In the little princess’ childhood, they had played games of catch.
It was not all play. With his assignment as her caretaker, Gunter had been delegated to instruct the waifish white-haired moppet on the craft and responsibilities of ruling as a princess, and defending herself with all manner of physical weaponry as well as the stratagems of the mind.
Lonely and forgetful with a sordid past at the hands of the royal mages, Corrin had been absent-minded and anti-social early on, but the old knight had found tricks to cajole her into wielding the sharpened focus she would need, as a heir of throne that did not give up power to those unbloodied.
As she had grown, their little oddities had shifted with the times. Sometimes they indulged in such simple nostalgia of tossing the little leather ball as the conquest against Hoshido dragged brutally on, and sometimes—
As their relationship kindled in the bedroom and as he courted her in private until she became his lover and then wife, the old knight discovered other games with Corrin. These too—tested her reflexes, physical endurance, and most crucially; willpower.
Unlike days of old, these games were far more pleasurable behind closed doors and in abandoned corners of the army camp. Regrettably, privacy was less assured, and even now during the reconstruction when her schedule was filed with endless banquets, requests for consultation and appearance; stolen moments had to be taken swiftly. His own schedule was quite crowded as well; enough that during the first winter after the victory that such a moment alone with his lover was still a treasure to be savored.
It so happened that filling out army estimates was significantly more engaging with his lover filling out other parts of his attention and nether regions. Gunter had always prided himself on efficiently multitasking.
By now they had perfected their odd little games away from the public eye of the army and the rest of the royalty. The two of them were sequestered in his more generous office after the victory, warmed by a hearth-fire in Nohr’s ever-brutal winters as one of his few requests as a man also in his winter years. Corrin and her beautiful thighs were presently spread across his lap, incidentally creating quite the stained mess on his trousers; but Gunter did not mind overmuch. And should anyone barge in—like the one and only time her young butler had tragically ignored the locked door—well. The old knight had ensured there wouldn’t be a second mishap; and moreover, with all that his little lady princess had sacrificed to Nohr, even Xander had turned a blind eye to his dalliances even in tacit disapproval.
The ointment he had given, instructed—and watched as Corrin applied to herself, some simple cream between her legs that increased sensitivity of the flesh—was taking effect by now, judging by the also increasing little shifts and whimpers he heard from her clutched against his chest.
After all, had always crafted rules to these games; there would be no earned pleasure without delightful tests.
She hummed absentmindedly as Gunter turned over another sheaf of paper, hazily stirring and shifting as she ground on his prick with the roils that he so preferred. Perhaps other additional methods would do to test her endurance, and he shifted his hips in rhythm to hers; long and languid, rewarded with a breathless whine from his wife. Truth be told, she was distracting him as well with her slender fingertips flexing in his hair, grown out longer in the winter. Corrin clenched around his girth with a higher breathy whine escaping her throat.
“Sir… ”
“My goodness, is your will fraying already?” it was quite a compliment to such an old man, really, for her to be so undone already; and he rolled his hips once more until hers fluttered with little delectable ruts, the sound of her dripping slick obscene with the stone walls. “Would a dreary lecture of mine on your poor endurance dull your passions—”
She gave a shudder on that, almost sending herself over the edge with a throb, and truthfully, the old knight had to restrain a hiss in his throat to maintain his own composure, and likewise lift the quill pen to avoid an unfortunate ink blot by his signature. Gunter was no young man anymore. Yet with age, one traded the impatient sort of virility of youth with a canny experience and a patience of a different kind.
He stared upwards at the stone ceiling, a hidden smirk playing around his scarred lips.
“One might even presume that you enjoy my discipline, unlike your sibling in the coronation the other day.”
Her cunt tightened again around him in answer, a higher keening pitch threading her moan.
“Corrin.” he admonished with a rasp. Such a shame, that Nohr's beautiful black rose chose to bloom between his thighs with an utterly debauched expression of pleasure. It would have ruined any other man in an instant, and privately he thought it was a kind of masochistic heaven.
“Please—”
Oh she was begging now, her control slipping out of her grasp and he obliged, prying the last of it from her fingertips with restrained glee. He had been waiting for this.
There was no use in halfhearted training, after all.
“Please, please, Gunter, sir—”
He roiled his hips, thrusting with more intention in her, enough that the heavy wooden chair beneath him creaked and skidded slightly on the stones, and here she quavered. Here she would have broken upon him, whimpering in pleasure, cunt trying to milk his unyielding hardness desperately. And yet his little princess was waiting with the last threads of control; mind warring against her own body and fingertips digging against his flesh as she waited for his command.
She had earned it; but Gunter could not resist one last tease.
“And what do we say, my little princess?”
Her words came tumbling out.
“May I—oh—gods sir, would you let me please—”
“Now.” He growled, the order low and rough with pride and she shattered against him, writhing and arching as she buried her face into his chest to muffle incandescent cries of pleasure.