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mirrorwitches) wrote2023-07-11 08:27 pm
mirrorwitches) wrote2023-07-11 08:27 pm
(hotd) substitution, chapter three
SUBSTITUTION, CHAPTER THREE
🐉masterpost🐉
When Alicent opens her eyes she realizes two things: Rhaenyra’s whimper is what has awoken her, and it is Rhaenyra's husband who is making her whimper.
They lie on their sides facing each other, having fallen asleep mid-whisper. Daemon has slid in behind Rhaenyra sometime in the night—with her husband out late with the City Watch, Alicent often shares Rhaenyra’s bed as they did in childhood—and plastered himself to her back. His cock moves in her, slowly.
“Here she is,” Daemon says with a kiss to Rhaenyra’s ear and a smile at Alicent over her shoulder.
Daemon does not need to instruct her now. Rhaenyra’s nightgown is rucked up under her breasts and Alicent reaches out to stroke the intriguing, newly visible swell of her belly as the growth of her uncle’s child distends it. A proper Targaryen bride, the future of her house in her womb, turned to gold in the morning sun.
She slides her hand further down to the damp patch of silver hair and the treasure nestled within it. She's so practiced at it now she finds it immediately, and one slick roll of it beneath her thumb has Rhaenyra crying out.
That first night, Rhaenyra had panted in the aftermath while Alicent shoved a pillow under her hips and then, before she realized what she was doing, pushed Daemon’s spend back up past the puffy, abused lips of the cunt he’d claimed and he'd laughed at her before jerking her sticky fingers out with the admonishment, “Tsk, tsk, you greedy thing. That's mine,” and then, gripping her fingers in his own, he’d pressed them to Rhaenyra’s clit so she, overstimulated, almost kneed him in the face. “This is yours. I'll take her cunt, you take her clit. I'm man enough to admit I might need help to keep this girl satisfied.”
Rhaenyra had done her duty so beautifully. She had whimpered in pain against Alicent’s shoulder as her royal cunt was filled by her husband so it might in time bring forth a future king, and thus she served the realm which Alicent also serves. Her father had impressed this upon her. Their house produced loyal servants of the crown, and this was how they did their duty to the realm.
So that was what Alicent was doing. Her duty: to her princess, to her future queen.
Alicent believes when they are abed alone Daemon doesn’t neglect any part of his wife—surely Rhaenyra would not stand for it. And the first time she was summoned to Rhaenyra’s side only to find them clearly post-coital, the Rhaenyra who held out her hand to Alicent and pouted, “He can’t get it up again,” looked well-satisfied and distinctly lacking in desperation as Daemon fisted his hand in Alicent’s curls and gently pushed her head down toward that pretty, pink cunt, appeared in fact markedly languid as she stretched her hands above her head and thrust her cunt upward to meet Alicent’s mouth as her husband murmured, “Remember how I made you howl, little Alicent, that’s a good girl, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you,” and with a shiver she lowered her head the rest of the way toward that knot of flesh that had made Rhaenyra keen both their names when Alicent got it under her fingers and gave it a small exploratory lick that had Daemon petting her head with a fondness that made her shake harder as Rhaenyra said, “She is, the best girl,” and he encouraged, “Look, it’s hungry for you, it’s yours,” and Alicent could almost feel it, how it needed her, as Rhaenyra confirmed “Yes, all yours, oh,” and then wound her own hands in Alicent’s hair and like a puppet on their strings she shuddered and bent herself to her task.
-
“There’s trouble brewing in the Stepstones again,” Rhaenyra says: another day, another sybaritic sprawl across her sheets. “And you want to do your duty, yes?”
(This is what Alicent had said when Rhaenyra, wanting to please in her pleasure, had moved to put her hand between Alicent’s own legs. She had sat up abruptly and said: “I will do my duty. I will serve you in whatever way you desire. But that is all.”
She had only later realized what she’d left herself open to, how easily Rhaenyra might have responded: and what if I desire to serve you? Then Alicent had to wonder why he hadn’t, why she didn’t insist on allowing Daemon to show her what pleasure was again. She’d only given a hard little shrug and a stiff, “Very well,” and turned away from her, leaving Alicent to hastily dress while avoiding Daemon’s speculative eyes on her as he danced his fingers up Rhaenyra’s sullen spine.)
“Yes,” Alicent whispers.
“Daemon is making you a generous loan,” Rhaenyra declares, spreading her legs. “For the duration of his absence, my cunt is yours.”
The warrior prince went off to do his duty for the realm, leaving his wife behind so her body might do hers. It was arduous work. “I’m so exhausted,” Rhaenyra had said once on a cracking yawn, fussy from a nap, and with one of his constant reverent touches to her belly Daemon had said with real wonder, “You’re making a whole person. That’s taxing work.”
Of course, it was not Rhaenyra’s only duty. Who was it that had convinced her father they must build permanent keeps on the Stepstones and man them to turn the isles into a true possession of the crown, and that the only person they could trust to do it was her husband, even though it had left her eyes shadowed with worry? It was not Alicent’s only duty, to attend to this body. For Rhaenyra had asked her honest advice on the matter, if she must send Daemon, if it was best for the realm, if that was her duty, and Alicent had said yes, even though she herself, oddly, was hesitant to see him depart.
Daemon strokes Rhaenyra’s belly with the backs of two fingers and then cups it possessively. “We have to keep her happy, hm? For the babe.”
“Funny, I did not know that was included in the maester’s advice,” Alicent says, and there is that eerie echoed laughter again.
“What do they know?” Rhaenyra says. “I know. I need it.”
“I don’t have a cock, Rhaenyra,” Alicent says, a strange flutter in her stomach. To her surprise, this was how Daemon always framed it. He gave Rhaenyra his cock to keep her lovely cunt happy, satisfying its imperious demand to be constantly filled. But it made him happy enough. Alicent had watched his face go stupid with pleasure enough times as she worked at Rhaenyra’s clit until she clenched tight around him and he came with even stupider sounds, stupider words about how his cock could feel how happy her little cunt was.
“Not yet,” Daemon smirks. “They make them in the Free Cities, you know. Of ivory, of bone. We’ll have to get you one, but there wasn’t enough time this time. But luckily—” and from where he’s stretched out along Rhaenyra’s side Daemon reaches out and grabs Alicent by the wrist (“Yes, very good,” when she instinctively curls her hand into a fist) “—we have everything we need right here.” He smooths his thumb across Alicent’s knuckles.
Alicent swallows. She looks at the pink line of Rhaenyra’s closed cunt, primly shut over the little hole there. It always looked wrecked after Daemon had it, the lips battered, swollen a dark-red. Yet it hid its capacity for obscenity, appearing sweet, shy. Each time seemed incapable of opening enough for Daemon’s cock, and each time it did.
“Really?” Alicent says incredulously.
“Yes,” Rhaenyra declares, sitting up on her elbows. “In the pleasure house, I saw—”
“Pleasure house?”
“Daemon took me to Flea Bottom—dressed me as a boy and snuck me out through a hidden passage—”
“There goes your plan of tricking her by telling her you just all of a sudden got the desperate urge to nurse leperous orphans one night—”
“—oh, she never would have fallen for that, would you, Alicent?”
Alicent probably would have fallen for that.
“You saw…?”
Rhaenyra grins. “See, we’ll have to get her to go honestly or not at all. Willingly.”
“Come on, don't keep her waiting,” Daemon chides. “Tell her what she’s going to do to you.”
“I saw a woman put her entire fist in another,” Rhaenyra says. She reaches out and takes Alicent’s hand from Daemon, presses a kiss to the knuckles. “And now you are going to put yours in me.”
“I don’t know…” she says nervously. Daemon’s cock is large, but her fist is certainly wider.
“I’m going to have to squeeze a baby out through there. I can take your fist,” Rhaenyra scoffs, in the same tone as when she said she could too climb to the top of the tree in the godswood, right before falling and breaking her wrist.
While Rhaenyra juts her chin out stubbornly, daring Alicent to say she can’t, and Alicent rolls her eyes, Daemon rises from the bed. He quickly returns with a vial of oil which he tosses down onto the mattress.
“She can,” he affirms. “I’ll walk you through it. First we’re going to have to make her come a few times, get her nice and relaxed for you.”
He puts his thumb to Rhaenyra’s mouth and she sucks it wet, and then he puts it to her clit and moves it in tight circles until it peaks out of its hood with the same false maidenly modesty as the slit that appears when she widens her legs enough so Alicent can shuffle between them.
“You’ll have to manage all of her while I’m gone. But to start, let’s switch places. Go on. Put your mouth on her cunt.”
Mouths and hands, hands and mouths. Daemon’s hand, making Rhaenyra sigh, making her hole wink open and closed in eagerness, pearling with dew.
It’s new, to put her mouth to Rhaenyra without a goal, without her clit to focus on. It feels—indulgent. She runs her tongue over the outside. The salt of her on every part of her tongue, flooding her mouth—it’s almost not new, because she’d been able to smell it on Rhaenyra’s wedding night, all the way from where they knelt facing each other, strong enough to taste on the air as it wafted out of her with each squelch of Daemon’s cock driving home.
Inside. She doesn’t even have to think about it. This is what Rhaenyra wants, to be filled, and Alicent’s tongue is there to fill her.
She can feel how happy Rhaenyra’s little cunt is as it seizes up around her tongue under the merciless pressure of Daemon’s hand.
Then a finger. Rhaenyra is warm and wet around her but it doesn’t cause Alicent to emit any of those stupid sounds that Daemon makes when it’s on his cock. She is a hand, to serve her princess. Her walls are a snug velvet band around first one finger, then two. The pressure as Rhaenyra comes a second time on three of her fingers is immense: forcing them out like their presence is unbearable, holding them in like they’ll never be allowed to leave.
Daemon gently slides Alicent’s fingers out of Rhaenyra’s spasming cunt. She has no idea how much time has passed. Her fingers gleam with Rhaenyra’s wetness—she’s so, so wet, it smears her thighs, drips onto the sheets—but he makes them wetter; tenderly slicks her numb fingers with oil, then her palm, down to her wrist, pushes oil into Rhaenyra’s blooming cunt: a complex changeable specimen, from a sweet little tight bud to an unfurling blood-red hothouse flower, with its trembling, glistening petals opening wide.
It is his turn to stroke Rhaenyra’s sweaty hair back from her forehead and murmur praise and bestow kisses on her shining cheeks in between coaxing Alicent: four fingers and now, the thumb, how to tuck it under, how to slide it in—there, arch your back a little, that's it—there will be a moment where it seems impossible, where you think you won't possibly be able to bear it—it’s not pain exactly, it's beyond pain, or it's pain you crave which isn't exactly pain anymore, and she spares a moment to wonder how he knows this but then—“Oh, oh, gods”—she’s saying, she, Alicent, because Rhaenyra can't say anything—“how is she, I'm not, is she alright”;“she's wonderful, she's perfect, her tears are so pretty and they taste even better”—it’s in, and it’s insane, there shouldn't be that much room in a person—
Her own thighs are wet and she only realizes it when Daemon comes around to stand behind where she kneels at the foot of the bed and flips up her gown so her own cunt is bared to his sight. She feels his fingers rubbing at the damp flesh just north of her knees and jumps, rocking her fist in Rhaenyra, rocking Rhaenyra’s whole body with it and it's like Rhaenyra is the puppet, one of those whose mouth is manipulated by a human hand, because she starts talking.
“He won't, he won't, it’s mine, your cunt is m-mine.”
“It’s true,” Daemon says. “I've been given strict orders. I won't go in, I promise, but doesn't good little Lady Hightower deserve something nice for filling you up so well? She's aching, poor thing, you're treating her cock so nice.”
Alicent moans, shakes her head. No, no. It was just a hand. Just a duty. She rests her head against Rhaenyra’s knee but her hand doesn't stop moving in the little spasms that are the only movement she can make, sickly compelled by how there's no room, there's no room for more, she is pushing at the very limits of this girl whose wants are without limit.
Rhaenyra claws at her hair, “Oh, yes, Alicent, will you let me, will you let him make you feel as good as you're making me feel—”
But she's already widening her legs around Daemon’s leg, sitting back on him and rocking, rocking, against him, drenching his thigh so firm and tight against her, rocking up into Rhaenyra, as he strokes Alicent’s stinging scalp and says, “That’s it, just rub yourself off against my leg, that’s a good girl, but you need to show me you can do it, that you can keep our girl content,” and he pushes her head towards Rhaenyra and then Alicent has all of her: cunt around her fist, clit sucked onto her tongue, and it’s a miracle, there shouldn’t be that much room in a person, to take all of you, and howl.
🐉masterpost🐉
When Alicent opens her eyes she realizes two things: Rhaenyra’s whimper is what has awoken her, and it is Rhaenyra's husband who is making her whimper.
They lie on their sides facing each other, having fallen asleep mid-whisper. Daemon has slid in behind Rhaenyra sometime in the night—with her husband out late with the City Watch, Alicent often shares Rhaenyra’s bed as they did in childhood—and plastered himself to her back. His cock moves in her, slowly.
“Here she is,” Daemon says with a kiss to Rhaenyra’s ear and a smile at Alicent over her shoulder.
Daemon does not need to instruct her now. Rhaenyra’s nightgown is rucked up under her breasts and Alicent reaches out to stroke the intriguing, newly visible swell of her belly as the growth of her uncle’s child distends it. A proper Targaryen bride, the future of her house in her womb, turned to gold in the morning sun.
She slides her hand further down to the damp patch of silver hair and the treasure nestled within it. She's so practiced at it now she finds it immediately, and one slick roll of it beneath her thumb has Rhaenyra crying out.
That first night, Rhaenyra had panted in the aftermath while Alicent shoved a pillow under her hips and then, before she realized what she was doing, pushed Daemon’s spend back up past the puffy, abused lips of the cunt he’d claimed and he'd laughed at her before jerking her sticky fingers out with the admonishment, “Tsk, tsk, you greedy thing. That's mine,” and then, gripping her fingers in his own, he’d pressed them to Rhaenyra’s clit so she, overstimulated, almost kneed him in the face. “This is yours. I'll take her cunt, you take her clit. I'm man enough to admit I might need help to keep this girl satisfied.”
Rhaenyra had done her duty so beautifully. She had whimpered in pain against Alicent’s shoulder as her royal cunt was filled by her husband so it might in time bring forth a future king, and thus she served the realm which Alicent also serves. Her father had impressed this upon her. Their house produced loyal servants of the crown, and this was how they did their duty to the realm.
So that was what Alicent was doing. Her duty: to her princess, to her future queen.
Alicent believes when they are abed alone Daemon doesn’t neglect any part of his wife—surely Rhaenyra would not stand for it. And the first time she was summoned to Rhaenyra’s side only to find them clearly post-coital, the Rhaenyra who held out her hand to Alicent and pouted, “He can’t get it up again,” looked well-satisfied and distinctly lacking in desperation as Daemon fisted his hand in Alicent’s curls and gently pushed her head down toward that pretty, pink cunt, appeared in fact markedly languid as she stretched her hands above her head and thrust her cunt upward to meet Alicent’s mouth as her husband murmured, “Remember how I made you howl, little Alicent, that’s a good girl, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you,” and with a shiver she lowered her head the rest of the way toward that knot of flesh that had made Rhaenyra keen both their names when Alicent got it under her fingers and gave it a small exploratory lick that had Daemon petting her head with a fondness that made her shake harder as Rhaenyra said, “She is, the best girl,” and he encouraged, “Look, it’s hungry for you, it’s yours,” and Alicent could almost feel it, how it needed her, as Rhaenyra confirmed “Yes, all yours, oh,” and then wound her own hands in Alicent’s hair and like a puppet on their strings she shuddered and bent herself to her task.
-
“There’s trouble brewing in the Stepstones again,” Rhaenyra says: another day, another sybaritic sprawl across her sheets. “And you want to do your duty, yes?”
(This is what Alicent had said when Rhaenyra, wanting to please in her pleasure, had moved to put her hand between Alicent’s own legs. She had sat up abruptly and said: “I will do my duty. I will serve you in whatever way you desire. But that is all.”
She had only later realized what she’d left herself open to, how easily Rhaenyra might have responded: and what if I desire to serve you? Then Alicent had to wonder why he hadn’t, why she didn’t insist on allowing Daemon to show her what pleasure was again. She’d only given a hard little shrug and a stiff, “Very well,” and turned away from her, leaving Alicent to hastily dress while avoiding Daemon’s speculative eyes on her as he danced his fingers up Rhaenyra’s sullen spine.)
“Yes,” Alicent whispers.
“Daemon is making you a generous loan,” Rhaenyra declares, spreading her legs. “For the duration of his absence, my cunt is yours.”
The warrior prince went off to do his duty for the realm, leaving his wife behind so her body might do hers. It was arduous work. “I’m so exhausted,” Rhaenyra had said once on a cracking yawn, fussy from a nap, and with one of his constant reverent touches to her belly Daemon had said with real wonder, “You’re making a whole person. That’s taxing work.”
Of course, it was not Rhaenyra’s only duty. Who was it that had convinced her father they must build permanent keeps on the Stepstones and man them to turn the isles into a true possession of the crown, and that the only person they could trust to do it was her husband, even though it had left her eyes shadowed with worry? It was not Alicent’s only duty, to attend to this body. For Rhaenyra had asked her honest advice on the matter, if she must send Daemon, if it was best for the realm, if that was her duty, and Alicent had said yes, even though she herself, oddly, was hesitant to see him depart.
Daemon strokes Rhaenyra’s belly with the backs of two fingers and then cups it possessively. “We have to keep her happy, hm? For the babe.”
“Funny, I did not know that was included in the maester’s advice,” Alicent says, and there is that eerie echoed laughter again.
“What do they know?” Rhaenyra says. “I know. I need it.”
“I don’t have a cock, Rhaenyra,” Alicent says, a strange flutter in her stomach. To her surprise, this was how Daemon always framed it. He gave Rhaenyra his cock to keep her lovely cunt happy, satisfying its imperious demand to be constantly filled. But it made him happy enough. Alicent had watched his face go stupid with pleasure enough times as she worked at Rhaenyra’s clit until she clenched tight around him and he came with even stupider sounds, stupider words about how his cock could feel how happy her little cunt was.
“Not yet,” Daemon smirks. “They make them in the Free Cities, you know. Of ivory, of bone. We’ll have to get you one, but there wasn’t enough time this time. But luckily—” and from where he’s stretched out along Rhaenyra’s side Daemon reaches out and grabs Alicent by the wrist (“Yes, very good,” when she instinctively curls her hand into a fist) “—we have everything we need right here.” He smooths his thumb across Alicent’s knuckles.
Alicent swallows. She looks at the pink line of Rhaenyra’s closed cunt, primly shut over the little hole there. It always looked wrecked after Daemon had it, the lips battered, swollen a dark-red. Yet it hid its capacity for obscenity, appearing sweet, shy. Each time seemed incapable of opening enough for Daemon’s cock, and each time it did.
“Really?” Alicent says incredulously.
“Yes,” Rhaenyra declares, sitting up on her elbows. “In the pleasure house, I saw—”
“Pleasure house?”
“Daemon took me to Flea Bottom—dressed me as a boy and snuck me out through a hidden passage—”
“There goes your plan of tricking her by telling her you just all of a sudden got the desperate urge to nurse leperous orphans one night—”
“—oh, she never would have fallen for that, would you, Alicent?”
Alicent probably would have fallen for that.
“You saw…?”
Rhaenyra grins. “See, we’ll have to get her to go honestly or not at all. Willingly.”
“Come on, don't keep her waiting,” Daemon chides. “Tell her what she’s going to do to you.”
“I saw a woman put her entire fist in another,” Rhaenyra says. She reaches out and takes Alicent’s hand from Daemon, presses a kiss to the knuckles. “And now you are going to put yours in me.”
“I don’t know…” she says nervously. Daemon’s cock is large, but her fist is certainly wider.
“I’m going to have to squeeze a baby out through there. I can take your fist,” Rhaenyra scoffs, in the same tone as when she said she could too climb to the top of the tree in the godswood, right before falling and breaking her wrist.
While Rhaenyra juts her chin out stubbornly, daring Alicent to say she can’t, and Alicent rolls her eyes, Daemon rises from the bed. He quickly returns with a vial of oil which he tosses down onto the mattress.
“She can,” he affirms. “I’ll walk you through it. First we’re going to have to make her come a few times, get her nice and relaxed for you.”
He puts his thumb to Rhaenyra’s mouth and she sucks it wet, and then he puts it to her clit and moves it in tight circles until it peaks out of its hood with the same false maidenly modesty as the slit that appears when she widens her legs enough so Alicent can shuffle between them.
“You’ll have to manage all of her while I’m gone. But to start, let’s switch places. Go on. Put your mouth on her cunt.”
Mouths and hands, hands and mouths. Daemon’s hand, making Rhaenyra sigh, making her hole wink open and closed in eagerness, pearling with dew.
It’s new, to put her mouth to Rhaenyra without a goal, without her clit to focus on. It feels—indulgent. She runs her tongue over the outside. The salt of her on every part of her tongue, flooding her mouth—it’s almost not new, because she’d been able to smell it on Rhaenyra’s wedding night, all the way from where they knelt facing each other, strong enough to taste on the air as it wafted out of her with each squelch of Daemon’s cock driving home.
Inside. She doesn’t even have to think about it. This is what Rhaenyra wants, to be filled, and Alicent’s tongue is there to fill her.
She can feel how happy Rhaenyra’s little cunt is as it seizes up around her tongue under the merciless pressure of Daemon’s hand.
Then a finger. Rhaenyra is warm and wet around her but it doesn’t cause Alicent to emit any of those stupid sounds that Daemon makes when it’s on his cock. She is a hand, to serve her princess. Her walls are a snug velvet band around first one finger, then two. The pressure as Rhaenyra comes a second time on three of her fingers is immense: forcing them out like their presence is unbearable, holding them in like they’ll never be allowed to leave.
Daemon gently slides Alicent’s fingers out of Rhaenyra’s spasming cunt. She has no idea how much time has passed. Her fingers gleam with Rhaenyra’s wetness—she’s so, so wet, it smears her thighs, drips onto the sheets—but he makes them wetter; tenderly slicks her numb fingers with oil, then her palm, down to her wrist, pushes oil into Rhaenyra’s blooming cunt: a complex changeable specimen, from a sweet little tight bud to an unfurling blood-red hothouse flower, with its trembling, glistening petals opening wide.
It is his turn to stroke Rhaenyra’s sweaty hair back from her forehead and murmur praise and bestow kisses on her shining cheeks in between coaxing Alicent: four fingers and now, the thumb, how to tuck it under, how to slide it in—there, arch your back a little, that's it—there will be a moment where it seems impossible, where you think you won't possibly be able to bear it—it’s not pain exactly, it's beyond pain, or it's pain you crave which isn't exactly pain anymore, and she spares a moment to wonder how he knows this but then—“Oh, oh, gods”—she’s saying, she, Alicent, because Rhaenyra can't say anything—“how is she, I'm not, is she alright”;“she's wonderful, she's perfect, her tears are so pretty and they taste even better”—it’s in, and it’s insane, there shouldn't be that much room in a person—
Her own thighs are wet and she only realizes it when Daemon comes around to stand behind where she kneels at the foot of the bed and flips up her gown so her own cunt is bared to his sight. She feels his fingers rubbing at the damp flesh just north of her knees and jumps, rocking her fist in Rhaenyra, rocking Rhaenyra’s whole body with it and it's like Rhaenyra is the puppet, one of those whose mouth is manipulated by a human hand, because she starts talking.
“He won't, he won't, it’s mine, your cunt is m-mine.”
“It’s true,” Daemon says. “I've been given strict orders. I won't go in, I promise, but doesn't good little Lady Hightower deserve something nice for filling you up so well? She's aching, poor thing, you're treating her cock so nice.”
Alicent moans, shakes her head. No, no. It was just a hand. Just a duty. She rests her head against Rhaenyra’s knee but her hand doesn't stop moving in the little spasms that are the only movement she can make, sickly compelled by how there's no room, there's no room for more, she is pushing at the very limits of this girl whose wants are without limit.
Rhaenyra claws at her hair, “Oh, yes, Alicent, will you let me, will you let him make you feel as good as you're making me feel—”
But she's already widening her legs around Daemon’s leg, sitting back on him and rocking, rocking, against him, drenching his thigh so firm and tight against her, rocking up into Rhaenyra, as he strokes Alicent’s stinging scalp and says, “That’s it, just rub yourself off against my leg, that’s a good girl, but you need to show me you can do it, that you can keep our girl content,” and he pushes her head towards Rhaenyra and then Alicent has all of her: cunt around her fist, clit sucked onto her tongue, and it’s a miracle, there shouldn’t be that much room in a person, to take all of you, and howl.