The penitence of the wolf - Dornish nights are the best. (Patreon)

Aerys Targaryen, Sunspear – Dorne.

Blessed be Dorne, the monarch thought to himself, as he watched Myriah stand up and walk toward the door of his chambers.

“Let no one disturb us, the king and I will be indisposed until tomorrow,” she ordered with that characteristic firmness of Dornish women, that edge he had also seen in the young Elia from time to time.

“Yes, princess,” said the guards, as they averted their gaze and closed the door.

Immediately after, the Dornish princess turned around, looking at him as if Aerys were a delicious prey that had fallen into her nest, at the same time she took the serpent brooch on her chest, causing the beautiful and revealing dress to open completely, leaving part of her breasts and all of her womanhood fully exposed.

Her body was… simply perfection, but different from Rhaella, his queen was ethereal, a dragoness who embraced her sexuality and her lust more and more.

But Myriah, the Dornishwoman was lust incarnate, walking sin, and by the Gods Aerys desired her, his blood roared with need before that exquisite body that was displayed before him.

Her breasts were prominent and her nipples brown and large, without a doubt a result of her motherhood, but the years had been kind to the princess, who had preserved a figure that was impeccable.

Her womanhood was completely shaved, and her beautiful skin, oiled and perfumed, it was more than evident that this was the result Myriah had desired from the very beginning.

The smile of superiority on her face was one that Aerys would take immense pleasure in removing from her face.

With complete naturalness, Myriah made her dress slide off her shoulders, remaining completely naked before Aerys’ hungry gaze, however, the king made no move to stand up, this dance after all, was still a battle, one of will, of seeing who would break first.

And by the Old Gods and the Valyrians, that he would not be the loser in this encounter.

His lack of reaction had an interesting result, Myriah did not look annoyed or offended, quite the opposite.

“Oh I knew perfectly well that I was not wrong about you, Aerys,” said Myriah as she sat on the king’s lap, with skill, she removed the ribbon from her hair, leaving her beautiful black mane completely free, her eyes looking at the monarch with a mischievous smile on her face.

“A man who does not control his impulses is destined to be a slave to them,” said the king solemnly, making Myriah look at him with even more respect in her gaze.

“What deep words, Aerys the wise,” said the Dornishwoman, before beginning to unfasten the monarch’s tunic, her desire more than evident.

“However, Rhaella has boasted to me for moons about how delicious and monstrous the dragon’s cock is, she was extremely detailed, summarizing for me with explicit detail everything you did to her, the delicious burn of your virility as you entered her, the speed with which she grew wet and the hard thrusts that preceded your seed flooding her womanhood… or my dear friend has been torturing me for ages” said Princess Myriah with accumulated frustration, but smiling, pleased with the direction of the night.

Aerys only looked at her, smiling, and responded, his hands slid with softness and provocation along Myriah’s sides, exploring her with patience, discovering her weak points, which touches displeased her and which produced more pleasure.

Rhaella enjoyed rough and possessive caresses, his queen enjoyed when Aerys marked her skin and she did the same in return, his dragoness would usually bite the king’s body when he took her, a way of leaving her mark on him, she had once told him.

All his women enjoyed different things and responded differently to certain actions, a small detail that pathetic and weak Lords seemed to forget, listening to how their Ladies faked moans and pleasure and feeling like the greatest studs in the world.

Aerys scoffed internally, pleasure could not be hidden, you could not hide the moisture and womanly heat, the subtle way in which they cling to your back or arch their own, or that reflex of wrapping their legs around your torso.

But truly, the rest of the pathetic Lords did not matter to him, he had more important matters, like breaking and completely taming the daring Myriah Martell.

“OHHHH” she moaned in surprise, only to shiver a second later as she felt how Aerys’ skilled fingers caressed the inner part of her hip, right on the edge where her groin began, just as he made small movements on his lap while the warm pads of his fingers brushed against her now hardened nipples.

Two points of attack, thought the monarch, because even in this intimate moment of pleasure, he was fighting, negotiating and conquering.

The monarch’s lips focused entirely on Myriah’s neck, giving sensual and deep kisses along her pulse, drawing surprised and pleasurable sighs, at the same time that his hand began to massage her nipples with the necessary pressure and strength.

The objective was simple, to break the Dornishwoman’s barriers, to force her to submit, to beg, to be the first to react.

This dance, like everything in life, was a competition, one that Aerys would not lose.

Myriah let out a guttural moan, followed by a shiver as she felt how Aerys’ hand was replaced by his lips, slowly and provocatively sucking on her breasts.

“OH Gods!” she expressed in a muffled way, while unconsciously beginning to grind against the king’s lap, even if she made a superhuman effort to avoid it.

However, the struggle would not be so simple, Myriah was Dornish and therefore had more than enough experience in the carnal arts.

“OHHH GODS!!” the king moaned, shuddering as he felt Myriah’s response, who looked at him with absolute superiority, and after what she did, she had every right to do so.

Myriah had trapped the head of his virility within her core, and with mastery, had used her internal muscles to give him a massage that was making the monarch see all his ancestors.

Immediately after, Myriah licked his neck slowly and provocatively.

“Do you like it? It is an ancient Rhoynar pleasure technique, our women turned lovemaking into the most pleasurable of arts, one hundred and twenty-three techniques to take your man to heaven, this is number seven and I studied each and every one of them in depth,” said temptation made woman with a mischievous smile.

The dragon king’s gaze clouded completely, eager to try each and every one of them, but not yet, he would not let the mischievous Dornishwoman win.

He would break Myriah Martell, even if it took him the entire night, and he was precisely in the perfect position to achieve it.

The monarch stood up, his hand on the princess’s beautiful and ample backside, as he carried her with ease toward one of the walls and in the process adjusted the angle to assault that sweet place inside the princess that would end up breaking her.

The monarch adjusted the angle and aimed at the upper part of Myriah’s core, caressing that rough spot that drove every single one of his women mad.

And apparently, Myriah would not be the exception.

“AHHGGH” she moaned in surprise, before biting her lips to stifle the immense pleasure she felt, however, the monarch did not yield, he continued the assault with agonizing slowness, enough to make the princess shudder, but not enough to reach ecstasy.

The action was torture for both, Aerys wanted to sheath himself inside her in a single thrust, take her for hours and make her scream his name while he poured his seed inside her and the monarch was sure that the princess desired the same.

Myriah moaned and trembled, clinging with all her strength to the monarch, scratching his back with evident desire each time Aerys caressed that delicious spot inside her.

“You are… very good at this,” the princess whispered in his ear, only to moan even louder at an especially strong thrust inside her, scouring her interior.

“You know what you have to do if you wish me to take you as you deserve to be taken,” said the king with a mocking smile, although he himself was on the verge of losing control, the scent the princess emitted was simply intoxicating and overwhelming.

However, for the monarch’s luck, Aerys was used to taming his women regularly, while Myriah had not taken a lover in a long time.

The princess reached her breaking point and, completely undone, she yielded.

“Fuck me,” she whispered into the king’s ear, completely defeated, her eyes crazed with need and overwhelming desire, her hips no longer playful, but filled with a sick need to be taken, grinding without any technique, only pure lust.

However, Aerys would not yield so easily, he had to discipline his new woman, after all.

“I did not hear what you said,” he said, provoking Myriah as he caressed her interior again and now using his free hand to massage the small but sensitive nub nestled between her legs.

And the proud Myriah Martell bent, yielded and broke under the relentless assault of the dragon king.

The princess’s nails clutched Aerys’ back and with pleading eyes, trembling body and more lust than will, she responded.

Humiliating herself for the monarch’s pleasure.

“Fuck me, make me yours! Claim your Dornish bitch and… AHHHG—!” the princess screamed the moment the monarch’s enormous virility sheathed inside her in a single thrust, an act enough to break the dam and make pleasure flood Myriah.

And in the process…

“AHHHHGH!” she screamed, completely lost in pleasure and trembling, while love juice gushed from her interior, soaking the monarch’s virility and making a mess on the floor.

Aerys looked at her with a sick lust, and with a predatory gaze, licked Myriah’s neck, biting and marking her as his, before whispering into her ear.

“We are only beginning,” the king promised, enjoying the shiver in the Dornish princess.

“Shut up and breed me,” said the breathless princess.

And Aerys granted it, the rest of the night, the guards could only listen uncomfortably as the screams, pleas and moans of their beloved princess filled the tower of Sunspear.

Without knowing that, their passionate and delicious act was being watched by a beautiful and lustful queen hundreds of miles away.

Rhaella Targaryen, Tower of Visenya – Dragonstone.

Rhaella opened her eyes again, inhaling deeply to compose herself after what she had just seen.

Her beloved husband was enjoying himself with her old friend, and apparently they would have a long and pleasurable night.

Oh, how Rhaella wished she could be there and help Aerys tame and break Myriah, her friend had always been too arrogant for her liking, nothing like making her addicted to the dragon’s cock to humble her.

But those thoughts were for later, Dalla was waiting for her in her chambers, apparently with a mysterious message from Seaguard.

Rhaella was no expert, but it was evident that Lord Mallister was sending a report about the war, so with calm and her characteristic elegance, she left her arcane study and returned to her chambers, where her loyal pet awaited her.

“Your Grace, you have a message from—”

Rhaella interrupted her calmly and politely.

“From Seaguard, show it to me, my dear,” said the queen in a calm tone of voice, making Dalla nod and hand over the sealed envelope, looking at the queen with veiled desire.

Rhaella looked at her with amusement, enjoying how little Dalla rubbed her legs together, her breasts had grown and her waist had become slimmer.

A woman fully formed, she thought with pride.

“Dear Dalla, go fetch Yrma and Genna, your queen and Mistress requires them, all three of you, tonight, make sure you prepare properly,” she ordered, watching with amusement how the young servant’s face lit up and with a radiant smile she responded.

“As you command, Your Grace!” she said, bowing before Rhaella and leaving the room to carry out her orders.

Rhaella watched her, shaking her head, and calmly opened Lord Mallister’s letter, reading its contents over and over again, recognizing an opportunity when she saw one.

Lord Harlaw and his sister reaffirmed their loyalty to the Iron Throne and had sent a young sailor to Seaguard with important information, in exchange for mercy in the impending massacre.

A smart decision, in Rhaella’s opinion.

Lord Harlaw informed that Balon Greyjoy would attack three ports at once, intending to carry out massive raids before abandoning the islands completely and fleeing with all the treasures to Essos, beyond the relentless sight of the dragon king.

The Ironborn would attack Lannisport, Seaguard and Oldtown.

At the same time…

A feat that in her opinion was simply foolish, especially now with the entire realm on alert after the death of Quellon Greyjoy.

This information was gold for several reasons, first of all, knowing where the enemy would strike was a significant advantage in war, normally the Crown would take care of informing Lord Hightower and Lord Lannister about the imminent attack.

But this time… Rhaella hesitated, for several reasons.

First of all, a strike on Lannisport would be a blow to Tywin, who, although a close ally of the Crown, was too powerful for her liking, while Oldtown was the seat of the damned grey rats and the Faith, both total enemies of House Targaryen.

An attack on Oldtown was a great opportunity, and if she used this information wisely, Aerys and she could deal with one of the main problems of House Targaryen.

And there lay the dilemma, would she inform her husband and the realm about the attack on the Lannister and Hightower lands? Or would she keep the information, informing with little time to prepare and letting the Ironborn strike the coasts, a situation advantageous for House Targaryen political situation.

At the cost of innocent lives.

Decisions, decisions.

The choice was more than clear, she would not sacrifice innocent lives, not while she had the means to avoid it, Seaguard had received the warning and would have time to prepare, so Lord Mallister would be ready for the assault, something that Lannisport and Oldtown would not have.

With determination, the queen opened the chamber doors, coming face to face with the warm gaze of Ser Barristan, who inclined his head and prepared to follow her.

“Your Grace,” said the knight, making her smile.

“Ser, I need you to prepare yourself, tomorrow we depart,” ordered the queen, as she began walking toward the tower where the nest of her beloved falcon was, Ser Barristan walking behind her.

“Where are we going, Your Grace?” the man asked, and Rhaella responded with determination.

“To Lannisport, I hope you like flying,” she said with amusement, laughing as she saw the look of absolute terror on his face.

Rhaella shook her head, she had to send a message to her husband, Aerys and Rhaegal would have to support Oldtown, while Aenarax and she would support Lannisport.

The Greyjoys wanted to play with fire, Rhaella would make sure it was the last thing they ever did.

She was a Dragon Lady, after all.