Jeoffrey: The Hedonist (SI)

Joffrey leaned back in his seat, his face tight with distaste as the Freys indulged in their grotesque feast. The air was thick with the rank smell of sweat and wine, a carnival of flesh on display. Maids draped themselves over the laps of men, their skirts pulled high as their giggles filled the hall. It was debauchery that rivaled even Robert’s wildest escapades, but there was something particularly filthy about the Freys—an almost animalistic need to flaunt their vulgarity in front of everyone.

Robert, predictably, reveled in it. He laughed loudly, one hand wrapped around a half-empty goblet of wine, the other pawing at a woman’s ass, his thick fingers pressing into her flesh as if she were little more than a piece of meat. Joffrey’s eyes flicked to Cersei beside him, her lips curled in a disdainful smirk as she watched the king. “The North might be full of savages,” she said softly, “but this... this is worse.”

Joffrey turned to her with a sly smile. “If the world were so forgiving, I’d take you right here in front of everyone.” His voice was low, teasing, but with an edge that suggested he wasn’t entirely joking. His eyes flicked over her form, a sharp hunger beneath the cool surface.

Cersei huffed, swatting his arm lightly, though her eyes betrayed the spark of excitement that ran through her at his words. “Not proper,” she chided, but her voice lacked conviction.

Joffrey laughed, the sound quiet but loaded with power, as if he could simply make anything proper by decree. He cast a quick glance around the hall, catching the disapproving glare Ned Stark sent Robert’s way before the man stood, ushering his daughters from the room. Sansa lingered a moment, her eyes meeting Joffrey’s with a kind of sad disappointment, but he paid it no mind. She was his to manipulate, not someone whose feelings concerned him.

He turned instead to Tommen, whose wide-eyed gaze was locked on one of the maids—a busty redhead with her bodice pulled dangerously low, her breasts practically spilling out with every movement. Joffrey smirked. At least he’s not a pillow biter, he thought to himself, amused by his younger brother’s blatant lust.

“Come closer,” Joffrey called out to the maid. She looked at him with a smile, coy and eager, stepping forward obediently. Her breasts jiggled as she moved, and Tommen’s eyes were glued to them, his mouth slightly open in a way that made Joffrey laugh internally.

“Pour us some wine,” Joffrey ordered, and she giggled as she grabbed the pitcher, leaning over to fill their goblets. Her cleavage was almost pressed against Tommen’s face, the poor boy frozen as he stared, his gaze never leaving the swell of her chest.

Joffrey’s hand moved as if by accident, knocking his own goblet into Tommen’s lap, spilling wine all over his brother’s pants. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Tommen,” Joffrey said with mock regret, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his intentions.

Tommen’s face flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment, his arousal rudely interrupted. He shot Joffrey a look that almost amused him more than anything else. The one thing that riles him up—getting cockblocked.

Leaning closer to the maid, Joffrey whispered in her ear, “Take my brother aside and clean him up. Then, let him drink your milk.” The wicked smile on her lips said she understood perfectly, and she nodded, grabbing Tommen’s arm gently as she guided him from the table with promises to "help him."

As she led Tommen away, Joffrey slipped a golden dragon into her cleavage, his fingers grazing her warm skin. The girl winked at him before disappearing into the shadows with his brother.

Just as Joffrey was settling back, Myrcella slid into Tommen’s empty seat, her curious gaze resting on him. “Why are you so mean to Tommen?” she asked, a smile playing at her lips.

“I’m not mean, I’m generous. I gave him exactly what he wanted,” Joffrey replied with a grin, swirling the wine in his cup.

Myrcella chuckled, glancing at Robert who was still neck-deep in a busty maid’s cleavage. “Do you know what everyone wants?” Her voice was teasing, but there was a sharp edge behind it, something almost knowing.

Joffrey rolled his eyes, leaning in toward her, his hand casually dropping to her thigh under the table. “I’m the king, after all,” he said smugly, his fingers starting to trace light circles on her skin. “Or close enough. As long as Robert’s face is buried in tits, I can rule.”

Myrcella placed her hand on his, guiding it upward, her breath hitching as his fingers grazed the warm space between her legs. “The king can still be influenced,” she murmured, biting her lip as she shifted in her seat, her thighs parting slightly to give him better access.

Joffrey’s fingers found her entrance, already slick and waiting. He grinned, pushing a finger inside, his gaze locking with hers. “Who might that be?” he asked, his voice low and mocking.

Her breath caught, her lips forming a soft ‘O’ as she fought to keep her composure in the crowded hall. “Lord Stark,” she gasped quietly, her body jerking slightly as Joffrey added another finger, the slow, deliberate thrusts driving her mad. “The Small Council,” she added, her voice strained.

Joffrey scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk. “My father-in-law,” he sneered, his fingers working faster inside her. Myrcella bit her lip hard, trying to keep her sounds contained as the pleasure mounted. Her body tensed, a low moan escaping her before she clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around the hall to make sure no one noticed.

She was breathless, struggling to speak through the waves of sensation crashing through her body. “What about... me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Joffrey slowed his movements, letting her frustration build. He withdrew his fingers, now slick with her arousal, and started to circle her clit instead, teasing her relentlessly. “Why would you try to influence Robert?”

Myrcella’s hips bucked against his hand, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “I want something,” she admitted, her voice trembling as she rocked into his touch.

Joffrey pinched her clit sharply, making her whimper, his voice dark and threatening. “What do you want?”

She winced at the pain but didn’t pull away, her face contorted with the effort to stay silent. “I don’t want to marry anyone,” she panted, her body trembling as he resumed his slow, torturous thrusts.

Joffrey froze, her words making him pause. He turned to her, genuinely confused for the first time. “Why?”

Myrcella met his gaze, her eyes burning with frustration and lust. “Because I don’t like men,” she breathed, her voice raw.

For a moment, Joffrey felt thrown. His hand stilled, unsure how to react to the confession. Myrcella, irritated by his hesitation, glared at him. “Don’t stop now,” she hissed, grinding her hips against his fingers. “A hand’s a hand. I can still finish.”

With a mixture of shock and bemusement, Joffrey resumed his rhythm, his fingers moving again. He glanced around, the hall still absorbed in its revelry, oblivious to the scene unfolding beneath the table.

“Then why did you fuck me?” he asked, his voice incredulous as she began to move against him again.

“I was testing it out,” Myrcella replied breathlessly, her hips rocking faster as she chased her release. “And besides, Sansa and Cersei were there... they made it easier.”

Joffrey swallowed hard, his mind racing at the idea of his sister fantasizing about their mother and his betrothed as she fucked him. He didn’t know whether to be angry or turned on. But Myrcella was lost in her own world, her pleasure building rapidly as she neared her peak.

“I can’t marry,” she gasped, her breath hitching. “I love Cersei too much to pretend.”

Joffrey nodded absentmindedly, the confession barely registering as his fingers worked her through her climax, her body shuddering as she came. Her wetness coated his hand, and she slumped back in her seat, panting and spent.

She turned to him, her eyes gleaming wickedly. “Make Cersei lick it off,” she whispered, her voice full of mischief.

Joffrey’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, but he complied, pulling his hand from beneath the table and awkwardly offering it to Cersei, who had been watching them with an amused glint in her eye. Without hesitation, Cersei took his fingers into her mouth, sucking them clean, her eyes widening slightly as she tasted Myrcella on him.

“You two had fun while leaving me out,” Cersei teased, her tone light but loaded with implication. Joffrey grunted, feeling suddenly drained by it all.

“Not as much fun as you think,” he muttered darkly, pulling his hand away.

Cersei laughed softly, leaning close to whisper in his ear. “Careful where you play these games. You’re still a prince, not a king.”

She stood, glancing once more at Myrcella, the hunger in their eyes undeniable, before leaving the table. Myrcella followed shortly after, her hips swaying seductively as she trailed after their mother.

Joffrey sighed heavily, staring after them. Normally, he would have followed them both, but tonight, something about Myrcella’s revelation stuck in his mind, leaving him feeling used—like a tool, a toy in her hands. He didn’t like it.

He looked around, his gaze landing on Marian, the washermaid, bent over a table as she scrubbed at spilled food. Her ass was plump, her body curved in all the right places. Joffrey had taken her many times before, enjoying her eager submission. She was one of those rare women who seemed to crave being dominated, and she made it easy for him, never demanding much.

But now, Joffrey wondered—did she want something more? Was there something else behind her loyalty? He decided he would find out.

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