His breath smells of mulled wine and roast. He laughs and my ears fill with heavenly joy. I stare at him and still cannot believe he's real. The way his lips are curved, in that confident smirk of his, the way his eyes pierce into me, it leaves me stare agape and breath heavily, panting like a dog after a long run. I look at his hands - so soft and big and manly, and I imagine all the things he could do with these to me. My subconcious grins at me a yells "I told you so", but I ignore her, because now I'm too turned on to have a conversation with her. Right now my Inner Goddess aches me of how swollen she is - between my legs is blowing up the sweet cherry, head of my Inner Goddess, the button that means heaven and hell - the one I've never touched before, even when I was burning in feverish dreams of him, Rhaegar Targaryen.
"More wine?" he asks and I manage to nod and whimper and bit. He refills my cup with bloody-red wine. His smile, his eyes, his tongue… Gods, I want him to lick my tummy.
The tension in the tent becomes unbearable. He leans near me and looks deeply into my eyes. I shiver, I feel cold and hot at the same time. I've never felt like this before. Geez, he's so hot.
"Lady Stark," he starts and my heart melts, "I think you should leave." His words are like a cold splash of water. Leave? Why? Is he really a gay? What did I do wrong? Was that the garlic bread I ate for supper?
"But why?" I whisper passionately and jerk my arms closer to each other, to create more busty cleavage than I actually have.
"I might hurt you," he says slowly. I sense some dark emotion in his purple eyes.
"But why would you do that?"
"Because I like it."
I gasp and stare at him.
"I always thought love making wasn't painful," I shriek.
"I'm not talking about love making."
"Gargoh?" I yelp.
"I'm talking about the hardest horse ride you've ever had, Lyanna Stark."
"Horse- horse riding? What are you talking about?" I scream.
"Seven hells, are you retarded or something?"
Immediately, I start crying and sobbing with horror. I hear him sigh and say something rude about my mother's lady parts. He hands me a handkerchief and I wipe my eyes and blow my nose loudly like an elephant. I look into a mirror and scream with terror.
"I just want you to love me. Love me, Rhaegar. We can go horse riding some other day. My bottom is always all sore from it, especially when the horse is riding too fast and I forget my small clothes, but I'd do it for you. We can ride horses together whenever you want, but now… stick it into me," I whisper with passion and the tent fills with lust and butterflies.
"My lady… There will be blood," he says but before I can say something meaningful in reply, he rolls over me like a bull. His hands reach down my dress. He rolls up my dress and licks his lips at the sight of my skinny legs. He turns me over so I lie on my belly and he stands over me, fondling my buttocks with his massive hand. I close my eyes and murmur:
"Yes, Rhaegar, fondle my ass."
But then he stops and I hear no reply. I open my eyes and before I can do or say anything, he stands over me, a harp in his hand and a smirk on his face. Is he going to sing now? My Inner Goddess sighs but I feel touched. This will be a very romantic evening, as it seems.
But before I realise what's going on, his harp strikes down my bottom cheeks. He swings the harp over and over again and I scream with horror. What is he doing? Why won't he sing to me? He hits me one more time and my butt is all red and swollen. I sob a little but I don't want him to see me cry.
Then something terrible happens. I can't control it, it just happens and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I shouldn't have eaten that garlic bread, I think. I fart out loud, it echoes through the tent and the air is filled with the smell of slightly rotten garlic and something else. I blush until I look like a tomato.
I look at Rhaegar with a frightened look. But he smiles.
"Do it again," he commands. His voice is so strong and confident, I cannot refuse him anything. So I push really hard and fart one more time. It's a long one and the sound reminds me of a blowing wind. Soon I smell the strong essence. But the Prince is already at my butt, smelling it like a dog smells a piece of meat. I fart one more time, just to make him happy.
He opens my cheeks with his hands and sucks his lips to my chocolate hole - I push and push until another fart escapes my inner chamber and he sucks hungrily on it. He breaths everything in and moans with joy.
"Oh yes, Lyanna! Fart for me, my lady! Give me all you have!" I hear him scream into my butt. I blush at the thought of somebody entering the tent - what would they think of me? This is so embarrassing, but holy cow… It is hot.
After I am completely empty and his cheeks are full of my divine essence, he rolls over me and kisses me on the lips. His mouth tastes like shit and I've never been so turned on before.
"Do you do this often?" I manage to whisper between the kisses. He looks a bit annoyed but stops and while looking me into the eyes he answers:
"How? With whom?" I gasp.
He casually shrugs and gives me one of his looks.
"You know, various people," he says and kisses me on the nose.
"Who are those various people?" I have to ask. I feel like an idiot, interrogating him like he was a child, but there is something that makes me want to find out the truth - to reveal the mystery that Rhaegar Targaryen is - a beautiful crown prince who is good at fighting, playing harp and enjoys swallowing other people's farts.
"Well, it all started when I was very small. Now," he sighs and looks into distance, "now I am surrounded by people who have this as a duty."
I widen my eyes. "Duty? Who are these people, my Prince?" I look at him with suspicion.
"Oh well… You might have heard of them, erm. The King's Guard and such," he swallowed dryly.
Holy cow. My Inner Goddess, my subconcious and I all gasp in unisono. The King's Guard? The greatest knights of the Sveen Kingdoms have to swallow Prince Rhaegar's farts? Holy cow.
"That's… Wow. Wow. I mean, do they like it too or just…?" I blurt out.
Rhaegar grins and winks at me. "Oh yes, very much," he states.
I can't get the image of Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, doing this with this gorgeous man with silver hair. And I am glad that it is so - because it turns me one more than anything in the world.
"Wow," I manage. He looks at me and wiggles his eyebrows.
"Well. Now my little she-wolf, are you ready for another round or should I get you some beans and peas?"