Kapitel 43: Smoothing Out
Chapter Forty-Four
Smoothing Out
It couldn't really be called breakfast anymore with more than half the morning gone, more of a brunch by this point. Ramsay fumed sulkily on how much of the day had already passed in misery and how when Sansa had returned yesterday night, after having been gone so many hours, that today could have been a relatively relaxing day with just the two of them had Melody just not made an appearance when he'd already been in a bad way. Ramsay wished for the shared normality of when Sansa and he were alone (even though normality had never been a reality between them over an exaggerated imagining of what he'd now lost.) He simmered quietly the foregone highlights of a day and evening wrenched away from him by this girl, whom was becoming a considerably sharper thorn in his side every passing day. Gripping his spoon tightly, Ramsay poured his anger into the implement and stared harshly at the distorted reflection that bounced off the sterling silver teapot. The warped image glowered back in challenge, a mockery of the man he'd once been, and Ramsay found himself shamefully shifting his sights back to his plate.
The meal was a silent affair, and of the three of them, only Sansa seemed to be at ease. She wasn't, but she'd long since learned to put on an appearance of indifference when it suited her to do so. Distractedly, she mulled over what she'd set in motion and how exactly she planned to implement it for Ramsay to begin his detail in the morning. What Sansa really wanted was for her and Ramsay to get back to their prior discussions delving into his past. With all that had recently transpired, Sansa was sure that prying into the delicacies of Ramsay's childhood wasn't a good idea considering his touchiness on the subject when he had been agreeable to her prodding. Currently, Ramsay was on edge with a barely contained hostility; Sansa reasoned it may be wiser to give that exploration a pause at least until the evening when the two had been able to decompress and talk at greater length. That time would come soon enough.
Peering to her left, Sansa noted that Melody had eaten a portion of the food on her plate but had stopped some time ago nervously awaiting some other command. Inwardly Sansa sighed feeling a stemming pity for the timid maid before stating serenely with a soft casted gaze in Melody's direction, "If you are finished eating, you may be excused. I will speak to Madam June about our arrangement, and you can meet with Ramsay at first light. I will have him sent to her office where she can provide you both with further direction."
At Sansa's election, Ramsay cringed doing his best to refrain from showing the disgust he felt for having Sansa make offhanded remarks on what he would be doing in his future by her dictate. Melody rose quickly giving a dutiful bow and a trembling appreciation for the food before hurrying away from the table as quickly as she could politely do so. There was an instant relief that settled over Ramsay to see the girl vacate the table knowing he had Sansa once more to himself, but that comforting sentiment dissipated when Sansa turned her fierce blue eyes back upon him questioning him crisply, "Before I left, I asked something of you. Do you remember?"
He did. Ramsay nodded taking her in through his peripheral, "Of course I remember," his voice wavered with a hint of repressed agitation, "You wanted me to tell you why I was left behind…" Ramsay paused gathering his courage before he spat derisively, "I'm an embarrassment to you or perhaps burdensome to your routine. I'm sure it's far easier to leave me here in your personal gilded cage rather than walk about the keep with me in tow. I am in full realization of where I stand with you, but know I appreciate the accompaniments of such finery over a tattered mattress lying in a dank dungeon… my lady," heavy sarcasm had melted into the last half of his statement, but Ramsay had buckled in his own rebellion by stating his claim at the table with squinted eyes rather than directly at Sansa which could be seen as a direct challenge.
Such a moody thing; Sansa tutted inwardly becoming annoyed at Ramsay's persistence to push her with his not so subtle contempt. She clipped back in equal measure, a growing provocation to his cynicism, "I don't find you burdensome, Ramsay, but your attitude is becoming a problem that I'm feeling a need to address. Is it going to become something we need to discuss further?" The way Ramsay was responding lately had her wonder if she'd moved too fast in granting him the privileges that she had afforded him finding herself hard pressed to believe he valued just how much he'd already been given. She couldn't help but to ruminate wryly that he was acting like a spoiled brat, and it made spanking him all the more fitting a punishment.
Ramsay's refocus on Sansa was immediate, and for a moment a flash of worry danced across his face before an embittered pout reemerged. He fought back the want to blurt out an apology to appease her hating that she'd browbeaten him to a degree that his first response when Sansa showed any indication of displeasure was to cower like a whipped dog. But, wasn't that what he was now? This image didn't settle well with him stirring his ego to retort negatively, yet Ramsay hesitated to goad Sansa further knowing what doing so would award him. There was a static in the air that spoke of a looming danger if he kept riling her, and Ramsay finally ceded to the warning to reign in his burgeoning discontent before it caused him further pain uttering what he'd loathed to hear come from his traitor's mouth, "No, it's not necessary… I'm …I'm sorry."
Twitching, Ramsay writhed inwardly at his lack of defiance to Sansa's ultimate authority over him as he had done on many occasions with Roose, although with Sansa, Ramsay knew that the feelings he felt for her were not one-sided as they had been with his father. There was a multitude of layers that Sansa represented as a lover interwoven with a matriarchal force that governed him. The mix made a peculiar warring spectrum of emotions for Ramsay to feel for one person. It made him swing the gamut of worshiping Sansa to the point he'd fall on a sword for her to wanting to cut her down with a sword himself.
In the past he had enjoyed the idea of being dominated by Myranda. Her small hands gripping his throat, cutting off his oxygen, and causing the blood to pound through his veins in a panic as his thoughts fuzzed into a haze and his cock throbbed in her to be the only thing he felt acutely. It was a rush, but there was no real exchange of power over a fleeting fantasy. When he tired of it, Ramsay would turn the tables and violently flip Myranda onto her back to claim her with his climax. This sort of roleplay had kept sex interesting, but what he and Sansa divulged in now was no sex game that could be ended at a whim. Even so, Ramsay couldn't disagree that a hidden part of him secretly liked the fact that Sansa had complete control of him. He'd been out of control for so long with no one to intercede, and Sansa giving him no say took the weight of choice from him that he'd always had to assert. A large part of Ramsay despised and raged at this loss of self-rule, but a placid core within him wanted structure, wanted to know that someone cared enough to stop him from destroying himself. There was an understanding that her imposed limits defined a deeper care for him because it wasn't indifference (which was all that Ramsay had come to expect from any authority figure he'd had a connection to.)
Her gaze remained upon Ramsay raking over his form as she took in his apology. He didn't really mean it, but there was something else in his expression that had replaced the haughtiness he'd exuded a moment ago. It captured her full attention as the anger that had been brewing within quieted to be replaced by curiosity. Ramsay's eyes pierced her with an intensity that stirred Sansa internally; he exuded a primal hunger that she'd come to recognize as his desire for her, but she was confused by what she could have said to have sparked this reaction. Perhaps it was just because the two were alone once more, either way, a flip had been switched, and she was not unhappy to see Ramsay regarding her in this a way.
A smile supplanted the firm line her lips had previously displayed, "I don't think you are…" Ramsay's brow lifted brandishing a countenance of confusion, "Sorry," Sansa expounded, "But for now, I'm alright with that. We've had a bit of a rocky start to our day and a restless night. I don't begrudge you your irritability in small doses, but you've been showing a remarkable level of unruliness. That sort of bad form won't go unchecked. I don't really have to explain that to you by now do I?"
Ramsay's mouth worked as he straightened in his chair. He was reminded by his shifting that it hadn't been that long since he'd last experienced Sansa's fury. There wasn't any pain now only a chaffing tingle, a ghost sting that brought back memories of her taking him in hand. It'd been awful, but what had followed the extremity of torturous smarting bites to his posterior led to some of the most intimate moments Ramsay had ever shared in his life, a cathartic release coupled with genuine tenderness. His member pulsed, and Ramsay blushed furiously clearing his throat as he sputtered, "No. You… you don't. I understand and will heed your word." He was grateful for the shielding tablecloth separating them and hiding this newly developed shame from Sansa's purview as his mind raced trying to connect the dots to where his arousal was stemming from.
Cocking her head to the side, Sansa took Ramsay in a moment longer before rising to take four steps towards him closing the gap to lay her hand on top of his. Ramsay's eyes widened staring up at her imploringly wondering what she had planned for him since the mood had shifted considerably upon her approach. Her body was no longer stiff and poised as it had been when Sansa had entered the room. He could be imaging it, but Ramsay visualized a slight sway in her hips, a sashay of sorts as she glided towards him that enthralled his attention pulling him into her like a lure on a hook. His thoughts became disjointed awash in a sea of instants to take in the swell of her breast, the allure of her gaze, and the curled tendrils of fire that framed her face.
It wasn't hard to miss the heat intensifying between them, and Sansa's grin widened deciding that there were other ways to put Ramsay in his place that didn't have to be punishment. "Disrobe, and get on the bed," Sansa huskily ordered giving Ramsay's hand a firm squeeze before retracting backwards two steps to allow compliance to her command.
Ramsay's cock had grown full mast, her words causing a shiver to course down his spine as he rose shakily beginning the task of stripping off the articles of clothing he wore. His eyes were glued to hers as he did so drinking in the power she exuded. She had asked him to strip for her a number of times now, but this time there was no bravado in his stance nor was there fear; it was as if he were not even the one performing the duty over an automatic response his limbs reacted to like that of a puppet pulled on invisible strings.
Once undressed, Ramsay remained motionless before her clutching his outfit in front of his hardon in slight hesitation to expose this part of himself even though Sansa had clearly already witnessed his condition when he'd first relinquished himself of his pants. The reluctance didn't hold out long before he set himself free to her, erection bobbing in its own heightened state. Ramsay circumvented Sansa's gaze now as his vision darted furtively about the room busying himself with resting his attire across the chair and padding over to the awaiting mattress. As he walked, his thoughts catapulted to Sansa's demeanor, and a cold dread welled within the pit of his stomach knowing the stipulations of climbing into her bed. Yet, Ramsay's body betrayed him testifying its willingness to participate no matter his mental faltering to the acts that he would be expected to engage in to be intimate with Sansa.
His muscles jittered here and there, Sansa surveyed as her own loins grew moist to Ramsay's immediate yield to her directive. The curves of his slim waist, the cut of his abdomen, and the perkiness of his bottom she had to admit she was becoming increasingly fond of viewing. Ramsay still sported dark bruising in the shape of her oval-headed brush, the marks prominently visible across the underside of his ass and bridge of his thighs where she'd concentrated most of the blows to his otherwise unblemished alabaster skin. Sansa would not comment on it, but seeing her mark upon him in this way excited her a great deal as her mind turned back to how she had come to cause these abrasions to his flesh. Ramsay had relinquished himself fully to her chastisement of him even though her heavy barrage of unerring strikes had brought him to tears draped across her lap. It wasn't the pain that had sent Ramsay over the edge, Sansa was well aware, but it had been a catalyst to destroy the barrier between them and allow the solace that followed.
Shaking her head of the past, Sansa was brought back to the present; Ramsay had climbed fully onto the bed and was peering over his shoulder at her with wide eyes depicting without question the vulnerability he was feeling. A shudder cascaded through Sansa, and her clit swelled to the display her vision took in. The sensible part of her fussed that she had much in Winterfell to attend to outside her bedchambers, but the she-wolf within didn't give a damn about any Westeros politics and was completely focused on her growing desire to climax. Winterfell could wait, Sansa decided dismissively as she strode to Ramsay more than eager to work off a bit of the previous tension that had culminated between the two.
Ramsay was propped up on his knees with feet hanging over the side of the bed when Sansa sidled up behind him leaving them almost the same height. Her hot breath spanned the length of his shoulders as Sansa's hungry lips traced from the nape of Ramsay's neck down his spine. One hand possessively sank into his left hip while the other exploratively crept around to Ramsay's middle running up his chest and down to his belly button. Letting out a frustrated whine, Ramsay's mind willed Sansa to continue her descent to his awaiting cock. She didn't, and his penis pulsed oozing droplets of precum in its aching anticipation of being stroked. Rocking his hips upward in small thrusts, Ramsay mimicked the act of copulation to assuage his body's growing need hoping that Sansa would grab his erection guided by his action as it became maddening for her to be so close yet not touch him there.
"Patience," Sansa cooed into his ear tugging Ramsay's form back into her enjoying the ripple of his muscles and heave of his chest against her own. Her voice resonated through him, and Ramsay's head fell lackadaisically back onto her shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed with pleasure as his thoughts were drawn into a pacification to take in the full affect of their bodies melding together. Sansa clutched Ramsay's frame tighter; his relent in this manner having her grip him roughly, almost painfully, as she cinched him in place to her front. Her mouth took on a carnal ravenous bite and suckle to his exposed skin, and barely audible moans of ecstasy escaped in truncated gasps from Ramsay's lips as Sansa's fiery covetous kisses burned down the length of his nape. Pin pricks of pain caused by her teeth and the course way she wrenched him about sent a jolt of excitement through Ramsay as his body twitched and surged up and down like a rippling wave to the flow of her wild abandon.
He still smelled lightly of her bath salts, but his own musk had mixed and overpowered it to bring out the unique scent that was Ramsay. His scent reminded Sansa of rawhide, wild and gamey with a hint of spring rain. Perhaps all the time Ramsay had spent trapesing about the woods had infused these odors within him, or maybe her knowledge of his pastimes intermingled to pull Sansa's mind to mentally formulate what she took in as Ramsay's essence. Either way, it was pleasing to inhale at such close proximity and fueled her lust for him further.
The fact that Ramsay seemed to be not only accepting her sexual dominance over him but sinking into a state of euphoria had Sansa's own enthusiasm peak as her hand on his core braced his chest like a splayed talon and the one holding his hip released to backtrack across the meat of his hindquarters. Her fingertips grazed the wounded flesh taking in the contours of his flank and how the texture changed as her hand made its descent to the shelf of his ass. Reactively, Sansa grabbed a handful of the plump bottom resting in her hand shivering to feel that the skin still held a minute amount of heat. Sansa was not gentle with her fondling as her clasp on his cheek grew tighter in a want to absorb the warmth radiating from his inflamed flesh a little more fully.
Ramsay's eyes flared open to this renewed discomfort eliciting a hiss and a jerk as his back arched from the surprise of Sansa's forcefulness with him. This didn't seem to sway her actions as her hand proceeded to lift and spread his ass exposing what lie previously hidden. His head spun around to take in what Sansa was now entranced by. The scene before him filling Ramsay with great shame and dread to see the avarice Sansa's gaze held looking at his entrance. It was no secret to take him anally was the route this venture was going; Sansa would be sticking her glass phallus inside him soon enough. What was most troubling to Ramsay now was that the thought of her doing so brought back their last encounter where she'd found that secret place deep within that drained him of every drop of cum in his balls. It was an electrifying experience that his cock remembered fondly growing harder yet as the rumination of Sansa reenacting that feeling had his member trickling an unbroken line of precum into the comforter below.
A tremor shook Ramsay's leg, and Sansa slid the transgressing hand further down to clasp around his inner thigh taking Ramsay off balance as she swept his limb in an outward arch to the side to open his legs wide before her. Ramsay grunted a small dismaying sound but did not resist her movements of him. He was rewarded further when Sansa's hand retraced back up the inside of his thigh to cup his testicles firmly. Ramsay gasped his pleasure trembling in excitement as Sansa's fingers maneuvered forward sliding across his balls to wrap around the base of his penis and stroke him to the tip pulling his cock's lubrication down the length and back up again in a slow methodical manner that was almost worse than her not having fondled him at all. Ramsay could stand the slow teasing progression no longer and found himself jackhammering into her closed fist to Sansa's malevolent chuckle, "Always so impetuous," she chided playfully although she did not release him and instead squeezed Ramsay's member harder to accommodate his efforts. He grew rock hard in her hand panting like a dog as he worked for release. It came when the hand she had been securing his chest to her form rose up his bucking frame to grip his throat. She did not crush or choke him, but her hand was locked rigidly around his jugular as she pulled him to her body and whispered in his ear, "Go on; do it. I want to see you expel your seed for me."
That disclosure was all Ramsay had needed to hear, and he roared out a high-pitched cry of elation as he was propelled into a rapture that felt like an internal explosion. His orgasm spasmed through him a full minute after his body was no longer physically capable of ejecting more. He was dully aware that Sansa was still stroking his softening member gently after he'd slumped down upon her chest. Sansa murmured through velvety kisses placed upon Ramsay's temple, "There, now that that's taken care of… it's my turn."
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein