Then Myrcella's hands started to roam, bold and clearly unashamed. She cupped his ass in both palms, kneading the thick muscle before slipping one slender hand between his legs from behind. Her shorter reach was her advantage. She cradled his heavy balls from below, rolling them slowly, caressing his jewels like she was already thinking of how to drain them.
Sansa, taller by a whisper, didn't stay passive either. Her hand slid down, and without hesitation, she wrapped her fingers around his cock. Her eyes widened. Every time she touched him, it was as if she'd forgotten his size, as if she had to relearn the girth her fingers couldn't circle, the length that still made her wonder how it had fit inside her before.
Her grip stroked him from base to crown, each upward pull dragging a pulse of blood that made him swell heavier in her palm.
Myrcella whispered near his head. "Gods… so hard already. Just from us touching you."
She let a soft laugh roll against his back, her hand giving his balls an approving squeeze.
Sansa only moaned from his heat, the sound muffled against his chest but spilling out warm against his skin.
Robert wasn't disgusted. Not anymore. His eyes stayed on Sansa, on the pale curve of her throat, the way her lips parted as she breathed heavier. The sight was growing on him.
Without thinking, his hand came up, thick fingers settling heavy on Sansa's shoulder, pressing just enough to guide her down.
Sansa moved obediently, her white gown flowing around her like a spill of snow as she sank to her knees. She looked up at him once, a flash of something between fear and want in her eyes, and then she bent forward as if she already knew her place.
She didn't tease. She simply opened her mouth and took him in, wet, sudden. No licking, no slow stroke of her tongue, just the raw slide of her lips stretching around him.
Robert's breath came out in a low groan, the deep rumble of a man pleased. The clumsy eagerness of it made it better. He could feel Sansa's throat work as she struggled to take him deeper.
"Seven!" Robert barked out as something wet and warm startled him from behind.
He turned his head and saw her. Myrcella, already on her knees, her golden robe pooling around her hips, hands planted firmly on his muscled ass to spread him open.
Her tongue was there. Gods help him, it was there, dragging right down the cleft before plunging lower, licking past his crack and tracing the sweat-slick path to the base of his balls.
"W–What in the… Seven… hells… Myrcella!" he grunted, a mix of shock and unwilling pleasure rippling through him.
"Mmmmmh… Let me…" Myrcella murmured against his skin, muffled and dripping with hunger. She'd always been the strange one in their bedding, always pushing for something new, something filthier.
Robert felt the mess start to build. Warm spit running down, coating his skin in slick trails from the front and back.
Myrcella didn't care how indecent she looked with her mouth buried between his thighs; in fact, she thrived on it. She leaned in further, her tongue swirling under his balls before sucking one into her mouth, wet and greedy.
Sansa, as if unwilling to be outdone, tightened her grip on his cock and started sucking harder, her mouth gliding up and down his shaft with sloppy, unrefined plunges. She went down as far as she could, filling her straining mouth all the way to the back of her throat.
"Careful, girl—no teeth," Robert warned in a low growl, his hand resting heavy on her head.
It was chaos. Hot, messy, utterly shameless. His cock glistened with Sansa's spit, his balls drenched with Myrcella's, the heat of their mouths making his cock throb harder. Myrcella's tongue danced over the base of his shaft from below just as Sansa gagged around the head, her throat tightening in protest.
The stimulation was maddening. Myrcella's hands were relentless, and Sansa's mouth clung tighter. He could feel himself on the edge far too soon. It worked too well. A pulse of pleasure shot up his spine, his balls tight. He felt dangerously close to spilling, but he didn't want it to happen this way.
"Up. Both of you. Get rid of those gowns," he ordered.
Myrcella was first to move, springing to her feet and stepping in front of him. She licked her lips, eyes locking on his. "Tear it, Your Grace. I… I want to feel like I'm being claimed. Please… claim me, Your Grace."
Robert stared at her for a beat, trying to understand the thoughts in her head. Most girls wanted gentleness. But this one wanted to be taken like spoils after battle.
"And you, Sansa?" he asked, turning to the redhead.
Sansa dropped her eyes, cheeks flushed, and gave a small nod.
Robert stepped forward, gripping the gold-trimmed shoulder of Myrcella's gown in one massive hand.
Rip!
With a single wrench, the fabric split, tearing clean down the front until it fell into two halves. Her body was bare before him. Slender, graceful, her skin touched with a faint golden tan. Her breasts were perky, round but small, topped with tight cherry-pink tips that begged for a mouth. Her smooth mound glistened faintly, bare and ready.
Then it was Sansa's turn. He gripped the delicate white silk and tore it apart just as easily.
Rip!
The pale cloth fluttered to the floor, revealing skin so fair it almost glowed in the lamplight. Her nipples were a deeper red-pink, stiff with arousal, set on breasts fuller than Myrcella's but still youthful. Her hips already curved wide for her frame, and he knew they'd soon widen more.
This was supposed to be a duty. And yet… he liked what he saw. He found himself savoring the sight, enjoying it.
"Your Grace… Can I?" Myrcella asked, thighs already rubbing together to ease her own ache.
He gave her a short nod and dropped back onto the bed, lying flat on his back.
Myrcella climbed over him without hesitation, straddling his hips. Her fingers guided the head of his fat cock to her glistening pussy. She sank slowly, taking him in with a long, drawn-out moan.
After all those long nights, she was molded for him; no one else could have fit her so perfectly. Her lower lips splayed wide to take his girth, the walls hugging every ridge of his shaft.
"Mmmmm… I love this feeling," she breathed, her head falling back. She rolled her hips once and seated herself to the base, the fullness making her thighs quake. Every inch of him was buried, every nerve in her body screaming with pleasure.
"S–Sansa!" Myrcella gasped, still planted fully down on his cock, her belly full and taut from the stretch. "S–Sit on His Grace's face… he'll prepare you."
Sansa hesitated, brow furrowing for just a moment, but then she moved.
Robert didn't flinch or refuse. He'd eaten cunt before, more than he could count, and he wouldn't mind Sansa's. He was just… letting it sink in. The lack of shame, the fact that he wasn't pushing them away. The fact that he wanted them. He was slowly accepting all of it.
"Ohhhh… yes!" Myrcella moaned above him.
Schlik! Schlik!
She started riding him like a madwoman. Squatting low and bouncing hard, her tight hole clapping against the base of his cock. His thick shaft slid in and out of her stretched cunt with wicked, messy sounds, her juices spilling down his balls.
Meanwhile, the naive she-wolf obeyed. Sansa climbed over him and settled on his face. But not facing Myrcella, instead, she faced away. Her smooth, pale back arched as she lowered herself down. Her smooth thighs tightened around his head, soft and warm, until her pretty, pink slit pressed snugly against the coarse stubble of his cheeks.
She gasped as his lips brushed her core, the heat of his breath already making her clit twitch.
Robert's hands came up, locking around her waist. With a grunt, he pulled her down harder, forcing all her weight onto his mouth. His tongue pushed out, probing the sweet seam he'd already claimed once before. The taste and scent of her loins drowned him, and something in him roared awake.
Sansa squirmed, hips twitching against his mouth, the heat from her pussy blooming outward. Her nipples tightened to stiff little buds, her chest rising with every short gasp. Her toes curled against the bedding as his tongue flicked her clit and then dove between her petals, hot and greedy.
Robert closed his eyes and ate her up like a feast, lips and tongue working furiously.
Myrcella was losing herself completely. She was bouncing so wildly the bedframe rattled. The slap of her ass against him was sharp and wet, his fat cockhead battering the gates of her womb. Her tight hole was stretched, utterly gripping him, every ridge of his shaft gliding through her slick, abused walls.
Plap–schloop–plap!
She'd already leaked around him once, her pussy massaging and begging for his seed. And when it finally came, it came hard.
Robert only had a split second to grit his teeth before his cock erupted inside her. Hot, thick spurts of royal seed surged up into her, flooding her. The creamy warmth churned inside her, forcing out slick, messy squelches as she ground down to take it all.
"Ahhh—yesss—fill me, Your Grace… fill me," she wailed, eyes rolling back. She could feel it painting her womb, could almost see herself swelling with his seed. Her body spasmed uncontrollably, cunt gripping tighter around the still-pulsing cock.
When she finally slowed, Myrcella slumped forward, panting. Then, without hesitation, she slid off him and knelt between his legs.
Her eyes were glazed but hungry. She took his cum-slick cock into her mouth, licking and sucking every drop from his shaft, her tongue swirling at the flushed head before letting it pop free, glistening and ready for the next queen.
Above him, Sansa was trembling.
"Ooooh… f–forgive me… Your Grace!" she gasped, and then she came right on his face.
Her hips rolled helplessly, grinding down on his mouth as a hot gush of her juices spilled over his lips and chin. It coated his beard, dripping to his neck, her thighs shaking around his head as the spasms wracked her. Her little gasps turned into broken moans, her body clamping down on his tongue as if she never wanted the feeling to stop.
Robert gave her one last hard suck to draw it out of her before pulling back for air.
"Sansa… move and lie down," he ordered, his voice thick with lust.
She slid off him, dazed, and turned to see Myrcella already sprawled across the bed, her golden hair a wild halo, her inner thighs shimmering with his spill.
Half-lidded eyes, lips curled in satisfaction, Myrcella gave a slow, knowing grin. "Your Grace… Why not take her like you took my first? She'll love it."
Robert remembered that position well, and his eyes fell on Sansa.
Sansa's blush deepened, but she didn't shy away. She just nodded, her lips parting slightly, ready to take whatever her King would give.
"Very well. Get out of the bed for a moment."
He moved to the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the floor as he sat. Then he pulled Sansa to sit her smooth, curving ass on his lap. One big hand on her hip, the other guiding his thick cock to her slit.
The swollen cockhead breached her tight defences.
"Ah!" Sansa yelped, her voice cracking. The stretch was brutal. Too much, too sudden.
"Calm down… take it slow," Robert murmured, holding her steady as he eased her down inch by inch.
Sansa felt every vein, every bump dragging against her moist walls, prying her open wider. It stung, burned, and throbbed all at once. The thick intrusion forced her to breathe in short, panicked gasps. It felt like losing her maidenhead again, like something inside her was being torn and splayed around him.
She whimpered, looking down, and swore she saw it. The faint, moving bulge in her fair belly every time he pushed deeper. Her fingers drifted there instinctively, pressing against it, and she moaned, a low hum spilling from her lips.
"Mmmmhh… oooohhh… mmmhh…"
Slowly, impossibly, she took him all the way in.
Her pussy was wrecked, stretched to the point of aching, but in her mind, there was no question; he was her husband. The only man she would ever take. The only man who could fill her completely.
"Raise your legs, Sansa."
She blinked, unsure, but let him slip his arms beneath her thighs.
In one smooth motion, he hoisted them up, folding her back until her dainty feet dangled in front of her. Her knees pressed into her own swells, her spine bending against his chest, her ass bouncing on his lap as he started to thrust up.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
Her eyes went wide, shock flooding her face as the position made her joints ache in the most shameful way. And from here… she could see it. His fat cock stretching her pink pleasure hole open, sliding out slick and shiny before plunging back in to vanish inside her completely.
"MMm—ooooooooh! Gods!" she cried out, tears pooling in her eyes.
"Isn't it amazing, Sansa?" Myrcella's voice came from beside them. She crawled to Robert's side on the bed, already baring her perfect breasts, offering them like a gift.
Robert leaned over to take one into his mouth, lips closing around the stiff nipple as his tongue slid over it, sucking hard enough to make her gasp. All the while, his hips pumped relentlessly into Sansa, the wet squelches of her pussy loud and constant.
"Ah! Ah! Ahhhh~!" The redhead shuddered, then gasped out a long moan, her breath racing.
Sansa's climax slammed into her. Her pussy gripped hard around his cock, twitching and kneading as her thighs quivered against his arms. A strangled whimper escaped her throat, her head falling back against his chest as pleasure rippled through her, leaving her trembling.
Robert felt himself getting too close. But if he was going to breed her, he wanted to do it face-to-face.
"Move here, on the bed, Sansa," he ordered, moving her like a lovely puppet with severed strings, laying her flat on the bed.
He rose and stepped between her legs, his massive frame looming as he lowered himself over her. He hooked her knees up and over his shoulders, folding her tall, lithe frame nearly in half beneath his colossal body.
He drove into her hard. No mercy, no slow pace. His hips snapped forward again and again, each thrust sinking to the hilt, her soft cries filling the air. Her dainty body jolted underneath him with heat brutal thrust.
Sansa wasn't the full-bodied matron Catelyn had been, but she would grow into a woman shaped by childbearing. He could see it. He could make it happen.
"MMmmm!" Sansa moaned, her fingers curling into the bedding, watching her own legs dangle beside his head as he rutted into her.
"Fuck!" Robert snarled suddenly, remembering Myrcella. In this position, his backside was left wide open, and she took advantage.
Myrcella had moved behind him, her hands on his ass, her tongue stroking wetly over his rim. She pressed her face in, licking and circling against before sliding lower to fondle his balls.
Robert groaned but didn't slow. He was too close, the heat building fast, his cock swelling deep inside Sansa's clutching pussy.
"Sansa…" Robert's eyes locked onto her flushed face. "You… will… be treated… right—ugh!"
Perhaps it was his privilege, the privilege of a King. To fuck and breed a woman half his age, to split her open and fill her until her womb swelled. Perhaps it was destiny. But at that moment, there was no thought left in him.
His cock throbbed once, twice, then erupted inside Sansa's sore, reddened cunt, claiming his right to spill as her royal husband.
Sansa was mumbling nonsense beneath him, eyes glassy, lips parted in gasping little cries. The force of his bursting thrust drove her higher into the bedding. Each heavy pulse of his release pumped scorching white heat into her. It gushed inside her, stretching her not just with his girth but with the sheer volume of it, some spilling back around his cock to run down over her balls.
Behind him, Myrcella was flat on her belly, face between his thighs, tongue lapping at his balls and greedily catching whatever dripped free. She swallowed it like it was her due, her hands clutching his thighs to keep him spread.
Sansa's eyes went wide as the fullness truly hit her. She could feel it, impossibly deep in her belly. That warmth wasn't just in her womb; it was claiming it. Her body knew what it was for, her mind knew it too. And she… didn't mind.
"I-I love you… Your Grace," she mewled, trembling.
Robert said nothing. The words hit something in him, but he wasn't ready to answer. He'd once sworn to wed Margaery alone, and yet here he was with another wife beneath him, filled with his seed.
Instead, he released her legs and claimed her mouth, kissing her with the rough hunger of a man taking what was his. His lips moved hard against hers, and one broad hand slid into her hair, combing through it possessively.
And his cock… never softened.
Still buried deep in her, still hard, still dripping inside her, he moved again. His hips rolled slowly, then faster, his girth dragging over her swollen walls with each thrust.
"Don't mind if I continue," he groaned against her lips.
Sansa's blush deepened, but she smiled, that shy sweetness curling her lips. "I… I'd love it if you do… Your Grace."
"And me?" Myrcella's voice purred from behind him as she climbed his back, her breasts pressing into his broad shoulders. She licked his neck, tasting the sweat there.
"After this…" Robert grunted, not bothered by her weight. If anything, it made his thrusts hammer harder into Sansa's soaked, cream-filled cunt.
The bed groaned under them, wood creaking with each violent push.
His cock spilled. Once, twice, six times that night.
And that night, the realm received two more royal princes.
####
In the years that followed, Robert never sought the company of a new woman. He had plenty around him to keep him busy. He tried his best to cherish them all the same, even Rhaea and Missandei, though he never put a babe in them.
However, he did have plenty with Sansa and Myrcella.
Over the next five years, he had three children from each. It was partly because he never bedded one alone. If he did Sansa, then Myrcella was there as well. And in time, their combined presence grew on him. Sansa's submission and Myrcella's curiosity were entertaining.
Eventually, even Margaery joined the game as the three were of similar age. Together, the three discovered their favorite positions and then made each other try their own favorites. And Robert never refused such adventures. Truth be told, it was rather delightful to wake up in the morning with Sansa, Margaery, and Myrcella sucking his cock and balls. It made his day.
The realm at peace was boring. And he'd rather fuck his wives and concubines than whores. He kept the wine at a distance, too.
Eventually, Robert and Catelyn also grew very close, and at some point, Catelyn professed her desire to bear a child again. Robert refused it initially. But then Margaery convinced him with the plan to pass the babe as Sansa's, just like Myrcella's babes were passed as Margaery's.
From then on, he shared a bed with four women. Not every night, he did give personal attention to those who desired.
Eventually, even Rhaea and Missandei also joined them in the bedchamber. Those nights were amongst the wildest in the Red Keep. Robert Baratheon, alone with six women. The moans would echo throughout the castle.
But the realm was at peace, the smallfolk were safe and prospering.
The Crown had no debts and ran a great surplus. Roads were paved, cities were cleaned, and the Crown even started loaning out gold.
However, there was still one problem region. The western coast of Westeros was still plagued by the Ironborn.
So, in Year 5 of New Dawn, starting from the year Robert defeated the Night King, he targeted the Ironborn. Using the Royal Fleet, Redwyn Fleet, Lannister Fleet, and even Hightower Fleet, they surrounded the Iron Islands.
Then, one fire sword-wielding invincible King was unleashed upon the islands.
In one week, the Iron Islands were turned into burnt ruins. All nobles and their heirs were killed. The salt wives were released, and the young children were spared.
Within a week, the Iron Islands stopped existing. House Greyjoy was no more. Euron was the last, and Robert killed him in an easy duel. The islands were divided, one-third given to the Riverlands, the other to the Westerlands, and the last given to the North.
In ten years, Robert sired ten children from three women—Sansa, Catelyn, and Myrcella. By then, Sansa and Myrcella had fleshed out into mature beauties, rivaling their mothers.
Since that day, beyond the Wall. When he died after killing the Night King. He never questioned who he was again. He never asked if he was Ned or Robert. He was none of them, and that was the only truth.
He lived, he loved, he fucked, he drank, and he fought.
King Robert Baratheon went from being a spendthrift, fat, drunkard, whoring man, to a respected, loved, and feared King. The new year system was made in his honor.
New Dawn—It was Robert Baratheon's new dawn.
And that New Dawn was there to stay. As Robert Baratheon trained his son, Robert II Baratheon, how to rule, teaching him all the lessons he'd learned. He taught Alester Baratheon, the new Lord of Highgarden, how not to be a dick to his own elder brother.
He tried to avoid the fate of the Targaryens.
####
Year 40 ND,
The Great Hall of the Red Keep was decorated with Baratheon sigils.
Nobles, high and low, were present. All the heads of major houses were there.
It was like a festival.
On the mighty Iron Throne, Robert Baratheon sat, smiling. His hair and beard had turned white, and his face was full of wrinkles. His blue eyes were still firm, full of life, and yet there was resignation. As if he knew something that the others didn't.
In the crowds, he looked at his women. Only Sansa and Myrcella were left. Catelyn had passed away; Margaery, too, having never fully recovered from her second pregnancy. She was living on borrowed time to begin with. Missandei was also there, but Rhaea wasn't. She wanted to make her own family, and Robert helped her marry a noble.
There were also his children, twelve of them. The day's celebrations were about the eldest of the twelve—Robert II Baratheon.
It was the day he officially crowned his son the next King. Many told him it was too early. But Robert knew something others didn't.
"Quite certain, Your Grace? A man can still change his mind, and no one will think less of you. Well, almost no one."
Robert chuckled and looked at Tyrion Lannister standing beside his throne. The short man had grown old and now supported a beard that reached his knees. "I'm the fat old chain keeping this bloody throne tied to the corpses of the past, Tyrion. It's time my son truly starts the New Dawn."
"Very well, I'll proceed as planned."
Right away, Tyrion, as the Lord Hand, raised his hand. He may be short, but he commanded respect there as the Lord of Casterly Rock, as cunning as his father, if not more.
"Prince Robert II Baratheon," Tyrion voiced.
Quickly, a group of septons escorted the forty-two-year-old prince, as handsome as his mother, and as tall and mighty as his father.
The Prince was brought to the steps of the throne, where he was made to kneel on one knee. The septons then did their prayers, burned their incense, and presented the new crown to the King.
Robert got up from his throne and stood in front of his son. He grabbed the new crown and placed it on his son's head.
Bam!
He smacked his son on the shoulders and made him stand before pulling him in for a warm hug. They were Baratheons, so they were used to it.
"Don't fuck it," Robert said, yanking off his crown and tossing it to his son. "Keep your cock in check, and your wine cup light. Love women with all your heart, but only make promises after your balls are empty. Listen to wise men, and gut the snakes before they bite. Good luck, lad."
"Where are you going, father?" asked King Robert II Baratheon.
Robert smiled and glanced at Sansa and Myrcella. "To Storm's End."
####
Storm's End,
Back where it began.
Robert was alone. He'd forbidden anyone else from entering. He'd already spoken with Sansa and Myrcella, and spent a few nights with them. He left them crying, but he didn't leave them vulnerable. Their children were lords of their own houses and ruled vast lands. They had plenty of places to live the rest of their lives.
He'd written letters for each of his children and given them to Sansa and Myrcella.
Only then did he enter the crypts of Storm's End, the seat of House Baratheon.
Creak!
He was old, but not weak.
He pushed the stone slab that sat over the marble tomb. The name on it read—King Robert Baratheon.
"Wolf turned Stag, and after that who bloody knows," Robert grunted as he climbed into the tomb, sat down, and proceeded to lie down flat. Then he pulled the slab back on top to cover the opening. "A beast the world had no right to see. But by the gods, I was, and it was damned magnificent!"
It was pitch black darkness.
Robert's eyes were still open. But he knew it was coming. He had no idea what, but it was.
He tried to think of any regrets left behind. But he truly couldn't think of any. Heck, he'd traveled the entire world, gone to Asshai, become the first man to sail west of Westeros, and made it.
"Aye… it was bloody glorious."
Finally, Robert's eyes started to become heavy. He didn't realise it and just kept smiling, remembering all the delightful memories. The immense strength he possessed. Going against dragons.
"Thank you, Ned."
Hmm? Who said that?
All of a sudden, he heard a voice. A voice that belonged to the previous owner of that body.
"Rest well, Robert."
What? Isn't that Ned's voice?
In that fading memory, he heard voices. A short conversation of thanking each other. The voices reminded him of the past. Of Ned and Robert… of the old days in the Vale.
And then… both voices spoke for the last time. They were muffled.
"Go now. Your duty is done, and for it you have our thanks."
What? Thanking me? Ha! Why in the Seven Hells am I thanking myself?
No more voices came. His eyes were closed. He knew not where he was. He… no longer remembered anything. He felt his mind was all empty. Ned was gone. Robert was gone. Then why was he there?
And why… was there… a third set of memories? So foreign, so different, so bizarre—steel carriages, flashing lights.
W-Who am I?
And then there was nothing.
The last breath escaped those mighty lungs. The last thought vanished in confusion.
The true New Dawn had arrived.
____________THE END_____________
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