Ser Balon Swann knocked on the door to the king's bedchamber.
"Lady Tyrell, my king."
"Let her in," the king called back.
The door was opened and Margaery Tyrell entered. She wore a sleeveless light blue summer gown. A small golden belt was around her waist. A bronze flower pattern traced along the upper-half of the gown. Her breasts were pushed up and held firmly in place.
Margaery was surprised to see King Joffrey sitting with a crossbow in his lap. He seemed to be cleaning it or adjusting it.
"You wanted to see me, Your Grace?" she asked, standing in the centre of the bedchamber.
"I'm leaving on a hunting trip," Joffrey replied. "I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed before I left."
"That's very thoughtful, Your Grace. I have everything I could ever want.
"Good, good. How are you finding life in the capital? It must be quite a chance after Renly's camp."
Margaery moved closer to Joffrey, who was seated with a crossbow in his lap. "A very welcome one. A military encampment is no place for a lady."
"And the bedside of a traitor? Is that a place for a lady?"
Margaery was taken aback by the change in tone of the king's voice. Just moments ago it had been pleasant and conversational, now it was suspicious and threatening. I had better tread lightly around him.
"Your Grace, I... I tried to do my duty as a wife. That is all."
"What was your duty to this traitor, as you saw?"
"The duty of any wife to any husband. To provide him with children."
Joffrey stared at her before saying flatly, "you failed to do this. Why?"
What does he expect me to say?
"I... I would not speak ill of the dead, Your Grace."
"You think one ought to speak kindly of a traitor because he's had a sword put through his heart?" The king was becoming more and more aggressive and threatening. I have to change that, and quickly.
"No," Margaery answered quickly. "I do beg your pardon. The subtleties of politics are often lost on me." He seemed to believe her, the fool. "Renly... I don't believe he was interested in the company of women."
The king was more subdued now. He was taken in by the story, it seemed. "What makes you say this?"
Margaery took a seat on the wooden-framed sofa-bed next to Joffrey. "Whenever I wanted to make a child with him, he had so many excuses, so many late-night war councils. He never wanted to try. Except..."
Margaery looked away, feigning hesitation. "...One evening, after he'd had far too much wine to drink, he suggested something..." Let him use his imagination. However little of one he might have.
The king said nothing, only stared at her, so she continued.
"...Something that sounded very painful and couldn't possibly result in children."
Understanding dawned on the king's face. He looked away, comprehending this.
"Or maybe the fault was with me," Margaery said, "maybe I..."
"No," Joffrey reassured her. "He was a known... degenerate."
So that's how he thinks of them. I should have expected nothing less.
Margaery placed a hand on the king's arm in relief. "It's so good to hear you say so, Your Grace."
Joffrey avoided eye-contact. "I've considered making his... perversion... punishable by death."
Death. Loras would laugh if she told him that. Sansa Stark was right, he really is a monster.
"As is your right," Margaery said carefully after a silence. "You must do whatever you need to do. You are the king."
Margaery slowly slid one of her hands across Joffrey's leg. He looked up at her in surprise.
"Y-yes," he said. "I am."
Margaery traced her hand gently down his thigh and towards his crotch. The king looked down and saw this. What will he do now? I've often wondered.
He seemed flustered, and at a loss for words. Eventually he asked, "do you like it?"
"Do I like what, Your Grace?" she asked innocently, her hand still at his crotch.
"My crossbow. I just had it made. Probably one of the finest weapons in the Seven Kingdoms."
It takes a special kind of man to want to rather talk about a weapon than his cock, especially when a girl's hand was on it. What goes through his mind?
"It's beautiful," she praised. "But I had something else in mind that we could do."
Joffrey looked up at her, a mix of suspicion and curiosity in his eyes.
"What is it, then?" he demanded when she said nothing.
"Let me show you. I know you'll enjoy it."
Margaery put her hand in the king's breaches, and fumbled around. The look on Joffrey's face was worth more than any golden dragon.
"W-what are you doing?" Despite his shock, the king made no move to take her hand away.
"Just a little something I had in mind. Please, Your Grace, just sit back and relax."
Joffrey hesitated for a few seconds before placing his prized crossbow gently on the floor and stretching back on the sofa-bed.
Margaery took a hold of his soft but ever-hardening cock and drew it out of his breaches. At least this king grows hard for me. When Margaery thought back to what happened in Renly's pavilion all those nights ago, she still remembered what it felt like when the king took her maidenhood. Of course, my brother had to help him get started, but Renly Baratheon got the job done eventually. Whether he loved men only or not, she knew that he probably took a little bit of pleasure in fucking her.
Margaery leant over and spat into her hand before rubbing all over Joffrey's cock. He was nice and moist now, so his cock would glide easier in her hand. It was hard by the time she was done rubbing the spit in. She looked into the king's face. He had his eyes closed and his head resting against a pillow.
He'll spill his seed quite quickly, Margaery thought. No doubt he hadn't been with a woman before in any capacity.
The king's moist cock squelching as she pumped up and down, slowly at first, but with much more speed and energy soon. She knew how to do it in a way men liked. Though Renly had been the one to take her maidenhead, she had given favours to other men before. She remembered a squire, a seventeen year old boy named Roland, who was staying at Highgarden. Margaery was only thirteen herself when she first saw the boy, and was beginning to feel curious about things. One day she approached the squire and told him she had something to show him behind one of the castle courtyards. When they were alone she pressed up against him and shoved her hand down into his breaches. Though surprised, Roland didn't make any move to stop her. She drew his cock out and began stroking it and licking it. The squire found this equal parts amusing and pleasurable. When he spilled his seed all over Margaery's hand and face, she sat herself up on a flowerbed and commanded him to pleasure her now. Dutifully, and with a smile, he raised her skirts and used his tongue in a way Margaery still fantasised about. They did this several times, over a period of a few weeks, until Roland left Highgarden with the knight he was squiring for and never returned. Margaery often wondered what happened to him.
By this point Joffrey was breathing heavier, and she sensed that he was about to finish. Margaery stroked and pumped as hard and fast as she could now, so hard that she was worried the king would not be pleased. She was wrong, as evident by when a very large amount of the king's seed spurted out of his cock and all over her hand. Some even went as far as her face. It felt warm as it dripped down her cheek and fingers.
The king finally opened his eyes and saw Margaery's condition. He fumbled for words. "My lady, I'm... sorry about the mess." His tone was oddly apologetic. She had not known many men to apologise after covering her in their seed.
Margaery only smiled and took her hand off Joffrey's cock. She raised it to her mouth and licked all of it up. It tasted salty, but she didn't mind it. She'd had far more in her mouth before, and not all of it willingly. Margaery then leant over even more and licked off the remaining drops off the top of Joffrey's long and hard cock. The king gasped gently as he felt her tongue.
When she sat back up she looked into the king's face with as sweet a smile as any girl with seed dripping down her cheek could and asked, "so, did Your Grace enjoy my idea?"
Joffrey sat up against the back of the sofa-bed, his breathing now returning to normal. "Y-yes, I did my lady."
Margaery stood up and began moving towards the door when her wrist was caught by the king's hand. She turned to face him. "Your Grace?"
As if by complete random, the king's behaviour and mood had changed again. In a much more low and commanding tone, he told her, "we'll do this again. And next time, we'll do it how I want. I promise you, you'll have much more of my seed on and in you soon. Remember that."
Margaery stared at the king, deciding how to answer him. She was going to say something submissive and accepting when she couldn't help but say, "you look quite amusing with your ever-so big cock sticking out, Your Grace."
At that she wrenched free of the king's grasp and walked out the door.
She remembered just too late that she still had some of Joffrey's seed trickling down her cheek. Ser Balon did not fail to notice this. He stared at her face with apprehension and surprise. Margaery looked at him and said sweetly, "I don't suppose you have something I could clean this off with do you? The king got... quite excited."