Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Deviant JennaFemale/United States Groups :iconspankhisass: SpankHisAss
 
Recent Activity
Deviant for 7 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 489 Deviations 14,050 Comments 64,971 Pageviews
×

Favourites

Newest Deviations

<object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" codebase="fpdownload.macromedia.com/pub/…" width="360" height="280" align="middle"><param name="wmode" value="window" /><param name="movie" value="st.deviantart.net/styles/swf/s…" /><param name="menu" value="true" /><param name="quality" value="high" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#000000" /><param name="flashvars" value="rssQuery=gallery:shadowchaser076/7354264&ss=5,3,230" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed src="st.deviantart.net/styles/swf/s…" quality="high" wmode="window" flashvars="rssQuery=gallery:shadowchaser076/7354264&ss=5,3,230" bgcolor="#000000" width="360" height="280" align="middle" allowFullScreen="true" menu="true" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="www.macromedia.com/go/getflash…" /></object>

Activity


Mature Content


or, enter your birth date.


Month

Day

Year*
Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
Just to give a heads up, there's no sex in this chapter either. Sorry to all those chomping at the bit for it! There will be more in the future, but at this point in the story, I'm focusing on development. Hope it's not too disappointing without the naughty bits! LOL!

As always comments make me a happy writer and give my muse wings! =D



Chapter Nine

Bending

Sansa hadn’t taken long to return to the dungeon, the medicine she spoke of was already made in large quantities due to the number of injured men being treated after the battle. She’d sent a servant to gather it and another to prepare some food for the two of them to be brought back with a small table and two chairs. It wasn’t lost on Sansa that she was planning to have dinner with Ramsay in the dungeon of all places, and the mere thought of it struck her as absurd.

As she waited in the foyer for the servant’s return, Sansa’s mind roiled over the day’s events. She couldn’t help feeling herself foolish to be letting Ramsay Bolton of all people get close to her. Never would she have ever imagined that in the span of one week, she could evoke not only a change in him to need her but that she would in turn start to want him back. There was something intrinsically pervasive in the way Ramsay’s mentality had shifted so wholly; what really threw Sansa was the fact that she actually believed that he wasn’t faking it. The sentimentality of such a prospect had her on edge.

Sansa had to wonder if she was of sound mind anymore because she surely had to be mad to be feeling the way that she had started to feel about the bastard of Bolton, but Ramsay’s eyes held a hypnotic quality to them that Sansa couldn’t deny was quite alluring to her, and it was true that the power she held over him now both in mind and body was quite tantalizing to behold. It made Sansa burn with an inner fever that ignited so many new and provocative sensations within her. For a moment, she forgot where the fantasy had ended and reality began. They had been almost one in the same until the realization came that Ramsay was still a living, breathing, person; he was hers still fully and completely not unlike many of the objects that she owned, yet he was still a person nonetheless, and this fact held its own weight for her to ponder on. She was raised nobly, but could what she be doing to him be considered any less than ruthless?

Jon’s quiet regard told her the persistence of the situation still worried him. From accounts that were told of Ramsay’s yield to Sansa’s will (Jon had been paying close attention, and from the knowledge garnered, closer than he’d have liked to be privy to.) Jon was concerned less now for her safety and more for her personal integrity of where this new dark path she walked would lead her. They were not raised callously, and what she did now, they both knew was not the traditional Stark way. Ousted by their home long enough to know that the honors and traditions of Ned and Katalin Stark were but haunting ghosts to a seemingly distant past, memories that walked down shadowed hallways to settle within the mausoleum and perhaps fade into transparency as the world around continued to lurch forward. Time had changed them. Sansa had changed there was no denying, and as much as she was loath to admit it, this didn’t feel like it was a bad change. Sansa felt far more confident now than she had in her entire life.

She had never been in charge of her life, forever the beaten back wall flower pushed into duty as was expected of her because she bore the Stark name. Things had drastically changed for her now since taking back their old home to which she was seen as the lady of the manor even though she herself felt Jon had rightful claim over the title by his own prowess and strength. Defiling Ramsay the way she had was a conquest to feel whole again when she’d started, a fire blazing in the pit of her stomach urging her to strip him bare of everything that he was and tear him asunder to blow away not unlike ash in the wind for what he’d done to her and others she’d cared about.

It had felt good to destroy the monster that she’d seen him as, and her mercilessness commanded respect from many of the men and women that had seen or heard of the results of what she’d done to Ramsay, dare it to say that many even regarded her with a modicum of fear to know the lengths she’d tortured the man and the fact that she broken his very spirit. This type of recourse was expected of a Bolton (especially the bastard of Bolton for many had been witness to Ramsay’s display of flaying individuals to cause fear and pain in both those he inflicted it upon and any who were forced to stand on the side lines and observe), expected of a Bolton yes, but not of a Stark.

Sansa was becoming somewhat of a legend as it was not often to hear such sordid tales of a noble woman doing the things she had done to a defeated prisoner of battle (the tales were elaborated in heated whispers through the quiet halls of the castle and not so secretive boisterous fabrications around many campfires.) Some had murmured that Ramsay had perhaps changed their lady and touched her with the taint that had filled him. They gossiped that when she’d broken Ramsay, she’d taken his cruelty and absorbed it into herself. Most refused to believe such rumors of course and just raised a cup to Sansa and cried justice well served.

There were celebrations and feasts she’d heard to learn that Ramsay Bolton had been brought so low as to become a mockery to hold the name Bolton at all. He’d hurt so many, and to hear of his downfall at such a huge cost to his pride was rather satisfying for those that had suffered from his actions. She may have shared such news with him when she still resented the very breath Ramsay took, but now, the thought of hurting him (and she knew that such news would devastate Ramsay, he’d held such a firm stock in being naturalized after all) to tell him how they mocked him and his house now would serve no purpose other than to be cruel.

Sansa found she was no longer interested in being vindictive. There was no further reason because the person that she had hated no longer lived within the eyes that stared back at her; all she saw in those pale blue eyes now was a longing desire for her attention. He’d become a sad creature comparatively, but better nonetheless. She would make him better still.

Sansa’s eyes rose to the door as a gust of cold wind marked the return of the serving girl. The girl held a small slab of bark in both hands with a knife’s scrape of the amount of the tincture she’d been given. It wasn’t much, but it was more than what Sansa needed for a couple applications. The servant was quick to hand her the bark looking rather nervous as she did so. Sansa thanked her, and the girl nodded with downcast eyes and shifted quickly away. Sansa didn’t remark as she watched the girl move away, but something inside of her twisted in dread that she’d somehow created a generalized uneasiness in some of the servants now. This wasn’t the first incident of the servants shying away from her like this young girl. Over the past couple days, Sansa had noticed it to become a rather frequent occurrence that quite a few servants in the keep kept very short correspondence with her and were always hasty to provide whatever she would ask of them. Were they really afraid of her? Did they think she would do to them what she did to Ramsay if they displeased her? Surely not!

The thought in itself tumbled through her as she made her way back to the dungeon door peering in through the small slits to see Ramsay curled in on himself in the tub where she’d left him. He looked harmless, frail to the world around him, and Sansa knew that she had been the one to make him that way; maybe she was to be feared. These recognitions within herself cropped an understanding that not everything was as it seemed to be; the fearless moniker that was being passed around about her was not entirely true. As she stared at Ramsay now, she knew fear, and it was not anything like what she had felt for him prior to the recapturing of the keep. She was starting to fear what she was feeling, more specifically, she feared her feelings and whether those feelings would eventually be her down fall.

 Ramsay lifted his head to the yawning groan of the dungeon door; it was amazing how familiar that sound had become to him over the past week. Upon seeing Sansa, he rose tentatively and removed himself from the waters. There had been a towel laid across the back end of the tub, and Ramsay grabbed a hold of it quickly patting himself down as Sansa made her way towards him.

Ramsay couldn’t help but glance over at the strange green crème she held quite simply in both hands; Ramsay of course made no comment and quickly averted his eyes from the ointment. He knew well what it was for. The sight of it now though caused a heat to build through him numbing his face and settling in his cheeks. The thought of lying still and divulging himself to her to apply the balm to his entrance left Ramsay to feel irrationally embarrassed. He had suffered enough degradation that he expected to be treated like an object now. After everything else he’d been put through, such a simple treatment should seem laughably easy to overcome feeling ashamed for, but it was the intimacy behind the act in the way that it was being done to care for him instead of hurt him that was causing this reaction now.

Sansa watched him as he toweled himself dry his muscles shaking here and there most likely due to the limited amount of moving about he’d been afforded chained first to the cross and then his bed. When he was done, Ramsay found himself shifting from foot to foot as his eyes trailed up to Sansa, he silently willed her to give him direction so as not to displease her by choosing poorly. He held the towel against his stomach as if his nakedness wasn’t something both of them should be used to by now.

Sansa’s lip tugged down slightly at this; she didn’t want him hiding himself from her as his nakedness served to please her. She stated candidly, “Fold the towel and place it on the tub’s edge; when you’ve done that, I want you to get on to your bed, so that I may tend you.” She said this with head held high and expression neutral to make Ramsay more pliable. Ramsay seemed to default to obey more readily when she spoke to him like this now she’d noted, and she didn’t want to give him reason to falter in that resolve and question her authority over him in lieu of the kindness she gave to him now. Sansa turned and strode away from Ramsay to sit on the side of his bed settling herself neatly as her eyes lingered over his form just watching him curiously and awaiting to see him follow her instructions.

Ramsay’s eyes followed her, and when she’d seated herself, he did as he was told reluctantly pulling the towel from his body, folding it, and placing it where he’d originally grabbed it before bowing his head and padding back over to the front of his bed. He timidly climbed on top of the mattress crawling to the middle of the bed where his eyes glanced to her momentarily before looking back down at the mattress. Ramsay found it difficult to keep eye contact with her for too long unless she demanded it. His own inner shame wouldn’t allow it.

Watching him move reminded Sansa of the grace a deer crept from out of the woods with, cautious, graceful, and ever the prey. Again she was reminded that this was what she had made of him. It was still hard to comprehend that she could have ever have done this to another human being, but then Ramsay hadn’t been a human being when she’d shredded him. To look at him now made her feel a pang of guilt; Sansa had felt similarly when she’d left Ramsay earlier, in actuality her guilt had been far worse as his anguished sobs and the way he had looked at her with such despair put in prospective how much she’d actually already taken from him that she hadn’t fully realized up until that moment.

She’d wanted to shatter Ramsay when this had all began, but now she wasn’t really sure what she wanted, other than him. This new side of Ramsay left her feeling more conscience of hurting him; she hadn’t cared before, but now Sansa wanted to make him crave her touch when she had her way with him (not just tolerate it because he had no other choice.)

Ramsay had shown he was hungry for her attention, and Sansa deemed that perhaps if she was gentle with him, she might get Ramsay to enjoy the things she did to him. If she could accomplish this, it would make Sansa feel much better for wanting to do them to Ramsay in the first place. He did seem to enjoy pleasing her with his mouth, (the first time she’d enjoyed that quirky pull in his smile that denoted he had in fact been pleased with himself) and if she worked to please him while she fucked him with her glass cock, Ramsay could grow to appreciate that she was willing to give him an orgasm for pleasing her well. It could be mutually beneficial.

If not, a girl still had needs, and Ramsay was hers to do as she willed with. It was an awful way to think, Sansa knew deep down, but she would not be denied either. If she couldn’t get Ramsay to like it, he’d still give her the dues she deserved to take care of him. She had spared his life after everything he’d done, and even he had openly admitted his life was forfeit the day they had taken back the keep. It was fair to say Ramsay owed her this much. Besides, he was still her husband technically, and in that regard, it was still Ramsay’s place to please her sexually. The back of Sansa’s mind told her this was flimsy logic, but her lust agreed with it wholeheartedly.

These thoughts had Sansa’s eyes grazing over Ramsay hungrily, but she restrained any action that would anyway denote such feelings as she stated in a clinical fashion, “I want you to lie on your back for me and leave your knees up, Ramsay.”

Ramsay’s eyes depicted the uneasiness he felt as they flicked up to regard her imploringly, but he didn’t disobey as he gulped back his trepidation moving first to sit and then to slowly lay onto his back as she’d bid him to do. His jaw clenched in his apprehension as his sights moved to the ceiling and his knees drew together reflexively.

Sansa lightly placed the small length of bark across Ramsay’s stomach now as she rose.

Ramsay’s ears were perked and attentive to the sounds of the folds of her dress being situated, so Sansa could climb further onto the bed and in between his legs, and when her knees, one by one, sunk into the bed, Ramsay couldn’t help but to grow tense with dread. His heartrate jumped into a flurry as blood rushed and pumped furiously in his ears; the heat returned to his face now as Sansa gently applied a light pressure to his inner thighs to open him to her.

His gaze shifted from the ceiling back to her now as Sansa reached under him picking his bottom up off the bed and pulling him forward to flatten out his body. Inadvertently in his nervousness, he’d kinked his spine aiming his ass down into the bed to make himself less accessible. This small act of defiance didn’t rile Sansa though as she knew Ramsay was only acting out of fear not disrespect towards her.

Sansa took the strip of bark off of Ramsay’s stomach and placed it in front his ass. His body had begun to shiver now as Ramsay’s anxiety built, and Sansa pushed with a light firmness on his knees to guide them towards his chest and elevate his entrance for her to better see him, “Hug your knees to your chest for me.”

Ramsay limply wrapped his arms around his legs feeling so wholly exposed. Knowing how he must look to her was humiliating enough to make his eyes water as Ramsay sucked in a ragged breath willing this experience to already be at an end. Sansa’s fingertip was touching him there again, but the manner in how she did so was just as gentle as she had been in the bathtub. Her finger left him and returned to lightly dab the pasty substance gently on his swollen flesh as Sansa rubbed small circles into the sensitive skin to work the ointment in well.

Seeing Ramsay splayed to her like this brought back memories of fucking him and how good it had felt. The fact that he was unchained and willing to put himself in this position at her command was enough to excite her as a twinge rose through Sansa’s nether regions; she did her best to ignore these animalistic urges and concentrate on just tending to the angry red swelling he was suffering from. The sight of the damage helped to calm the fires that were stoking within her as she thought about how sore he must still be. She grimaced letting out a soft sigh, “I’m done, Ramsay. You can lower your knees and relax now.”

Ramsay was more than happy to comply as he let go of his knees and dropped his feet back down onto the mattress. He let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding feeling an inner relief to know she wasn’t going to need to probe him in any fashion while applying the ointment. The mixture she’d placed on him had a cooling affect that Ramsay had to admit felt nice on the aggrieved area. It still burned a reminder of all that he’d endured, and although he had healed much since the initial brutalization of that horrid night-long event, Ramsay was still nowhere near fully healed.

Sansa moved from between Ramsay’s legs and laid the remainder of the tincture down on the floor. As she’d moved from the bed, Ramsay tentatively brought his legs to lay flat once more his eyes following her motions as she readjusted the fur blanket from the floor once more over his body. He was surprised that she wasn’t ordering him to be chained; he was of course grateful that she was granting him freedom of movement for the time being even if it wasn’t to be for very long.

The show of trust in him while she tended and groomed him meant more than she could know. Ramsay shifted onto his side exhaling deeply feeling oddly centered and content from the day’s interactions with her. She could have hurt him severely or had been cruel at many junctures the past couple hours they’d been in each other’s company, but she had stopped when she saw she was going to hurt him this time and granted Ramsay mercy. What was more compelling to him was the fact that she now showed him a continued stream of tenderness to make him feel at ease for the simple sake of helping him to feel better over having brought him to the brink prior. Compassion was an unfamiliar concept to Ramsay, but he found that he appreciated it wholeheartedly when given to him.

Sansa sat behind him now her weight bearing down on the mattress enough for gravity to move their bodies to touch where her hip ran flush against his shoulders. Sansa noted he didn’t stiffen this time; it sent a wave of pleasure through her to feel his distress uncoil as his body grew lax next to her. Ramsay’s trust in her was strengthening. He seemed so eager to please her now; it was a good sign. She’d crushed him, but at the rate their connection was evolving, she didn’t see it taking long to cultivate healing to counter the devastation she’d caused him and hopefully mend him in a manner he could become a better person through her kindness and direction.

She peered down at him, and Ramsay began to turn to bring his eyes to attend her fully, but her hand on his shoulder stayed his movement, “You need not stress yourself; just rest.” Her hand slipped from his shoulder down the length of his neck and to his hairline as she gently pushed each strand delicately behind his ear and away from his face. Her touch left him inert as his mind lulled focusing only on the way her fingers caressed him and how that touch sent vibrations of pacification into his inner depths.

His eyes fixated on a point on the wall as Ramsay’s thoughts overloaded his mind in a whir of events in his life leading up to the present that seemed to blend and fragment in his mind’s eye. He found it hard to concentrate on anything except her; some small part of his old self rose to question the validity of this existence and whatever the hell he’d become, but every other part of Ramsay that wholly wanted this kind of attention served to beat that voice into obscurity. He didn’t care what he was becoming, it didn’t matter anymore. Sansa was him filling with a growing sense of adoration towards her for the nurturing affection she continued to grant him and the emotions she now stirred in him that had hid so long from the light of day. Ramsay hadn’t understood what love was, and although warped, he was beginning to feel a blossoming of it for her now.

Sansa continued to study Ramsay’s face as she smoothed fingers fondly through his hair, the expression on his face looked so serious, and she had to wonder what was going through his head, “You look as though you’ve gone somewhere else, Ramsay. Care to share your thoughts with me?”

It was the first time she had asked him something over simply stating it, and Ramsay’s mind took this courtesy in. His eyes remained staring off in the distance now as he spoke, “I… I don’t know what to say.” He moved now on to his back to stare up at her with solemnity, “I’m here with you, my lady, and only you. What you do with me now… your will is my own. I would swear fealty to you now if you would but let me.”

Sansa regarded Ramsay seeing the earnest plea in the way his eyes pierced into her; she didn’t doubt he was being honest with her. Her chest tightened as she felt her heart beating fiercely; she gave a slight nod and responded as calmly as she could manage although her own emotions were riding a roller coaster to take him in and the devotion he afforded her now, “Swear it.”

Ramsay rolled from his back sliding in to a sitting position next to her before slipping off of the bed and down onto his knees before her. He bowed his head in deference before bring pale blue eyes up to look at her as if to look at her now was sipping of the finest ambrosia, “Lady Sansa, I swear my life and all that I am to you. I am yours completely,” Ramsay lowered his head to rest on her knees.

Sansa was silent simply reaching out to stroke him once more in her awe. She was taken aback but the gesture and was doing her best to remain ceremonially still so as not to take away from the levity of what Ramsay had just vowed to her. She remained for a long moment with his head laid in her lap as she stared down at the sight of Ramsay bowed before her on his knees in supplication for her favor. It left her flushed and heady; it was a sight she liked seeing Sansa had to admit.

Regaining her wits, Sansa took in a deep breath as she swept a hand down the side of Ramsay’s face to rest gently under his chin and lifted his face to lock eyes once more, “This pleases me, Ramsay. I will take you completely, and if you serve me well, I will cherish you.”

She felt him swallow hard against her palm as he gaped at her not unlike a devote priest prayed at the altar, “I will serve you like no other,” he stated passionately.

Sansa’s lip tugged into a small smile as her other hand swept the hair clear from his forehead, and she leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Ramsay’s brow. As she did so, she felt his body give a pulsed shudder as he drew in a deep breath. When she pulled away, his eyes were closed and opened with slow blinks as he watched her intently. Sansa let her hand slip from his face as she stood to tower above his kneeling form and stated with the command of a queen, “Rise.”

Ramsay was quick to comply raising fully to stand at attention looking up at her expectantly. Once he had done so, she gave him a small nod, “I have food coming for us, but I think you’ve proven to me that I don’t need to keep you here chained to your bed anymore. I think instead I will have us dine elsewhere after I’ve afforded you some clothes. You aren’t going to make me regret giving you such freedoms are you, Ramsay?”

Ramsay shook his head quickly, “No, lady Sansa. I am grateful for any leniency you bestow upon me!” The prospect that she would give him clothes and that she spoke now of him attending her sang to his heart that she would give him such an opportunity. He wanted nothing more than to be at her side.

Mature Content


or, enter your birth date.


Month

Day

Year*
Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
This is another one of those 'character development' chapters; thought I'd let you guys know, so as not to disappoint those awaiting something... less pure LOL!

As always, thank you so much for all your lovely praise on this fic! You don't know the level of elation I get to see/respond to all your wonderful comments! =D

Chapter Eight

Dissipate

Ramsay wasn't sure exactly when he'd let himself drift off as Sansa had slowly dressed herself, but somehow the feeling of her eyes upon him now didn't make him feel afraid as much as they gave him a sense of security. He'd allowed himself to trust Sansa and know that she would always be true to her word. Ramsay had known this fact before; it was one of the reasons his smile had faltered at the parlay when she'd told him he would die the next day.

The clarity that she had killed that man as promised came days later, but when it had finally settled in Ramsay's mind to be truth, it had been a revelation that as rumor had always said, a Stark truly does always keep their word even if not in the way Ramsay might have assumed. Ramsay's own mind had had trouble comprehending the righteousness and candor that Sansa represented, and up until this point, he'd still found himself doubting. Ramsay didn't doubt her anymore; he couldn't in the face of what she had shown him, strength of will coupled with compassion.

He surely didn't deserve her benevolence, Ramsay had thought quite perplexed when she'd shown him mercy and comfort in the wake of everything he had done to her. This too was an alien emotion, regret and guilt, but Ramsay felt both now acutely. In those moments where he had been sure that Sansa would sate her hunger while he'd wilted under the pressure of facing the punishment he'd so willingly placed on others, Ramsay couldn't help but to see himself as a reflection of this moment so many times over.

All those women, their eyes had been terrified, fear stricken as they'd bleated for a reprieve, and it had felt like a victory to him to take them as a well won prize. He'd given them a chance to get away after all, and it was but a sport. Their feelings never mattered, their pain only scratched some far off itch within himself to take from them, and to be the one taking from them poured something else into him. Like liquid fire in his veins, he felt a rush of adrenaline and power, but he was feeding a hole that could never be filled. As Sansa pressed against him, and he felt helpless, Ramsay realized what it was to be truly at the mercy of another, and to know what it was now made him hate himself with a bitter loathing.

Ramsay's eyes shot open at the sound of water filling into the tub from across the way. The tub had been drained after its first use, and the memory of what had preceded his first bath, here in this place, shot a shock of cold to run down Ramsay's spine followed by a wash of humiliation at the memories held there.

He'd been so thoroughly used for hours on end, and even now those recollections haunted his waking thoughts. Ramsay still felt the ferocity of how he'd been taken throughout the night proceeded by the derisive comments and the looks of disapproval and disgust from more than half of the angry men.

Two of the men had been of his own regiment; he'd remembered seeing them march into battle with his sigil of the flayed man raised valiantly on their shields. That was the last he'd seen of them as the knights of the Vale had ridden in to demolish his standing army like a powerful wave sweeping through them in devastating numbers.

Ramsay hadn't stuck around to see if any of his soldiers had survived the bout, nor had he'd cared; they were after all quite expendable. Or so Ramsay had thought then; those men surely didn't think so, and they had made sure he knew their feelings of him thinking them to be so disposable. His own men had been some of the most vicious to take him that night. There had been no sexual desire there only contempt and a wish to see him brought low, and they'd worked extra hard to accomplish that goal in their brutality and vulgar commentary.

They had of course, all of those men pouring their hate and avarice upon Ramsay, spilling their seed in him and across him; it had demoralized him in a way that Ramsay had never thought possible, pounding (quite literally) his old self away and leaving a tattered remains. He had been stripped of his arrogance and pride so thoroughly that he'd become a shell of the man he'd once been; Ramsay now knew full well his place in the world and wanted nothing more than to never be reminded again so thoroughly. Sansa had broken his will into a million pieces, and what she'd taken from him, Ramsay could never take back.

The residual fears these thoughts instilled left Ramsay in a numb silence as he lay eyes wide open and listening to the servant whom over the next twenty minutes quietly moved in and out of the dungeon to dump pail after pail of hot water into the tub. He correlated the sound to the last hour of his suffering in the burgeoning hours of dawn. Ramsay had all but left his body at that point dully feeling the continued pain of his rape by the remaining two men that had once been his own men. They had managed to take the most affront to his battle tactics having lost most of their friends and able bodied kin to have fought for him. He shuttered as his emotions coalesced with the retentions of the events that still reminded him what failure to please Sansa could bring.

Ramsay heard her familiar gait and the swish of trailing fabric move across the stone floor far before he saw her, and his throat tightened mouth running dry. He honestly didn't know what to expect from Sansa after their last encounter. She'd kissed him, it was soft and gentle leaving Ramsay thrown by the action. He'd been astounded further when she'd leaned in to do it a second time lingering a moment and retracting away from him with a smile. This smile was the first he'd seen from her that hadn't reflected a hint of cruelty to what she could or would do that he was yet to discover. In fact, her smile was an unfamiliar one to him altogether that reflected fondness, and a want to assuage the inner pain he'd so haplessly let stream from himself like a breaking damn.

Ramsay didn't cry anymore (until now that was.) It had been many years since he'd been moved enough to cry, and that was a bitter pill after the elation of finding out who his father was and meeting the man only to realize that the man was far from impressed with Ramsay. Roose Bolton had been sure to remind Ramsay his place as a Snow meant that he wasn't a true Bolton, but now that he'd been brought to the light that he'd be allowed to stay with his smelly servant in one of the dilapidated wings of the castle. Ramsay was told not to show his face to any of his visitors until he'd been trained well enough to be civil. He hadn't said this unkindly, but Roose was always rather indifferent concerning the boy. He did have a rightful heir already, but now that Ramsay's existence was made known, word that Roose had a bastard son was already circulating, so he'd make sure the boy was educated enough not to embarrass him further.

The world had been more callous to a nameless bastard of a raped miller's widow though. In his early life, Ramsay had sought comfort from his own mother, but his attempts to seek refuge was met with despondency and neglect. His mother suffered because of him he knew, she spoke of her loss quite often, the happiness that was ripped from her with his conception and the death of her only love. He learned it was better to find other things to do with his time and to leave his mother alone. It was best not to bother her lest she retreat completely and not acknowledge him at all.

Ramsay remembered clearly the event that had changed his life; one of the barnyard's feral cats had been maimed by some wild animal, and Ramsay had taken it to her. The animal had been mostly unconscious when Ramsay had set it at the foot of her rocking chair. She hadn't taken notice of him or it from her knitting, but as the rocking chair came down to crush the subdued creature's tail, in its terror it lashed out to scratch and bite her. She'd screamed a surprising shrill that rang through the house as she'd jumped to her feet crochet needles haphazardly thrown across the room.

It was the most reaction he'd ever seen from her as she wrenched the animal from the floor angrily and tossed its yowling form out the door. She'd locked him in his room for two days for that. No matter how Ramsay pleaded to be released, he'd heard nothing; the house was barren and listless. He'd thought she'd left for good this time. Sometimes she needed to get away from everything, and during those times, Ramsay could expect to spend most of the day in his room. He'd stopped calling out to her by the age of three knowing that to cry for her would not evoke a response but seemed to keep her at bay longer. It was better to just wait until mother felt better.

When she had finally set him free, she'd had brought him a new friend. His new friend smelled funny, but he also listened to Ramsay. He told Ramsay that he would serve him and that he would do anything for his new master. Ramsay had told him of the cat incident, and they found it still under the foundation of the house too weak to have gone very far in its last throws of life. His new friend had made the cat pay for hurting his mother and making her angry with him! By the time the creature had expired, his new friend had taught it well that to hurt Ramsay meant it would suffer dearly. Ramsay had liked his new friend, he didn't need mother now because Reek would be there to help do what needed to be done, and he would help Ramsay make them hurt.

In this way, Ramsay knew companionship, Reek would never leave his side! It was a far contrast to mother, and Reek always had interesting things to teach him. The games they would play made the other children afraid of them, but Ramsay didn't need any of them Reek had told him. He was to be a great man that all would respect because a little bird had told Reek that Ramsay was special. Ramsay had believed him, and Reek, although simple, was deathly loyal not unlike a hound that would lie at his feet. He'd told Ramsay that's where he belonged, and Ramsay had liked this game to.

Sansa was standing over him now, and for a moment Ramsay's eyes seemed vacant as he reminisced on a long ago memory of his personal understanding of attachment. He was back with Sansa in an instant staring up at her with curious blue eyes that regarded her with a sense of wariness even now. Ramsay couldn't help the inner cringe that swept through him at the thought of displeasing her.

Like Reek, Ramsay would give her his full attention because even though she had been kind when they last saw each other, he didn't know if that kindness would be stripped away in an instant if he did not afford her the deference she deserved. After all, his first Reek had demanded pain for any slight, and he'd shown Ramsay that Ramsay had to be the one to deliver this pain to his undeserving servant. It was an important part of making him respect his master he had told Ramsay. Ramsay didn't want Sansa to ever feel slighted again as he knew well her ire and wanted no part of it. She too knew how to teach respect far greater than he'd ever imagined she could.

She looked down for a long moment inwardly contemplating the myriad of expressions that passed over Ramsay's face as she announced, "Guards, undo his chains."

The two men that had accompanied her were quick to move into action as they tossed the fur blanket from him with a sudden jerk, and Ramsay froze stiffening as they moved to fulfill Sansa's command. Once the manacles were removed, Ramsay remained lying still and watching her raptly awaiting direction.

Sansa took this in as well, "Come Ramsay; I wish to bathe you now." She didn't order the guards to bring him to the tub as she moved away from Ramsay over to the steaming waters.

Ramsay's eyes jolted to each guard that gave him grave glares that spoke of pain if he tried to do anything stupid; he hadn't intended to do anything to upset Sansa, but the threat was well noted as he found himself rolling up and off of the bed to quickly pad over to her. His head remained bowed all the while, and his shoulders drew up slightly with apprehension as he approached her.

Ramsay was already half a head shorter than Sansa, but he'd always stood so boldly she'd hardly noticed the height difference. Seeing Ramsay now, reduced into this vulnerable state, made him seem that much smaller to her now. With the weakness he projected, Sansa couldn't help feeling another pang of covetous towards him in a want to protect this new fragility Ramsay encompassed.

Ramsay's eyes flitted up to her questioningly, and Sansa nodded towards the tub, "Go on; get in."

As Ramsay moved to comply, the serving girl that had filled the tub, furnished the grooming supplies Sansa had asked for situating them on the small table that had been left by his bed before moving and placing both at the head of the tub. A short stool was provided for Sansa to sit on; once Ramsay had moved into the tub and sat, Sansa also seated herself as she casually worked to undo the buttons on her sleeves and carefully roll them up so she could reach into the waters easily. Sansa had decided that she'd wanted to perform this given task personally.

Her hair had already been neatly woven into an artistic display of braids pinned on top of her head so as not to have her long tresses dragging through the water. Sansa had intended all along to wash him herself (which had surprised Ramsay having assumed she'd have made a servant or himself do it when she'd mentioned the bath before leaving him earlier.)The fact she was going to do it herself made Ramsay feel slightly awkward for some unknown reason.

He'd been bathed by servants in the past, most of them were stiff and quite afraid of what to expect from him if they performed poorly. Word had gotten around after a couple serving girls had disappeared mysteriously, and it was made quickly known to never displease the bastard of Bolton. He'd enjoyed making the young women reach down to wash him and seeing them bashfully comply. None of them ever expressed an undo want to bathe him (outside of Miranda, and when she came to bathe him, the two had never made it very far before other things ensued that were far more pleasurable than bathing.)

Ramsay watched Sansa under his bangs now, his eyes reflecting interest in her every move where he otherwise fought to keep his face remaining neutral. His lips still pursed absently as he watched her meticulously prepare herself to bathe him. Once ready, Sansa stretched to grab the bar of soap and the washcloth from the table plunging the washcloth into the waters and lathering it well before setting the soap back onto the tray.

She glanced Ramsay's way taking his form in once more; he was scrunched practically into a ball within the waters and very much exuding anxiety by the tenseness he held himself with over what her intentions may be. Sansa supposed that she couldn't blame his expectations for her to hurt him after everything she'd done to him so far, but it still served to bother her that she was now trying to show Ramsay that she wouldn't be heavy handed with him unless he'd given her reason. Obedience would be rewarded she wished to relay to him now because she wanted to be kind to him even if she still wanted him for other purposes.

Sansa drew the cloth across his back, and unlike the first experience he'd had with her where she'd scrubbed him raw with a floor scrub brush, this time she moved languidly with a light pressure that fulfilled the purpose she intended of cleaning him, but also with a tenderness that exuded care. Ramsay could feel she was taking her time with him. Her fingers moved across his skin with the cloth in tow fluidly shifting over his tense muscles with light squeezes meant to help him relax under her ministrations. Ramsay reflexively braced himself at first when she did this, and Sansa leaned in close to his ear in an intimate fashion saying softly, "I'm not going to hurt you now, Ramsay. This is one of the ways that I will take care of you."

His skin rippled under the sensation of her continued tenderness as Sansa drew the washcloth into the depths of the water to drag the hot water soothingly now over his shoulders and back. The movement was simple enough of course, but the touch held an intimacy that Ramsay could feel working at his damaged mind that desperately worked to comprehend the emotions Sansa was awakening in him.

His eyes shifted back and forth as a tremble moved through him; her words sang to his soul, and Ramsay's lip quivered; he wanted to feel her care for him like she was now so badly he ached for it. It wasn't an emotion he'd ever shared with another person; no one cared for Ramsay Bolton. He took what he wanted from others because that was as close as he ever got to sharing anything with another person, other than their pain. So many alien emotions were spinning him into a sea of confusion and anxiety; he felt like he had no footing to settle the shaky grounds he now walked with her.

She was touching his chin now gently lifting it to have him look at her. Ramsay drew his eyes up to meet hers, and Sansa's face shifted into a warm smile beaming a radiance that filled him with longing as she gently patted his jaw and cheekbone quite careful of the small cuts that were still mending, "You're face is healing well I see. Good, I would like to see you whole in this way," Sansa remarked absently as she slid the washcloth in small swipes across the bridge of his nose and forehead admiring physical aspects of the man she hadn't cared to notice before.

She was so mindful of every wound and contour, and as Ramsay stared at Sansa now, her eyes reflected something so much different than anything she'd ever bestowed to him; he could feel that she was not doing this out of some sense of duty to clean him. There was something more, it gave him a surge of warmth to feel it boring into him and to know that she truly wanted this to feel good for him. Ramsay worked now not to cry, but the tears found their way to loose themselves from his eyes in a single silent trek down the front of his face as he couldn't keep from thinking about the way she showered such attentions on him not because she was being made to but because she chose to. She was being so kind to him now without him feeling any fear of reprisal for her doing so; this confounded Ramsay greatly. He didn't understand what he'd done for her to give him attention in this way.

Sansa saw the tears glaze Ramsay's eyes and spill from them as he'd stared at her with that same haunted stare he'd affixed her with earlier (those impassioned eyes were beginning to take a powerful hold over Sansa through their sheer intensity of unfettered yearning projected solely at her); he'd quickly averted his eyes downward, and she felt a gentle tug from his chin to hide his face, but she held him firm, "Ramsay… what's the matter? I've not hurt you have I?" Sansa had assumed what she was doing for him would have given him a little pleasure. To see him cry now perplexed her.

"No, no! I… I'm sorry my lady. I… I don't know what has come over me," his voice shook as it moved past his tight throat. He felt himself unraveling in front of her, and Ramsay was helpless to the tide he was swept within drowning under the weight of his own feelings.

Sansa frowned trying to understand what pulled so grievously at Ramsay that to show him compassion would be such a shock to his system that it would make him cry; it saddened her to see that he was so wholly unused to a gentle touch that it served to break him further. Another action that she'd never expected to bring about such a response in him, "It's okay, Ramsay. Do not apologize for this." She pulled on his chin to get him to look back up at her once more just so he would see the seriousness in her leveled stare, "Never this. The soul needs to feel cleansed, and I will never be angry with you for baring yourself in such a way to me. Do you understand?"

Ramsay gave a small affirmative nod making her arm shake as he gulped back another wave of tears that threatened to spill by her kind words to him and what they meant regarding him. Here she was continuing to grant him such mercies even now as he couldn't help but to show her how weak he truly was. He imagined the disgust in his father's face then, and shamed, he blushed furiously.

Sansa gave him a small smile as she let go of the hold she had on his chin to caress the side of his face in a comforting gesture as she spoke, "I want your honesty; if you can give it. I would like to understand what's upsetting you now."

Ramsay's mouth worked to put into words his feelings all the while his eyes flitted up to her while his limbs moved about in the waters, "I'm not worthy of the attentions you give me lady, Sansa. I would have never appreciated them before," he sucked in air staring hard at the waters below as a wave of guilt flashed through him. It was true, he never saw Sansa as more than a trophy before… all of this. His current state granted him a clarity to see his old self in an all new light. He would have never been grateful before, and it was just a further reminder that the man he was prior to this new person he was becoming was but a grisly phantom haunting him now.

"Before? You do now?" Sansa questioned curiously, and Ramsay's eyes immediately moved to meet hers as he shook his head eagerly, "Yes, I do. I really do."

Sansa grinned cheekily, "Good. I'm beginning to like you now then," it was meant as a joke, and the lightheartedness eclipsed a burgeoning smile to crop on Ramsay's face to know he was making her happy with him. Ramsay enjoyed the light in her eyes when she smiled at him as it lifted something in him as well.

She ran a wet hand through his dry hair mussing it as he closed his eyes tilting his head down shyly. The gesture was cute enough to Sansa to make her giggle at him which seemed to only make Ramsay blush further. Sansa placed the washcloth on the side of the tub grabbing the small pitcher from the table to scoop from the waters and begin dousing his head. She replaced the pitcher, and grabbed a concoction of ash, vine stalks, and egg whites that had been mixed as a cleanser for his hair, and Sansa gently tilted his chin to have Ramsay look to the ceiling as she worked the mixture into his wet strands.

The feeling of her fingertips scrubbing gently at his skull and lathering his hair left Ramsay to let go of a contented sigh. Washing ones hair was a privilege that even nobles did seldom, so to be treated to this was quite an honor for her to grant him. He let himself get lost to her touch as his breathing slowed into a serene lull that was close to the deep breaths of sleep. Once he'd been lathered well, Sansa stood to grab the pitcher of clean water left to the side of the tub to rinse Ramsay's hair. She poured slowly working carefully to remove the mixture she'd applied with the limited amount of fresh water the pitcher held. His hair was shaggy and thick, but it was short, so she was able to clear the concoction well enough to have a little left to which she playfully tipped onto his face when she'd finished.

Ramsay's eyes fluttered, long wet lashes glistening in surprise as he sputtered from the action to look up at her. Realizing she was only teasing him, he couldn't help a small smile to crack on his lips, "Thank you, my lady. That was… very nice of you to bestow upon me."

Sansa smirked, "I want you to always look presentable for me, and I'll take pains to make sure the look of you pleases me."

Ramsay's mouth twitched thinking on her words with a mix of embarrassment to have her refer to him in such a way and also pleasure that she wanted him at all and was willing to invest such care in him to please herself, "Whatever you desire, I will do as you wish," his eyes spoke devotion as they held her in their sights.

Looking at him now, Sansa could tell that Ramsay needed her, needed her care more than her anger. It was an odd thing to wrap her mind around to see how much his every gesture and movement seemed attuned to follow her seeking attention and validation.

He wanted to please her so very much now if only so that she would grace him with this side of her, a much more maternal side that was still foreign to Ramsay but a side he found to tug within him a whirlpool of unsatisfied emotions that he'd blocked from his subconscious a lifetime ago. She was giving him cause to feel, and as much as he didn't understand these feeling plaguing him, Ramsay felt that Sansa was now his salvation.

Sansa took the cloth back up and re-lathered it, "I want you to scoot back to lay your head against the back of the tub, so I can wash the rest of you."

Ramsay did as he was told watching as Sansa quietly went about the continued task of washing him thoroughly. He half expected her to grope him as she'd done before, but she did not, not this time. This time she remained neutrally careful no matter the area she'd touched while still remaining temperate with the touches she afforded Ramsay.

Sansa did linger on his entrance stroking it lightly, and Ramsay found himself tensing and holding onto the sides of the tub with white knuckles, although he didn't pull away from her. Ramsay's brow did furrow in his worry, and seeing his expression, Sansa stated gently, "I'm just checking on your condition. After your bath, I'll go gather and apply an herbal medicine that should help with the swelling."

Ramsay grimaced finding himself unable to comment as he looked away. He wanted to feel better, but the thought of such an application by her was another strike to his already tenuously held by a thread ego.

Sansa withdrew her hand from the tub, and Ramsay continued to stare up at her, "You may lay here and soak or dry yourself and return to your bed. I will return shortly."

Ramsay blinked sitting up again as he watched her go. He could have risen from the tub, but out of the two options that Sansa gave him, going back to lay on his bed was the less appealing of the two. Ramsay remained in the same spot crossing his arms around his knees and propping his chin between them as his thoughts drifted to Sansa's most recent handling of him and how it contrasted from her previous fondling. These new touches were much nicer, and the fact that she gave this side of herself to him at all was still a mystery to Ramsay. She kept astounding him on every level leaving Ramsay wholly intrigued by her in an almost worshipful manner.

Mature Content


or, enter your birth date.


Month

Day

Year*
Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
(So this is the conclusion to Jason's gift fic for me, to warn, it's a bitter and brutal end... no death, but definitely not a happy one for Ramsay to be warned!)

Ramsay spent his hour in a perpetual state of sweat and regret. He didn’t have to mull over what Sansa had told him last for long before the sheer anticipation of the choice he would have to make started to feel as if it was literally killing him.

His chest hurt from the strain all of this put on his heart. His stomach was sick as it twisted this way and that in gut-wrenching spasms of worry. His throat was raw from screaming out as Sansa had taken him so savagely.

Raw and dry, also a result of so much yelling, his heart sinking to think how many pleas for mercy or humiliating displays had filled those cries with words best forgotten but which could never be forgotten. His muscles shook from the constant exertion and strain inflicted on them.

Sure, he hadn’t gotten up from the cross once, but what had been done to him had caused him to spasm and twist and clench and become taut so many times that he was exhausted from it. If nothing else, his hour of time to decide which important body part he could do without gave him some much-needed rest.

When he heard the footfalls of someone approaching all he could think was ‘It hasn’t been an hour already has it?’ He found himself despairing at the hopelessness of that thought and all it conveyed to him. But as the footsteps drew very close he saw with some false modicum of relief that it was not yet Sansa Stark.

The servant girl had returned, along with some wildling men, the former beginning the process of cleaning him again as the latter took positions around the room as if to become guards. Why would he need guards tied up like this? The way the servant paid such special attention to his genitals made him frown deeply… this process had the feeling of preparation for surgery…

When Sansa’s voice did pipe up again he had been lost in thought on his miserable circumstances and all the unfortunate luck that had brought him to this, so that he jumped at the sound of her, “So, Ramsay… have you decided?”

He looked up fearfully to see her standing there, a well-sharpened knife in her hand. She twirled the blade almost playfully, as if she might be about to whittle on something innocuous as opposed to removing body parts with it…

He opened his mouth and then shut it again. Could he really choose? His eyes, and be forever blinded? His feet, and be forever maim? Or his balls, and have his humiliation by those that had bested him be completed in every way…

Seeing that he was unable to decide, Sansa simply nodded, “His balls, then. Hold him still, I’ve gelded a few animals in my time; I’m sure I’ll have no trouble doing this personally.”

“Wait… no!” Ramsay’s eyes were wide as he bucked against his restraints, soon feeling the strong vice-like hands of several men take hold of his limbs so as to keep him from rocking the cross even slightly, “No, please! Please don’t do this!”

He heard Sansa behind him now, and his heart hammered in his chest, feeling almost light-headed with fear, “I made a promise, Bitch. I need to feed what’s left of Ramsay to his hounds before we are done here tonight.”

He felt the cold hard sensation of a blade touching his thigh and froze, his face locked in an expression of utter horror, and then she started cutting him. He screamed, but the big Wildling men didn’t let him move so much as a fraction of an inch.

The process was actually fairly quick; it was the pain that would follow that he knew from experience would be the cruelest part. He almost didn’t feel it under the thrall of so much adrenaline… almost. That sensation, where she had cut him to remove the items that made him a man; that would likely haunt him forever.

The servant girl moved in next to bandage his new wounds, did so in a quick and skilled manner that left him with no doubts as to who had dressed the wound on his leg. Sansa walked around and he could see that she had placed his manhood on a plate; he looked away, his eyes tearing up as he did his best not to see it.

“Once she has you ready, we’ll go to the kennel once more, and you’ll be coming with; I wouldn’t want you to miss this next part. Ramsay looked at her back as she walked away with a shocked expression on his face. True to her word, as soon as his bandages were tightly secured, the large Wildlings stepped forward, taking hold of the cross and lifting it with Ramsay still on it, one man to each corner.

They carried him out to the courtyard then, to the kennel gate where he had been taunted so recently by Tormund, who stood there waiting for him. In fact, everyone was waiting there for him. John Snow and all the others he had seen at the parlay were there, along with many faces he did not know but who stared at him with the same expectant look.

The look of men and women who came to see him suffer. There was no ceremony to the affair, no pomp or words said; once she saw the Wildlings carrying his cross had turned so that he could view the hounds through the gate, Sansa tossed his parts inside as one would toss away a bit of refuse.

Ramsay flinched at the ravenous display as the blood-thirsty beasts tore into the flesh offered. A cheer went up from many of those present, a raucous cry of delight and satisfaction. Sansa approached him once they had eaten every scrap of what she took from him, “I’ll let you watch my men put these poor creatures out of their misery and then you will be returned to heal in your new room.”

Ramsay felt tears streaming down his face and realized belatedly that he was crying again and quite publicly for that matter. He didn’t care anymore, he realized, he wasn’t the same now. He could never be again. With a voice warbling from strain, he begged, “Please don’t kill my dogs…”

Sansa shook her head, “You’ve bred them into killers, each of them trained to eat human flesh. We can’t suffer these creatures any more than we could suffer you; the only difference is that they will have quick, merciful deaths.”



Ramsay woke with a start, realizing quickly that he was still bound. He blinked, orienting himself to his surroundings; something was different. Quite a few somethings, in fact. For one, he was now on his back, and his feet seemed to be free of constraint, though his wrists were still tied.

The last thing he had remembered was passing out to the display of watching his prized animals put down one at a time, the stress and pain on his mind and body finally overcoming the disasters that kept him awake, so that he allowed himself to fall into the sweet embrace of nothingness.

Now he could see as he looked up that he was bound by wrapped silk to the back posts of a bed, which he now rested on. This was not the best way to keep a prisoner restrained, but as he looked around to see the big men guarding him, he realized that the restraints weren’t what was really going to keep him in place.

As he moved to peer around, a servant girl took note of him and quickly departed. Several minutes later, Sansa stood in the door way to what he now knew to be one of the castle’s bedrooms, “You had been asleep for some time, and my Maester had joked that perhaps you would be the first man in recorded history to die of angry butt-sex.”

Ramsay’s face flushed, and he looked down to see that Sansa had not left him a shred of clothing. The only thing he wore were bandages now. He looked away, not wanting to share with her the look on his face as he remembered in a rush clearly everything that had recently been done to him.

He felt a slender hand caressing him and he shuddered, remembering what had followed the last time she had caressed him in such a fashion. “I just wanted to drop by now that you are awake, to let you know that in a few days’ time, when you are properly healed from your castration, I will be returning to play with you some more.”

He couldn’t help but look up at the cold, merciless light in her eyes, which made him shake to his core, “In fact, I enjoy fucking you so much, I’ll probably be visiting you nightly…”

She smiled as he began to sob, “…don’t go looking so sad, husband; you don’t want to deny your wife her marriage due, do you? You said something like that to me often enough, didn’t you?”

She patted him and ran a hand through his hair as his weeping got louder, getting up to leave after one last cold smile.

Then he was alone with what she had just given him; more reason to regret still being alive.

The reasons kept coming two days hence, as she visited him nightly to make good on her promise, fucking him with her wooden cock, which had been artfully worked onto a harness so that she could give him the full experience of being raped personally by her.

Many were the nights in the early days when he had begged for death as a release, as so many of his own victims had, but of course she never granted it, instead only granting him another round of invasion and shame. In time he turned into a man broken, not at all unlike what he had done to Theon, following her around like a pet, bending over when she told him to and no longer complaining of what she did.

After all, Ramsay Bolton was long since gone. There was only someone’s Bitch, now.

Mature Content


or, enter your birth date.


Month

Day

Year*
Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
Chapter Seven
Torn Apart
Ramsay’s mind flitted from the present where Sansa was steadily unwrapping her ‘toy’ to use on him to what he’d just done with her. He could still taste her he thought absently as he ran his tongue across his lips savoring the imagery it produced of seeing her heaving chest and tremoring body. The feel of her soft thighs squeezing against the sides of his face the closer she came to orgasm and her feet pushing against his shoulders to keep his tongue at bay when he was giving her a little too much of a sensory overload still excited him to think about even now in lieu of the awful thing she planned to do to him next.
She was beautiful, and when he’d first seen her arrive on horseback with Petyr Baelish, he had been more than a little relieved she hadn’t looked like his step-mother or worse like many of the inbred nobles that tended to have elongated ears and crossed eyes. It had been a revolting prospect that he’d considered may come to pass when his father had told him that earning the Bolton name meant he’d also be made to marry to form alliances between houses (this was suggested to undo much of the mess Ramsay had made trying to keep other houses in line by flaying the heads of those houses as a deterrent to others to pay their taxes and more so for Ramsay to produce an heir since apparently that was all he was really worth to his father, a legitimized Bolton produced with another house to make it official. Even with the Bolton title, he still knew deep down Roose would always see him as a bastard.)
So many moments in his life he looked back to see where the dots connected now and how he ended up in his current predicament. He could blame his father, but he was more than sure Roose would have chosen a much different tactic on the battlefield, the man was always chiding him about his ruthless tactics. Roose would have had them stay holed up to pick off the Wildling army at the gates. Snow’s forces weren’t even half of what the Bolton army had, and their men had provisions for more than enough time to make it through half the year and whittle away Jon Snow’s forces with the winter alone. It was the long game, and Ramsay was far too impulsive to play the long game, but if he had, he would have likely won. Ramsay had been foolish, always playing more games; life had always been a series of games that he had been the one making the terms for. Games were exciting in that way, but not when you were in the game and not making the rules for it. He glanced back to see Sansa had unwrapped the dreaded two-pronged phallic device and had set it on the chair, and his stomach tightened, he was definitely a pawn where Sansa was the queen now.
The door to the dungeon creaked open, and Sansa looked up to see the guard had arrived carrying a small cup for her. Her eyes shifted to Ramsay, “A little something to make things easier for you as promised, but I think this time, I want you on your back when I take you.” Her eyes drifted up to the approaching guard, “Get another man, unchain him, and flip him on his back.”
The guard handed the cup to her and nodded, “Aye, my lady.”
As the guard hurried off to fetch another guard, Sansa’s eyes drifted back down to regard Ramsay who was starting to look panicked as she laid the cup on the small table. It was bad to be taken from behind, but he really didn’t want to see it happening to him. It was a sickening thought to have that visual to keep him warm at night.
Sansa lifted a brow, “You seem less inclined to please me on your back. Is there a reason it should matter? I do like taking you from behind, but I want to see your face when I’m fucking you this time… I always did admire your pretty blue eyes.”
Ramsay’s jaw dropped in his mortification for her to see him in such a way meant that he also would take her in in such a way. She kept blurring the lines for him, he did like the thought of staring into her eyes, but not like this! He would have liked to have her ride him looking as sensuous as she did now, but she wasn’t going to fuck him like that he knew. He swallowed hard, “I might be able to please you better without the use of foreign objects. I can be gentle if you but give me the chance,” he hated how his voice dripped with his desperation to avoid what she planned to do to him. He must sound pathetic to her Ramsay thought with no small amount of self-pity, but he just couldn’t help trying to change the course of where this was going… at least if she would take him in this way, he might at least be able to convince her to go one round in a way that was pleasing to him.
Sansa’s face darkened, and Ramsay knew the suggestion alone had been a bad idea, “You had your chance to be gentle, Ramsay, and that time has come and gone to find you lacking. You’re making me seriously reconsider my own level of kindness to you now. Perhaps I’ve been too kind already.”
Ramsay shook his head sensing he was digging a hole now he wasn’t sure how to get out of, “No! Please don’t reconsider! I… I’m sorry for asking, I meant no disrespect, my lady!” The fear swelled through him now as his panic escalated; he’d upset her now, she was going to be cruel to him when she was going to be nice. Ramsay knew if one of his victims had slipped as he had, there would be no end to the torment he’d have put them through just to prove a point, and in this light his fear doubled as his body now shook in small tremors from his own building terror.
Sansa’s brow softened seeing how afraid he was of her. It was enough for her to decide she was already planning to fuck him quite sore, she didn’t need to be cruel to the extent Ramsay thought her capable of. Still, she had to keep him well in line, “I’ll consider your plea, but watch your tongue as it may get you into a position where your words dictate an unwanted fate.”
Ramsay nodded vigorously, “Yes, my lady! Of course!” his emotions were peaked between intense feelings of anxiousness and relief, and Ramsay found his eyes quickly glazed over to spill a track of tears down his face.
This reaction made Sansa feel awful; she hadn’t meant to distress him to such a state, but to see him crumple to her in such a way left her in a curious condition of inner turmoil where she simultaneously felt aroused by his vulnerability and a want to comfort him. She made no comment nor move, instead she stood stock still regarding him with an expressionless stare afraid to react at all lest she give him too much and confuse the lines of their newly forged relationship. Ramsay needed to fear her she knew, but it was becoming increasingly hard not to reach out to him the less hate she felt for him. She’d comforted him once, and she’d noticed an immediate change in his demeanor; it scared her. He had changed quite a bit after the ordeal she’d put him through, but it was unlike his most recent change where he seemed to willingly fall into the role she’d pushed on him. The real question she had to ask herself about the changes she saw he was making was… was it a ruse, or was he actually seeking her affection now? Like a shark that smells blood in the water, Ramsay had been a predator, and if given the opportunity, she couldn’t know for certain what he’d do. With a man like Ramsay, it was hard to tell, but time would reveal his true intentions. Until then, she needed to remain strong around him for the both of them.
Ramsay flushed in shame knowing he had been brought to the brink of tears over just thoughts to what could be over what actually was, and in this way, he felt humiliated to be seen by her in this way. He supposed it was bound to happen eventually, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept the level of weakness he felt to reveal it to her and know she saw him for what he was, so afraid.
The guardsmen came then, and without any words, they unlatched his ankles and then his wrists. They were about to manhandle him onto his back, but Sansa held up a hand halting them, “Let him turn himself over; he’s more than capable, and I trust he’s not foolish enough not to obey.” Sansa wanted to test Ramsay’s resolve now to see what he’d do and the manner in which he would do it. She paid particular attention to every move and expression he made now.
Feeling the manacles removed, Ramsay rubbed at the place they had been on his wrists before turning his eyes up to Sansa his eyes reflecting that he too knew this was a test. He didn’t plan to fail it though as he shifted carefully onto his back and lifted his hands up to where the guards would need to affix his wrists. Ramsay shuddered as a grimace painted his face and he worked to keep any further tears from spilling from his eyes knowing what he was willingly condemning himself to.
The guards unceremoniously attached the manacles as Ramsay placed his hands where they could be easily cuffed.
Ramsay laid stiff as a board looking up at the ceiling, Adam’s apple bobbing, as he swallowed his trepidation, and the guards clamped the irons on his feet.
The guards nodded to lady Sansa, and she nodded back an affirmative that they were done. The men took their leave without a word, and Sansa’s eyes drifted back to Ramsay. He was trying to put himself somewhere else she could tell, but she didn’t plan to give him that; she wanted to see him react to her and to truly feel his state of mind. She wanted to know the truth, and she planned to push Ramsay to find out if he truly was fully hers or just pretending.
Sansa began to undress, slowly, “Look at me, Ramsay,” she stated in an authoritative tone. Ramsay’s eyes had been quick to snap to attention regarding her fully as he watched her peel the layers of clothing from her body as she’d done the night she’d first used her toy on him. Ramsay shivered involuntarily as his eyes were spellbound by her movements; his own body reacted to what he saw, and Sansa’s brow raised as she gave Ramsay a smirk, “And here I didn’t think you wanted this,” she teased.
Ramsay blinked his face flushing as he turned away and his member shrank to lay against his stomach. Although he was no longer standing at full attention, Ramsay wasn’t completely flaccid either.
It amused Sansa how badly he tried now not to be turned on by her, but she could tell that he couldn’t help it by the furtive glances he kept throwing her way and the fact that every time he did so, his cock bobbed a reaction to her.
When she picked up the two-ended dildo and inserted it within herself Ramsay finally did go flaccid as his breathing hitched convulsively watching as Sansa rolled the blanket that housed her toy, padded up behind him, and worked it under his head like a pillow. She then reached over and grabbed the cup, the guard had handed her earlier, off of the table before moving over to the side of the bed; her eyes regarded him coolly, “I’m not going to have to ask you to spread your legs for me am I?”
Ramsay was trembling all over now as he began breathing so heavily he was close to hyperventilating, but he didn’t give her reason to repeat herself opening his legs shakily as Sansa set the cup down on the floor next to the bed and maneuvered herself between his legs. Her hands reached out to touch his knees, and Ramsay’s body rippled is a quaking spasm.
Sansa watched his flesh break out in a coat of goosebumps as she slowly ran her hands from his knees up to his hip bones. He jerked and tensed as she did so. Ramsay’s eyes fled to the ceiling once more, and Sansa let him retreat for now as she let her hands continue to explore upward to trace along his abs and to his collarbone. She’d laid the glass cock on his pelvis as she’d leaned on him, and she felt Ramsay writhe under her in his discomfort for a split second before he regained control of himself.
She smiled at the feel of his body under her; his heated and sinewy muscles clenching and unclenching as she laid her weight down upon him. The vibration of his trembling made the dildo judder against her clit and through her insides, and Sansa couldn’t help letting go of a small exhale of pleasure.
Ramsay turned his wide feral looking stare on her now; he was paler than normal, and his mouth was drawn into a thin-lined frown as his nostrils flared intake after intake of petrified air. He was doing his best not to beg her; he was so very sore, and even though she’d given him a reprieve to heal a bit more physically, he didn’t think he’d ever heal from the emotional scarring left in the wake of every time he agonized being taken this way.
Sansa’s eyes reminded him of a cat sizing up the mouse it was about to pounce on; she was hungry for his suffering. Her long tendrils of auburn hair wisped his sides and tickled him lightly as Sansa moved back down the expanse of his body to sit on her knees between his legs. The glass dildo standing at full attention ready to perform greeted his sight as Ramsay glanced at Sansa and gulped lifting his head slightly unable not to watch what she was doing now. She reached down beside the bed now bringing the cup into view, “Sheep’s fat,” she informed as Ramsay looked on to see her dip the tips of her fingers into the substance and splay it down the length of the glass. The sheen caught the light leaving the slickness evident.
Ramsay bit his lip, it was lubrication, and it would be a lot less harsh than only saliva, still it was just another reminder of what was about to happen, and he couldn’t help the small sob that escaped his lips as his brow creased in his misery and his eyes welled with further tears that he couldn’t stop, “Sansa…” he felt the need to beg her but all he could find to come out was a small whimper as he laid his head back down and squeezed his eyes shut unable to watch what was coming next.
“Lift your knees, Ramsay,” was the only response she gave him, and sniffling sorrowfully, Ramsay drew them up for her. Sansa reached under him and took ahold of his hips yanking him down until his arms were taught.
Ramsay gasped at the possessive way she’d wrenched him forward, and his body began to tremble anew by the aggressiveness he felt coming off of her in waves now. It promised a rough fuck, and if she fucked anything like she had the last time, Ramsay knew he was due to be in for a world of hurt.
Sansa took a small amount of Sheep’s fat to draw across his entrance, and she felt him shrink against her touch with another wave of tremors. She’d enjoyed hurting him the first time, and now he was starting to make her feel badly for him. She kept trying to hold on to the awful things he’d done, it was motive enough to know he deserved no less than what she was doing to him, but the small choked sobs, the terror stricken quailing, and the agonized look on his face was making her feel horribly guilty. “Ramsay,” she stated softly.
There was a long pause and a sniffle before she heard a watery, “Yes, my lady,” work its way painfully from Ramsay’s throat. He’d opened his eyes to look back at the ceiling, and another wave of tears spilled down the sides of his face.
“I want you to try and relax for me. I told you I was going to be nice to you, but I can’t do this nicely if you keep tightening up the way you are. You’re only hurting yourself; I’ll go slow for you this time,” she didn’t know why she felt the need to be gentle with him now; he was never gentle with her, but she wasn’t him, and now, he wasn’t that part of himself anymore either.
Ramsay’s body still trembled, but Sansa felt him working to loosen his muscles for her as She lathered a little more of the sheep’s fat onto his sensitive skin. He watched her now with flared eyes that displayed more than just fear, they spoke of an expectation to betray.
She could tell that at that moment, he was less afraid of the pain and more afraid that she would be vindictive to him. She decided then that there was a lot more to discover about Ramsay than she’d have ever expected she’d wanted to. He was damaged wholly, and only by tearing him down could she see so readily all the chinks in his armor. She decided then that she would fix him one fragmented piece at a time. She took in a deep breath as she fixed him with a calming gaze, “Are you ready?”
Was she really asking him that? He’d never be ready, but Ramsay found himself nodding after a small hesitation. It wasn’t as if, not being ready eternally, was going to keep this from happening to him.
Sansa nodded, “Okay. I’m going to ease into you now. It’s going to burn a little, but you need to relax,” as she said this, she pressed against his entrance.
Ramsay keened, “I’m not ready! I’m not ready!” His body convulsed and his knees locked together. Not being able to accept even her kindness like this caused him to weep now as he fully expected to feel her jam ruthlessly inside of him as a punishment for not giving her what she sought. She didn’t though, Sansa paused and waited for him to calm, but this added kindness only seemed to make him shudder as his emotion rode over uncontrollably and he whimpered a mantra of apologies.
She couldn’t do this to him now she found as she pulled the bulb out of herself and pushed down gently on his knees, “Shh, shh, Ramsay, it’s okay. It’s okay.” He wasn’t with her she realized having put his mind elsewhere in preparation for what she was about to do to him. She moved off the bed and behind his head laying her palm flat down on his forehead as she brought her face down close to his ear, “Ramsay, stop!”
Her command seemed to pull him out of the state he’d slipped into, and his eyes cleared as he blinked still sniffling and trying to control his tears that continued to cascade from him without any hint of abating. Would she hurt him in other ways now? Ramsay worried, but Sansa only lightly drew her hand through his hair to comfort him. He found himself turning to her now with a look of puzzlement trying to understand.
Sansa stared back down at him now very seriously, “Don’t take this kindness for weakness Ramsay, I can’t in good conscious take you the way I want to knowing you’re still so sore. This is a reprieve not a halt to you pleasing me in this way. Do you understand me?”
Ramsay’s eyes widened as he gave her a small nod. She wasn’t going to hurt him, “Yes… Thank you. I won’t forget that you were kind to me,” as he said this another wave of tears rolled out of his eyes, and Ramsay blinked swallowing hard as his eyes remained locked on her intently.
Sansa brought her lips down to kiss him gently, and Ramsay stared at her in awe as his jaw worked. He was at a loss for words, and Sansa smiled as she moved the tips of her fingers gently down the sides of his face to clear away his tears, “I told you that you would serve me, and with your service, I will take good care of you. I always hold dear what belongs to me, Ramsay, and you belong to me now.”
Ramsay swallowed hard still holding her with a look of wonder as he digested her words, “I… I’ll not fail you again.” The tears she’d cleared away renewed new pools in his eyes, and Sansa leaned in to kiss him again. He shuttered taking in a deep breath as he closed his eyes feeling electric to the energy her kiss spread through him.
When he opened his eyes again, she was smiling at him, “I won’t let you fail, Ramsay. Do you believe me?”
He found himself nodding, and her smile broadened, “Good. Now close your eyes and rest. I will dress and be back in a bit to give you a bath.”
Ramsay let out a sigh as his eyes fluttered; he felt emotionally drained, but he also felt something more that gave him a sense of peace he never could remember feeling. Sansa took the dildo from the bed and placed it in the basket with her other dildo and the strap followed by pulling the fur blanket from the floor to cover him. Ramsay’s breathing lapsed into long deep drags of air as his body relaxed now under this new comfort. He felt a warmness that wasn’t generated by any heat, it touched something deep within him that soothed like a balm to a burn.
Sansa dressed watching Ramsay with new eyes, she was still in awe herself over what had transpired between them, but she knew now more than ever that Ramsay was becoming more to her than she’d ever thought possible. She’d meant what she said to him; Ramsay did belong to her now, and she would take care of him.
I finally took the time to make our baby registry! So now I'm sharing it for any who might be interested in participating. =D

Jenna Jenks' Baby Registry
Link: www.amazon.com/registry/baby/2…

deviantID

spankingfemfatale's Profile Picture
spankingfemfatale
Jenna
United States
I'm also an author, so feel free to check out my spanking stories here: www.fanfiction.net/u/1309081/

If you'd like to get to know more about 'me' here is my LJ: spankingfemme.livejournal.com/

I am open for commissions! =D

$15 for a single character

$25 for two

$30 for background included

$30 for portraits

All art (minus portraits) inked and colored!

Miles of Smiles! =D
Jenna;)

AdCast - Ads from the Community

×

Groups

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconesuniwaya:
esuniwaya Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2016  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you for favoring, "Why does she call you, George?"
Reply
:iconspankingfemfatale:
spankingfemfatale Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2016
Thank you for posting it! :P
Reply
:iconesuniwaya:
esuniwaya Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2016  Professional Digital Artist
:) Absolutely.
Reply
:iconiadmirebeauty:
IAdmireBeauty Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2016
From now on I'm only going to bug you about Game of Thrones manips, so here's a fresh one! Jaime Lannister "the Kingslayer" spanking Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen:

iadmirebeauty.deviantart.com/a…
Reply
:iconspankingfemfatale:
spankingfemfatale Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2016
I am a Thrones fan for sure LOL! :P
Reply
:iconiadmirebeauty:
IAdmireBeauty Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2016
I'm really knocking these out of the park now! Finishing up a bunch of older works that I'd put on the back burner, so to speak. Again, this one might also bear resemblance to the author: ;)

iadmirebeauty.deviantart.com/a…
Reply
:iconspankingfemfatale:
spankingfemfatale Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2016
That's awesome! =D It's great to get stuff moving creatively.
Reply
:iconiadmirebeauty:
IAdmireBeauty Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2016
Hi, don't mean to pester you, but you're probably going to like this one:

iadmirebeauty.deviantart.com/a…

Hint: the guy featured in this manip may or may not bear a certain resemblance to the very author of the work itself! ;)
Reply
:iconspankingfemfatale:
spankingfemfatale Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2016
You know what I like ;)
Reply
:iconiadmirebeauty:
IAdmireBeauty Featured By Owner Jun 27, 2016
You might be interested in this latest manip: Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, has sentenced Jamie Lannister to slavery, as her own private pet, with some very devious plans involving his dick, balls, and butt:

iadmirebeauty.deviantart.com/a…
Reply
Add a Comment: