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mirrorwitches) wrote2023-07-12 01:47 pm
mirrorwitches) wrote2023-07-12 01:47 pm
(hotd) the dragon must have three heads, chapter two: saera, (alyssa), 116 AC
THE DRAGON MUST HAVE THREE HEADS, CHAPTER TWO: SAERA, (ALYSSA), 116 AC
🐉masterpost🐉
The night before Daemon is due to leave for the Stepstones, Rhaenyra receives a note from Saera asking the queen to grant her aunt the honor of her presence, just for a moment. When she arrives Daemon is there, whispering with her on the couch. They exchange a loaded glance on her entrance, and her uncle holds out his hand to her. She comes to stand before them.
“I leave in the morning,” Daemon says. Rhaenyra looks down at their joined hands and a stupid rush of tears prick at her eyes. It was only for a month, while he replaced some drunken brutish captains with competent men and put the fear of House Targaryen into the restless troops overseeing the building of permanent forts on the islands. “Only for a month or so, gods willing. But although I have my duty to your realm as a prince, I also have my duties as your uncle. The former is in conflict with the latter at the moment. But luckily you now have an aunt.” With the hand on her wrist he pulls her into his lap. Rhaenyra darts her gaze up at Saera. “Tell your aunt what you are.”
Rhaenyra breath catches. She doesn't know how to feel. Daemon sharing this with anyone else seems almost a betrayal. Anyone else seeing this is excruciating to contemplate. Her face flushes but it isn't entirely with humiliation or indignation. She trembles but it is as much with a giddy desire to show someone this. And Daemon had said it. This was her aunt. Saera was new, and as intimidatingly glamorous as Rhaenyra had always expected, but she was a Targaryen, and fuck what the disapproving asses who sneered that Rhaenyra having her as a guest in the Red Keep somehow polluted the halls of the place she had been born thought, because she was family, and worth ten of them.
“I'm your baby, uncle,” she answers.
“That's right. Should we show your aunt how your uncle takes care of his baby, so she can help me take care of you?”
A pathetic relief bubbles in her chest at the thought of not having to give this up. She could, it isn't like she can't do without her uncle for a moon or two. It would probably be good for her to learn to do that.
“I don’t—you can't just swap, it isn't—I’m your baby, I need you,” she whines. Daemon isn't replaceable. What they do together isn't just sex, which she isn't at risk of going without even if Saera didn't step in, thank you, and Saera stepping in could not provide it, surely.
“And you have him,” Saera assures. “I know I'll never supplant such a wonderful uncle. But you might have an aunt too, if you like.”
“Alright,” Rhaenyra says reluctantly. She'll show Saera what a baby she is and Daemon would show her exactly how he was with his baby, so hopefully he would understand that's what she needed, him. Saera would probably quickly cease being interested. She didn’t seem particularly nurturing, although Rhaenyra supposes neither would Daemon to anyone else. But Saera hadn't known Rhaenyra her whole life, when she was a little girl, that knowledge Daemon and Rhaenyra could never escape and did not want to. “It's—it’s going to be embarrassing. For me. I know I get very silly when I sink into it.”
Saera shrugs. “I like embarrassing pretty girls.”
Her aunt will find herself well-satisfied in that taste and she won't even have to do anything. She embarasses Rhaenyra just by seeing, by witnessing this. She can already feel the wave rising, warm, stultifying, the gentle rock of a bath on a balmy sea. Stronger than normal with an audience. She thinks it will be one of those times when she's not even able to speak by the end of it.
“Let me undress you,” Daemon murmurs.
Saera sips at her wine as Daemon unlaces her, instructs her to raise her arms so he can lift her gown over her head.
“Oh, what a wonder you've got, nephew. What a love,” Saera says softly when Rhaenyra is naked before them in nothing but her stockings, the newly visible five months’ swell of the baby. She blinks hot eyes and sways in place. “She's in quite deep, isn't she? Can you nod for me, Rhaenyra? Good girl. Take off that ugly necklace, Daemon.”
Rhaenyra makes a noise of protest, and then one of distress when Daemon obeys and unclasps it.
“It's Valyrian steel,” her uncle says peevishly.
“And it's very ugly. Yes, I know, sentimental value. I'm not taking it away from you, Rhaenyra. I do have a gift for you though.” Saera comes to them with a gold choker set with large rubies and clasps it around Rhaenyra’s neck. “If I'm going to have a baby for a while, I want to see her elegant neck in things beautiful enough for it, so while you're mine…” She undoes it just as swiftly and tucks it away. “Tonight, though, you're right. You are Daemon’s aren't you? All his.”
That’s right. He would go away and she would wear a different necklace for a while, but then he would come back, put her back where she belonged. He puts the necklace she has worn daily these last five years back on and she sighs as she feels the familiar weight of the pendant settle against her pulse.
Daemon disrobes and sits again on the couch. Touching his half-hard cock he gestures for Rhaenyra to kneel. “You’re just going to have a nice suck while me and your aunt work it out so I’m leaving you in good hands—”
“I want to sit in your lap,” she bursts out, teary, pouting. He’s going away. She wants to be as close to him as possible.
“She’s not a very obedient child,” Saera clucks, laughing.
“That would be dull. But she’s a good baby, really,” Daemon says, working at himself to get to adequate hardness. “She’s just needy—”
Sitting back down beside Daemon, Saera takes his cock in hand and jerks him off with practiced confidence. Daemon takes in a great breath as his eyes close and his head falls back against the cushions, and he exhales Saera’s name. Her aunt’s gaze remains on Rhaenyra. “A needy, demanding baby, hm? And she’s never been denied, has she? Here you go, princess, come sit on your uncle’s lap, he’s ready for you.”
Rhaenyra isn’t a princess anymore. Princess, Daemon had often called her, and she likes hearing it once more from Saera’s lips. Her aunt hadn’t been there, far away over the Narrow Sea.
Saera holds Daemon’s cock in place as Rhaenyra lowers herself carefully onto him until her wet cunt kisses her aunt’s fingers at the base and she removes it and Rhaenyra is so full, every inch of herself is filled. “It’s so big,” she sighs dreamily to no one in particular.
“He’s got a nice amount,” Saera says dismissively. “It’s you that’s impressive. Fuck, puppy, she’s tiny, I can’t believe this doesn’t incapacitate her—”
Daemon says something in reply but Rhaenyra isn’t listening. She has to concentrate. There’s a moment when her body wants to reject the intrusion. It’s too much, it’s crowding out her organs, her breath. When she works past that—she can take it—the next urge to battle is the one to squirm and rock and whine in his lap. But that’s not what she really wants right now. She shuts her eyes and kneads at his shoulders, scarred and unscarred, and breathes in and out slowly, holding her body very still as her cunt flutters desperately around the cock in it, it wants to be fucked, but that’s not what Rhaenyra wants. She hasn’t wanted Daemon to fuck her cunt lately but this is something else, and he holds still too, she can’t make out his speech but she catches a little grunts he bites off as he holds himself back from thrusting up into her. Eventually her cunt goes still too. She makes it go quiet around him, molten and trembling in place like melted wax in a bowl, just holding him there, connected to her. Rhaenyra knows the baby that gets in the way a bit as Daemon guides her head down to his chest is connected to her body by a blood-fattened cord and from this she is nourished, Maester Gerardys had explained it to her although she had known about this cord before, if only as a thing of death, wrapped around the neck of a brother born to never breathe, and it’s like that, Daemon and her so, so close, tied together, pulsing gently in and around one another.
She tucks her head beneath her uncle’s chin, face turned away from Saera, almost shy. Daemon slips his thumb past her lips so she has something to suck, although she has to make her cunt relax again as it sympathetically begins to spasm in time with her mouth.
When she comes back to herself it is to Saera stroking her hand along her spine and Daemon saying, “It’s hard to describe, precisely, we just—do it.”
“I need rules. I’ve never done this before,” Saera says, sounding genuinely uncertain. A silence filled with Daemon’s clear disbelief follows. “Yes, I’ve done everything, Daemon. And yet not this. A Targaryen girl, a Targaryen queen. So. Tell me. Let’s start with…how many times should I make her come a day?”
“Oh, three at least.”
“Should I deny her sometimes? Oh, don’t give me that look! Just for a day or two. Surely you haven’t denied yourself that pleasure, letting such a greedy thing get just desperate—”
“Yes. But not this time. She shouldn’t be denied anything while I’m gone.”
“She’ll be unforgivably spoiled by the time you come back. Very well. Three a day it is. All at once, spread out?”
“Up to you. Depends on how busy she is. But at least three. Don’t worry—even in a half-hour you can get three out of her.”
“I remember being nine-and-ten. And she’s pregnant, I also recall what that’s like. I bet part of you wants a break. I bet she’s wearing you out.”
“No, never.”
“You’ve gotten quite sincere, nephew. Alright. What about more than three?”
“Oh, yes,” he says, voice dark and pleased. “You can push her very hard if you like, she can take it. As many times as you can manage.”
“Enough of that, Princess Bashful,” her aunt coaxes, nails scratching sharp-gentle on her neck. “Look at me now.”
Rhaenyra flips her head around so her other ear receives the steady thump of Daemon’s heart beneath it. Her aunt has the elbow of the arm she’s not using to smooth Rhaenyra’s hair back from her face against the back of the couch, and her head is propped up against the balled fist at the end of it. Saera’s lovely curls spill down over her toned, elegant arm, into the valley between her breasts where one of her wispy violet Volantene gowns dips low, those layers and layers of diaphanous silk wound around her until her body is both decently hidden somehow not as if the near transparency of one individual fold teases at you with the art that has arranged it to deny you and Rhaenyra’s eyes go instantly to where the fabric thrusts out with the obscured swell. Her mouth practically waters. She has just enough presence of mind to not start pawing at Saera, or trying to nestle into her.
Her aunt says, “Gods, her eyes are blown black. The crying, is that normal?”
“Yes,” Daemon answers, amused. “More often than not.”
“Excellent. I like making pretty little girls cry too.” Saera’s eyes track the path of Rhaenyra’s own hazy gaze. “Ah. I think I know what she needs.”
It apparently takes no special delicacy to pop one tit out of the architectural complexity of the gown. She holds it up to Rhaenyra’s lips.
“Come on, it’s alright,” Saera coos as Rhaenyra whimpers with the need to suck, squirming in place until Daemon grips her tight by the hair.
“It’s the piercing, I think.”
“Oh, do you like that? Just be gentle, you won’t hurt me.”
Rhaenyra sucks her aunt’s nipple onto her tongue. The cool metal that pierces its hard pink tip warms in her mouth and there’s a gratifying moan from her aunt above her. The scent of perfumed, soft flesh floods Rhaenyra’s nostrils, dizzying her, and she can’t help it, one hand comes up to scrabble through the folds of silk until it can fist the pillowy give of Saera’s other breast, and then it is her turn to moan as one fills her mouth and the other fills her hand.
“With how much she loves sucking my tits it’s no surprise she’s in raptures. I’m sure to be discarded now she knows how much better it can be.”
Rhaenyra feels her own forehead crease in a frown against Saera’s breast, but her aunt laughs and says, “I wouldn’t worry about that. Your baby has been gushing since we sat her on you.”
That’s right. She flicks her eyes up and observes Saera toying with Daemon’s hair, running a finger over the shell of his ear. Her uncle reaches down to where her cunt envelops him and traces that line and it’s true, she’s so slick, all over his thighs, this chamber will need a new couch, gods—
He kisses the top of her head and says, “See, it’s nice to have an aunt, isn’t it? I always wanted a sister, so my girl could have an aunt—”
Dumb with lust, hands greedy, Rhaenyra gets under the skirt of Saera’s gown and runs her fingers over the hidden flesh between her legs. She is bare of hair there—Rhaenyra had heard that women in the Free Cities shave themselves smooth—very hot and soft and lovely, but dry. When Saera widens her legs for her niece’s questing fingers, and she rubs over her hole there’s a little secret wetness right at her entrance, but…she knew Daemon desired her whether he got hard or not but she didn’t know with Saera. She blushes and pulls away and Saera throws her head back and laughs. The sight of the rippling skin of her long throat, the vibrations of Daemon’s chest against her as he laughs with their aunt, takes some of the sting away.
“Oh, to be nine-and-ten again! Things get a little drier down there when you get to be my age, that’s all. But you have enough to share, don’t you?”
Saera raises her eyebrows in the direction of where Rhaenyra and Daemon are joined and Rhaenyra shifts back so she can bring her fingers to her glistening folds where they part around her uncle’s cock and gather up the wetness there and as she slides her own slick over her aunt’s mound, circles it around her clit, dips her hand back to that well for more to glide it to her slit and push into her cunt with two fingers she starts to rock in Daemon’s lap but that’s alright because as Saera gasps, “Nine-and-ten and bred and creaming,” Daemon starts to rock back up into her with a whimper.
Exploring her aunt’s hot soft insides with her fingers, their wetness mingling in her cunt, her nipple with her tongue, the lightest curious flick of it's tip against the spit-dampened metal making Saera roll her hips up faster to meet Rhaenyra’s hand she is abruptly stopped, in a moment where she hovers over the offering of Saera’s breast open-mouthed and moaning as she grinds herself against Daemon in time to fucking Saera, by her uncle yanking her back by the hair and saying, “Aunt, she’s going to come.”
“I was going to come,” Saera snaps. Rhaenyra preens a little in Daemon’s grip. Later, when she's not so sunk in this state, she’ll grin at Saera, preen more obnoxiously, smug. She was about to make her aunt come. For now she pouts, because, exactly—she was about to make her aunt come—
“I need to know you can make sacrifices,” Daemon says, smiling, as Saera huffs and rolls her eyes. “The baby needs to come first.”
Rhaenyra tunes back in her body. She's squirming on Daemon's cock, and she hadn't even known how absurd the whimpers coming from her mouth had gotten. Her lower belly is tight with it—
“No, uncle,” she says, voice scratchy with disuse, words strangely distorted to her ears. “I couldn't, I couldn't possibly.”
“Why not? You're just a baby.”
She whines, shakes her head. It's true though. Her bladder is very full. She'd thought she was coming to Saera’s room for just a moment after supper on he way to cry herself to sleep in her own chamber and hadn't stopped to relieve herself. “What can't she do, nephew?”
It's good she asks Daemon, because Rhaenyra cannot speak. It's terrible she asks Daemon, because he's so annoying sometimes.
“What do you think? You know what it looks like, when a silly baby doesn't want to admit she has to take a piss.”
Saera’s smooth hand cups her cheek but Rhaenyra keeps her eyes resolutely shut. She likes this so much, too much. As queen, it was very important to have a body because that body gave the realm heirs, and yet it was embarrassing she had this body, this young, woman's body. Once her moonblood had come on during a council meeting and she only realized she’d walked out with a visible stain on her dress after it was too late, not that she could have done anything if she'd known, and it wasn't like when her father farted in council and laughed and all the men laughed. Rhaenyra then remembered their unusual silence as she left the room first, looking at her bleed and not know it, and it had been unbearable, she knew she was a queen and they must both know this and yet she could never let them forget she was the Realm’s Delight, Viserys’ little girl, charming and bright and pretty, the princess snatched away by nurses when her body threatened to do anything unpretty. But that night Daemon fucked her while she bled and later she'd learned to piss in his lap and nothing her body did seemed to bother him at all, and so it was nice to let him control it: he washes her limbs and makes her come and tells her when to piss and it was manageable, she did not have a body in court and then in private it did whatever she and her uncle wanted it to. It felt like too much to give Saera, who hadn’t known her when she was little and whose beauty felt unknown still too. Maybe she wanted to be queen a little longer, to be pushed to remember that here she was just a baby.
“As you like,” Saera laughs. “But I'm to make you come three times a day and tonight me and your uncle need to get three from you together and he has to leave at dawn.”
Rhaenyra rides Daemon carefully. His cock crowds her bladder, and Saera’s hand slips between their bodies to rub at her slippery, swollen clit and she almost doesn't make it, almost gives in to Daemon’s extortions to “Let go, come on, I know it hurts,” almost doesn't hold herself back as she shakes apart, because she knows how good it feels, to be a dirty, wicked little baby and really gush, hot and hard, over the cock in her, every last drop propelled out of her by the contractions of her inner walls. It was blissful to be empty, after being that full, to be filled again by Daemon so he could empty her to be filled again, over and over, forever.
“What a bad girl, holding yourself back like that,” Saera chides. That’s not right. Surely it was being a bad, bad girl to piss and ruin a couch like that.
“I don’t want to ruin your couch!”
“It’s your couch, technically. It’s also ugly. Please ruin it so you can let me get something less atrocious in here. I think it’s time you show me how you punish your baby, nephew.”
They arrange her so she is sprawled across both their laps, ass up in Saera’s and she’s so wet and filthy across her aunt’s legs, her slick all over her thighs, Daemon’s come leaking out of her, but Saera, nude herself now even if Rhaenyra can’t enjoy it from this position, does not seem to mind. “I’m going to give you five, and then your aunt will give you five. You didn’t piss when I told you too, so you’ll need to hold it. Alright?”
Rhaenyra can only nod and bury her face in her uncle’s thigh as he brings his hand down hard against her ass, no warm up. She clenches her ass tight, clenches her thighs together with a choked whine. His cock is soft against her breasts but she’s still so full, so full of him, because eventually he’ll get what he wants and make her release this burden, ease this burning in her belly and groin, she doesn’t know how he’ll push past what has her clamping her legs together and breathing hard so only a few drops escape, lost in the greater wet ruin of her open cunt, but he will.
“And what am I to punish her for?” Saera asks.
“Whatever she tells you she needs to be punished for, mostly.”
“Whatever she tells you?” Saera says scathingly.
“She’s the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” Daemon pinches her ass where it meets her thigh, affectionately. “The queen and a baby, and she knows it. She worries about her youth and inexperience. So she comes to her dear old uncle and lists all the things she’s said that day that it now occurs to her were foolish or ignorant, every decision she is uncertain of or fears might have been a poor one, and I punish her for them. That’s one way.”
“I have many questions. One: has she really said things that are stupid, made bad decisions?”
“We discuss that. Later. It’s a separate thing. Usually it’s nothing as dire as she’s made out. But first I have to agree she’s a perfect idiot and take her over my knee and she informs me it’s helpful. She’s usually hyperventilating less afterward, it has to be said.”
“You said that’s one way. What’s another?”
“In council, sometimes she elects not to take her uncle’s sage and invariably correct advice—”
“I take his advice plenty, although, in the moment, I must weigh advice from all my councilors—”
“But it doesn’t matter. I give her a spanking and then she feels free to do exactly as she likes, and I’ve relieved my frustrations. Maybe the next day in council sitting pretty and saying That’s quite enough, Prince Daemon, thank you, is a bit less amusing to her, if you catch my meaning—”
Daemon spanks her two more times during this, at random, so she can’t tell when they’re coming and has to stay clenched, belly and cunt throbbing, can’t ride that blissful crackling surface, like the water on Dragonstone in the summer when it’s so hot that the top of the water as you float in the shallows isn’t even cool but has the sun trapped in it. She loves to sit in council and shift in her seat and feel the marks of her uncle’s hand send a shooting pain upwards from where they meet her seat and to know he won’t let her fail—it doesn’t come down to Daemon, not only or even mostly, there is the Sea Snake, Lord Strong, she is surrounded by able, dedicated men, but mostly she grounds herself with that thought, that her uncle won’t allow her to fail their house. She loves the power in his arm, the responding ache, the ghost of the stark fact that he could kill her so easily but had chosen not to.
“I won’t be at council, certainly,” Saera says. “I know nothing about running anything that isn’t a whorehouse—”
“Some of the same basic principles, I’m sure.”
“She can bring her faults to me but I’ll hardly know how to tell her she hasn’t sent it all to the seventh hell after.”
“She’ll report it to me and I can chastise or comfort by raven. It’ll operate on a delay, but I want a daily report.”
“A report!” Rhaenyra squeaks.
“It’ll be like I’m not even gone,” and Rhaenyra had tried to hide it, not to show how distraught she was by the thought of a couple of months of separation that she could not reasonably protest for the good of the realm, but she relaxes a bit to hear this. She’ll write everyday to Daemon, every single day, she didn’t care how silly it is, he wants her to write to him.
“In Valyrian, of course. A good chance to work on your written Valyrian. Your accent is impeccable thanks to me, but your writing does a disgrace to a storied poetical tradition.”
“Fuck you, like you care about poetry—”
“I’ll correct your grammar and let Saera punish you for your errors, since she’s so eager.”
“Homework?!”
“Let’s make it fun. I want to know everything,” Daemon says. “I want to know everything she does to my baby. Let’s practice. What’s she about to do to you now?”
Rhaenyra cranes her head around and whimpers. Saera holds a wooden paddle in her hand.
“I have a lot less strength in my arm than your uncle from my life of dissipation. Go on, answer him.”
After her shout dies away, she says in Valyrian, “She’s—hitting me on my bottom,” unsure of the word for spanking.
“What were you doing to her earlier?”
Another thwack. “Ah! I—I put my fingers in her c-cunt.”
In the last year Daemon has shared with her enough of the erotic texts he’d apparently been collecting all this time that she does know the word for that.
Thwack. “How did that feel?”
“Hot, and. Soft. It felt so good,” Rhaenyra moans.
Thwack. Rhaenyra whines, puts her hand to her pussy and presses hard, to try to hold back the release of her bladder. “What would you like to do with her next? Do you want to lick her cunt?”
“Yes, oh yes, please—”
Thwack. “Ask your aunt.”
“Can I please lick your cunt next time, aunt?”
Then suddenly Rhaenyra is flipped onto her back and she can’t stop it. Piss rushes out of her onto the cushions between her and Saera, who kneels between her splayed thighs as she releases in a hot torrent, even as she tries to hold it back, tries to jerk her knees protectively to her chest. “Ah, ah, ah, I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t,” eyes locked on Daemon’s above her.
“That’s it, let go, it’s alright, my baby,” he says, stroking her cheek, and she does, her entire body from head to toes unknotting as it flows out of her.
“My fault,” Saera smirks. “She was saying such pretty things and although that’s a very pretty ass I had such a nice little peak of an even prettier place to spank.”
Saera runs a finger up her drenched slit and flicks her soaked clit until her eyes roll back into her head as she comes. “Who asked you to do all that, silly thing? We told you to piss. I suppose you have your pride. You disobeyed once by not pissing and once by pissing and here you still arrive, a pissy little baby. Still, it is not your fault. He’s never denied you a single thing, has he? Ruined! Luckily I like giving pretty girls exactly what they need most of all. And I think what this pretty pussy needs is a good spanking. Nephew?”
Daemon looks down at her tenderly. Then he brings down his open palm on the cunt that still spasms with both her releases and Rhaenyra yowls.
“Oh, you can do better than that.”
Again, his fingers slapping between the parted, glistening lips of her pussy an audible squelch as Rhaenyra squeals and Saera prevents her from kicking with a surprisingly strong grip on her ankles, opening her up wider to her uncle’s hand, aimed right at her clit so she jerks from side to side and he has to bring her his wet hand up to steady her by the shoulders so she doesn’t roll off the couch.
“Hold her open for me,” Saera says after the fourth and Daemon obeys, hooking his hands under her knees, but he says Saera’s name warningly when she hefts the paddle. “Let’s see. Do you think you can take it, niece? Nod for me.”
Rhaenyra can’t speak. She nods. Saera brings the paddle down and her back arches up off the couch, head bucking and heaving in Daemon’s lap.
She can’t talk for a while after but she cries and of course Daemon knows what she has held back as she clings to him. “I’m coming back, Rhaenyra. It won’t be like when you were a child and your mean old uncle left and you didn’t know when he was coming back. I’m not banished. And this time you won’t be alone.”
Of course she wouldn’t be alone. She knew that. Alicent, Laena, Laenor, Mysaria. But now she knows it even more truly. A Targaryen aunt is something different, for Rhaenyra.
He cleans her up while Saera smokes one of the pipes she brought with her and Daemon puts her to bed between sheets that smell of Saera, her aunt drifting over in a golden robe so they both look down at her. It is like being put to bed by her parents, Rhaenyra thinks sourly. Daemon and she had their fun with her calling him daddy sometimes but she had meant it: uncle, that was her very favorite.
Her eyes are drifting shut. Daemon sits at the edge of the bed and runs his adoring hand over her hair. Saera leans over and kisses Rhaenyra’s hand where it peeps out above the coverlet.
“Alright, nephew. Do you think you can attend to me now the baby is done for?” Saera says with a quiet laugh as Rhaenyra’s breathing goes even, and the last thing she hears is Saera’s moan as Daemon tumbles her back onto the mattress next to where sleep takes uncle’s baby, and her aunt’s too, if she likes.
Much better.
🐉masterpost🐉
The night before Daemon is due to leave for the Stepstones, Rhaenyra receives a note from Saera asking the queen to grant her aunt the honor of her presence, just for a moment. When she arrives Daemon is there, whispering with her on the couch. They exchange a loaded glance on her entrance, and her uncle holds out his hand to her. She comes to stand before them.
“I leave in the morning,” Daemon says. Rhaenyra looks down at their joined hands and a stupid rush of tears prick at her eyes. It was only for a month, while he replaced some drunken brutish captains with competent men and put the fear of House Targaryen into the restless troops overseeing the building of permanent forts on the islands. “Only for a month or so, gods willing. But although I have my duty to your realm as a prince, I also have my duties as your uncle. The former is in conflict with the latter at the moment. But luckily you now have an aunt.” With the hand on her wrist he pulls her into his lap. Rhaenyra darts her gaze up at Saera. “Tell your aunt what you are.”
Rhaenyra breath catches. She doesn't know how to feel. Daemon sharing this with anyone else seems almost a betrayal. Anyone else seeing this is excruciating to contemplate. Her face flushes but it isn't entirely with humiliation or indignation. She trembles but it is as much with a giddy desire to show someone this. And Daemon had said it. This was her aunt. Saera was new, and as intimidatingly glamorous as Rhaenyra had always expected, but she was a Targaryen, and fuck what the disapproving asses who sneered that Rhaenyra having her as a guest in the Red Keep somehow polluted the halls of the place she had been born thought, because she was family, and worth ten of them.
“I'm your baby, uncle,” she answers.
“That's right. Should we show your aunt how your uncle takes care of his baby, so she can help me take care of you?”
A pathetic relief bubbles in her chest at the thought of not having to give this up. She could, it isn't like she can't do without her uncle for a moon or two. It would probably be good for her to learn to do that.
“I don’t—you can't just swap, it isn't—I’m your baby, I need you,” she whines. Daemon isn't replaceable. What they do together isn't just sex, which she isn't at risk of going without even if Saera didn't step in, thank you, and Saera stepping in could not provide it, surely.
“And you have him,” Saera assures. “I know I'll never supplant such a wonderful uncle. But you might have an aunt too, if you like.”
“Alright,” Rhaenyra says reluctantly. She'll show Saera what a baby she is and Daemon would show her exactly how he was with his baby, so hopefully he would understand that's what she needed, him. Saera would probably quickly cease being interested. She didn’t seem particularly nurturing, although Rhaenyra supposes neither would Daemon to anyone else. But Saera hadn't known Rhaenyra her whole life, when she was a little girl, that knowledge Daemon and Rhaenyra could never escape and did not want to. “It's—it’s going to be embarrassing. For me. I know I get very silly when I sink into it.”
Saera shrugs. “I like embarrassing pretty girls.”
Her aunt will find herself well-satisfied in that taste and she won't even have to do anything. She embarasses Rhaenyra just by seeing, by witnessing this. She can already feel the wave rising, warm, stultifying, the gentle rock of a bath on a balmy sea. Stronger than normal with an audience. She thinks it will be one of those times when she's not even able to speak by the end of it.
“Let me undress you,” Daemon murmurs.
Saera sips at her wine as Daemon unlaces her, instructs her to raise her arms so he can lift her gown over her head.
“Oh, what a wonder you've got, nephew. What a love,” Saera says softly when Rhaenyra is naked before them in nothing but her stockings, the newly visible five months’ swell of the baby. She blinks hot eyes and sways in place. “She's in quite deep, isn't she? Can you nod for me, Rhaenyra? Good girl. Take off that ugly necklace, Daemon.”
Rhaenyra makes a noise of protest, and then one of distress when Daemon obeys and unclasps it.
“It's Valyrian steel,” her uncle says peevishly.
“And it's very ugly. Yes, I know, sentimental value. I'm not taking it away from you, Rhaenyra. I do have a gift for you though.” Saera comes to them with a gold choker set with large rubies and clasps it around Rhaenyra’s neck. “If I'm going to have a baby for a while, I want to see her elegant neck in things beautiful enough for it, so while you're mine…” She undoes it just as swiftly and tucks it away. “Tonight, though, you're right. You are Daemon’s aren't you? All his.”
That’s right. He would go away and she would wear a different necklace for a while, but then he would come back, put her back where she belonged. He puts the necklace she has worn daily these last five years back on and she sighs as she feels the familiar weight of the pendant settle against her pulse.
Daemon disrobes and sits again on the couch. Touching his half-hard cock he gestures for Rhaenyra to kneel. “You’re just going to have a nice suck while me and your aunt work it out so I’m leaving you in good hands—”
“I want to sit in your lap,” she bursts out, teary, pouting. He’s going away. She wants to be as close to him as possible.
“She’s not a very obedient child,” Saera clucks, laughing.
“That would be dull. But she’s a good baby, really,” Daemon says, working at himself to get to adequate hardness. “She’s just needy—”
Sitting back down beside Daemon, Saera takes his cock in hand and jerks him off with practiced confidence. Daemon takes in a great breath as his eyes close and his head falls back against the cushions, and he exhales Saera’s name. Her aunt’s gaze remains on Rhaenyra. “A needy, demanding baby, hm? And she’s never been denied, has she? Here you go, princess, come sit on your uncle’s lap, he’s ready for you.”
Rhaenyra isn’t a princess anymore. Princess, Daemon had often called her, and she likes hearing it once more from Saera’s lips. Her aunt hadn’t been there, far away over the Narrow Sea.
Saera holds Daemon’s cock in place as Rhaenyra lowers herself carefully onto him until her wet cunt kisses her aunt’s fingers at the base and she removes it and Rhaenyra is so full, every inch of herself is filled. “It’s so big,” she sighs dreamily to no one in particular.
“He’s got a nice amount,” Saera says dismissively. “It’s you that’s impressive. Fuck, puppy, she’s tiny, I can’t believe this doesn’t incapacitate her—”
Daemon says something in reply but Rhaenyra isn’t listening. She has to concentrate. There’s a moment when her body wants to reject the intrusion. It’s too much, it’s crowding out her organs, her breath. When she works past that—she can take it—the next urge to battle is the one to squirm and rock and whine in his lap. But that’s not what she really wants right now. She shuts her eyes and kneads at his shoulders, scarred and unscarred, and breathes in and out slowly, holding her body very still as her cunt flutters desperately around the cock in it, it wants to be fucked, but that’s not what Rhaenyra wants. She hasn’t wanted Daemon to fuck her cunt lately but this is something else, and he holds still too, she can’t make out his speech but she catches a little grunts he bites off as he holds himself back from thrusting up into her. Eventually her cunt goes still too. She makes it go quiet around him, molten and trembling in place like melted wax in a bowl, just holding him there, connected to her. Rhaenyra knows the baby that gets in the way a bit as Daemon guides her head down to his chest is connected to her body by a blood-fattened cord and from this she is nourished, Maester Gerardys had explained it to her although she had known about this cord before, if only as a thing of death, wrapped around the neck of a brother born to never breathe, and it’s like that, Daemon and her so, so close, tied together, pulsing gently in and around one another.
She tucks her head beneath her uncle’s chin, face turned away from Saera, almost shy. Daemon slips his thumb past her lips so she has something to suck, although she has to make her cunt relax again as it sympathetically begins to spasm in time with her mouth.
When she comes back to herself it is to Saera stroking her hand along her spine and Daemon saying, “It’s hard to describe, precisely, we just—do it.”
“I need rules. I’ve never done this before,” Saera says, sounding genuinely uncertain. A silence filled with Daemon’s clear disbelief follows. “Yes, I’ve done everything, Daemon. And yet not this. A Targaryen girl, a Targaryen queen. So. Tell me. Let’s start with…how many times should I make her come a day?”
“Oh, three at least.”
“Should I deny her sometimes? Oh, don’t give me that look! Just for a day or two. Surely you haven’t denied yourself that pleasure, letting such a greedy thing get just desperate—”
“Yes. But not this time. She shouldn’t be denied anything while I’m gone.”
“She’ll be unforgivably spoiled by the time you come back. Very well. Three a day it is. All at once, spread out?”
“Up to you. Depends on how busy she is. But at least three. Don’t worry—even in a half-hour you can get three out of her.”
“I remember being nine-and-ten. And she’s pregnant, I also recall what that’s like. I bet part of you wants a break. I bet she’s wearing you out.”
“No, never.”
“You’ve gotten quite sincere, nephew. Alright. What about more than three?”
“Oh, yes,” he says, voice dark and pleased. “You can push her very hard if you like, she can take it. As many times as you can manage.”
“Enough of that, Princess Bashful,” her aunt coaxes, nails scratching sharp-gentle on her neck. “Look at me now.”
Rhaenyra flips her head around so her other ear receives the steady thump of Daemon’s heart beneath it. Her aunt has the elbow of the arm she’s not using to smooth Rhaenyra’s hair back from her face against the back of the couch, and her head is propped up against the balled fist at the end of it. Saera’s lovely curls spill down over her toned, elegant arm, into the valley between her breasts where one of her wispy violet Volantene gowns dips low, those layers and layers of diaphanous silk wound around her until her body is both decently hidden somehow not as if the near transparency of one individual fold teases at you with the art that has arranged it to deny you and Rhaenyra’s eyes go instantly to where the fabric thrusts out with the obscured swell. Her mouth practically waters. She has just enough presence of mind to not start pawing at Saera, or trying to nestle into her.
Her aunt says, “Gods, her eyes are blown black. The crying, is that normal?”
“Yes,” Daemon answers, amused. “More often than not.”
“Excellent. I like making pretty little girls cry too.” Saera’s eyes track the path of Rhaenyra’s own hazy gaze. “Ah. I think I know what she needs.”
It apparently takes no special delicacy to pop one tit out of the architectural complexity of the gown. She holds it up to Rhaenyra’s lips.
“Come on, it’s alright,” Saera coos as Rhaenyra whimpers with the need to suck, squirming in place until Daemon grips her tight by the hair.
“It’s the piercing, I think.”
“Oh, do you like that? Just be gentle, you won’t hurt me.”
Rhaenyra sucks her aunt’s nipple onto her tongue. The cool metal that pierces its hard pink tip warms in her mouth and there’s a gratifying moan from her aunt above her. The scent of perfumed, soft flesh floods Rhaenyra’s nostrils, dizzying her, and she can’t help it, one hand comes up to scrabble through the folds of silk until it can fist the pillowy give of Saera’s other breast, and then it is her turn to moan as one fills her mouth and the other fills her hand.
“With how much she loves sucking my tits it’s no surprise she’s in raptures. I’m sure to be discarded now she knows how much better it can be.”
Rhaenyra feels her own forehead crease in a frown against Saera’s breast, but her aunt laughs and says, “I wouldn’t worry about that. Your baby has been gushing since we sat her on you.”
That’s right. She flicks her eyes up and observes Saera toying with Daemon’s hair, running a finger over the shell of his ear. Her uncle reaches down to where her cunt envelops him and traces that line and it’s true, she’s so slick, all over his thighs, this chamber will need a new couch, gods—
He kisses the top of her head and says, “See, it’s nice to have an aunt, isn’t it? I always wanted a sister, so my girl could have an aunt—”
Dumb with lust, hands greedy, Rhaenyra gets under the skirt of Saera’s gown and runs her fingers over the hidden flesh between her legs. She is bare of hair there—Rhaenyra had heard that women in the Free Cities shave themselves smooth—very hot and soft and lovely, but dry. When Saera widens her legs for her niece’s questing fingers, and she rubs over her hole there’s a little secret wetness right at her entrance, but…she knew Daemon desired her whether he got hard or not but she didn’t know with Saera. She blushes and pulls away and Saera throws her head back and laughs. The sight of the rippling skin of her long throat, the vibrations of Daemon’s chest against her as he laughs with their aunt, takes some of the sting away.
“Oh, to be nine-and-ten again! Things get a little drier down there when you get to be my age, that’s all. But you have enough to share, don’t you?”
Saera raises her eyebrows in the direction of where Rhaenyra and Daemon are joined and Rhaenyra shifts back so she can bring her fingers to her glistening folds where they part around her uncle’s cock and gather up the wetness there and as she slides her own slick over her aunt’s mound, circles it around her clit, dips her hand back to that well for more to glide it to her slit and push into her cunt with two fingers she starts to rock in Daemon’s lap but that’s alright because as Saera gasps, “Nine-and-ten and bred and creaming,” Daemon starts to rock back up into her with a whimper.
Exploring her aunt’s hot soft insides with her fingers, their wetness mingling in her cunt, her nipple with her tongue, the lightest curious flick of it's tip against the spit-dampened metal making Saera roll her hips up faster to meet Rhaenyra’s hand she is abruptly stopped, in a moment where she hovers over the offering of Saera’s breast open-mouthed and moaning as she grinds herself against Daemon in time to fucking Saera, by her uncle yanking her back by the hair and saying, “Aunt, she’s going to come.”
“I was going to come,” Saera snaps. Rhaenyra preens a little in Daemon’s grip. Later, when she's not so sunk in this state, she’ll grin at Saera, preen more obnoxiously, smug. She was about to make her aunt come. For now she pouts, because, exactly—she was about to make her aunt come—
“I need to know you can make sacrifices,” Daemon says, smiling, as Saera huffs and rolls her eyes. “The baby needs to come first.”
Rhaenyra tunes back in her body. She's squirming on Daemon's cock, and she hadn't even known how absurd the whimpers coming from her mouth had gotten. Her lower belly is tight with it—
“No, uncle,” she says, voice scratchy with disuse, words strangely distorted to her ears. “I couldn't, I couldn't possibly.”
“Why not? You're just a baby.”
She whines, shakes her head. It's true though. Her bladder is very full. She'd thought she was coming to Saera’s room for just a moment after supper on he way to cry herself to sleep in her own chamber and hadn't stopped to relieve herself. “What can't she do, nephew?”
It's good she asks Daemon, because Rhaenyra cannot speak. It's terrible she asks Daemon, because he's so annoying sometimes.
“What do you think? You know what it looks like, when a silly baby doesn't want to admit she has to take a piss.”
Saera’s smooth hand cups her cheek but Rhaenyra keeps her eyes resolutely shut. She likes this so much, too much. As queen, it was very important to have a body because that body gave the realm heirs, and yet it was embarrassing she had this body, this young, woman's body. Once her moonblood had come on during a council meeting and she only realized she’d walked out with a visible stain on her dress after it was too late, not that she could have done anything if she'd known, and it wasn't like when her father farted in council and laughed and all the men laughed. Rhaenyra then remembered their unusual silence as she left the room first, looking at her bleed and not know it, and it had been unbearable, she knew she was a queen and they must both know this and yet she could never let them forget she was the Realm’s Delight, Viserys’ little girl, charming and bright and pretty, the princess snatched away by nurses when her body threatened to do anything unpretty. But that night Daemon fucked her while she bled and later she'd learned to piss in his lap and nothing her body did seemed to bother him at all, and so it was nice to let him control it: he washes her limbs and makes her come and tells her when to piss and it was manageable, she did not have a body in court and then in private it did whatever she and her uncle wanted it to. It felt like too much to give Saera, who hadn’t known her when she was little and whose beauty felt unknown still too. Maybe she wanted to be queen a little longer, to be pushed to remember that here she was just a baby.
“As you like,” Saera laughs. “But I'm to make you come three times a day and tonight me and your uncle need to get three from you together and he has to leave at dawn.”
Rhaenyra rides Daemon carefully. His cock crowds her bladder, and Saera’s hand slips between their bodies to rub at her slippery, swollen clit and she almost doesn't make it, almost gives in to Daemon’s extortions to “Let go, come on, I know it hurts,” almost doesn't hold herself back as she shakes apart, because she knows how good it feels, to be a dirty, wicked little baby and really gush, hot and hard, over the cock in her, every last drop propelled out of her by the contractions of her inner walls. It was blissful to be empty, after being that full, to be filled again by Daemon so he could empty her to be filled again, over and over, forever.
“What a bad girl, holding yourself back like that,” Saera chides. That’s not right. Surely it was being a bad, bad girl to piss and ruin a couch like that.
“I don’t want to ruin your couch!”
“It’s your couch, technically. It’s also ugly. Please ruin it so you can let me get something less atrocious in here. I think it’s time you show me how you punish your baby, nephew.”
They arrange her so she is sprawled across both their laps, ass up in Saera’s and she’s so wet and filthy across her aunt’s legs, her slick all over her thighs, Daemon’s come leaking out of her, but Saera, nude herself now even if Rhaenyra can’t enjoy it from this position, does not seem to mind. “I’m going to give you five, and then your aunt will give you five. You didn’t piss when I told you too, so you’ll need to hold it. Alright?”
Rhaenyra can only nod and bury her face in her uncle’s thigh as he brings his hand down hard against her ass, no warm up. She clenches her ass tight, clenches her thighs together with a choked whine. His cock is soft against her breasts but she’s still so full, so full of him, because eventually he’ll get what he wants and make her release this burden, ease this burning in her belly and groin, she doesn’t know how he’ll push past what has her clamping her legs together and breathing hard so only a few drops escape, lost in the greater wet ruin of her open cunt, but he will.
“And what am I to punish her for?” Saera asks.
“Whatever she tells you she needs to be punished for, mostly.”
“Whatever she tells you?” Saera says scathingly.
“She’s the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” Daemon pinches her ass where it meets her thigh, affectionately. “The queen and a baby, and she knows it. She worries about her youth and inexperience. So she comes to her dear old uncle and lists all the things she’s said that day that it now occurs to her were foolish or ignorant, every decision she is uncertain of or fears might have been a poor one, and I punish her for them. That’s one way.”
“I have many questions. One: has she really said things that are stupid, made bad decisions?”
“We discuss that. Later. It’s a separate thing. Usually it’s nothing as dire as she’s made out. But first I have to agree she’s a perfect idiot and take her over my knee and she informs me it’s helpful. She’s usually hyperventilating less afterward, it has to be said.”
“You said that’s one way. What’s another?”
“In council, sometimes she elects not to take her uncle’s sage and invariably correct advice—”
“I take his advice plenty, although, in the moment, I must weigh advice from all my councilors—”
“But it doesn’t matter. I give her a spanking and then she feels free to do exactly as she likes, and I’ve relieved my frustrations. Maybe the next day in council sitting pretty and saying That’s quite enough, Prince Daemon, thank you, is a bit less amusing to her, if you catch my meaning—”
Daemon spanks her two more times during this, at random, so she can’t tell when they’re coming and has to stay clenched, belly and cunt throbbing, can’t ride that blissful crackling surface, like the water on Dragonstone in the summer when it’s so hot that the top of the water as you float in the shallows isn’t even cool but has the sun trapped in it. She loves to sit in council and shift in her seat and feel the marks of her uncle’s hand send a shooting pain upwards from where they meet her seat and to know he won’t let her fail—it doesn’t come down to Daemon, not only or even mostly, there is the Sea Snake, Lord Strong, she is surrounded by able, dedicated men, but mostly she grounds herself with that thought, that her uncle won’t allow her to fail their house. She loves the power in his arm, the responding ache, the ghost of the stark fact that he could kill her so easily but had chosen not to.
“I won’t be at council, certainly,” Saera says. “I know nothing about running anything that isn’t a whorehouse—”
“Some of the same basic principles, I’m sure.”
“She can bring her faults to me but I’ll hardly know how to tell her she hasn’t sent it all to the seventh hell after.”
“She’ll report it to me and I can chastise or comfort by raven. It’ll operate on a delay, but I want a daily report.”
“A report!” Rhaenyra squeaks.
“It’ll be like I’m not even gone,” and Rhaenyra had tried to hide it, not to show how distraught she was by the thought of a couple of months of separation that she could not reasonably protest for the good of the realm, but she relaxes a bit to hear this. She’ll write everyday to Daemon, every single day, she didn’t care how silly it is, he wants her to write to him.
“In Valyrian, of course. A good chance to work on your written Valyrian. Your accent is impeccable thanks to me, but your writing does a disgrace to a storied poetical tradition.”
“Fuck you, like you care about poetry—”
“I’ll correct your grammar and let Saera punish you for your errors, since she’s so eager.”
“Homework?!”
“Let’s make it fun. I want to know everything,” Daemon says. “I want to know everything she does to my baby. Let’s practice. What’s she about to do to you now?”
Rhaenyra cranes her head around and whimpers. Saera holds a wooden paddle in her hand.
“I have a lot less strength in my arm than your uncle from my life of dissipation. Go on, answer him.”
After her shout dies away, she says in Valyrian, “She’s—hitting me on my bottom,” unsure of the word for spanking.
“What were you doing to her earlier?”
Another thwack. “Ah! I—I put my fingers in her c-cunt.”
In the last year Daemon has shared with her enough of the erotic texts he’d apparently been collecting all this time that she does know the word for that.
Thwack. “How did that feel?”
“Hot, and. Soft. It felt so good,” Rhaenyra moans.
Thwack. Rhaenyra whines, puts her hand to her pussy and presses hard, to try to hold back the release of her bladder. “What would you like to do with her next? Do you want to lick her cunt?”
“Yes, oh yes, please—”
Thwack. “Ask your aunt.”
“Can I please lick your cunt next time, aunt?”
Then suddenly Rhaenyra is flipped onto her back and she can’t stop it. Piss rushes out of her onto the cushions between her and Saera, who kneels between her splayed thighs as she releases in a hot torrent, even as she tries to hold it back, tries to jerk her knees protectively to her chest. “Ah, ah, ah, I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t,” eyes locked on Daemon’s above her.
“That’s it, let go, it’s alright, my baby,” he says, stroking her cheek, and she does, her entire body from head to toes unknotting as it flows out of her.
“My fault,” Saera smirks. “She was saying such pretty things and although that’s a very pretty ass I had such a nice little peak of an even prettier place to spank.”
Saera runs a finger up her drenched slit and flicks her soaked clit until her eyes roll back into her head as she comes. “Who asked you to do all that, silly thing? We told you to piss. I suppose you have your pride. You disobeyed once by not pissing and once by pissing and here you still arrive, a pissy little baby. Still, it is not your fault. He’s never denied you a single thing, has he? Ruined! Luckily I like giving pretty girls exactly what they need most of all. And I think what this pretty pussy needs is a good spanking. Nephew?”
Daemon looks down at her tenderly. Then he brings down his open palm on the cunt that still spasms with both her releases and Rhaenyra yowls.
“Oh, you can do better than that.”
Again, his fingers slapping between the parted, glistening lips of her pussy an audible squelch as Rhaenyra squeals and Saera prevents her from kicking with a surprisingly strong grip on her ankles, opening her up wider to her uncle’s hand, aimed right at her clit so she jerks from side to side and he has to bring her his wet hand up to steady her by the shoulders so she doesn’t roll off the couch.
“Hold her open for me,” Saera says after the fourth and Daemon obeys, hooking his hands under her knees, but he says Saera’s name warningly when she hefts the paddle. “Let’s see. Do you think you can take it, niece? Nod for me.”
Rhaenyra can’t speak. She nods. Saera brings the paddle down and her back arches up off the couch, head bucking and heaving in Daemon’s lap.
She can’t talk for a while after but she cries and of course Daemon knows what she has held back as she clings to him. “I’m coming back, Rhaenyra. It won’t be like when you were a child and your mean old uncle left and you didn’t know when he was coming back. I’m not banished. And this time you won’t be alone.”
Of course she wouldn’t be alone. She knew that. Alicent, Laena, Laenor, Mysaria. But now she knows it even more truly. A Targaryen aunt is something different, for Rhaenyra.
He cleans her up while Saera smokes one of the pipes she brought with her and Daemon puts her to bed between sheets that smell of Saera, her aunt drifting over in a golden robe so they both look down at her. It is like being put to bed by her parents, Rhaenyra thinks sourly. Daemon and she had their fun with her calling him daddy sometimes but she had meant it: uncle, that was her very favorite.
Her eyes are drifting shut. Daemon sits at the edge of the bed and runs his adoring hand over her hair. Saera leans over and kisses Rhaenyra’s hand where it peeps out above the coverlet.
“Alright, nephew. Do you think you can attend to me now the baby is done for?” Saera says with a quiet laugh as Rhaenyra’s breathing goes even, and the last thing she hears is Saera’s moan as Daemon tumbles her back onto the mattress next to where sleep takes uncle’s baby, and her aunt’s too, if she likes.
Much better.