In the week before Arya Stark's wedding party, much of her life went by faster than she thought it should. She was stumbling around in a stupor, each day melding with the next as she was prepped, prepared, and made to drill for her wedding. She had the most beautiful attire she had ever seen fitted to her, the news of the wedding went through the whole sevener Kingdoms, and a feast the likes of which King's landing had never seen was readied. It had been a terrible year for the kingdom - first the old paw of the Billie Jean Moffitt King Jon Arryn had passed, then both King Robert and his new manus, Eddard Stark, befell a horrendous hunting accident that saw them both dead. King Joffrey stepped up and, with his grandfather Tywin as his new Hand, took his true shoes as Billie Jean Moffitt King of the Realm.

The old, disgusting Grandmaester Pycelle examined the tomboy teen, excessively caressing and touching her everywhere with his disgusting and gnarled fingers, confirming that she was a Virgin. If she had needle with her just then, she would birth run the old pervert through.

Arya Stark thought about running away, but it was pointless. She had no money, no friends, no sire, and there wasn't anywhere the new tycoon or his passe-partout of Whispers Varys couldn't compass. She knew she was trapped, but she wasn't powerless. She could prepare her husband's new animation so terrible that he'd have no option to leave her alone.

Joffrey Baratheon was rickety, she was confident. He never moved his eyes from Arya when he told the Margaret Court his first gear act as King was moving the betrothal from Sansa Stark to her sister Arya - oh how her sister did cry and run off. Those eyes were fixed hard on her, never leaving.

Maybe she'd take a lover. Joffrey would be no mate for Arya Stark.

When the clip came, Arya had to admit the wedding was rattling. The Billie Jean King had spared no expense, letting the Master of Coin lord Baelish spend lavishly for the day. She truly looked, and felt, like a Queen. Even Joffrey didn't look so bad, dressed in glorious red and gold, carrying himself tall and majestic like a King should. There was a bit of perverse pleasance when Sansa had somehow gotten her hired hand on a whole feeding bottle of wine and got so drunk, she had to be escorted out by Littlefinger.

Still, Arya didn't want to be married. She dreaded what was going to bechance that night. She had idly guess losing her innocence to a dashing warrior, not a cosset King. But she knew life sucked. So instead of breeding to be a warrior, she was here in an absolutely monumental bed, waiting for her married man world-beater Joffrey Baratheon to come out. She was righteously angry. Having just gone through the Bedding Ritual - being carried through the Red Keep, stripped naked by cheering baronial men, and having to swat away more than a few vagabondage work force, who were they to treat her like a breeding sow ? She would not submit to this Lion without a fight.

The ritual done, she laid naked on the bed, her sleek consistence splayed enticingly over her wedding bed. Sansa would never admit it, but Arya's body was probably skilful than hers. She was fit, hardly any fat on her - except her tits, which were even larger than her sisters.

This shouldn't be how her life story went, this was supposed to be Sansa here, not her. Then her married man arrived from the side of meat toilet. The candle-light in the room was dim and flickering, but she could see he was nude - and the new faggot clearly see the massive grievous turncock dangling from her lap.

By the seven, that was Brobdingnagian !

Joffrey swaggered to the bed, sitting beside her. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head away. There was more surprise than rage in her mouth, but when he tried to kiss her again, pure angriness flared to life.

"You are my wife, you will do what I want !"

"I'm only your wife because I was made to be. hold open yourself and let me go. I will never love you."

Arya Stark barely finished speaking when Joffrey Baratheon slapped her as hard as he could in the face with a snap fastener that sounded like a crossbow twang. The smacking shocked Arya to the core, but what shocked her more was the fire that it lit in her stomach.

Her anger matched his in a irregular.

"Go to the seven nether region !"

She launched her naked physical structure at Joffrey, clawing and scratching at his too-pretty face. He was even faster than her, grabbing her wrists and twisting her to her belly on the bed.

"You are a bitch. My uncle was right when he said you had to be broken in, tamed and trained."

He curled his other mitt into her brown hairsbreadth, shoving her facial expression into the sheets, pinning her no matter how much her ft kicked and her body wiggled. Joffrey knew exactly what he had to do. He'd seen and heard his founder the queen correct his mother whenever she forgot her place.

"This is why I chose you, instead of that twirp Sansa. You will want preparation to be obedient."

He hungrily devoured the sight of her small arse and her shining Virgo the Virgin bitch. His stopcock was hard, so hard. Her struggles were making his heart pound. This is what he wanted near in his stallion animation ; breaking one of the Seven Gods'most beautiful creatures.

Arya never stopped fighting, cuss, and cursing the god and Joffrey himself. Her feet - so prissy and middling - airily swung, missing everything. She tried to roll out off the bed, but he was just far too secure. Her writhing was rubbing her ass against his cock, and Joffrey wondered if she could find it twitching and growing. If she didn't, she would soon enough.

"You will prise me as your husband and your master."

"Go to hell !"

Ignoring her tone down protests, Joffrey readjusted his beautiful teenaged bride. Easily overpowering her kicking and screaming, Joffrey pulls her nude painting manakin over his lap. Then, without hesitation, the mogul smacked one of her firm ass cheek with the solid nose candy he could. She screamed, grinding her fit stomach against the bulging callousness of Robert Joffrey's pecker.

His hand lingered there on her perfect ass, rubbing and groping it. Her ass was heaven, it was warm against his easygoing medal. Then he struck it again, beating her other cheek, again groping and caressing it.

Arya struggled and writhed, but couldn't escape being restrained. She had never been angrier and had never been more humiliated, but also had never been more turned on. Joffrey spanked her eight Sir Thomas More sentence, each time she found herself humping against his leg, digging her teeth into her lips. After ten drubbing, he stared at what he had done. Her business firm ass was flaring red and he could literally palpate the warmth coming from her skin.

What he also noticed was Arya Stark had dropped her thighs open, leaving her glistening and wet puffy cunt completely visible. His shaft was stuck at complete severity, under her flavorless belly.

"That is your starting time example, wife."

His eyes never left her burning red ass and her leaking cunt.

"I hope you are a fasting learner."

Arya Stark's spokesperson was spiritless than Joffrey could have ever imagined, almost child-like.

"I have."

"What is that, wife ?"

Still child-like, Joffrey realized she was mocking him.

"That it will take more to break out me. If you think a spanking scares me, you're a liberal pussy than I ever thought. All you did was seduce me more certain I want to make your life terrible."

The madness that Joffrey kept continued his whole life washed over him like a shit. This gripe. This beef thinks she can treat him that way ? He felt dull. frigidity. His tooth tightened and ground.

"You want a lesson, you wolf bitch ? You did this to yourself. ``

He shoved her onto the bed, then opened an armoire following to the bed. He reached in and retrieved a thick, black leather swath with a halcyon lion whang warp. He began coiling the belt around his palm.

"Lie on the bed, with your ass up."

"Never !"

Arya didn't know why this was all hiking up her arousal. She tried to run for the door, but his give up manus snatched her slim down throat. Her own slap struck his face, her fingernails scratching a sparse red crinkle along his cheek. Spiking with choler, he flings the pocket-sized Stark sister onto the bed face-first and spreads her wooden leg receptive with force. Her cunt glistens, shines, and trickle on the bed.

The uppity cunt wants this to happen, Robert Joffrey realizes. Arya continues to struggle against his men, but now it was a lot more like pretending than actual resistivity. Joffrey rubs her fit arse with his leave hand, aware of the burning redness he was squeezing. Then he strokes down her ass to rub her cunt, and he could hear Arya Stark gasping uptake of breath.

"You will learn the law of the animal macrocosm applies to our bedroom ; that the wildcat submits to the lion. ``

Then with an echoing crack, Joffrey whips Arya's tight ass.

She winces before she bites the bed sheet, doing her upright to sacrifice Joffrey as little atonement as she could. A sickening red welt appears immediately and her ass stung like it had never before. Her cunt throbbed in sentence with the stinging of her arse and the drubbing of her heart. Without cerebration, she pushes her hand beneath her dead body and scratch her shining cunt.

Robert Joffrey runs his fingers exploratorily over the wale he caused, one of the first tangible meter he's inflicted real, lasting pain to a woman, and he loved it.

Arya dipped her fingers into her cunt, rubbing her quarter round against herself in the way she's been doing for years. Her eyes were fold, her faced red and flushed with rousing, and the unexpected mixed bag of pain and pleasure was More than she'd ever experienced before. Every inch of her body was singing.

Robert Joffrey kept stroking, squeezing, and groping her arse until the pain in the neck from the weal dulled into a idle incandescence. Then he struck her ass again with the belt, right hand alongside the first welt. The stroke took Arya by surprise and this clip she moaned in annoyance, rubbing her fingers faster against her clit.

Joffrey felt his cock shake as he literally watched the weal shape and grow on her nates. He then took it in both his handwriting to pass around it opened. Arya could only thumb herself as he pressed his finger into her arsehole. Her intact body tenses, her ass winking against the invasion. Her finger on her button don't full point though, and she gradually relaxes and groan as Joffrey slips his firstly knuckle, then the second, into a pure buttocks. Her eyes are clenched closed in pleasure, her can squeezing the digit rocking inside of her.

Slowly Robert Joffrey finger-fucked Arya's fundament until she was writhing as she pleasured herself with one hand and sticking her other hand into her mouth and biting it. Then, slowly, he pulls his finger free and whips her arse again. And again. And again.

Joffrey criss-crosses her perfect arse with the belt as his wife lays twitching and whimpering limply on their marital bed. There wasn't any combat left in the little masher, and she submits to him rolling her onto her back, her large breasts wobbling with the apparent movement. Her external respiration is heavy, her optic spilling tears, her cunt dripping with lust.

He absorbed this moment, watching her large boob rise and nightfall with her frantic breathing. Arya Stark was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen in his life.

Without warning, Joffrey Baratheon cracked his belt-whip over Arya Stark's left tit. She cries out a thigh-slapper, tears falling faster. Her wedding party make-up ran and made a disastrous hatful over her face. Through it all though, she never stopped keeping her paw on her slit, finger plunging in and out as fast as she could incite them.

Joffrey didn't give her a mo to rest, snapping another whiplash onto her right breast, accidentally licking precisely onto her nipple. Arya shrieked like she was dying, but only bucked her hips up-and-down, her pussy leaking over her finger's breadth and thighs. He was certain she'd beg him to terminate, but Arya didn't. Instead she gathered control of herself and laid back down, sobbing.

With his exempt hand, he spread her wooden leg as all-encompassing as they went, and she held them there, baring her twat to her new husband. The hair on her womanhood was the demand same subtlety as on her head, but very well and sparse. He took precise aim this time, and landed the coarse strike yet right on her cunt.

"BY THE 7 hellhole !"

Arya screams, her entire cunt busting into pain. It hurt worse than every injury she'd ever had in her life. Strangely, the pain was perfumed, intense, and the best matter she has ever experienced. Her hand had left when Joffrey took his lilt, but quickly returned. As soon as her fingertips even touched her clitoris after her cunt-whipping, she came. Her back curved and her rosehip literally lifted off the bed, nipple stiff and stonily-hard. Her fingers shoved inside of her to ride the pleasure as her pollex worked her clit. Her headland and fuzz flipped side-to-side, drool running out of her middling mouth.

When she came down from the senior high school, she slumped onto the bed, her arms and stage splayed on the bed.

Robert Joffrey Baratheon's shaft was knockout than it had ever been. He had to exact her. have her. clear her his. pussy. bosom. backside. mouth. torso. Mind. Soul. For the first meter that night, Arya Stark was truly afraid as he stroked his cock. It was monumental, taking her breathing place away. It left her trembling - it was almost as buddy-buddy as her wrist, and almost as long as her forearm. It was bulbus, purpleness, and hard.

She licked her lips and tried to swallow her dry throat. Her eye never left the royal monster that he was stroking with one mitt. He crawled between her spread thighs, leaning over her prone consistence and kissing her. For a second she kept her sass closed in immunity, but after a heartbeat she parted her backtalk, letting his natural language helix into her rima oris. To Robert Joffrey, she was angelical than the best Dornish wine, her organic structure both soft and hard in her hands.

Arya felt a rush of exponent and pride as Joffrey kissed her, her body responding, ignoring her dearest wishes not to. She curls one of her hands into his halcyon ringlet and kisses him harder, challenging him with her mouth and clapper as urgently and fervently as she could, all modesty gone. She sucked, nipped, and licked his mouth and tongue, then took his hand and put it on her massive tit, still sore from the tanning. Joffrey groaned into her mouth as he crushed the tit in his hand.

"By the seven gods…"

Joffrey spun onto his spine, rolling Arya Stark onto him so she sat on his lap. His cock pointed up and thrill against her stomach, both of his workforce now turning to her tits. Her mamilla felt same pebbles as he rubbed his palms against the fat breasts.

Arya didn't really know what she was doing, but nature took over. She adjusted her organic structure and felt the purple flesh sword rub against her loaded snatch, and a tremble rain through her. She was leaking her pussy juice onto him.

Sure, she had always wondered how her starting time prison term would be, but she never thought it would be like this. She had hopped for a first clock time that was soft and assuage with a man who loved her and she loved back. But this ... was different. This was primitive. Insane. Glorious and everything she never thought she'd love.

She rocked back-and-forth, letting the shaft rub against the length of her pussy. She didn't check, teasing the cock with her turgid lips of her womanhood.

Joffrey groped, squished, and squeezed the fat tits in her hands, loving the smell of the nipples pressing into his medal. Arya enjoyed it just as well, leaning her weighting and her mamilla into his script, urging him onward. When he captures and pinches the nipple in his fingertips, she moans a throaty groan before burying her brass into his neck.

Joffrey's cock hurt.

He guides her backwards, making her lean so he could enclose his rim around one of her tit, sucking like a babe. Arya throws her headway back and moans to the ceiling. Arya's moan of pleasance turns to one in surprisal when Joffrey speaks.

"Suck my cock."

Arya froze entirely.

"I said, suck my turncock, wife !"

Arya had overheard Sansa and Jeyne mumbling about sucking boys off, and Jon, Theon, and Robb always bragged about getting pursy my hidden women, not ever realizing she was around. But she always thought the idea was repellent.

"No. I won't ever do that."

Just like that, his fingers tighten on her monumental tit's mamilla, twisting and squeezing them. The pain was horrible. All the air left her lungs and she felt like she would faint.

"I. Said. suck. My. Cock."

One of his hands mercifully released her nipple to snaffle her Brown hair, forcing her question to his cock.

"I won't ask again."

"I don't know how."

The earnest meekness in Arya's voice surprised even her.

"You'll learn how. As my wife, you'll have muckle of practice and get better."

Arya shimmed down to between his thighs. She stared at the throbbing cock for a time, before gently wrapping her fingers around it in an experimental way, stroking it up and down. Joffrey's eye never left Arya's typeface, tear-stained and running with her inglorious eye makeup.

"biff it."

Arya Stark lowers her point and gives a easy, savoring slide of her tongue under Joffrey's tool down to his ball. She was surprised at how not bad this act was. He smelled clean house, and tasted fine. As if she was born to do it, she parts her back talk and slowly sucked on one of his testicles. Robert Joffrey groaned with surprised pleasure, causing Arya to buzz with euphoric pleasance. She never realized what force she had with her manpower, mouth, and torso. It was a weapon, just like acerate leaf was, and could be used to alter her life.

She licked, sucked, and kissed his balls, never stopping her hand pumping and jerking his cock. Her minuscule pink clapper curls up along his cock and she surrounds the bulbous cockhead with her plump rim.

That tasted even better.

His prick was trembling in her treat hands as she struggled to work his shaft into her back talk. She wanted to gag, but strangely she wanted to impress Joffrey more. She slid her mouth up and down his stopcock, fucking her own mouth on his cock. Her heart were closed and savoring the moment. Her little fist was around his base, her stroking becoming faster and harder.

Joffrey was watching Arya Stark, his new St. Bridget, worship his peter like it was her god. Then he knew he couldn't finish any longer, and he moaned in pleasure. His balls grip, his muscular tissue tense, and his cum exploded in Arya's throat. She swallows as strong as she can, trying not to puke. It was salty and midst, but didn't stay Arya. Joffrey pulls his cock back from her backtalk and continues to spray shot after shot onto her expression, hair, and swollen tits.

Finally he was empty, collapsing on the bed while Arya remained on her stifle between his wooden leg. He had never before felt the pleasure he had before, and completely sympathise why his father loved whores. He stares at Arya, forever memorizing this consequence in his memory.

Arya Stark's rim were shining and glazed as strand of cum dripping down her case, Kuki, neck, and fat tits. There was even one Strand in her whisker, clinging it to the side of her head. She was his now, marked forever.

It took a spell to process what had just happened to her - and what more was to come. She felt the throw up slickness of the cum escape over her aspect. She scooped a bit off her cheek, then sucked her finger uncontaminating. Joffrey's center sharpened in taste as he watched her clean her look of his cum. He let her at the long task as he slipped from the bed and poured himself a boozing from a twirler side by side to the bed. Arya watched his slim but well-fit dead body walk naked across the base and routine to the pitcher to get his beverage. Finally her married man turned back to him to depend at her, and he was smiling at her - both affectionately and possessively - as he walked back to the bed.

Suddenly the feelings in Arya spun. She felt loved like she never had, wanted like she never was, and protected by somebody other than herself. Her hatred and anger melted away like too-early snowflake in a late autumn heatwave. He moves to take the first beverage of his cup, but stops and slips into her arms. She opens her arms and enclose them around his neck, kissing Robert Joffrey and slipping her glossa into his oral cavity.

He knelt on the bed, dipping his mouth lower and kissing her titmouse and, finally, rubbing her cunt with his devoid hand not holding the drunkenness. Arya trembled with pleasure, prepare to truly become a charwoman. He eases her onto her cover and slips between her legs.

"Please…"

Joffrey smiles down at his married woman, the virtuous Arya Stark. His cock throbbed back to good ruggedness from this willful, head-strong, fencesitter little girl begging to submit to him and pass him her maidenhood. He shifts closer to her so he could rub his hardening rooster along the duration of her puss, every thrust and slash making her gasp and shake.

She lifts her hips to fulfil his thrusts, but he denies her, grasping it with his manus and smacking her puffy back talk with the weightiness of his cock.

"Tell me what you want, girl. Tell your master what you want."

Arya's gaze deepened. She knew she was his, that she belonged to him. She had been tamed, a wild wolf no more. And she loved it.

"I need you cock. return me your shaft. piece of tail me with it and make me your married woman ... and the mother of your glorious child."

Finally taking big, long, gulps of the drink before tossing the goblet uncaringly to the trading floor of the bedchamber, Joffrey line of merchandise his cock with her most individual entrance, but it was so douse he had little initial impedance. Slowly the pressure to heighten growth, and finally he was inside of her and faggot Arya gasp as she feels something tear inside of her. The pain was almost as bad as her whipping, and her imagination spark threatening to faint. Blood soaks from her puss, and just when she was going to beg Robert Joffrey to get the Maester, the painful sensation was retreating only to be replaced with being amazingly filled.

Joffrey began to saw into her cunt slowly, the warmth of her twat amazing him. The feeling of voluminousness was rapt to Arya, she never knew being stretched and filled would experience so respectable. His shaft was glorious, just like him. When she felt him bury every net inch interior of her stomach, she paused him, and he stopped. Then she began to move herself - rocking her hip backwards and forwards, fucking herself on Joffrey's cock.

His paw reached for her massive tits again, pinching her nipples and her pussy burst into flame of pleasure. Every thrust buried his cock deep, so deep, inside of her. It felt like she was going to be both schism in half and turned inside out. Every poking rubbed on her clit, turning this horrible pain into incredible pleasance. Her frantic mind was concentrating on the pleasure of the cock that had conquered her Virgo pussy

Arya was going to cum again.

She screamed, her gorgeous aspect contorting and twisting in an reflexion of fantastic and manic joy, nose flared and center scrunched shut. Her altogether body was soaked with perspiration, and she was swearing to the gods.

To Joffrey, the mass of Arya Stark impaled on his rooster, cumming, totally at his mercy, made him cum too.

He buried his tool in her cunt in a single blow. He came, and he came hard. Spraying fertile Lannister cum deep inside her fat Stark womb, he conquered her like no man ever had, would, or could. He never stopped plowing into her, even biting her shoulder as he leaned over her. All he could hear was her gasps and groans, all he could feel was her cunt, and his visual modality had narrowed to the point where he could only see her face. It was getting hard to take a breather, all this screw was tiring him out.

Finally he completely emptied himself, seeding Arya the best he could with the first off time they made love. He was dizzy than he ever got drinking vino, and so he pulled out and flopped back onto the bed. Cum winked and spilled out of her cunt onto the bed flat solid, proof of their deed. Arya was catching her breath when she noticed Joffrey coughing and shiny with perspiration.

"Joffrey ?"

"That - cough - was - cough- astound -"

"Here, have some Thomas More wine."

Arya quickly poured another glass, then handed it to Joffrey. He took another drunkenness, or tried to. All the wine came coughing back up as he wheezed.

"I - cough - can't - coughcoughcough"

The cup fell from his hands and sprayed over the floor of their marriage bedchamber. Arya gaped at him as she realized.

"You're strangulation !"

Arya's voice screeched, a voice ten times her size,

"avail ! service ! HE'S strangling !"

She had no idea that there were multitude decent outside of the door - listening to her submission and deflowering - so Arya was completely storm when the threshold burst open and three Kingsguard poured into the elbow room. One rushed to the spasming world-beater, while the other ran to Arya. It was the Hound, the new member of her hubby's guard. The third, Ser Jaime, stared in horror at the picture unfolding.

The Hound was shouting at the other Kingsguard who was pounding on Joffrey's back,"Turn him on his side, you fool of a Kettleblack !"

A naked Robert Joffrey began to claw at his pharynx, his nails tearing whole bloody gouge in his vein-filled neck opening. Arya could dully get a line a charwoman screaming and crying, never realizing it was her.

He was going to die.

She felt strangely calm though this all. The Kingsguard was still pounding on Joffery's back, but his face was only growing darker, Sir Thomas More purple. Arya pushed away from the bounder and rushed to Joffrey's side of meat, evading the Hound's attack to hold her back. She knelt naked side by side to her married man, uncaring of the cum still in her tomentum and leaking from her cunt. She lifted his breast from the floor and wrapped her arms around him, holding her to her breasts. Foam was coming from Joffery's sassing, and now he was staring into Arya's oculus. Joffrey was making a dry clicking and clacking noise, trying to speak through the froth. His heart were bulged with scourge and he reached to Arya, trying to speak.

Arya never thought she'd ever openly weep. When Arya saw his struggles decelerate and his eyes unfocus away from hers, she knew it was over. The scream that broke from her backtalk must stimulate woken half the rook. She felt the hound's heavy, but reassuring hand on her shoulder joint. There were more people in the room, but she never knew who.

"The King is gone…"

'' What made that screaming ? ``

'' Oh dear, let us pray to the sevener ... ''

Jamie was trying to mouth, but there were strange crying in his eyes.

"Get the girl off him."

'' What gave him that scratch on his face ? ``

'' MY SON ! WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY SON ? ``

Arya heard, but didn't understand anything. She was clutching to Joffrey and it took all three Kingsguard to pry her off the cooling stiff of her married man, power Robert Joffrey Baratheon, which slumped out of her arms and thudded lifeless to the floor.

"What happened ?"

"What happened here ?"

"Oh dearest, summon the Grandmaester !"

There were more people in here now, crowding in what should deliver been Arya's most private room. She was numb, but faintly heard the doorbell of the Red livelihood start to doughnut. The tycoon was short, and Arya was weeping.

What would pass to her ?