How I Traded My Ass for My Duchy: Raw Fuck with Count Drangard

My phone buzzed one last time in my private penthouse atop Winterfell Tower. ‘Here in 5. Those cheeks are mine tonight.’ Count Drangard’s text hit like fire after weeks of dirty chats on that elite hookup app for nobles. War at the borders, hubby fighting far off. He promised to pull strings, save my duchy. Price? My body. Natural compensation. I paced the marble floor, heart slamming. No time for games. Freshened my makeup, slipped into that tight white dress hugging my curves. The one that makes men stare.

Advisor Verkran knocked. His eyes devoured my ass as he stammered, ‘The Count’s here, ma’am.’ I nodded. ‘Send him in. Alone.’ Verkran smirked, knowing. Door clicked shut behind him.

The Approach

Count Drangard strode in, that conqueror grin, kissing my hand slow. Cologne sharp, finally real after screens. ‘Pleasure seeing you, Jaessa.’ I cut the bullshit. ‘Business first. Save my lands, you get your fun.’ We hashed terms quick—my title safe, duchy spared. His eyes never left my hips. Tension thick. Phone silenced on the table, still warm from his sexts: pics of his thick cock, promises to wreck my hole.

‘Now the price,’ he growled, stepping close. ‘Those fat ass cheeks I’ve jerked to for months.’ I feigned shock, but pussy throbbed. ‘Not cheating my husband.’ He laughed. ‘Just your ass. Virgin territory—Reoran too pussy to claim it.’ Hands slid behind, gripped hard over silk. Firm, greedy. Heat flooded me. Hubby’s touches? Weak pats. This? Ownership.

He spun me, yanked the dress off in seconds. Panties only, lace barely holding. Pinned me to the wall, chest first. His cock strained pants, grinding my crack. Urgent breaths, sweat mixing with his scent. ‘Gonna fuck this ass raw, Jaessa. Stretch it wide.’ Fabric ripped—panties gone. Naked cheeks exposed, cool air hit wet slit.

I craved it, ass clenching. But I flipped the script. Twisted free, dropped to knees. His shock—priceless. Zipper down, cock sprang out, veiny, leaking. Salty musk hit my nose. No tease. Mouth engulfed him, throat deep. Slurps echoed, hand twisting base fast. Gags wet, spit dripping. He groaned, fingers in my hair. ‘Fuck, duchess mouth like a pro whore.’ Pumped harder, balls slapping chin. Days of chat hype exploded.

The Explosion

He bucked. ‘Gonna cum.’ I pulled off, hand flying, aimed at mouth. First ropes hit tongue—bitter, thick. Swallowed half, rest splattered tits. He roared, knees weak. I milked every drop, cum dripping down cleavage. Licked lips. Tripped him good.

But he rallied. Eyes feral on my panty-less ass. Lunged, slammed me to rug. Ripped remaining lace, spread cheeks. ‘My turn, slut.’ Cock nudged hole—no lube, raw push. Panic thrill. I bucked up, reversed. Straddled him quick, sank pussy on shaft. Wet squelch. Rode savage, hips slamming. Fake moans? Real now. Tits bounced, his hands mauled cheeks—spanks stinging, fingers probing. ‘Ride it, bitch. But this ass next time.’ Grunts, slaps, sweat slick. He gripped harder, thumb circling pucker. I ground deep, clit grinding. He shattered—hot flood inside. Pulled off, his cum oozed out.

‘The Disappearance’,

I stood, smirking, cum glistening. ‘Deal done. Duchy saved. No ass for you.’ He panted, spent. ‘You fucked me raw, Jaessa. Cheated good.’ I winked, turning—perfect cheek view. ‘Saved the essentials.’ Door shut behind him. Phone silent. Wiped cum, dressed. Back to duchess life. Adrenaline faded, but craving lingered. He’ll text soon. Worth it.