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A New Queen For Westeros II(Jon to Arya Tg)
🕑 Added 2020-12-20 04:23:40 +0000 UTC
The entire day had been strange and embarrassing, Jon greatly disturbed by the seemingly uncontrollable impulses cropping up seemingly from nowhere. There were some jokes from the wildlings that had tipped him off to it, his gait more of a saunter, his posture oddly prim and polite as if he was gearing up for tea instead of battle. He couldn't help it, annoyed by the random tics, disturbed when Sansa had left in a huff saying he didn't have to mock her. The only positive thing to note was that Daenerys seemed less disturbed, her mood of the last few days vanished like the morning mists at noon. He couldn't help but feel he was forgetting something, as if he knew why he was acting like this, but his mind just wasn't letting him remember. There was a block, one that sent the strangest tingles through him as he felt on the verge of remembering something. All that did though was leave his cock oddly strained against his breeches, the memory fading with pleasure as a growing anxiety knotted its way through his stomach.
It was hard to explain without sounding like a loon, yet he felt a sense of doom approaching as the day made its course to night. Perhaps it was the worries of winter, or just superstition that the Night King couldn't have died all that easily, yet both of those weren't it. The thought of Arya did send a strange sensation through him, his face slacking into a daze for some reason over his favorite sibling. Or, she was his favorite, the current her greatly changed from their time apart, far more callous, hateful and deadly than the mousy haired runt had ever been in his memories. Strangely, the closer sunset came, the more his mind returned to her, that same apprehension growing. He couldn't help the strange ways he was moving now, how hard it was to act manly, even his meals taken with an elegance that wasn't regular. Deciding he needed solitude, Jon left for the godswood, deciding the cool air would clear his mind and set his fears as the sun sank down.
No one took much notice of him leaving except one, the light in Daenerys's room showing her watching with a smirk at his delicate walking, her slit dripping as she began to feel her potion's effects starting once more, the two linked as they thought of the same person. For the first time that day, Jon felt free of the urges, his walk returning to normal, the feminine mannerisms fading with the sky's light. The old gods must have been watching, he was certain. Or perhaps someone else was watching, that prickly feeling of being seen noticeable as whispers mixed with the wind, growing louder as he entered the isolated circle around the great weirwood, taking his vigil there and trying to focus on dismissing these unfounded fears. The night grew still, a nearly full moon rising as the little hollow was illuminated, the only sound a faint rustling of leaves and wisps of the far away whispers. That's when the first dagger swiped at him.
He had been killed once by daggers held by his brothers of the night's watch, so the sound of steel cutting through air always kept him on edge, Jon twisting to dodge the blade of... no one? That didn't make sense, he could see into the hollow clearly, no sign of footprints on the snow or who could be doing this, yet his face stung. And yet, when he peeled a glove off to feel the area, instead of a gash or blood, his fingers only felt smooth skin, a few more hairs quivering to the ground as a few of his subtler scars faded into the taut skin. He twisted again, hearing another swipe, the opposite side of his face now burning. This time he could feel the change happening as the hairs shed or split, the texture of it softening as the oils flew off from the phantom strike, his chin and cheeks bare as the only hair left from his beard was a crop under his chi-
SHHNK SHHNK
A groan gurgled up as the third strike hit his throat, less one blow as much as it was a series or repeating grinds. Something was using his neck for a whetstone, choking him as the lump was grinded down into dust. Heat oozed from the patches of softness, surging into a strangely calming flow against the panic of an attack. It had to be magic, the only explanation as more of his throat shrank into a slim form, his groans rising as the heat in his chin and cheeks reached a boiling point, the flesh beginning to bubble as pops and crunchy noises permeated the clearing.
"WHO'S THERE?! HKK HKKKK!"
He tried to scope out the attacker, but his voice cracked, Jon coughing as a mucusy lump spat out into the snow. The heat was spreading, a confused groan leaving his lips as they plumped under the magic, red coloring filling their thick shape as his chiseled features were given a renovation. It felt like his mouth was melting, the teeth and bone all shaving off slivers of mass as they slendered to something cute, the rounded curves of their new features feminine, yet with a boyish edge. Jon could hear his moans quivering upwards, a familiar tone breaking through the increasing cracks, his nose receding as the bridge broke into a bulbous pug shape, fitting with his new features as a voice whispered back to his earlier outburst.
"I am no one Jon Snow. And soon you will be too."
"A-ARYA?! How are- NNGH!"
There were too many questions to ask as his eyes teared, their pupils wobbling as their dark grey lightened to one that bordered on blue in the right light, green in others. The lashes were pulling outwards, clumping together as his brows shaped themselves into thin lines, accenting the added angles to their girlish gaze as his cheeks blazed red with blush. There was a strange pleasure to each shift, only magnified as more of his body was taken over, and to Jon's horror from his shocked cries, Arya was the one doing the taking.
Only once before had he been in a warg battle, but this was far different from Orell's attempts at taking over Ghost or any other attempted warging. There was something terribly right about the feeling, each give accompanied by a rush of pleasure, the chill of winter long gone on his sweating, burning body. Even his greasy locks were susceptible, the wind tossing them about as their black color browned, strands tickling his shoulders as a great mess of chestnut locks fell around his face. He hadn't learned how to fight against such techniques, settling on a hasty retreat to the castle before the magic could finish.
"Did you think I'd let you escape?"
The phantom sword swung at his heels, catching his right as he stumbled, growling in pain as the boot flew off to expose the twitching, shrinking mass. It looked horrific, but felt amazing, the toes flexing dexterously as hot flesh sizzled against the snow. Soon, what had once been a rough, war trodden foot had shrunk down to a petite prattler, the ankle bristling away any hairs that remained as with dancer like elegance, the changed foot began teasing at the other boot, amazingly undoing the clasps before rubbing against the contents to create its twin. It peeled away at the leathery flesh, playing with it until the heels were equally slender, the arches pronounced, each toe tingling as the heat flowed upwards, his legs prickling as his heels began to disappear up his pantlegs.
There was a near two feet height differential in the two, the first round of fixing that climbing up the stubborn bones of his legs, patches of them either melting or breaking depending on which was easier, the warrior left a squealing mess as his calves slendered down, the meat contracting as their curves exaggerated. The heat mixed with the shifting fat was difficult to ignore, his cock hardening as his knees snapped together. He tried not to moan, but couldn't help it as his thighs succumbed to thick fat.
He was writhing about, looking more like an animal trapped in furs than a man, his legs pulling inwards as his belts slackened, each thrash loosening their grip on his skin. Each thigh was its own cookfire, fighting back the cold to warm his cock, his erection straining against tight undergarments, the cool air doing little to assuage the building heat in his exposing legs. The muscle bulged outwards, thinning as it became less about strength and more about flexibility, versatility and delicate movement. As the skin turned soft, he certainly felt all three as the wild thrashing turned more purposeful, torturously rubbing against his cock, pressing the balls, fat turning them from slabs of meat to fluffy fingers stroking every inch of his manhood. Whining between moans, he tried crawling, hearing the detached voice of Arya tut at him in disappointment.
"Never show your back to the enemy. Wasn't that one of your lessons? I thought you would have learned, though I guess your back IS the enemy's now."
A sudden weight planted itself onto the small of his back, his pants slipped lower as from the purchase of his spine he could feel his ass being massaged by invisible hands.
"No p-please Ary-AHHH~ Wh-Why are y-OOH~ doing this to- AH AH AHHH~!"
The weight jumped, landing on the center of his spine as he was driven deeper into the snow, his cock throbbing as the bone snapped like dead ice under an unwary foot. Sleeves pried off his gloves, his height reduced greatly as two more jumps followed, pulling his back into a condensed arch that left his top loose, a pleased squeal forced from his lips as his ass cheeks were forced to plumpen and rise.
The new skin glistened in the moonlight, his pants finally flying loose and tossing about in the wind, his more wiry, girly half twirling him on melting snow as no matter the position, his ass was swelling, groped by invisible hands. The band of his cock stuffed underwear was stretching, pulling his manhood tighter to him, making it struggle as bits of fabric tore to leave their container looking significantly more feminine. Between his thighs and growing ass cheeks, his hips were grinding, unable to contain such feminine bounty on his male frame, his skeleton audibly snapping as his hip bones tore themselves outwards, a damp spot forming on the exposed panties as he moaned in troubled delight. His changed parts were leagues more receptive and tender, the feeling of snow melting and steaming on them arousing enough on its own without the added aid of the hands dimpling his ass.
There was one last attempt at resistance, Jon darting around, scrambling towards his separated pants and clutching at the sword belt, knowing Longclaw could slice through magic and hoping the Valyrian Steel could end Arya's encroaching spirit. He yanked once and was surprised to find the sword stuck fast to its sheath, the cold having frozen it solid. There was a harsh sound coming inside as he pulled at it, sparks flinging from the gaps of the sheath as a noise like a blacksmith's grinder sounded. Each yank sent a finger of his out of the socket, shrinking into a slender digit before relocking, the great blade thinning before his eyes. Halfway through unsheathing it, his hands rushed to his other sword, a hot pulse ransacking his balls as his thighs clamped down, the shaft in danger of spewing out his masculinity. Unfortunately he hadn't noticed how far his hands had changed, two slender, dainty feelers wrapping around his cock as the finger jerked, control relinquished as they slid up and down his shaft. The swordbelt came free as he squealed, moaning ecstatically with the first release.
He felt winded, drained even, and with that draining came more room for Arya, his arms jettisoning muscle out in ropy spurts as his entire frame shattered and shrank. The discarded swordbelt was slithering across the ground, leather slipping under his top and wrapping around his waist as it began to constrict along his waist, his body going much like his sword, from bulky and broad to the thin, slender Needle. Resistance was slowly fading from his moans, the sensations too strong, too pleasing, a gap forming internally that was begging to be filled as his balls pressed upwards. Only one hand continued to jerk, the other fondling his balls, squeezing a singular testicle before shoving it up with a measure jab, his mind buckling under the assault of femininity as his ball was forced inside him.
Pleasure flowed throughout, hot and thick, bunching in his nipples as their shape thickened and scratched, Jon rolling to his front to start grinding against the ground, unable to help his horniness. That's how his remaining testicle went, pounded inside by his own frantic thrusting, clear liquids spewing forth from his sensitive cock as estrogen poisoned his system, spreading its coercive claws throughout every inch of his body.
There was barely any Jon left, his hands moving outside of his control, throwing off his heavy cloak and shirt to bare his chest freely past the swordbelt tightening around his waist. Splaying themselves behind his back and pulling into a stretch, Jon grunted as first one shoulder sloped, then the other, his body continuing to contort itself as each flexible stretch shifted a joint, slendered his frame, an acrobatic finesse soon spreading from every inch of his shrunken form as his height was a fraction of its former self. He had tons of combat experience, but a different sort of murder was flowing into his thoughts, his lips perking into a smile as his chest throbbed, the final muscle of his body surging upwards as he begged for more.
The cum flowed clear and fast, his cries full of hunger as each nipple felt caressed by the cold, his abs each flattening as they flowed under them. It was an intimate process, sending his cute little moans into staccato shrieks, all that bulky muscle unnecessary for water dancing or assassination. The belt around his waist helped squeeze what it could from his thin form, pulling his sides in with each loop dragged through as fatty deposits continued to surge and wobble. On his small frame they seemed massive, the ecstasy of their bound growth more than he could handle as his cock gave a shudder, part of it making a squishy sound as the shaft stabbed into his body.
It was out of his control now, the changes too far gone, the desire too strong, his identity feeling more like someone else as his own cock was fucking him into submission, another segment thrusting inside as he gasped, trying to remember why and what he was fighting. One piece of advice flashed into his mind as his hands encroached upon his cock, a finger teasing the tip, his slit widening as it dragged more of his lengthened finger into it. It was good advice, shared to him by Jon back when she was a kid, lesson one in fighting. Smiling, she moaned out, "Stick em with the pointy end," before stabbing down into her cock, her body thrashing about the snow as she penetrated her shaft, said shaft penetrating her with equal roughness.
It was a glorious double fucking, her time in the pleasure quarters for training coming back as she gave her cock a final servicing, one hand groping a perky breast as the other continued to slide her fingers into the shrinking cock and thrust. It took a few of them to work the cock down, not that she minded, loving every agonizingly ecstatic spasm that came as she squeezed her tip, condensing it as her might cock became little more than a stub. With a final pelvic grind she came, sighing as bliss filled her leaking cunt, her fingers readying for another round when her ears perked at the sound of a footstep on snow.
The naked Arya turned with an aroused smile on her face, her body warm at just the sight of her liege, moaning at just the feeling of being in Daenerys's presence. Like her sister the night before, she was more than happy to talk of her plans to the queen the real her distrusted, feeling immense pleasure at making her liege happy as she threw on her clothes, Jon's old ones changed to match her current style. Her mind was still a bit fuzzy, her time as a Faceless Man making her essence a bit unstable for use, but thankfully Daenerys didn't need long to find out every detail she needed. The two women soon found themselves enjoying the warmth of their bodies on top of a plush mattress, Arya's wiry body flinging about into positions Daenerys had never imagined possible as every bit of her servant's flexibility was put to the test.
Eventually they had collapsed together, dawn approaching as Daenerys smiled. She could feel her body changing if she let the new form take hold, her height gaining half a foot, her cheeks stubbled with blonde, the slight boost in strength making it easy to carry her shrunken lover back to his room before the changes reverted, a list of who was next forming in her head as she retired once more to her chambers.
Jon slept most of the day away, tossing and moaning in his sleep, pleasures he had never imagined filling his dreams until he awoke with a start, feeling dizzy as the room felt massive. Before the fog of his dreams could leave, he clutched onto one facet of the blissful nightmare, rushing to dress himself and leave when he noticed himself in the mirror. The room wasn't massive, he was just small, his height leeched away with much of his broadness, the muscle still there, but on a slimmer frame, one that could just as easily belong on a woman as a man. Worse, he could see the sun setting, dread filling him as he bounded out of his room with a purpose. He had to see Daenerys.
