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“I think you must be large all over.” Her voice echoes in his head, dripping with honeyed wine and then her pretty lips are on his. demanding all of him. Her lips taste of blackberries, her tongue just as sweet, ripe with tartness interlacing with his own tongue, as she threads her small fingers through his larger fingers, holding tight onto him.
Dunk reaches out to touch her long braid, wanting to feel its softness, but he finds it missing. He panics, fingers swiping behind her back trying to find it, when her tiny hand reaches down to grasp his coc—
The hedge knight awakes with a gasp, hot and drenched in a thick layer of sweat. He reaches underneath the top of his bedroll and grasps the strawberry-blonde braid he'd cut with his own dagger, her token to him, tight around his fist, stroking over the end of it. “It was just a dream, you fool.” Dunk murmurs to himself, shaking his head from side to side, closing his eyes tightly, touching the scar on his cheek that burned scarlet from how real the dream felt.
How good her little hand would feel wrapped tight around his manhood. If she could even fit it around me, Dunk thought, completely aware of how hard his heart was thundering beneath his ribcage—of how hard his naked cock was beneath the thin blanket.
Dunk glances over at Egg quickly, who was turned away from him, still in a deep sleep, softly snoring.
Breathing in heavily, Dunk brings Rohanne's braid to his nose, inhaling the slight scent still lingering on it, trying to picture her above him. Her petite and perfect breasts pressed against the width of his chest. Her heart beating in tandem with his, grinning slyly at him, her freckled and dimpled cheeks flushed bright red.
His cock throbs imagining her pointed and peaked nipples pressed flush against his pectoral muscles, gray-green eyes glinting with lust, all for him; her breath hot against his corded neck, as her sharp little teeth sink deep into the thick flesh of him, pricking and making him bleed.
For he always bled for her in his dreams, as he had each time he'd seen her.
Blood red and gold like her braided hair glinting in the bright, blazing sun.
"M'lady," Dunk groans harshly, almost growling, low and deep in his chest, yanking the blanket from his cock, no longer able to withstand the temptation. No longer able to resist the dreams of her that plague him worse than the Great Spring Sickness had swept through The Seven Kingdoms.
For she was all consuming, afflicting his dreams as of late, her touch upon his flesh making him feverish, making him succumb to her will, lest he drown again.
He gripped the girth of his manhood, just above his heavy, aching sac which was full of his seed—seed he hadn't spilled in many moons.
Biting his lip in the exact place she had struck him the first time he met Rohanne, drawing his blood, Dunk squeezed the thick shaft of his cock. Gripping the braid in his other hand, he imagined her lips pressing into the precise gash—kissing, licking, biting his fattened lip, soothing it with her quick tongue.
His thumb ran over the softness of her hair, longing to feel the softness of her freckled flushed flesh against his rough sweaty fevered skin. Her small mouth, wet tongue and especially her sharp teeth, on every part of him, biting, sucking, taking all she wanted from him and infecting his veins with her venom.
He was tired of his dreams, for they always felt too real, like the tangible smooth token he’d stolen, that she graciously gifted to him, that was wound around his finger. For Lady Rohanne, the Red Widow, had Dunk wrapped and wound tight around more than her finger—her heart.
Dunk needed to feel a piece of her wound around him. And the only solid, real piece he had left of her, would have to do.
Dunk suppressed a strangled groan, trying not to wake his squire, when he held his leaking cock in one hand and began to wind her braid along the girth of it, starting from the root of his cock, twisting it all the way to the leaking tip. His mouth and eyes gaped wide open, shocked that her long pretty braid, that he’d selfishly cut for himself, fit entirely around his manhood, to the very end of his thick head.
His hardened hot flesh which was weeping, his seed dripping fat tears on the end of Rohanne’s braid. It made Dunk’s eyes flutter shut, utter a low moan, when he wrapped his giant hand, fisting her soft, silky strands along every throbbing vein, again and again.
“Please, touch me.” he gasped, dreaming it was her hand, her lips, her mouth, tongue, cunt. Every part of her that made his heavy sac ache with longing, yearning to be sheathed, to spill inside her sweet lithe body.
“Please, m’lady.” He begged again, gritting his teeth, picturing her above him again, this time with short red gold hair hanging loosely, wildly framing her face like a glowing and burning bleeding sun. Dunk’s low grunts fills the sweltering atmosphere around him, and he pants, sweat running down his body, thrusting with fervor with her surrounding him wholly. The lust inside him roars, enflamed and alight, like the most uproarious thunderstorm, drowning him in desire.
A heavenly vision of his lady riding him, taking her pleasure, her indulgence from him; yet allowing Dunk his own intense pleasure. He imagined her supple freckled teats bouncing, her wet cunny making it easy for her to take him deeper.
And Dunk would oblige, heed his lady’s words, for he was nothing if not her noble knight.
And last of all, he imagined how his cock would feel deep within his Rohanne, inside her slick heat, with her small body enveloped all of him. With her sweet cunt softer than the braid currently cloaked and encircling him. How he would claim her for himself, with her taut belly bulging, distended, by his severe, extraordinary size, her voice whispering for him to fuck her, to fill her.
"Yes, Rohanne!" Dunk's peak overtakes his whole body, down to the base of his spine, the drumming beat of his heart. He trembles, shakes, his seed coming out in hot spurts, coating his hand, her long braid, marking it with him.
He keeps milking his cock with her braid woven tight around him, clenching his fist and squeezing his manhood, until every last bit of his salty spend is spilled, covering her pretty strawberry-blonde locks, wanting to be tangled in her web forever.
Exhaustion exudes into his bones, satiation seeping into his blood and veins, replacing the lust, the desire for his lady...for now.
And Dunk slips into a dreamless, divine sleep, her braid still wrapped tight around his soft cock, his seed drying upon it.
His reminder of her, of something to truly remember his lady by.