Capítulo 6: A New Path
Chapter Six
A New Path
Ramsay could still feel her hand stroking his scalp and caressing his face long after he'd watched Sansa leave. The sensation sent a flutter through him of longing and fear; he didn't understand why, but he wanted so badly for her to touch him again. He should carry a burning soul rendering hatred towards her for what he'd endured by her command, but all he could think about was the gentleness Sansa had treated him with before she had last departed. To touch him with care; Ramsay had sensed it far greater than Sansa had even realized she was portraying, but to a person who had felt so very little in the ways of such attentions, especially now that he was a broken wretch of what he'd once been, the fact that she'd imparted as much at all to him seared Ramsay to his core.
Even Miranda had never been the type to afford him tenderness, theirs was a relationship of hunger and want. They had fucked like animals in heat, biting and scratching, until Ramsay eventually roughly took Miranda in whatever way his lust required. Miranda had never minded, and as such, she'd never bored Ramsay enough to hurt her for his other amusements, at least not much anyway. She'd fed into whatever desires he'd placed on her like an empty shelled mirror just waiting to reflect back anything Ramsay had projected. In this way, he'd never been able to respect Miranda, he had been fond of her though. He'd known her since he'd been a young boy; in fact, many of his dogs he'd gotten from her father's litters. She'd never shown fear when dealing with Ramsay, and that was the only reason he'd not hunted her down for sport long ago. Still, there was no love lost when he'd found her crumpled body in the courtyard. All Ramsay had felt was irritation that she was no longer around to amuse him further. It wasn't easy to find others that enjoyed his hobbies like she had after all.
What Sansa had instilled in him now was wholly different. Ramsay had never respected a woman in his life, save his mother whom he'd never actually respected and instead felt a mix of indifference and very little gratitude towards for never being an active role in his life. His mother afforded the same indifference to Ramsay outside of preening him enough to approach his father; of course such embellishment served a purpose mostly to rid herself of the burden he'd caused upon her own life. Reek had already worked to twist the boy in such a way that she was more than happy to send him packing. His mother had never wanted Ramsay; all he was to her was a reminder of everything that had been taken from her the day he had been conceived, a point that she could never fully move on from until he was out of her life. Ramsay had never looked back.
As he'd become a man, women had been his play things, they were second class citizens, and he'd wanted to hurt them to make up for the anger he felt in his own life. To be forced to respect one now only served to twist Ramsay's mind further in its already broken state. Sansa had made him feel pain, she'd made him feel guilt, and now she was making him feel something else. It stirred in him, a tumultuous wave of emotion. It was needy and unbidden; he wanted her comfort, he craved it because it evoked something else much deeper within him that had been scarred and tucked away too afraid to see the light of day. It was easier to feel nothing at all, and those walls had been painstakingly built so long ago to protect him from feeling anything for anyone, but Sansa had knocked loose his resolve, tore down his pride, and left him bared both physically and mentally to her, and it left Ramsay fragmented now in the wake of his own thoughts ripped asunder by her ministrations. She was molding him to be hers, and Ramsay would please her if only so that she would grace him with another tender touch. Her tenderness felt so much better than the pain that came from her anger. He didn't want her anger, and these choices really were the only two options Ramsay had.
These thoughts warred within him as small parts of his past-self told Ramsay not to yield to these new emotions he was garnering towards Sansa, but Ramsay really had nothing left to stand for, he was nothing except what Sansa told him he was to her. The question he'd asked Reek, "Do you love me Reek?" It had been stated as a cruel taunt, but the fearful dispirited eyes that locked on his had responded in earnest, "Yes, of course my lord!" He'd turned Theon into his Reek; Ramsay had relished that power over the man. It had been easy to rub it in his face and force Theon to no longer even consider himself to be who he'd once been, and now Ramsay's own mind was muddled with fear from the realization that he was starting to unwillingly take on the same mentality.
He let go a mournful wail rocking impotently as he heaved a shaking sob. Ramsay had always assumed Reek had only truly been terrified of him, and this was the reason why he'd obeyed Ramsay so thoroughly, recognition now occurred within him that perhaps Reek wasn't as afraid of him as Ramsay had initially assumed; perhaps coupled with that fear that Reek had felt was also a need to atone and feel loved by the one that had made him fear all else. It was true that such dominance was overriding his senses Ramsay found. He had ascertained long ago that his only mercy would be granted at Sansa's hand, even if that mercy was death, and so, the mind in a desperate attempt to make sense of the horrible situation it found itself in now searched for a way out, and Sansa's affection was all it grasped to be a suitable reward.
"Oh how the mighty have fallen," a familiar voice chimed from the doorway as the heavy door yawned a protest.
Ramsay recognized it immediately to be Lord Petyr Baelish and immediately quelled any noise that escaped his throat wholly flushed with embarrassment; he ducked his head so as not to face him.
Petyr let go a mirthful snort, "Don't stop on my account boy; you've nothing to hide. You're quite the talk of the keep actually. In fact you may have seen more action the night before than some of my star whores in King's Landing I hear."
Ramsay visibly bristled bringing his eyes up to glare at Lord Baelish as he snarled, "You're a traitorous dog; if I were you, I'd watch my tongue as there are always secrets to spill that might land you in a grievous state of your own."
Petyr's eyes narrowed a moment before a wicked grin crossed his face. He casually leaned down bringing his face within meters of Ramsay. Petyr's eyes glowed with an inner rage, "What was is you said on the wall of the castle… ah yes, you gave me your word. You said to me then that you'd never hurt her, and well, we have all been made well aware the standing your word now. Who do you think would believe a word that came out of your lying bastard mouth?"
Ramsay swallowed hard working his jaw angrily; it was true, no one would believe him. Lord Baelish was smiling cruelly down at him now as he pulled a dagger from his side and Ramsay flinched eyes widening in shock.
He would have slit Ramsay's throat then and there to put an end to him, but Sansa's voice rang out coldly as the dungeon door was opened by one of her guards, "Lord Baelish! What are you doing?"
Petyr stiffened standing and turning to face her as he worked to regain his composure. His eyes were unable not to drift down to the bundled blanket in her arms; he'd heard what lurked inside. Petyr heard everything. He smirked, "Lady Sansa, I… I merely wished to see if the rumors were true."
Sansa stared at him coolly; she'd never trust this man again, but he had brought the Knights of the Vale to fight at their side, so she held her suspicions to herself as she leveled a glare at Lord Baelish, "So now you've seen; they are true. I ask you now; why were you unsheathing your dagger to a chained man? Surely he could have been of no threat."
Petyr's mouth worked a moment a wash of uneasiness passing over him before he replied, "I was about to cut the tongue from this liar's mouth. If you would hear the things that…"
Sansa cut him off, "I care not for what he says, but I do value his tongue for other uses that you need not be privy to."
Lord Baelish blinked slightly ruffled by this admission. He'd met with Sansa earlier that day in an attempt to woo her for his own purposes. In actuality, he'd come down here for the sole purpose of eliminating any opposing factors that may prevent a further attempt to sway lady Stark from joining his side at a later date, but her stance and the way she glared at him now was enough for Petyr to know chasing her was a lost cause. Instead he turned back to Ramsay his grin growing, "You did say you hoped you could make her happy Ramsay; it would seem you may yet accomplish that goal." Petyr turned back to Sansa giving her a small nod, "I'll see myself out. Good day, lady Sansa."
Sansa's eyes followed his retreat and exit before turning back to Ramsay. She studied him now with an unreadable look before she turned to the guardsmen at her side, "I want a posted man at that door from now on."
"Yes, my lady. It will be done," the guard affirmed.
She gave a slow nod, "Thank you. Please leave us."
The guard was quick to obey as he moved back to and out of the door.
Sansa brought her eyes back to Ramsay, "Now, about that tongue."
Ramsay's heart had been palpitating at a furious rate since Lord Baelish had pulled his dagger; there would have been nothing he could have done to prevent him from driving that dagger into any critical area and ending him. Ramsay had thought he might welcome death, but the truth was the threat of dying still was not appealing enough not to fear it.
It was only now that her words registered as Ramsay brought his eyes up to stare at Sansa, "My lady? Did you wish to inquire about Lord Baelish's visit?"
Sansa shook her head, "I don't care what he had to say, and I certainly don't care what you would say about him because we both know you're a liar. As far as I'm concerned, Lord Petyr Baelish can ride from the North and never return. He brought me to you, and although I can't prove it, I know that Petyr knows people. He should have known you… either way, I'm not interested in hearing you talk. What I am interested in is how well you can use your tongue to please me. That's all it's really good for now. Isn't that right?"
Her words were demeaning, but they also held a truth to them. He found himself defaulting to looking at the mattress as often their conversations led him to avert his eyes unable to bare the further shame that she continued to heap on him. He didn't want to add to diminishing himself further, but he found himself muttering, "I… my tongue is yours to do with as you wish, my lady." Maybe if he pleased her in this way, she would not need to be pleased in other ways less… pleasant for him.
His willingness to please sent a jolt through Sansa as she took in a deep breath regarding him with avarice. She wanted to see his tongue lapping at her the way so many less lady-like women had giggled about in the serving quarters. Sansa had always pretended to ignore them blushing furiously as a young girl. The women would often apologize profusely, and Sansa would be ever the lady and excuse herself without further comment. But the truth was that their words had intrigued her; most young people no matter their gender were quite curious about the other sex even if they felt remiss to speak about it.
Sansa had been bashful and quiet about such things up until that first afternoon she'd spent here in the dungeon with Ramsay, and ever since that day, Sansa seemed to care less and less about how a lady should act and be perceived. She felt emboldened and shameless here with Ramsay knowing that his sole existence hinged on her desires; it was empowering and left her to feel possessive of him now.
Seeing Petyr standing over him holding his dagger in what could have been Ramsay's end had sent a sharp flash of fear that she might actually lose him then, and in this way Sansa realized that she truly didn't want him to die. She was starting to feel something for him, but what exactly she couldn't discern. It unnerved her nonetheless, but not enough to leave him be. Ramsay was hers and hers alone, and no one would take him from her.
She reached down to pet him, and she could hear him release a small moan as he leaned in to her caress. Peering down now she watched his eyes flutter closed against her touch, and this too excited her. He wanted her to have him in this way; her clit swelled, and she grabbed a fistful of his hair pulling his face up to look at her, "You need a shave first. Perhaps a bath once I'm done having my way with you. I want to cum multiple times tonight."
Ramsay's eyes reflected a multitude of things now, he was afraid of the pain that statement promised, but there was hope there that coupled with that pain she'd give him a little more that wasn't pain.
Sansa let his hair go returning to the door to tell the guard she wished for a wash basin, shave brush, and a razor. While the guard had left to comply to her wishes, Sansa had went about bringing the small table over next to the bed followed by pushing the ornate chair over in front of Ramsay. It was quite heavy she found, but she took her time and wobbled it over to where she'd needed it.
Throughout this, Ramsay only observed her silently. Every move she made and did, he took in now, and occasionally she'd peer at him and watched him to although she gave no indication of how she was feeling towards him. She was a captivating mystery more assured now than she'd ever been around him, it was becoming a natural state he expected from her now. Her saving him from Lord Baelish only solidified her strength of will to him. Why had he not seen what she was long before? The words of his father came back to him now when he'd chided Ramsay about how he'd 'played his games with her' both her and Theon, and he had lost. He'd lost everything he'd thought he could gain, and the woman he'd so aptly played his games with had beat him and turned the game back on him. Ramsay knew the game well, but he didn't know what the prize was that she hoped to attain. All he did know was that as long as he kept her happy, she wouldn't want to get rid of him. A pang of despair clenched at him to think that she might cast him out if he didn't please her, not unlike his own mother. To do away with him like rotten fruit past its prime, he didn't know why it would matter, but it did now. Her pleasure amounted to what was now his usefulness, and he would show her he was useful.
Sansa took the cushion of the chair and laid it flush against the mattress, and when the guard returned, she told him that she would wish some hot water to be put on for a bath after the sun had set.
Ramsay took her words in numbly understanding that she planned to have her way with him for quite some time as dark was still many hours from now. He should feel afraid, and on some level he was. He was still sore, but less so than the first time she'd taken him, and although this cinched a level of worry in him as he glanced at the familiar blanket, there was another part of him that had already resigned himself to this fate. It was still better than getting gang raped by several men all night long, and as long as he kept that in mind, the treatment didn't seem as bad.
Moving over to the small table Sansa had placed by Ramsay's bed, she laid the small bowl, brush, and razor down for easy access before settling herself on the cushion and peering at him with a leveled stare, "You're not going to give me any trouble are you? I'd hate to have to strap you for not letting me clean you up properly."
Ramsay shook his head now lightly, "No, my lady. I'll be no trouble; I swear."
His eyes bore into her now as she analyzed him. She didn't trust Ramsay, but his expression spoke that he would behave for her, "Lay your face down on your right side," she instructed casually, and Ramsay did as he was told. Sansa dabbed the brush across the stubble on his face lathering it well before picking up the razor to begin shaving him.
Ramsay didn't flinch, in fact his eyes only glanced at the razor a moment before he transfixed them to look at the wall seemingly unconcerned.
If anyone should be worried in this scenario, it should be Ramsay, but she could tell that he wasn't. For whatever reason he seemed to trust her now, and this fact both amused and mystified Sansa. She didn't question it though as she began to slide the razor evenly across his face. This wasn't the first time she'd done this of course; her mother had made both her and Arya practice on their brothers much to everyone's fear and discomfort, but other than a few nicks, neither Sansa nor Arya had managed to do any real damage with their learning curve. She was no expert now, but she performed well enough to give Ramsay a clean shave. She finished the first side and dried his face, and Ramsay had turned his head without prompting for Sansa to shave the other half. Sansa took her time, and when she was done, she'd ran her hand along the expanse of his cheeks and chin. She liked the feeling of how soft he felt when clean shaven.
As she moved her fingers across his face, Ramsay closed his eyes kissing the inside of her palm as she came to the tip of his chin, "Thank you, my lady," he whispered faintly.
Sansa felt a wash of heat radiate through her; yes, she liked this side of him. Whether he was faking it or not, it turned her on Sansa decided. It honestly didn't matter, she planned to take from him regardless if his intentions were meaningful or not. Her own eyes closed as she wet her lips feeling his soft lips planting soft warm kisses from her palm to her wrist. She cupped his face in response bringing her other hand to play at the small tufts of hair at the back of his neck momentarily before grabbing a handful of it to pull his head back. She was not harsh though as she addressed him with a breathy, "It's time to put your mouth to use elsewhere."
Ramsay let out a soft groan his eyes half lidded and lost to the moment. He'd never pleased a woman in the way Sansa had intended for him to please her now, but he was confident that he could.
She released her hold on him and picked herself up off the floor. Within minutes, Sansa had replaced the cushion and pushed the chair up flush to the mattress. She pulled up the bottom of her long flowing dress to reveal she had been wearing nothing underneath.
Ramsay swallowed feeling his blood pumping in his ears; his cock responded to the scene as well, and he felt it swell under him as he watched Sansa settle herself back onto the chair.
Sansa placed her feet against his shoulders pressing him back slightly in a testing fashion, and Ramsay flexed against her push instinctively. She instructed, "Stick your tongue out for me."
His icy blue eyes regarded her intently with a yearning as he did as she told him readily.
Sansa moved her waist down the length of the chair until just the tip of his tongue tickled the folds of her sex's skin. She let out a small gasp that she hadn't meant to, but the truth was this act left her heady with arousal to see his eyes watching her, aiming to please her she knew. He would please her now she thought as she inched forward for him to fully lap at her.
Ramsay moved his tongue awkwardly at first trying to feel out what it was that made her shudder each time he'd done something in particular, and then he'd found it as he'd moved his tongue in an upward arch; it was the small bulb at the hood of her folds. He realized quickly that she pulled back only allowing him to barely touch it, and as he made her more aroused, she began to grind herself into his mouth. He took the small bulb between his lips and worked his tongue in rapid flicks as he sucked at it gently. Her body shook every time he did this, and Ramsay became rock hard grinding against the mattress as she ran her hand through his hair tugging here and there as he hit a spot that had her unable to not jitter at his touch. Sansa moaned the closer she came to climaxing, and when she did, Ramsay lapped at her taking in her taste with a moan of his own.
Sansa pulled at his hair possessively yanking his face into her sex as she felt him take her in. She found herself gripping the back of his head tightly until her orgasm had finally seeded away from her. She glanced at him now breathing heavily at his crushed swollen red lips wet with her climax. She took in another deep breath letting out a satisfied release of air as she pushed against his shoulders with her feet to sit up in the chair. She smirked at him, and he smiled back. It was the first time he'd smiled since she'd wiped it off his face days ago, but she found she didn't mind it as much now.
"Did I please you well, my lady?" Ramsay asked, and she could tell he wanted badly to hear from her own lips that he had.
Ramsay still needed validation, and seeing the hidden desperation behind his eyes, Sansa smiled as she crossed her legs and leaned her face down close to his. She could smell her sex on his lips, and her eyes took on a sultry seductive glare as she smiled, "Not bad for a first go. I suspect you're going to get better as I plan to give you a lot of practice."
Ramsay seemed genuinely pleased with her words, "I'll get better with practice I'm sure."
Sansa couldn't help a small chuckle, "I have no doubt. I plan to make you practiced at many things." She climbed over the leg of the chair then and made her way back to the door where she instructed the guard of something that Ramsay hadn't been able to discern. When she'd come back, Sansa worked the chair back over to the side of Ramsay's mattress before picking up the rolled blanket from the floor.
Ramsay had been dreading as much as his hard on shriveled at the thought of what was to come from Sansa unwrapping that blanket now. He frowned feeling a panic rise in him as he suggested, "Maybe I can get a little more practice with my tongue in now… instead of…" he swallowed hard flashing a look at her that showed the level of distress he felt knowing he didn't need to say it and hoping the mere mention of an alternative would be enough to deter Sansa this once.
The worried look on his face really was adorable Sansa decided, but she had really liked fucking him. And as much fun as his tongue had been, it just didn't compare to the pleasure of taking him with her new glass dildo. She smiled at him, "You've done well, and I plan to reward you. I will take you in this way still, as this is not a punishment but for my pleasure, but I will make it easier for you to take."
From the look on Ramsay's face, her words didn't seem to appease him, but he didn't protest further knowing it'd do him no good. Instead he wore a small pout in his silent defiance to show his feelings on the matter. Sansa smiled at this too; he was allowed to have a dislike to what she did to him as long as he didn't resist her or get rude and nasty with her. At this point Ramsay seemed more than well aware what would follow anything so brazen, and to this degree, Sansa assumed to pout was the next best thing. Either way, unbeknownst to Ramsay, his pout just made her want to take him that much more.
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