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Hand Of The King
Punishment From The Iron Throne
Nicholas Patrick <>


DISCLAIMER: I do not own, or claim to own, any of the characters used in this slash fiction. This is a work of pure fiction and bares no resemblance to the events of the HBO television program Game Of Thrones nor of the characters owned and written of in the books from which the HBO version derives all written by George R R Martin. All ownership goes to the rightful copyright owners, HBO and George R R Martin.

George R R Martin hates fan fiction. He thinks it lies somewhere between outright plagiarism and fan over appropriation. In that spirit, I think Mr. Martin could stand to lose 200 pounds, write his final two novels faster and stop the show runners on HBO from murdering the television adaptation of his remarkable novels. In deference to him however, I will stop writing stories in his realm when he meets my conditions. Until that time, there are far too many cute boys, adorable pairings and unexplored male relationships in the Song of Ice and Fire universe to not corrupt with a fair bit of parody and unfair amount of spanking. If you're not up to date on the books or show, read at your own risk. Enjoy.

The Hand of the King

On the Iron Throne

Tommen, first of his name, King of Andals, the Rhoyar and the First Men, Defender of the Faith and Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms perched anxiously upon the Iron Throne. His herald stepped forward preparing to announce his first and only appointment at court for the day.

"Ser Loras Tyrell of Higharden," the herald barked before resuming his hovering position to the left and slightly behind the chair forged of 1000 swords (or like 200 if you just watch the show).

Loras entered looking slightly confused. He couldn't remember how he had ended up back at court.

"Your Grace," he said hoping to find out just what was going on. "Why have I been summoned? The last thing I remember was either being horribly burned at the siege of Dragonstone or locked up by the Faith Militant on false allegations."

The King stood.

"My good Ser Loras, we're in the show's version of events. I am the super cute 17 year old Tommen who loves boning your sister, not the affable 6 year old who plays with cats from the books."

Somehow that made sense as all the courtiers turned and nodded agreement to each other.

But that only half answered why the heir (or 3rd son, depending on your perspective) to Highgarden was summoned by his brother by law. Tommen began to clarify for him.

"You see, I have been unable to secure the release of your sister, the Queen or my mother, the Queen, but the High Sparrow told me I could have another Queen of sorts."

The assembled crowd let out a hushed round of laughter that ended when the herald pounded his staff on the stone floor.

"I don't understand your Grace… What is going on?" the Knight of the Flowers inquired.

"On the condition that you accept 7 punishments for your crimes (crimes which for the record, I'm totally ok with; It's just religion, you know) you will be released into my custody where I plan to name you the Hand of the King," Tommen declared causing murmurs to rise up from the lords and ladies inside Maegor's Holdfast.

Loras was relieved and afraid all at the same time. He just had two more questions for his King.

"Thank you my King," he began. "I am forever in your debt. But I wonder, what are these 7 punishments, and which Loras Tyrell am I again? The late teen, lithe and agile but surprisingly strong Loras from the books, or the beefcake mid 20s Loras from the show…" his voice trailed off.

"Oh, yeah. You're the cute Loras from season 1 before you hit the gym and started eating too many Highgarden protein smoothies," the King kindly explained. "Suspend your disbelief for me if you will so we can move this narrative along good Ser."

Again, the court nodded as if all of this made sense.

"As for your 7 punishments, there will be one for each aspect of the 7 pointed star. I cannot tell you beforehand what they are, but your options are to accept them and be cleansed of your sin, or the Faith will take you back into their custody and geld you."

Loras looked down then immediately back up.

"I'll take the cleansing of the Seven," he enthusiastically responded trying to get the image or Lancel Lanister removing his genitals out of his mind.

"Good choice!" Tommen replied and stood to embrace his soon to be Hand of the King. "Clear the throne room," he ordered and the assembled masses filed out the massive doors of the Red Keep, down Aegon's High Hill.

Once the non-essentials were gone, only the King, Ser Loras, three Knights of the Kingsguard (wearing white, not that gold shit they wear in the show) and a young septon, red of hair, blue of eye and pale of skin remained. Every eye in the room was on the Tyrell boy wondering what tortures the faith had prescribed for him. He soon found out.

The septon stepped forward and began speaking.

"First, my Lords, the Maiden must cleanse the accused of all impurities before he can know the Mother's Mercy," he called out formally. "Please unburden Ser Loras of his worldly possessions."

Loras was glad that his sworn brothers of the Kingsguard were tasked with stripping him of his rags. His weeks in the cells below the Sept of Baelor had left him tattered, smelly and for the first time in his life, scruffy. He hoped his cleansing would include a shave and a haircut. He probably didn't realize that they would be shaving everything below his blue eyes.

As he stood there naked before his sworn brothers, the young cleric and still younger King, he felt himself flush and worried that his manhood would betray him. It turned out that he needn't worry about that as the ginger septon sponged his body with ice cold water from his neck down to his feet, not neglecting an inch along the way.

The water might have been shipped from the Wall, it was so cold. The Knight of Flowers withered to a pedal as he was bathed clean for the first time in weeks. He stood frozen in place as his captor pressed the soft Iron Island sponge across his chest, under his arms, down his navel and finally to his shriveled up manhood and backside.

Once clean, the Kingsguard each unsheathed tiny daggers. Tommen was handed a bowl of lather, which he wasted no time spreading all over the young man who so closely resembled his wife in all but breasts and cunt. The white knights slid their blades with precision down his arms, up his neck, across his face, until they knelt and sheared his legs and buttocks. The King himself took his family jewels into his hand and with surprising deftness, swiped him free of all hair in his groin with only a dozen strokes of the razor.

After Ser Loras was sheared, the septon poured ice cold water over his head and declared: "The Maiden has made you as one of her own. You are cleansed in the eyes of the Maiden."

His brothers of the Kingsguard withdrew leaving him standing cold, naked and nervous in the center of the throne room. Before he could long ponder his situation, a strapping young lad, the spitting image of King Robert emerged from the Small Council chambers bearing a wooden box with velvet lining.

"I know you," the Tyrell said to the young man. "Aren't you supposed to be in the Riverlands with the Brotherhood without Banners?"

The dark haired youth gave a toothy grin.

"Turns out I'm the only smith or armorer that's given a name in the book or show, so I was called in for this special project," Gendry, King Robert's bastard son said matter of factly. "It's Valerian steel," he said opening the small box, "made using the measurements the Faith took during your inspection in the cells my Lord."

Tommen reached in and picked up the first of three pieces of a Westerosi chastity cage. He smiled at Loras, not quite apologetically.

"The Smith will cleanse you with this work of his forge," he said gripping the naked man's cock and balls and slipping a cold shining ring around both. The septon nodded his approval, handing the King a short steel rod that locked the ring in place and jutted out another inch above the shriveled organ that had gotten Loras arrested in the first place.

Lastly, Gendry's rough hands grabbed Ser Loras' shriveled member and stuffed it pointing downward into the gleaming solid steel tube. Loras looked down just in time to see the septon's, his king's and the bastard smith's hands pressing the ring, rod and tube together as a seven stared key locked it tightly into place against his skin.

It wasn't until they released him that Loras realized that he couldn't get hard. That thought, of course, made him try to get hard. Try as he might, the more his dick tried to expand in its cage, the tighter the ring around the base of his balls became. The judgement of the Smith was harsh, the young Tyrell Lordling thought to himself.

"The Smith has clad you in his sacred steel. You are cleansed in the eyes of the Smith," came the call from his ginger tormentor.

Gendry bowed, turned and left the hall, leaving the box that housed his erection inhibitor at the foot of the Iron Throne. As he departed, he brushed shoulders with a tall blonde squire with a golden rose stitched into his tunic. Loras nearly feinted on seeing Olivar, his sometime lover, sometime squire. He carried with him three skins of what the steel clad knight assumed was wine.

"On your knees my Lord," Olivar said smugly.

Loras knelt.

"Hands on the floor as well if you please."

Loras had no choice but to crouch as if a dog as his former sex partner stepped behind him. He heard the top of one of the wine skins pop off and turned just in time to see his squire press it right into Loras' upturned rosebud.

"Ahhhhh," the knight exclaimed, his head shooting up as liquid gushed inside of him.

"What aspect of the Seven would have this as a punishment?" Loras wondered to himself as the pressure built.

The King had backed away until he was once again seated on the Iron Throne watching the proceedings with an almost academic interest. Some of the expressions on the face of his next Hand of the King made him wonder if the boy was in suffering in agony or reveling in exaltation. When the first skin was removed from Loras with a plop, it was confusion that read on the heir to Highgarden's face.

"Hoohhoo," Loras breathed, trying desperately to clench his ass shut.

The septon made matters worse by motioning for him to stand. It took a great amount of effort not to purge his bowels of the liquid he's just been filled with, but somehow he managed. Once upright, he was led to a pillar near the wall where a chamber pot stood waiting on the floor.

"The punishment of the Stranger is not for us to witness," said the freckled priest. "Free yourself of you filthiest bodily fluids and by the Stranger's mystery be cleansed."

Barely had the holy man stepped away then a gush of what Loras now knew was oil escaped his rectum and seeped into the basin below him. Olivar came over once the Tyrell stopped moaning to spray him off with a clear oil from the second skin. The final skin was filled with a sweet smelling oil that his squire rubbed into his flesh only after he was cleaned on all traces of excrement. He was led back to the center of the hall where the King beheld the now glistening knight gleaming from his muscled pectorals to his mounded abs to his shiny cock cage and his thin but strong calves.

"You have felt the Stranger's caress inside and out. You are cleansed in the eyes of the stranger," the septon's chant filled the empty hall. Olivar collected the discarded skins of oil, gave his knight a wink and then departed.

The Crone was a bitch, Loras thought as he stood blind folded, legs out stretched, chained to pillars on opposite sides of the room. It was not a good thought to have about one of the aspects of the Seven, but it was helped along by the biting clamps that the septon had latched onto his nipples. The septon droned on at some length about how the Crone suffers in old age with the failing of her sight and the aching of her bones. Given the position he was in, holding candles in both hands as the molten wax melted, burning his wrists, down his arms and cooling against his skin as it tapered off near his shoulders, he felt the aching as well.

Loras was made to stand spread eagle, hands out stretched until the candles melted completely. Only then did thesSepton bestow the Crone's cleansing by removing his nipple clamps, scraping the wax from his upper body and finally unchaining his ankles from the wall. It was overwhelming for the young knight as the blood rushed back to his freshly shaven nipples and he was finally able to stand upright after almost an hour.

It was the judgement of the Mother that Ser Loras found the most distasteful. The Septon had barely waited a moment before grasping the knight by his balls. Although tight and sore, the young man deftly wrapped a thin cord of leather around Tyrell's nuts before attaching the rope to a chain that he produced from his robes. At the end of the chain, he attached what looked like the head of a mace, but was actually a 5 stone weight which forced the young man to bend his knees and crouch lest he have his scrotum ripped off.

Finally, the fire headed boy placed tight leather gloves, that forced the naked prisoner's hands into fists, around his wrists and tied them tightly so that he would get no use from his fingers. Standing, hands bound, knees bent, back hunched over what we would view as a rough bowling ball, Loras listened as he was tasked with the Mother's punishment.

"As the mother labors in birth, so must you labor to cleanse yourself of sin," he paused for effect then walked the 20 paces from the knight, to where the King sat on the Iron Throne. "Humble yourself, as the Mother does before the Father, to receive the Mother's Mercy. Labor to the feet of your King," the septon instructed from what seemed to Ser Loras to be fifty leagues away.

He began to walk as he would unencumbered but found the weight and pressure to be more than his balls could take. Then, instinctively, he reached for the chain to lift it, but was unable to in his mitts. What he ended up doing, much to the amusement of the golden haired youth on the throne, was waddling backwards, an inch at a time, pressing his thighs together as tightly against the chain so he could try to distribute some of the load off of his now tender sack. From Tommen's perspective, it might have been Margery's shapely ass bobbing and weaving towards him at a comically slow pace.

Once his labor was complete, Loras found his lips kissing the soft leather of the King's shoes before, in one swift motion, the septon detached the cord and chain from his now stretched scrotum. Having received the Mother's penance, he had only the Warrior and the Father remaining before he was free of the Faith's inquisition.

The penance handed down from the Warrior was the simplest and most brutal. Only moments after the septon had hauled away the ball and chain, his three brethren of the Kingsguard returned, each bearing a weapon of war, in a manner of speaking. Ser Balon Swann (who should have been in Dorne with the King's sister, but apparently his Uncle Jamie was handling that now) bore a three pronged leather strap. Ser Meryn Trant (not in Bravos about to be killed by Arya Stark) was equipped with a blunted polearm. Lastly Ser Robert Strong (who totally isn't a reanimated Frankenstein of the Mountian) was clutching a bundle of reeds, still green from the shores of the Blackwater Rush to the North of the city.

The gigantic Strong bid Loras to extend his hands and was greeted with seven stinging lashes with the cane like reeds. His palms only just remained intact, bordering on breaking the skin. Ser Meryn delivered seven blows with his staff onto Loras' already abused calves. They left bruises that the knight endured for a fortnight. Lastly, Balon Swann tanned the skin of his back with seven cuts of the wicked leather whip.

Loras hardly heard the septon speak of the Warrior's pride and punishment. He was in so much pain that he feared he would not be able to stand the final trial. As his sworn brothers exited the chamber one last time, the King arose and pulled Ser Loras into a full body hug.

"It's almost over my friend," the Lanister in looks, Baratheon in name boy said. "As the Father of the realm, the final punishment falls to me."

He looked at the septon, who nodded and turned to leave.

"Join us in my solar at the hour of the wolf," the King said to the departing priest.

The septon smiled, nodded again and left in earnest this time.

Ser Loras was exhausted. Had the King not been embracing him, he might have collapsed and impaled himself on the swords of the Iron Throne. As luck would have it, the King had the strength to lift the imperiled knight back to his feet. He wrapped Loras in his crimson and golden cloak and clapped his hands loudly. In an instant, a litter arrived with two Lanister guardsmen that loaded the cloaked Tyrell and decloaked King inside.

The king reclined on the soft pillows of the hand carried carriage while the knight rested his head on his regent's lap. He would have wept if he'd had the energy, but the stale food the Faith had forced him to eat over his weeks long incarceration had left him sapped.

Arriving at the King's private chamber, the men helped Loras lie face down onto the bed before closing and locking the door as they departed. The King's royal kitten Ser Pounce bounded off the end of the bed and scurried away to the balcony. Tommen approached the wounded knight and sat down beside him.

"So what is to be my final judgement, your Grace?" Loras asked in the direction of his pillow.

Tommen didn't respond. He simply ran his hands up and down his guest legs and buttocks. Having known the pleasure of the company of another man, Loras was surprised at how well the King was arousing him. That arousal should have been cut short by his chastity cage, but as his manhood pressed tightly against its confines, he only grew more horny.

The King could tell that Ser Loras was struggling with his new chastity contraption by the way the knight would moan and lift his body against his touch. While the blonde boy King was enjoying himself, he knew that eventually, he must do his duty.

"Forgive me my Lord, but the Father's judgement cannot wait. As a father judges the son, so I judge you Ser Loras of House Tyrell," he said, repeating the lines he and the septon had practiced a dozen times. "Submit your bottom over my knee and await your cleansing through punishment."

Loras had feared on the trip up to the King's tower that Tommen might have a bit of his older brother Joffrey in him, but as he mounted the younger boys lap, felt his gentle hand rest on his waiting bottom, he couldn't help but feel safe. Even as that same hand slapped his toned cheeks repeatedly and the pain began to rise up in his backside, he felt as if a burden had been lifted from him.

The King wasted no time ramping up is speed and force on his brother in laws butt. While he took no pleasure in inflicting pain on the scapegoated knight, he was enjoying the feel of his soft yet firm backside. That thought left the blonde regent nursing his own erection through his fine Myrish breeches.

Tears fell like leaves in autumn from the blue eyed Tyrell as spanks fell like snow in winter onto his rapidly reddening rump. The King had never taken to the field in battle, but his strength was more than Loras would have ever thought. He made no attempt to escape as the King justly applied his punishment.

Tommen continued to strike, hard and fast, without pause for the better part of an hour. Ser Loras wasn't sure if the boy and his sister would ever have children, but he feared for his nieces and nephews butts if they did. For his part, he submitted himself to the Lord of the realm, weeping openly and swearing his allegiance to the Seven, the Iron Throne and his King.

When the spanking was over, Tommen once more brushed his hand over Loras' back, legs and aching butt. Once his tears reduced to sobs, the King stood him up and led him to the balcony overlooking the city. Kings Landing at dusk was smoky with fresh lit lamps far below and their pale glow caught the steel of Loras' new shiny cage and gave a dim reflection. Though a few inches shorter, Tommen stood behind the recently chastised knight and rested his head on the older boys shoulder.

It was then that Loras felt a familiar stabbing at his rear. The King's royal presence was making itself known through his fine silk and cloth of gold breeches. Loras pressed himself into Tommen's manhood despite the pain in his ass and heard the stag purr like a lion. He went to turn but the King held him fast.

"The ginger septon was a friend of mine," he whispered seductively in Loras' ear. "The sacred oil you were anointed with is also the finest lubricant in the Reach. You'll forgive me Ser Loras, but I long for the embrace of your sister, but I fear I must settle for you."

With that, he lowered his breeches and thrust himself into his ward's waiting entrance. The Tyrell had to bite his own hand to keep from crying out, but he pressed back onto his liege until he felt the lion's mane pressed to his backside.

Loras then leaned forward, both hands on the rail of the balcony for support as the King reared back and then thrust into him once more. Renly and Olivar had passion, but Tommen had purpose. He made deep, long, hard motions in and out of Loras until the end of the steel tube began to leak precum.

Then, in an unexpected feat of strength, the King lifted his concubine off his feet and while still inside him, flipped the knight's bruised legs over his shoulders. Loras risked ripping the Regent's shirt off and was rewarded with a brutal pelvic slam as the King bottomed out with his long, thick scepter. With them both naked, save the Valerian steel cock cage, their flesh molded and ground together so the point that the entering septon couldn't tell where the King began and his consort ended.

Right on time, through a secret passage, the septon closed the distance between them in three paces. In the distance, a wolf howled in the Kingswood as the King blessed his new Hand with his seed deep inside of him. Loras cried out feeling the royal cock expand and expend its load. The septon stood by expectantly as Tommen Baratheon filled him once, twice, then three times more.

The king, out of breath, looked at his friend and said: "My gift to the Faith," and withdrew his deflating member. No sooner had the King pulled out then the septon's tongue was at Ser Loras' recently ravaged hole. He probed as deep as he could and was rewarded with the sweet taste of the sacred oil, the salty tang of the royal spank and the manly aroma that was native to the Tyrell himself.

Loras, unable to stand any more stimulation turned to see a dismayed speton on his knees. He aimed to correct that by lifting the ginger's robe over his head, hurling it across the solar, and raising the boy up while falling to his knees.

Bruises and beatings be damned, the locked cock of Loras Tyrell expanded to its limit as he took the ample length of the young holy servant into his mouth and throat. Whatever the King and this boy had done before, Loras was quite certain that this was his first blow job. The Knight of the Flowers made it a memorable one.

The septon lasted only a hand full of minutes and came looking into the eyes of his liege, laying casually, bemused by the scene in front of him, on his bed. Loras did his best to accept the priests offering but a string of cum slipped down his right cheek and hung there obscenely.

As the boy came down from the throws of his orgasm, he bent down and slurped his own semen off of the knight's face. The King applauded and laughed and invited both men to the foot of his bed. He declared that on the morrow, Loras would be proclaimed the new Hand of the King, and the red headed boy from flea bottom would supplant the High Septon bringing the Crown and the Faith as close as they had ever been.

© Copyright Nicholas Patrick June 26, 2015

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