Chapter 12 A Man's Work, Beset by Women (R-18)
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The door to my workroom slid open silently, and the sound of slippers softly padding across the marble got me to turn my head to see my sister-wife in a purple robe and nightgown. After a nod of acknowledgement I returned to my drafting table, and to the sheet of parchment upon it lined with painstaking precision detailing exactly my desire for another construction project. Just one of many I'd worked on this evening, the others about the room drying.
"The hours has come husband, to put away your quills and ink, and resume your duties to me." Helaena spoke, her voice low and husky, getting a rise out of me more surely than other women showing me their tits.
I can't the remember the last time a woman's voice did that to me. Eventually, they all started blurring together in my mind. Even Elia is hard to picture properly in my mind, hard not to wonder if I remember the woman, or some mix of the many different dusky beauties I've fucked.
"It waits until my work is finished." I informed her as I laid down another angle and label it to a call out in the key of the page.
"I never expected the days to come when you would treat me like my teats exist only to feed our young." I knew she pressed them together from the rustling of her silks on her skin.
You'd think a woman raised by our devout mother incapable of such open wanton need, but Helaena brought many pleasant surprises to our marriage. She always seemed genuinely smug whenever I weaponized some verse or chapter from the Seven Pointed Star, rather than mollified, and I liked the way she laughed when Dreamfyre almost killed Sunfyre trying to mate with him. Dumb beast almost got me another shot at Vermithor, if not for the older and much larger dragon realizing she was crushing him to death in the coiling, and letting him go unsatiated but alive.
What a woman, and what a dragon, we found ourselves bound to in marriage.
"Woman. If I kept you in the carnality to which you have become accustomed, then slums will surround our home and the inept with despoil our picturesque lands." I censured her without a gaze cast upon her titillating lustful display.
I wanted to cast that gaze, but I now dealt with my foes roundabout way of wearing me down: mass immigration. In a maneuver without precedent and full of vicious Dornish deceit; somehow, they learned of my aversion to the capital and enacted a plan to drive me mad. I have not held a Dornishman's life in my hands for over a year.
It makes no sense. How can Qoren Martell stand to live under the same blue sky as me? Have I not provoked him to the limits of my means without outright scorning my father's commands? For what I've done, Dornishmen should have come running over the border foaming at the mouths, raping and murdering all they can get their hands on, man, beast, plant, stone. Nothing and no one should be spared their 'wrath'; and yet, no Dornishmen come.
Not even when I sent Sunfyre hunting over the border, preying on sheep and cattle, and maybe a shepard or two. I've heard the tales, but know nothing of retaliation. I've heard it all, a golden dragon as big as a horse, as big as a house. Gold and pink, or gold and yellow. One dragon, two, even three or four. Leave it to the small folk to not keep the details straight. It's almost like they think I've more than just the one golden dragon, and despite it all, nor Dornishmen come.
When they refused to come by land, I took to the Summer Sea atop the Great Seabear II to hunt pirates, and even there I found none within range of my strikes. They fled to the Narrow Sea and further beyond. They ceded the sea to me without a fight. Not by land, not by sea, no Dornishmen come. My sword sheds no blood. They have retreated from me, turtled up tighter than a crab's anus.
Now I am hailed as the man who cowed Dorne, a hero, a peacemaker. For the first time in centuries, the marches know no predation. A conspiracy is a foot to deny me. My meaty body was hand sculpted by both devil and man for destruction, yet they would have me come to a horrible conclusion despite its obvious falseness:
I have no enemies.
They have left me to toil in my lands, thinking me a dumb brute unfit for peaceable rule, but the joke is on them, as I have built more than just my physique and sword skills, and am in fact an expert in development both urban and agrarian. From both mind and pen, I nightly plan the expansion of my realm, and my horde of menials go out each day and see it done without complaint, and gods bless them for it, for without them I stand alone against the human tide of migrants seeking to establish themselves under my banner.
Dragonsreach is a paradise. Black earth - a heaven for worms - supports all manner of trees and bush sporting fruit and berry, such that a man lost in the wilderness would know no hunger. The days never grow hot enough to scorch the greenery, and the nights not cold enough to don a fur. Winter has no hold here. Animals grow fat and healthy. The first fruits of our agriculture yielded like nothing I've ever seen before. Were not the stalks of wheat so vital, they'd bow to the ground under the weight of their bounteous heads. It is a land of plenty, and unto those who have more shall be given.
While clearing land for organized farming communities, we discovered gold and emeralds. Overnight I went from Reach rich to Westerlands rich, and every second, third, and fourth son in the Reach, Stormlands, Crownlands, and Westerlands came running. They came running for the opportunity to establish themselves in a land so bounteous even a halfwit would have to spite himself to not succeed in.
Knights came ready to swear service to me and shed blood for the right to raise up a holdfast or enter my household. Farmers begged to rent land from me. Miners guilds lobbied to be the men who break ground for me. All manner of folk came by wagon, by sea, by foot all seekers of their own fortune, yet no Dornishmen come.
Only I stand between this wave of these unworthies and the despoiling of my paradise with their over eager inept hands. That is what I stand against, woman, as you tempt me with your lush tracts of silky delight. If I leave the unwashed, uneducated, untalented masses to their own devices, they'll raise up hovels and shacks of any material they find lying around. Disorder and chaos will reign supreme, and everything outside of our home will be ugly.
I refuse.
Even now at this late hour, when only the stars, the moon, and fire provide light, I slave away at my drafting table, completing plans, specifications, and details for yet another project needing my attention to prevent Dragonsreach from becoming the next Kingslanding. I refuse to succumb to squalor like my forebears. I'm better than them, not just in innate advantages, but in work ethic. Unlike Maegor who worked harder, and my father who works smarter, I work harder and smarter. I demand more of myself, and know that more still will be taken. Only through my own prudence and diligence will I ensure it is I doing the taking.
Suddenly, I suffered for my preference of chesterfield chairs, for upon my neck and shoulders came to rest two heavy, round, glorious tits. By the gods, how my cock strains for its home in that velvet valley of her bosom. My quill slowed as my brain blood drained south, and loose pants rose until their generous construction strained to restrain my rod.
"Don't mind me, husband." the temptress spoke softly with her jaw near my ear, chin flush with her cleavage, pressing into me gently with each word, "Continue your work."
My preference for pleated pants kept me from strangling to death during the final minutes of my linework, and after I set the sheet aside to dry I seized my sister like a python strike, bringing her into my lap, her tits hanging out of her robe, the ripest melons in my lands. Bringing our twins into the world did something special to Helaena. Her breasts swole up to twice their former size, but don't drop an inch when the clothes come off, with two large puffy pink caps that could steal a lesser man's soul with a glance.
Pushing her down between my legs, I seized hold of those pink tips in one hand and pulled down my pants with the other, freeing me to wrap those tits around my meat, entering the real land of milk and honey. My sister pressed on her jugs as I pulled her nipples before teasing the head of my cock with her lips and tongue.
Why couldn't my other sister be content with her proper place in life like this? I've worked through many late nights to catch up after her latest hissy fit brought me back to the capital during this mass migration crisis. She'd roused herself from Dragonstone and pulled her new brats fathered by our Uncle off her teats long enough to lodge a petition for the gold mined on my lands to go straight to the Royal Treasury despite our position as a vested branch House making me lord of a separate legal entity from the Royal House Targaryen.
My father eventually revealed himself as the based head of state he is, denying her attempt to rob a vassal in good standing of his rightful resource, but he had to let it drag on long enough to not insult his spoilt heiress. What a mess when I should have been home in my proper place, Lord of Titty City.
Helaena put her back and shoulders into it as my fingers grew slick with warm milk, and upon pleasing me rightly I lifted her back up and turned her around, fully stripping off her dress and robe, revealing her new aesthetic features. Bringing our twins into the world widened her already child bearing hips, and added round bouncy mass to her ass.
A man could spend all his days exploring those silky cheeks, and the treasures hidden within, and rightly declare his life well spent. I filled my hands with round ass and pressed the cheeks together before planting a kiss on each, then spread them and lifted my sister high enough to get that hairless princess pussy up and onto my cock. She slid down, her core well welcoming the impalement, and I knew I'd kick the shit out of anyone who ever declared incest a sin. They don't know the half of it.
Helaena put her hands on the drafting table and got to work, always focused on getting hers as often and hard as possible, bouncing those cheeks down on my hips with a clapping eager enough to give the dead a stiffy. The girl grew her thighs nicely performing work just like this, a physique made by fucking for fucking, the true perfect form for a woman.
My sister had a fire in her, a burning in her womb that could only be doused by my seed. Her heat and rhythm the work of a sexual virtuoso, and as I felt my impending release I latched onto her left nipple from behind, giving it a tweak that would hurt a man, and moved my other thumb over her lower back, while kissing the nape of her neck. A few repetitions of this sent her legs a shaking and she let out a primal 'wwwhooooooaaaa' from deep within her chest before she collapsed atop my spurting cock.
That noise right there is how you know, you own this woman.
She blinked her eyes rapidly to refocus as she came back down from cumming so hard, but eventually she managed to get her legs back under her steady enough to hobble off and let a man get back to work. It's like these women don't understand how important my time is. After wiping my rod down, I spread out another vellum sheet, took up my quill, and got back to the work of building the greatest city on earth.
I'm coming for you Qarth, and this time I'm going to steal something far more precious than the sorcerers from the house of the Undying. Queen of Cities. That title will be mine.
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