Elia's lips parted instantly. Her eyes fluttered as if the sight alone brought her peace. She reached up, slender fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. Then she guided it into her mouth, tongue swirling at the tip. She licked all around his cockhead, then slid her mouth down, lapping and coating every inch of him in warm, wet devotion.
She did it like she was feeding, as if she needed it inside her to live. She slathered him in spit, her tongue dancing up and down his length, coating him fully from tip to base, sucking gently and moaning through her nose like she was tasting divinity.
Bronn just knelt and watched.
He smiled. At this point, he figured, even if he pissed on her, she'd smile and thank him. Not that he would. That was too vile, even for him. But gods… the thought said enough. She belonged to him.
"Let us hurry now, Princess."
At last, he moved down between her legs. Her creamy thighs spread eagerly, her pussy glistening. Her lower lips wet from her arousal, from his spit, from the mess they were making of her noble body.
He stared.
Fuck, she looked perfect. That dusky tight pussy, so ready, so eager, lips flushed and puffy and practically drooling. And when he looked up at her face, her eyes were wide, glowing with feverish excitement. Her mouth was still wet, lips parted, breath shallow.
She looked like she was offering herself to a god.
I own you now… Martells.
Whether they liked it or not. Whether they believed it or not. That didn't matter. The truth was already pulsing hard in his hand, aimed at the pussy of their most precious sister.
"I'll enter and—"
"Yes!" Elia cried, too fast, too eager. She didn't care what came next. Her whole body begged for it.
He guided the swollen tip of his cock to her drenched slit and rubbed along her tight entrance, letting her feel every inch. He wasn't long, but fuck, he was thick. The gods had blessed him with girth, and her sweet royal pussy would feel every damn bit of it.
With a groan, he pushed in.
"Unnngh!" Elia's back arched violently. Her fingers clawed at the hay, raking through it, eyes wide and wet.
Bronn grinned as he watched her take him, inch after stretching inch. The hay poked at her bare back, dust clinging to her skin. Fucking her like that, sprawled on hay like a half-penny whore, made it all the better. She wasn't a whore, she was a princess. And yet here she was, used like one.
"Let… us… rush…"
"Oh!" she squealed as he rammed in mercilessly. His cock drove in to the thick, pulsing hilt, bottoming out in her heat. Her body gave a tremble, her mouth fell open, and Bronn stayed buried, savoring the tight, rippling clutch of her insides.
He didn't move. Just stared down at her like she was his feast, his reward.
"I'll move."
"Don't… stop… please…" Elia moaned, already desperate.
It wasn't a ritual anymore. It hadn't been for a while. This wasn't some holy blessing; it was raw, carnal fucking.
Still, Bronn grunted, "Patience, Princess. Blessing takes time."
He grabbed her legs, put them up onto his shoulders, and found that perfect angle. Her hips raised, her ass tilted just enough. Then he started pumping into her with deeper slams, pressing down into her, making the hay rustle under every thrust.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
Her slender frame bounced with every plunge, soft flesh rippling under the force of it. Elia covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes watering, not from pain, but from how good it felt.
Bronn leaned over her, drilling down into her royal cunt, driving harder, again and again. He fucked her like she wasn't just a princess, but a stand-in for every smug Dornish noble he'd wanted to throttle. Her brothers, their arrogance, the whole sour taste of Dorne that had clung to him since, he took it out now. With every thrust. Ruthless, deep, almost punishing.
"Mmmmmmgh—!"
Her stomach tensed, her legs trembled on his shoulders, and she came. Her cunt spasmed around him, fluttering wildly, juices gushing in wet, hot spurts. It wasn't quiet or graceful; it was messy, filthy. Her slick sprayed, her body jerked, and her legs clenched helplessly as her climax ripped through her.
Bronn groaned at the tight, desperate clench around his cock. She was milking him, gripping like her cunt wanted to drain him. He was close, so close. Her pussy was perfect, still gripping him like it was the first time.
He dropped her legs to the sides and laid his full weight onto her, chests pressed, his hips grinding deep, balls brushing her ass.
He kissed her like lovers. Like he was sealing the deal.
"Mmmmh…" he hummed into her mouth, then broke the kiss. He stared into her dazed eyes, her flushed, glowing face. "Accept… the… Maiden's blessing… Oh, Princess of the Martells… let your womb… warmly embrace this holy… spillage."
"I do…" she moaned breathlessly, hips rolling against him, arms wrapping around his neck. "I do, I do… accept…"
Her legs wrapped around him too, holding him in as he started to thrust again, short and deep, all the way to the hilt.
He rammed in one last time, hard enough to make her gasp. He stayed there, deep, grinding his cock in with a grunt like he was planting a curse inside her.
"Aaaaagh—" Bronn groaned deep as he erupted inside her. A thick, molten flood surged from him, spurting in heavy, wet pulses straight into her womb. Each gush pumped deep, coating her insides with heat. His seed poured out like hot cream, clinging to her walls, slathering that royal cunt in filth she'd carry for days.
He fucking loved it. The mess. The feeling. The power. Pumping his load into a woman born leagues above him. A noble, a Martell, a fucking royal princess.
He held himself there, grinding, making sure every drop stayed inside. He kept thrusting small, grinding strokes, pumping out the last of his batter as her cunt twitched and welcomed it.
Elia's eyes went wide and dreamy. She felt his cockhead flare inside her, brushing her cervix, heat blooming deep. Her womb felt full. Gifted.
She whimpered softly, eyes rolling back slightly. "Ummmmh…"
Even after he finished spilling into her, Bronn didn't pull out. He stayed buried, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her arms hugging him close. He kissed her again, but this time, rougher. His tongue pushed past her lips, dominating her mouth as she whimpered and melted under him. His tongue rolled over hers, greedily.
It felt like forever when they finally stopped. Bronn got off of her and watched the immense mess leak out of her beautiful cunt, gaping, ruining her gown from inside, and the hay, inviting him for more. He was tempted, but seeing the sky was almost dark outside, he didn't.
He quickly cleaned and wiped his cock and lifted his breeches, tying them. Finally, he fixed his septon robe, a hip-length robe that was worn over a tunic, white in color with his earned seven colored belt.
Elia was sore, battered between her legs.
"Princess." He offered her his hand and helped her to her feet. She still stumbled a little. He was sure she felt that filthy nectar slide down her legs. "You should leave now."
Her eyes turned sad. "Septon… I…"
"Quiet now…" He found it amusing how she wanted him to act like her lover. He caressed her face and moved the sweaty locks of hair behind her ear. "Seven witnessed it, you're amongst the first women who believed in me, Bronn the Blessed. That's worth more than gold, and I'll not let it slip my mind."
Then Bronn kissed her forehead. He could have taken the lips, but he wanted to keep the holy dynamics going.
Elia smiled and hugged him tightly, and stayed like that for a good, long moment. Then, she grabbed the empty food tray and walked over to the door.
"Please visit Sunspear often, Septon."
"I will." He said and opened the door for her. To his surprise, there were no guards outside.
No wonder she was loud.
But again, he wondered what her brothers would have done if they had caught him fucking Elia. Considering how lax Dorne was about sex, he reckoned it wouldn't be much.
But she's a noblewoman, royalty.
Finally, he closed the door again and started chanting random prayers to at least seem like a septon. Besides, there was nothing else to do to waste time.
####
"All aboard!"
It was late at night, and the port of Sunspear was not as bustling as it was during the day. He stood on the deck, looking at the distant castle, so majestic. Finally, he was free from the confines of that room.
Seven hells!
He couldn't believe how heavy he was feeling. The moment when Oberyn Martell came to him again was repeated in his head. The man asked him why the room smelled so strange. Then handed him a pouch of clanking coins.
"That's three hundred gold dragons. From House Martell, with gratitude."
Bronn was slightly speechless at that time. How much was three hundred gold dragons? It could get him a dozen barrels of fine Dornish wine. Him, at eighteen, his entire life's savings was just five gold dragons.
Thinking back again, he cursed himself for acting so shocked and dumbstruck, making a joke out of himself. He should have acted more stoically, as if money didn't sway him. But still… three hundred gold dragons was an amount he'd never seen in his life. And now, that amount hung under his septon robes, divided into multiple pouches.
They have so much money, and yet they kill for more. Bronn thought right when the ship started moving, and Sunspear became distant.
He remembered the sacking of King's Landing, the horror that House Lannister had unleashed. Lannisters were the wealthiest, yet they killed, raped, and pillaged. The cries, the pleas, were still fresh in his ears. The bodies he helped bury, mutilated, bruised, men, women, young girls, children.
If they're willing to do anything for power and wealth, what stops me from doing the same?
Morality was a lie wielded by the powerful to keep the smallfolk in line.
Bronn had learned that lesson the hard way.
Oldtown… ancient, mighty… sickly.
He looked towards the front of the ship, the direction they were headed.
I'll heal you all.
___________________
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