“Oh m’lord,” moaned the fair haired whore. Her nightgown discarded somewhere across the floor of his private chambers while she mounted every inch of the Greatjon Umber’s cock. She kept her hands firmly planted on his pectorals, arching her back while she spoke. Her round, sagging tits bounced about while the sheer rump of her arse cheeks smacked against his tree-trunk-like thighs. “Gods, M’lord! What pleasure it is to bed ye,” she moaned. She was an older lass, later in age with all of the weight and wear to show for it.

The Greatjon grunted, his great hands coming up to grip her broad hips, his thick fingers digging into the soft flesh there. He was a mountain of a man, and she rode him like one, her wet cunt taking his full length with each downward stroke. "Aye," he rumbled, his voice like stones grinding together deep in his chest. "Ye take it well, woman." His eyes, small and dark like a boar's, watched the sway of her heavy breasts, the sheen of sweat upon her skin in the firelight. He could feel the heat of her, the tight, slick clasp of her around his cock, and it was a good feeling, honest and simple. This was no dainty southron flower, all sighs and blushes, but a woman of the North who knew the worth of a strong man and a warm bed.

He thrust upwards to meet her, driving himself deeper, and was rewarded with a gasp that was half a scream. The bed, a massive thing of dark oak, groaned in protest beneath their combined weight. The smell of them filled the chamber—musk and sweat and the faint, sweet scent of the woman's arousal. He could taste the salt of her skin on his lips when he leaned forward to take a pendulous breast into his mouth, his tongue circling the dark nipple before he suckled hard, drawing another ragged moan from her. His own pleasure was a coiling, building pressure in his groin, a relentless tide pulled by the rhythm of their joining. He cared not for pretty words or courtly love; this was the truth of it, the primal drive of flesh against flesh, and it was a truth he understood perfectly.

His grip on her hips tightened, guiding her, controlling the pace now as his own need mounted. The coarse hair of his chest scraped against her soft belly, and the slap of their bodies was a raw, percussive music in the quiet room. He could feel the tremors beginning deep within her, the first signs of her peak, and it spurred him on. A low growl escaped him as he pistoned into her, each thrust a claiming, a conquest. This was what it meant to be a man, to feel the strength in his own body and to wield it for this singular, brutal pleasure. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting their writhing, massive shadow against the stone wall, a beast with two backs dancing in the flickering light.

Suddenly, her cunt released a loud, wet queef while she took every inch of his cock. “Oh Gods!” She stammered. The sagging skin of her arse rippled against his thighs. “M’lord,” she groaned while her toes curled, “The size of you! F-Fuck!”

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