GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag

The door clacked open and Margaery walked in with her usual smile, her thin lips pursed together. In her hand was a jar of wine, of all things.

Not subtle at all. Robert noticed her attire—a thin, sleeveless teal-colored gown, her neckline as wide as her narrow shoulders, her pristine skin in open display to the King. She sauntered, seductively, if a man knew what to look at. Her frame was shorter than Sansa's, reaching barely Robert's chest.

To Robert's own surprise, he didn't notice any sign of her being intimidated by his large frame. Slender, beautiful, alluring, and so delicate—like a flower. Robert felt like he could toss her across a jousting field with his current might. But when he looked down, he sighed inwardly since he knew what was to come.

"You didn't have to bring the wine, Lady Margaery. It's beneath you." Robert approached her and took the jar from her hand. "Leave such tasks to the servants."

Margaery continued to linger in the King's bedchamber and looked around at the various paintings on the wall. "Oh, Your Grace, the feast was far too crowded for such intimate conversation. I was hoping for a moment alone with you, to speak in private, just the two of us."

Robert nodded and gestured for her to take a seat at the table by the large window. He followed behind her swaying, perky hips. On the way, noticing himself in the mirror yet again. He gave himself a nod as if reaffirming his decision.

"I've longed for a moment alone with you, my King. Sadly, previously you had to rush to the North." Margaery rose as Robert took his seat, her movements graceful, almost deliberate. She poured him a glass of wine, her eyes lingering on him as she did so. "In our last conversation, I was… uncertain, and now, I see the folly in that. As your wife, I belong to you—heart, mind, and body. I stand before you now, to offer all of myself, to be your unwavering support. You may place your trust in me, because I will be with you in every storm, through every trial."

Robert silently heard her talk and drank some wine to digest her words. But when she placed her small hand over his shoulder, he intently looked at her face. He was a man who knew what beauty was, and there was no doubt Margaery was one of the finest the realm had to offer. But she was almost Sansa's age, and that…

It doesn't matter anymore. He reminded himself of his decision.

Margaery continued to softly stroke her fingers over his muscled shoulder. "I know we're not alike, my King. Our years, our status, even our thoughts, our bodies—they differ. I won't pretend otherwise. As a young girl, I too dreamed of a prince upon a white steed, pale as snow and lean. But now, when I look at you, I see far more than any dream could offer. You are far greater than what any prince could hope to imitate."

Thud!

Robert slammed his empty goblet of wine on the table and pushed his chair back, standing up to his full height. He turned towards Margaery, the distance between their bodies non-existent. He looked down at her tender frame, meeting her brown, passion-filled eyes. He saw resolution in her, yet he noticed a hidden hint of hesitation.

I need the Tyrells as much as they need me.

"Speak plainly, Margaery. What do you want?"

Margaery gulped and raised her chin higher. "I want to be yours, Your Grace. Like a woman is to her lover… on this table, upon the chair, against the cold stone of the wall, or even upon your Iron Throne itself… I want to bear you heirs."

Robert nodded, his steely gaze unmoving. "Lovers, you say? There's no love here, just flesh chasing flesh. And still, you want me, between your legs, as if it means more?"

Purposefully, Robert descended the conversation into a more vulgar nature. He wanted to see her resolve, he wanted to break her before he began to do things with her body.

"I do, Your Grace." Margaery firmly replied and took three steps back.

Robert crossed his arms, their size behemoth. "It will be painful."

"Your Grace, I'll endure it gladly, taking your love into my heart until it blossoms into nothing but joy."

Robert chuckled. "Take me as you please and make me your willing whore. Is that what you mean?"

"If…"

Margaery tried to keep a confident gaze while her hands moved to her shoulders. Her delicate fingers opened up the ornaments connecting them. Her gown fell freely off her shoulders, caressing over her naked, unblemished skin, and finally sliding off her slender legs. They pooled on the floor, leaving her pristine body bare as the day she was born.

She stood there in front of him, looking confident in her naked form. Her waist was tenderly slender, her curves defined what a gallant lover would fight for. Her small breasts were a pair of gentle clouds that would cradle any man's restless head as they dreamed of opulence and played with her silky hair. Her plump bottom, a work of art of its own, creamy and soft, perfect for a man's wide, wild palm. And that smile, charming of course; a mix between playfully charming and dangerously seductive.

"If that is what you desire, I will be your willing woman… in all the ways you want."

She stood there looking up at him, her gaze never leaving his eyes. The young little flower was challenging the giant, unknowing of how he could step on it; plundering, and battering it to submission.

Robert silently gazed at Margaery's lithe frame. Any lord, or any man in the realm would have pounced on the woman if given a chance like this. But he stood in his place, arms still crossed. He had seen enough naked women to not act like a fiend.

But he had to agree. She didn't have large breasts or birthing hips, yet she had a savory, delightful beauty that one couldn't help but admire. The hourglass figure, her confident eyes, her lips, they all told a story.

Furthermore, noticing not a single speck of hair on the hidden flower between those legs made it clear that she planned this from the beginning.

"It will hurt a lot," Robert warned her once again. "There is no love between us, Margaery. If you continue, I won't hold myself back—I will do you like I do my whores. If you quit then…"

"I won't, Your Grace."

Margaery strolled closer to Robert, naked in all sense, barefoot. Her beautiful, pale skin was the peak of feminine beauty, with a few adorable moles here and there, she was as untouched as the most delicate treasure. She stood closer in front of Robert and pressed her palm on his chest, feeling his muscles. She slowly crouched to her knees, tracing her hand down over his belly. Eventually, she stood fully on her knees and tugged at his breeches.

She opened them and with a plop, his hard, almost fully erect, veiny cock swung free and patted her forehead. The large phallus, dotted with some hairs, was more than she had ever seen before. Her eyes slightly widened by the giant's rod, its length was as big as the range of her face, if not bigger. Due to his height, she still found his cock at her forehead level instead of her mouth.

Carefully, gulping, she grabbed his girth around the base. Her fingers weren't even close to wrapping him whole. She almost wondered if her lips could accommodate the King's cock.

Yet, Margaery gave Robert another confident look and finally guided his throbbing, hot shaft towards her lips.

"I belong to you… All of me is yours… All… Umm…"

She struggled to suck him past the first inch, having to stretch her dry lips open with his cock's girth itself. Her tongue slathered his swollen head with spit, trying hard to let the beast glide into her mouth as she relaxed her throat. Her plump lips stretched more and more, sliding over his sensitive skin.

Robert smirked a little, acting gentle with her. He didn't touch or aid her at all, standing with his arms folded still, watching her try her best to gobble up half his length. He could see fire in her eyes, a battle of dominance in her mind as if she was more experienced than the women in his life. But he knew better as he watched her, her little mouth sloppily sputtering out more saliva to help.

After a couple of sucks, she moved on to licking under his balls, smearing her face with his precum and her spit. She tried hard to satisfy him without subjecting her straining throat to the behemoth of a beast. Her hands fondled his balls as she licked every inch of his veiny cock.

"Are you done?" Robert questioned.

Margaery's heart froze for a moment. Gripping his shaft with both her hands, she looked up, brows creased. "W-What do yo…"

"Stand up and lie down on the table on your back. Let your head fall off the edge, I'll teach you how a whore glazes and suckles a cock."

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