his old legs could carry him, Roose ran through the rain of arrows while horses and their riders dropped around him. One horse with an arrow sticking out of his hindquarters spun as he ran by, bumping him and sending Roose into the snow. He spat out a mouthful of dirty snow and got back to his feet. Looking back, the number of men coming from the direction of the river was only growing. Looking ahead, the dragon flew in low and breathed its fire all over the furthest part of the battlefield. Flames and smoke erupted from the ground, creating a towering inferno that effectively stopped any chance of escape. They were trapped, Roose quickly realized. They had no other choice. They had to fight. Roose grabbed the hilt of his sword which was cast in the shape of a flayed man and pulled it from its scabbard. "Our blades are sharp," he whispered the family motto. With nothing left to do, he made his way back to his men to begin the battle.
His heroics were stopped short, however, when he saw a very large man in black armor taking on his army alone. A spearman charged him, his pike aimed true. As the spearhead reached the dark warrior, he simply turned his body and let the spear move past him. Grabbing the shaft of the spear, the armored man pushed it down and drove the head into the ground. Roose watched in fascination as the spearman screamed as he was lifted high into the air by his own spear. His body vaulted over the armored man and was thrown brutally into the ground with a loud thump. With the spear still in his hand, he spun and hurled it into the coming horde of men. The spear rocketed forward and impaled two of his men who were running in line. No sooner than the spear left his hand, another of Roose's men stepped up with his sword drawn. The fight ended pathetically quickly.
Roose watched as his man ran up to the armored warrior before stopping so quickly that his booted feet slid out from underneath him. Falling on his ass, his eyes went wide in terror before he began scuttling back. "DREAD LORD!" he cried out in fear. Just then, the man in the black armor held his sword out, and Roose gasped as the blade ignited into flames. His man screamed and rolled onto his hands and knees. As he got to his feet to run, the flaming sword was swung downward in his direction. A fireball launched from the tip and struck his man on the back. His body was instantly engulfed in fire. An amused laugh left the dark warrior's hidden lips.
He then turned in Roose's direction, and Roose could clearly see that his man was correct. This was indeed the famed Dread Lord of Essos. The black armor, the fiery blade, the beast who brings death from above … it was all true. He had heard the tales but always put them in the back of his mind. He was in Essos and far away from Dreadfort, so there was no need to worry. Perhaps he should have taken the rumors more seriously, he thought as he stared at the man. Roose had to admit that the man was intimidating to look at. His armor reflected no light while his cream-colored cape seemed to shimmer while fiercely snapping in the stiff wind. Roose's feet refused to move, but when the Dread Lord began walking in his direction, he knew that he had to act. Gathering his courage, he held onto the grip of his sword tightly and charged at him. Closer and closer he got, his breath coming out in thick clouds of mist. Mere feet away, Roose held his sword up high like the avenging god that he saw himself as and swung down with all of his might.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Harry watched in amusement as Roose Bolton came charging in his direction. 'At least he is courageous,' Harry thought as he neared. He lifted his sword, and the clean, silver blade brightly reflected the weak rays of light that were breaking through the gray clouds. Only feet away, he opened his mouth and bellowed a massive warcry. His sword came down, and instead of moving, Harry lashed out with a spartan kick and connected squarely in the man's chest. His sword flew out of his hand and skidded across the slick snow while his body continued to move forward. However, while his body was moving forward, his legs and back were parallel with the ground, and he landed with a thunk similar in sound to a pumpkin being dropped on a stone floor. Bolton's eyes were glazed as he lay there, barely moving. Harry chuckled while reaching out with his senses.
Twisting his arm and covering the back of his head with the broad side of his sword, a loud, metallic clang rattled his ears as he blocked an attack from behind. Twirling around in a flash, Harry barely had time to see the wide, alarmed eyes of his would-be attacker before his flaming sword lopped the man's head off. As his head rolled and fell off of his shoulders, the neatly cleaved skin of his neck stump sizzled from the heat of his blade. His knees buckled, and the headless body dropped to the side. By that time, Manderly's men had joined in on the fun. Harry stepped up to the next man who was wielding a battleaxe.
The man was hulking, Harry had to admit, and was much broader in the chest. His armored shoulders were covered in a robe of thick, brown fur that Harry guessed was from a bear. The man screamed and swung for his neck. Harry ducked, and the axe passed just over his head. The man then swung downward, intending to cut him down the middle. Harry turned his body, and the axe blade slammed into the ground with thundering force. Before he could pull it from the ground, Harry pressed the bottom of his boot on the wooden handle to keep it in place. Harry elbowed him once … twice … and on the third time, he connected directly with the man's nose. He cried out and stumbled back, holding his nose while blood poured down his chin. "AHHH! YEH BASTARD!" he yelled and lunged forward. At the last second, Harry sidestepped just as Roose's attack came from behind. Harry held out his foot, tripping Roose. Roose stumbled forward and accidentally drove his sword into the rampaging man's belly. Again, Harry chuckled with humor as he pulled the battleaxe from the ground.
Above, Daemon dove in and grabbed three of Bolton's men in his jaws before angling upward and flying off. The noise on the battlefield had gotten progressively louder as swords and shields clashed together, not to mention the constant roaring of a dragon with bloodlust. Roose was struggling to pull his blade from the man's belly while Harry lifted the axe over his head and screamed like a madman. Roose heard the noise, turned around, and dove to the side, missing the axe's edge by inches. Instead, the axe came down on its original owner, splitting his head in half down the middle. Both sides of his head split apart at the neck, and the two halves of brain sluffed out of their bowls. Harry kicked away the dead body before it had time to fall and swung the axe again at Roose who was scrambling away on the ground. The axe barely missed him, embedding itself deep into the ground. "FATHER!" Harry heard from the side. Bolton's bastard, Ramsay, had decided to join the fight.
The bastard's brown horse rumbled toward him, its large hooves tearing up the ground. Ramsay was leaning over and had his sword out to the side. This time Harry didn't move. He called upon his powers, angled his body, and with a backhanded hammer strike, Harry connected with the front of the horse, just below the neck. Its neck snapped loudly, like a thick branch breaking from a tree. The horse's dead body tumbled to the side, throwing Ramsay from its back. The dark-haired boy hit the ground hard and rolled to a stop. Harry was surprised that he wasn't dead on impact. He did notice that his arm was bent at a very painful-looking angle. An enraged scream from his other side let him know that Roose was back on his feet. He came at Harry with fire in his eyes and the axe in his hands.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Ramsay groaned as he pushed himself into a kneeling position. He cried out in pain when his broken arm was jostled. All around him was death and destruction. Had his life not been in immediate danger, he would have relished the chaos unfolding. He looked around for his sword and found it lying on the ground a short distance away. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to it. Picking it up, he saw one of his father's spearmen driving his pike into the belly of his opponent at full sprint. The tip broke through the man's back, and the foot or so of the wooden shaft sticking out of his body was smeared red with blood. Another man was stumbling around close by, holding his arm right below the point where it had been severed. Blood squirted from the stump on his forearm. His cries of misery were glorious to behold. Turning around, he saw his faithful horse dead on its side. This was no big loss to him, other than the fact that he was now without a mount. He then heard his father's grunts, and Ramsay turned in that direction.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't care what happened to his father. In fact, he would be more than happy to slit the man's throat while he slept peacefully. However, the times they were in were uncertain, and Ramsay knew that there were active plots by his father's bannermen to take control of Dreadfort. If Ramsay survived this battle and his father did not, he would suddenly be without protection. As a bastard, he would hold no claim to his father's title. Surely, someone would come to claim the title, and his father's men were definitely not loyal to his bastard son. Until Ramsay had a rock-solid plan, his father needed to stay alive. At the moment, this was an uncertain outcome. His father was grunting, screaming, and swinging a battleaxe like a man half out of his wits while his opponent lazily blocked every strike with a flaming sword. Ramsay stared at the sword in wonder. With every collision with the axe, sparks and embers erupted from the point of contact. His father's swings were getting slower and weaker. Ramsay could see that the battleaxe had taken considerable damage from the constant parrying. He could clearly see that King Harold, the so-called Dread Lord, was merely toying with him.
He had, of course, heard all the rumors about the man. Growing up as Jaime Lannister's bastard, he had broken free of that title by moving to Essos and gaining power through violence and war. Ramsay hated him with a passion. Harold hadn't done anything to personally offend the boy … no, his hatred came from pure jealousy. He was everything that Ramsay wasn't and everything he wanted to be.
The Dread Lord used the armor covering his forearm to block a weak strike from his father. His father then stumbled back as a backhand connected with the side of his face. Ramsay could see blood pouring from a fresh cut that had opened up on his cheek. He knew that his father wouldn't last long. Ramsay held his sword in the hand that was still working and began moving. Just as he began limping over to them, his father bellowed in rage and used every last ounce of strength to lift the axe up over his head. He rushed forward, swinging the axe down, but the Dread Lord was too fast. He moved to the side, swiping his fiery blade across his father's belly.
Instantly, his father's armor turned white hot. His scream was terrible as he was cooked from the inside of his armor. Ramsay could see steam escaping from the seams of his chestplate. The look on his father's face told him everything he needed to know. It was twisted in a grotesque howl of agony as he stumbled past his attacker. His pain didn't last long. With a powerful strike to his midsection, his father's torso, head, and arms twisted through the air, leaving his bottom half to fall in the snow. The dirty, white snow quickly colored red as pools of blood leaked from the severed part of his lower half. His top half landed a few feet away. His father's arms waggled around for a few seconds before they slumped uselessly at his sides. The Dread Lord then turned his attention to Ramsay Bolton.
Chapter 60
Stay and fight or run and cower; those were the two choices Ramsay Bolton faced as the Dread Lord slowly crept ever closer. His flaming, black sword was at his side, pointed to the ground. The heat from the tip of the blade melted a straight line in the snow as he walked, creating a misty haze that partially concealed his form. The Dread Lord's hand snapped up, and an arrow struck his armored forearm, the wooden shaft splintering as it did. It didn't slow him down one bit. Ramsay's mind was blank as he trembled. At some point, his body must have made the choice for him because he found himself turning to run. Just then, the black brute dove down from Ramsay's side, his fiery breath leaving a wall of white-hot flames to block his retreat. A few of his father's men who were unlucky enough to be in the dragon's way were incinerated immediately. There was nowhere to run. Trying to run through the fire was suicide. He was a fair distance away from the flames, and it was already uncomfortably hot. He spun back to face the Dread Lord, finding him only a dozen or so feet away. His walk was steady as if he was in no rush.
All Ramsay could do was step back to give himself more time to come up with some kind of plan, but those few steps made him wince in pain from his injured leg. His broken arm was even worse. Every little movement caused piercing pain to erupt from his useless appendage. How could he possibly survive a fight with this man, let alone win, he asked himself. Suddenly, there was hope. Coming up from behind the Dread Lord was one of his father's men. The screams of the surrounding wounded masked the sounds of his horse's thundering stampede. Ramsay's heart swelled as the horse angled to pass by the Dread Lord. The rider's sword was lifted to the side, ready to strike, and with one powerful swing, Ramsay's life would be saved. At the last second, the Dread Lord ducked under the swing, spun, and lopped off the horse's back leg as it rode past. Ramsay watched as the horse tumbled forward, ejecting its rider and tossing him into the air. Ramsay was forced to side-jump and avoid the airborne horseman. His screams of terror would have been glorious to hear if not for the threat that continued to make its way to him. A loud thump was heard behind him, and the man ceased his screaming. Off to the side lay the struggling horse, its three remaining legs kicking furiously as it tried to roll off of its back. Hissing in pain from his damaged leg, Ramsay gripped the hilt of his sword as tightly as he could. There was nothing left to do. He had to fight.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Bolton's boy was a coward; Harry could see that, but at least he finally accepted his fate and chose to fight like a man rather than die a fleeing craven. The dark-haired boy trembled with fear as Harry loomed. His leg was busted, and his arm hung limp at his side. Showing pity for the boy, Harry decided to give him a fighting chance. The flames covering his black blade extinguished, and he slid it back into its sheath. Initially, the boy's eyes went wide, thinking Harry might be willing to spare him. He was proven wrong as Harry lunged forward and spartan-kicked him in the chest. "OOF!" Harry heard from the boy's lips as he fell backward, hitting the snowy ground and rolling to a stop several feet away. He pushed himself to his knees with his one good arm. His sword was lying on the ground near him. Ramsay looked behind him, obviously hoping to flee, but his vision was met with a towering wall of fire. Instead, he crawled pathetically to his sword and used it as a cane to push himself to his feet. The Dread Lord was waiting for him.
Ramsay used every ounce of training he had received to attack his aggressor. An overhead swing was blocked by his armored forearm. The impact of metal against metal sent a shockwave through his body, further hurting his arm. He gritted his teeth and attacked again. He swiped down diagonally, hoping to hit his neck, but that too was blocked by an elbow. Ramsay wailed in rage and began swinging wildly. The pain from his arm was terrible, but his adrenaline saw him through. The Dread Lord sidestepped, ducked, or blocked every single swing of his blade. Ramsay was rewarded with a backhand to the face. The meaty smack of a fist against his cheek had his ears ringing. Stumbling to the side, he blinked the stars from his dazed eyes. As he did, he heard the amused laugh of the man who had just killed his father.
"I expected more from a worthless bastard like you," Ramsay heard him say. His blood boiled, and his pain was forgotten. He had been called a bastard by his father more times than he'd care to count. Each time, he was forced to swallow his rage and accept the insults. 'No more,' his mind cried out. Ramsay screamed wildly and charged the dark figure. His sword came down with all the strength he had. His sword made contact with an ear-rattling clang. The vibrations of the blade pained his hand. For a second, he felt relief at delivering such a devastating blow, but that relief was short-lived. When he looked up, he saw his blade being firmly gripped in the Dread Lord's armored hand. Lights flashed behind his eyes as his opponent's other fist struck him in the face. In a daze, Ramsay let go of his sword's handle and staggered back. Then, his body felt weightless, as though he was being lifted toward the heavens. At the zenith of his ascension, his body stopped rising and was violently forced down. The sensation of falling made his stomach leap into his throat, but that horrible feeling was quickly replaced with another.
Harry slammed Ramsay's back into his bent knee, and the cracking sound was like a broom handle being snapped in half as Ramsay's body folded backward. His body was bent so far backward that the back of his head and the backs of his boots could nearly touch. He shoved the boy's ruined body off of his knee and stood back up. As Ramsay's adrenaline wore off, the howls of agony began. Ramsay's eyes were almost bugging out of his skull, and his mouth was wide open and shrieking. A thin stream of blood escaped the corner of his mouth as his top half spasmed uncontrollably. His one good hand was quivering while his fingers were twisted into claws. His legs were curled uselessly, and they forever would be. Harry knew of the boy's reputation, and he knew of the activities he enjoyed. He took a moment to wonder how many female peasants had suffered through his games. That no longer mattered, Harry thought as he looked down at the boy whose body had been wrecked and ravaged by him. Forcing him to live as a crippled bastard was a better punishment than death, Harry reckoned. Of course, that was assuming he would survive the rest of the battle and somehow make it to safety. In all likelihood, one of Manderly's men would stick a sword through his throat and end his suffering, but that was beyond Harry's concern. He walked around the boy and through the wall of fire. The battle wasn't over yet.
The Dread Lord of Essos
The merriment was palpable in the camp as night began to fall. Manderly's men were eager to celebrate their victory and even more eager to celebrate their own survival. Harry supplied them with the best wines and liquors that his kingdom could produce. Thick, choice cuts of meat were sizzling over open fires, filling the camp with a mouthwatering aroma. Cheers and laughs filled the air while Lord Manderly proudly declared himself a true warrior, with an overflowing cup in one hand and a massive, roasted turkey leg in the other. How true that was, Harry didn't know. He wasn't exactly keeping an eye on the overweight Lord during the battle. If he had to guess, Harry would say that he was full of shit. Manderly likely stayed in the back, surrounded by his best soldiers. All of that didn't matter, though. Harry was content to let the man have his moment. For his part, Harry was quite happy in his luxurious tent. The fire in the small stove was crackling merrily and producing more than enough heat to keep the tent comfortable. He had a large bed with a very comfortable mattress that he had conjured. No one on the planet could make a mattress better than the ones he could conjure. Sitting at his desk, Harry was going over some paperwork regarding the Iron Bank when he heard an exorbitant amount of excited hooting and hollering from outside. He couldn't help but chuckle. She was right on time. A few seconds later, the flap of his tent opened, and Melisandre walked in looking as stunning as ever.
"My Lord," she smiled sexily and bowed her head.
"Melisandre," Harry smiled back and bowed his head in respect. "I trust your journey was comfortable."
"It was, My Lord. The storms at sea were rough, but it is nothing I can't handle," she assured him.
Harry had missed her womanly curves, so he decided to bring her down. Melisandre was, of course, ecstatic to be back in the presence of her Lord. If it were up to her, she would never leave his side. Getting up and walking over to her, Harry helped to remove her black, full-length fur coat. Melisandre was a woman of fire and didn't care much for the cold. Under the thick coat, she wore a red dress as she always did. However, the dress she was wearing wasn't nearly as provocative as the ones she usually wore. It hugged her body wonderfully but didn't have the dual slits that arousingly exposed her thighs. The dress had long sleeves that fully covered her arms, and Harry could tell that the material was several times thicker. The neckline still plunged deeply, giving him an excellent view of her cleavage. He folded and placed her coat on top of his, and when he turned back around, Melisandre's arms slipped around his waist. She looked up at him with adoring eyes. Harry rewarded her adoration with a soft kiss, but a simple kiss wasn't enough for a woman with her passion. She pressed against him harder and quickly deepened the kiss. Her mouth opened, inviting him in. Not one to pass on such an opportunity, Harry grabbed her ass and lifted her up. Melisandre happily squealed into his mouth as his strong hands dug into her fleshy ass. He carried her over to the bed and sat down, sitting her in his lap.
Melisandre wasn't done with him, though. She squirmed in his lap, grinding her shapely bottom against his crotch while peppering his neck and jaw with kisses. Harry placed his hand on her leg and ran it up and down the length of her thigh.
"Tell me … How's everything going back home?" he asked her. His drones informed him of the big stuff, but he had been letting Melisandre handle the day-to-day tasks. Melisandre moaned as she licked his neck. Reluctantly, she removed her lips from his skin, though she outright refused to stop squirming. By that point, she could feel that he was fully hard.
"The city is operating smoothly," she informed him. "There was an incident a couple of days past when a man from Norvos attempted to purchase his wares with fake gold coins," she told him as his hand crept up her belly and over her covered breast. Melisandre thrust her chest forward, pressing her breast into his hand.
"And what became of this man?" Harry asked in a sing-song voice as he brushed his fingers over the area where he knew her nipple to be. He knew her body better than anyone. As he played with the area, he could feel her nipple harder under the material of her dress.
"His hands were removed, and he was exiled from the city. All of his belongings were confiscated in lieu of a fine," she smiled and nuzzled his cheek with her small nose. Harry kissed the top of her head and breathed in her scent.
"Did he own anything good?" Harry wondered as he moved his hand further up. His fingers danced across the soft skin of her chest. The tops of her breasts were particularly soft and smooth.
"No," she moaned against his cheek. "A few real coins from his homeland, a bag of clothing, and an old, tattered map," she recalled.
"Was the map anything special?" he asked as his fingers dipped into her cleavage. Melisandre shook her head.
"I don't think so. It's old but shows our general area," she told him in a breathy voice. By that point, Melisandre couldn't take it anymore. She stood up from his lap and peeled the top of her dress down. Harry watched eagerly as her large, perky breasts popped free. Her nipples were, indeed, very hard. The little pink tips were stiff and crinkled. She pulled her arms free, causing her breasts to jiggle wondrously, and then pushed the tight dress down her belly. It took a bit of effort to push the dress over her wide hips, but once she did, her smooth, hairless mound came into view. Her taut lips could be seen pressed tightly together between her shapely thighs. The upper parts of her inner thighs were glistening in the candlelight, telling him that she was already wet and ready to go. Harry stood up as Melisandre stepped out of her dress and sat on the bed to remove her boots. He was much quicker with undressing. His shirt went flying, and he was out of his trousers in a flash. Melisandre looked at him as she dropped one of her boots, but she didn't look at his face. Instead, her attention was fully on his cock, which was standing proud and stiff. She quickly tossed her other boot aside and got on all fours.
Harry watched as her knees spread apart, accentuating her wide hips and fleshy ass. From his top-down view, her ass looked just like a drawn heart. Her cheeks were slightly spread, and he could see just a glimpse of her puckered hole. Her body was gorgeous, Harry thought. Her porcelain skin was as smooth as silk and had a healthy sheen to it. Not a single hair could be spotted anywhere on her lovely body. Melisandre was staring up at him with desperation when her hand reached out and gripped his length. Slowly, she began tugging on him with long, deep strokes while her other hand caressed his thigh. A curtain of long, red hair cascaded down her pale back. "May I pleasure you, Master?" she practically begged of him.
"You may," he responded, running his fingers through the hair on the side of her head. Her eyes fluttered shut, and Melisandre shuddered.
"Thank you, My Lord," she purred and kissed the tip of his cock. Her tongue then began to lap at his head as she cleaned it of the pre-cum that was already leaking out of the tip. Harry gathered her thick hair into a ponytail and held it in one hand while she started worshipping his cock. Kisses were laid all along his length, drawing a gasp from his lips. Her hand cupped his heavy sack, and she massaged it in a way that she knew he enjoyed. Dragging her tongue from the base up to the underside of the tip, Melisandre popped the head into her mouth and sank down on him in a single go. Harry moaned as his shaft slid into her mouth and down her throat. He could feel her throat muscles tensing around him, making it feel even tighter. She wasted no time and began bobbing her head like a woman possessed. Her plump lips were wrapped tightly around his girth, and her face was smacking against his lower belly. Harry took charge by pulling on her bundled hair and tilting her head back. With wide, glistening eyes, Melisandre grunted and gurgled as Harry thrust forward and fucked her throat. There wasn't an ounce of resistance from her. The Red Priestess's body was his to do with as he pleased, and he often took every liberty possible. This night would be no different.
Gagging sounds filled the room as Harry's swinging balls slapped against her chin. Feminine hands roughly gripped his muscled thighs as he pushed his hips forward, thrusting as deeply as possible. Pulling out of her mouth, he heard her inhale deeply. Her face was pink and flushed, but still, she looked ready for more. He tapped the head of his cock against her lips, and dutifully, she opened her mouth wide. Harry chuckled and brushed his fingertips across her warm cheek. Melisandre was the perfect servant. "Turn around," he ordered, and she was quick to react.
Her body spun until she was facing away from him. Submissively, she pressed her face into the bed and lifted her wide ass into the air. Her knees were wide apart, giving him the perfect view of everything she had to offer. Her pink slit was shiny with wetness, and when Harry ran his fingertip down its length, the pad of his finger came back coated with her juices. He placed his wet finger against her upper hole and massaged the wetness into it. Melisandre let out a gasp of delight as her hole puckered and her thick cheeks clenched. Harry moved his hand back down and pressed his thumb against her slit. Using his magic, he made his thumb vibrate ultrasonically while wiggling it from side to side. Melisandre's reaction was instant. A loud squeal of pleasure rang in his ears, and her body bucked. Fat beads of arousal began leaking from her slit and rolling down the insides of her thighs. Instead of instinctively moving away from the intense pleasure, she drove her ass backward and mashed her pussy harder against his thumb. Within seconds, she was moaning like a whore from a pillow house while grinding her womanhood against his vibrating digit. Harry ran his thumb over her clit and watched her body quiver. Her pussy was so slick that he was having a hard time keeping his thumb on her little, swollen nub, so instead, she slipped it inside of her. Instantly, her pussy hugged his thumb, and he could feel her walls gripping and squeezing it.
The scent of her wet pussy had his cock straining. Melisandre, out of her mind with pleasure, was throwing her ass back and fucking herself on his thumb. Little squirts of pussy juice ejected from her throbbing cunt, wetting his forearm. Harry pulled his thumb from her, making her whine with displeasure. Her tune quickly changed when he spread her cheeks open and licked her from clit to asshole.
"Oh! … Master!" she squealed, reaching back and grabbing the hair on the back of his head. She pulled his head into her, stuffing his face between her pillowy cheeks. Harry's tongue was sticking out of his mouth, licking every inch of her that he could reach. In response, Melisandre ground her ass all over his face, smearing her juices everywhere. Harry playfully nipped at the soft skin of her cheek, causing her to squeak and pull away. Harry gave her thick cheeks a hard slap before getting into position.
He rubbed the head of his cock along her soaking wet slit, covering it in her juices. Easily finding her entrance, Harry sank in, absolutely loving the way her walls fluttered around his length. "Fuck me hard," she gasped as he bottomed out.
"We haven't been parted for that long, my dear," Harry reminded her with some amusement. With his hand resting on her ass, he rubbed her winking asshole with the pad of his thumb. This action made her pussy squeeze him even harder.
"Any time apart from you is too long," she countered with a moan as her hands gripped the blanket. Her ass wiggled, which was her silent way of telling him to start moving. Harry gladly obliged her.
Pulling back, he was met with a loud suction sound as her body refused to let him go. Harry moaned deeply at the way her silky walls gripped him. Thrusting forward, the sound of suction turned into a wet squelch and was followed by her moan, which was muffled by the blanket. It amazed him at how pliable the skin of her pussy lips was. When he pulled back, her lips stretched away from her body, desperately clinging to his shaft. It only took a few hard thrusts until his cock was streaked with her white cream. As he began jackhammering into her from behind, her cream bunched up into a goopy pile around the rim of her opening. Harry scooped it up with the head of his cock and stuffed it back into her, making her tunnel even slicker.
The smell of wet pussy hung heavy in the small tent, and Melisandre's squeals of delight escaped the thin fabric walls, letting anyone nearby know exactly what was happening to her. His hands gripped her thin waist tightly as his hips slammed into her ass, making her cheeks ripple from the force. Swinging like a wrecking ball, his heavy balls battered and beat her throbbing clit, making her back arch and toes curl. Juices were dripping from her twat, leaving a massive wet patch on the part of his blanket that was directly under her stuffed pussy. Sliding his hands under her smooth belly, he cupped her big breasts and pinched her hard nipples. Melisandre threw her head back and moaned loudly. He rolled the little nubs between his fingers and pulled on them. Harry could feel she was getting close. Her body was trembling, and her pussy had already begun to milk his cock.
"Where do you want it, my love?" Harry asked teasingly. Melisandre purred with satisfaction every time he called her that particular term of affection. He felt her pussy clutch him tighter than it had since they began their little session.
"Inside of me … Please, Master," she begged while her pussy sucked him off. Harry slid one hand from her breast and moved it down her belly. Once between her legs, he pinched her clit and hit her with his godly power. The effects were instant. Her body bucked and flopped wildly as her piercing screams cracked through the night air. Her pussy spasmed uncontrollably, trying to suck the cum straight from his balls. Harry rewarded her body's reaction by groaning loudly while releasing his seed into her. A mixture of her juices and his cum leaked from her gaping twat as he pulled out. Melisandre rolled onto her side and curled into a fetal position, her body still bucking and spasming as her orgasm continued to ravage her. Looking down, he could see that his cock was still hard.
'Maybe I should give her a minute,' he thought as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her back bowed. Seeing her perfectly perky breasts thrust into the air didn't help his resolve to give her time to recover. Instead, he sat down next to her and ran his hand up and down her smooth, toned thigh. Thankfully, it didn't take her long to recover. Only a few minutes later, she had him pinned on the bed while she rode him like a steed into battle. Outside the tent, he could hear men cheering his performance while they staggered around, drunk and merry in celebration of a battle well-fought.