Capítulo 10: Fine Dining
Chapter Ten
Fine Dining
Sansa had left Ramsay standing next to his mattress with the words, "I'll send for you when I am ready for your company. A servant will bring you some of your personal effects to join me…" Sansa had paused then looking Ramsay up and down before continuing curtly, "A pity as I do rather prefer you without clothes, but then, I'd rather keep some of your modesty for me and me alone. I suppose if I really want to see the full of you badly enough, I can always just rip your garments from you now can't I?" It was a rhetorical question Ramsay realized as he blanched observing that Sansa's lips had parted to reveal a playful devilish smirk. The statement was meant to take Ramsay off guard and although not said hatefully, in fact it was said rather lasciviously, it had been meant as a reminder that he belonged to her and that this new arrangement did not grant him any sort of reprieve from her wants and desires of him.
Her words now tended to strike him speechless Ramsay found as the mental image of her divesting him of his clothes in such a severe fashion served as a reminder that he stood before her already bared. Ramsay had fidgeted giving her a dutiful nod before bowing his head and murmuring a soft, "Yes, my Lady." There wasn't much else he could say; the actuality of his situation was that whatever Sansa deemed was to be his fate was his reality although Ramsay quietly hoped she'd never find such a threat to be more than words to satisfy her.
The turnaround of taking from him in such a way and the way it made Ramsay flinch slightly to hear her speak of such a possibility served to excite Sansa. She didn't wish to hurt him any longer, but to toy with him and make Ramsay uncomfortable still seemed to pull at Sansa in a way that gave her an inner satisfaction to behold. She remembered that first afternoon in the dungeon with him, the way he'd clenched when she'd sheared the pants from his body and tore them away with a single yank. It was odd that those memories that had been tinged with hating everything that Ramsay had done had awakened a want in her converting that hate into lust for the things she now wanted to see done to him.
He'd torn her clothes from her their wedding night to take her forcibly, and it had been awful, but the sudden thought of doing the same to him now served to turn her on. Ramsay's nudity was not even the highlight of what was arousing her; what spurred her sex was the thoughts of claiming him in such a way as he had her that night, a justifiable retribution of seeing her own pain suffered reflected back on to him was now a desirable fantasy. She imagined the shocked look on Ramsay's face for her to powerfully bend him over a table or the bed, the small noises he might make as he was pushed down flat into position for her, and in this mental captivation, Sansa saw herself already brandishing her glass cock under her skirts as a private surprise and further shock to Ramsay to be so ready to demand her dues of him. It cultivated a lovely imagery that sent a shiver down her spine as Sansa found herself swelling and moistening with desire within the brief moment the vision graced her thoughts.
He would willing subject himself to her as he had sworn himself mind and body; she would have both. His body was easier to have of course because she could do as she pleased with him physically on a whim, and that was enticing, but not as much as Ramsay readily giving her his word to want to serve her on his own accord. Sansa didn't doubt his conviction, but she also wasn't reckless enough to assume she had Ramsay wholly at such an early juncture (even if he did seem more than eager to please or believed as much himself.) The past couple days had been enlightening, but there was still so much mystery laying in unspoken silence between them. He was fire, and if she wasn't careful, she could very well get burned.
Sansa had been satisfied with Ramsay's deference drinking him in a moment longer before turning to exit the dungeon.
Ramsay had watched her go, (as he tended to do doggedly now) and waited impatiently to be 'fetched' as the two guards that had remained continued to watch him with a distrustful glare. She may have trusted him well enough, but these men seemingly did not.
Ramsay couldn't blame them, and a bit of his old self chimed in the back of his mind that they were right not to trust him. He'd played so many games with people, and for all they knew, he could have been weaving such a game now. He wasn't above it, but the thought of betraying Sansa in such a way now served to make Ramsay feel ill with both fear of her retribution and something else… fear of losing this newfound connection that they were forming.
All those formative years that he'd reached out for a nurturing touch, Ramsay had been ignored and denied until he'd turned away from the want of it completely, hatefully so, as the lack of affection swelled in him a desire to passionately instill the opposite in those that displeased him. Pain was a tool he wielded well to mold his victims to conform to his demands through mutilation and horror. He'd been brutal and vicious when he shattered them where Sansa had been tempered and exact with him. Her methods served their purposes of breaking Ramsay while leaving him physically whole (which was more than he'd done for any of his victims save her, and that had only been because his father, Roose, had forbade it. She was meant to provide him an heir and a solid hold over the north, to harm her would have lost allegiances.)
Sansa was more artful than Ramsay without having a need to maim him to ensure his loyalty to her; she kept him devoted by giving him something far more damning a consequence with the unspoken threat to simply revoke her kindness when dealing with him. The thought of her going back to those first couple days of cruelty and indifference was more than enough to keep Ramsay in line now. She had hammered in a need to respect and dread her wrath, but more so she'd instilled a curiosity and astonishment in him that even with such a firm hold over his every action, she didn't need to be unsympathetic or callous to him.
Ramsay had built so many walls and buried the want to be cared for so deeply that he'd even fooled himself into believing he was untouchable and infallible to any desire or need for the affection that all social creatures crave. He had been wrong; those emotions had been secreted away to a safe place within him and unearthed by her when she'd made his weak foundation crumble to dust. In the wake of his downfall when Ramsay had felt he had nothing of himself left, on the verge of snapping not unlike Theon had when Ramsay had taken his manhood; Sansa had surprised Ramsay by bothering to stop long enough to cauterize the remains of his devastated composure where she could have chosen to destroy Ramsay wholly. Mercy in this way was alien to him, and it was because of this compassion that Ramsay had become so enthralled with her.
The stillness in the dungeon was palpable; as Ramsay waited now feeling a tad awkward in the semi-freedom he'd been granted. Being chained down had made it easier to endure this new status as it was made apparent Ramsay had no ability to choose anything by the way he was manacled even if he'd tried; this, 'in between state' of submission from him, brokered an acute awareness to where he now socially stood and that he was making the decision to submit to it himself. It was… humbling.
He found the idea of exiting the dungeon cause for both elation and trepidation now. Freedom in such a way was a privilege, but so much had changed for him since he was last on the other side of that wall that the unfamiliarity that threatened to greet him now vexed Ramsay greatly.
His thoughts shifted to the door as one of the castle's servants entered carrying a noble set of clothing given to him by his father after Ramsay had been made a true Bolton. It was of a fine fabric that as a bastard he'd never had the privilege of wearing; it had been above his station, and Roose had always made sure in such small details that Ramsay was well aware of his standing. What was worse was it wasn't even malicious intent by Roose but rather a technical protocol.
To look at the outfit now being neatly laid across the mattress he'd spent the past couple days tied down on facing various degrees of defeat put his current position further into perspective. Sansa wanted him dressed in finery even to stand at her side as her servant. Ramsay dressed mulling over how he would be perceived by any who knew the truth; (which would likely be anyone he encountered here at the keep) it made him feel akin to a doll Sansa was playing dress up with, all presentation with no actual clout. He'd spent half of his life trying to attain the status of his birth right, and to now be given it in clothes alone felt like a hollow mockery.
Ramsay clenched his jaw considering it could have been worse… at least he was being given clothes at all; she could have made him walk about the castle as he was currently. That would have been horrible, and he was relieved that that was not to be the case. Ramsay knew even though she'd said it was to keep his modesty for her, he assumed it was also for all those in the castle who wouldn't want to be subjected to his nudity, and for this, he was glad Sansa was a bit more on the proper side and cared what others thought. He'd let Theon remain clothed, but it wasn't due to his own kindness over the fact that Roose would not have tolerated it.
The clothes could have been the rags of a servant (which Ramsay would have actually preferred.) It would have left him less noticeable to any that regarded him at her side, and in his current placing the less noticed he was the better. As it was, those that didn't recognize his face would still take notice of the clothing and put two and two together. Word spread faster than disease in Winterfell, and in this way, Ramsay knew he would be further reminded of his fall to house Stark. It was just another crown of shame he'd have to wear. Not that the house Bolton's family hadn't already bent a knee to the Starks prior to this event, but then after everything, was he even still considered a Bolton? These were thoughts best not dwelt on because no good could come of them Ramsay realized grimly.
Once dressed, the servant moved around him to adjust any of the fittings as was par usual for noble clothing that tended to be entirely too complicated for one person to don without assistance of some sort from a servant. Ramsay stood stock still as the servant woman moved around him gently pulling here and there and buttoning and clasping the remaining adornments before giving a nod to the guards, "He is ready for Lady Stark. She asked that he be brought to the study for her." The servant backed away seemingly relieved that her task having anything at all to do with Ramsay had been fulfilled.
Ramsay could practically smell the fear rippling off the girl in waves, and a small part of him was satisfied that not everyone regarded him to be of no consequence (not that it did him any good to have this servant girl's unease, but it did make him feel a little less weak.)
The guards moved forward hands on the hilts of their weapons in a show that they were almost itching to strike him down if given half the opportunity.
Ramsay didn't linger jerking into motion and striding stiffly towards the door. He hadn't walked far in the past week since his subsequent beating in the courtyard, and his body screamed from both lethargy and abuse now as he headed into the hall with a bit of a limp struggling to walk normally but ultimately failing.
One of the guards seemed to take amusement from his difficulty affixing him with a cruel smile, "If I'd have to guess, I'd say you'll never walk right again after the amount of cock you've been buggered by boy."
The other guard gave a knowing chortle of a laugh as they continued down the corridor. Ramsay chose not to look at either man as he held his tongue gritting his teeth against the inner rage that burned to hear these men speak of him in such a way. He tuned them out to think of Sansa which helped to calm him. He had to prove to her that releasing him from his restraints would not disappoint her. He wanted her to be happy with him and to continue to be happy with him. She'd planned for them to have dinner together, just the two of them, and this was promising and worth curbing any anger he felt towards the two men here that spoke ill of him. It was in all likelihood an attempt to enrage him and prove Sansa wrong in giving him the chance for this much freedom. Perhaps they wanted him to fail, and then again, perhaps this was just what he should expect from most that would see him outside the dungeon walls. This would not be a shock to Ramsay even if the thought of it served to distress him.
The halls that he was directed down held very few to walk them although riotous laughter could be heard trailing down the length of the castle from the other end where many of the soldiers that were well enough from the battle drank plenty of mead and celebrated life and victory amongst themselves. Any that did see Ramsay were only servants that quietly regarded him with either fear or disdain giving him a wide birth regardless.
Sansa was sitting in the large rocker next to the fire when he arrived, and Ramsay noted there had been a table already set and prepared to the side for them. She looked him up and down as she rose regally giving him a small smile, "You look quite nice…" she had to stop herself from calling him 'Lord Bolton' thinking better of giving the man the right of that title anymore. The last thing Ramsay needed was any association with power she decided, "Ramsay."
Every movement that she made depicted grace Ramsay thought adoringly unable not to see her now in the best of lights. Her compliment made him beam with gratitude as he gave a slight bow of his head, "Thank you, my Lady. I'm glad it pleases you."
His eyes rose to meet her again, and Sansa saw they held a familiarity to his old self when he'd seemed particularly happy about something. It tended to be nothing that she'd personally found tasteful in the past as it usually related to some form of cruelty he was bestowing on another that she'd been unfortunate enough to witness or some form of bragging that he felt a need to express to her to make himself feel important, but in this case, Sansa realized it was her that his happiness was settling on. She wasn't sure if it unnerved her to have him want to be in her presence so badly or pleased her. She decided a little of both.
Something about the setting outside of the dungeon had her feeling a bit off; maybe it was because he was dressed now and dressed as a noble; it meant that mentally she had to regard him a little differently as a spark of who he had been before she'd broken him down shown through in his composure as he worked to stand at attention for her properly. Ramsay had been taught of course even if he'd rarely used the postures of a lord outside of ceremony for lack of care (and what he wouldn't readily admit to himself was a bit of animosity to act in such a manner for those he thought beneath him.) Ramsay didn't feel that way about Sansa anymore, she was not beneath him and was in fact well above him his mind had been forced to accept after she'd dominated him so fully.
It was the only reason he'd sworn fealty to her as he'd hardly ever garnered another to be his better, save his father, until it had become apparent that Ramsay was to be, as he'd feared all along, easily replaced. It built an impassioned rage that divested Ramsay of any further loyalties to Roose Bolton he'd once held. As he'd shoved a knife into Roose's gut, he affirmed to himself it was the last time he would be seen as worthless in that man's eyes.
Ramsay had spent his life living under that terrible reflection, and for once through Sansa, even though he'd been stripped of all that he had been or could be, (now even less than a bastard) she still wanted him. He wasn't insignificant to her no matter what capacity she had him now; she showed him that he had some value to her, and Ramsay planned to do his best to maintain that value. His mind hinged on that much especially in this new ranking where he was considered beneath everyone around him; it was a terrifying prospect for a man that had done his best to see everyone else as useless outside of his own agenda. Ramsay had faced opposition with such ideals in youth before he'd known his lineage, but he rarely brokered much disrespect after it had been noted who he was related to, and if that hadn't acquired the right response, Ramsay had found ways that did. These methods were dead to him now as dead as the man he'd used to be.
His brow creased in contemplation as Ramsay felt suddenly bereft from any semblance of familiarity of who he was anymore. He wasn't sure of anything anymore other than the fact that his sole purpose was to please the woman before him now, and that would have to be good enough even though the feeling of giving himself fully for another was incredibly foreign if knowingly necessary to remain in her good graces.
As if sensing his inner turmoil, Sansa moved over beside Ramsay lifting a brow, "Are you ready to eat, Ramsay?"
"Yes… yes of course, my lady," it was enough to distract Ramsay out of his reverie as he moved into action swiftly to slide the chair out beside her and gently tuck it in as she sat.
Sansa tilted her head towards the seat across from her noting Ramsay lingered behind her still seemingly distracted and unsure of how to proceed. She cleared her throat, "Please sit, Ramsay."
Ramsay quietly obeyed moving around the table to pull out his own chair although he gingerly sat for several reasons but did his best to hide his discomfort as he did so. This all felt so very wrong, Ramsay fidgeted with the napkin placing it in his lap and staring hard at his plate as a servant that had been waiting for the two to sit moved over to pour them glasses of both wine and water before moving to serve Sansa first and then moving to him to place a breast of pheasant on his plate followed by some green beans and a biscuit. Ramsay noted there was no fork or knife, so apparently she trusted him enough to dine with her but not enough to afford him any makeshift weaponry. The lack of trust he found hurt a little although he couldn't really blame her. How could she know that he wasn't bluffing? It was a mark of intelligence on her part to be wary, and in this way Ramsay couldn't really fault her. He was just happy she was giving him this much trust. He cautioned a look up to see she was staring at him now with that often expressionless stare which made him worry what she was actually thinking.
Sansa's eyes softened when Ramsay looked up at her his eyes depicting a sense of loss. She could tell the atmosphere was throwing him for a loop, so she attempted to calm him as well as redefine their established relationship as she reached across the length of the small table to cup her hand over his, "I think I like having you here with me like this, Ramsay, but I would like to see you do more than stare at your plate. Eat for me."
Ramsay's eyes had moved to take in the gesture she afforded him fixating on her hand and the warmth it generated. He found himself letting out a soft sigh as he blinked and nodded. He was unhappy that she'd pulled her hand away, but the smile that decorated her face within the flicker of the candlelight was enough to make his heart flutter and renew the constant feelings of faithfulness he now felt for her. Ramsay complied with her wish all the while steadfastly watching Sansa as she ate her own food. He'd never paid attention before to her mannerisms in such a way but enjoyed to study her now.
His eyes dancing over everything she did was a bit discombobulating and peculiar, but then this whole situation and what she'd made of him was abnormal to say the least. Sansa couldn't help but to think now on the way that Theon had regarded Ramsay similarly and how she'd found it abhorrent then that Theon would dedicate so much of himself to Ramsay after he'd done so many horrible things to him. To see the same behaviors reflected back at her through Ramsay now made her feel slightly uncomfortable and guilty. What was she doing? Or rather, what had she already done? Ramsay didn't regard her with the same level of fear that she'd seen in Theon's eyes, but it was more than apparent that Ramsay had become rather captivated by her.
Neither spoke, eating in silence, but they both watched the other in an awkwardness akin to a first date; it was true that they never had actually tried to get to know each other prior to their wedding day, and every day since had been a nightmare for Sansa until she'd escaped him, so it wasn't as if she had went out of her way to ask anything of Ramsay that he'd not willingly volunteered. She was becoming curious now about him.
Having eaten her fill, Sansa took up her wine glass (she'd been nursing it throughout her meal and had had her glass refilled once already.) She wasn't much of a drinker, so she found the wine to relax her enough now to not feel so out of place with Ramsay sitting here across from her like this anymore. It served to reaffirm her confidence in a want to socially probe him, "The way you look at me leaves me to wonder what plays through your mind, Ramsay. Tell me now, what are you thinking?"
Having been put on the spot, Ramsay found himself shifting awkwardly, "Thinking? Well…" he had been thinking about the curvature of her jawline and the nape of her neck, he'd been thinking about how lovely the soft curls that sat just so atop her head accentuated her cheekbones, there were so many small details of her face that he'd just wanted to take in now, but all he managed to say was, "I was just admiring your beauty, my lady."
Sansa wasn't sure if what Ramsay said now was a copout or not, but she gave him a small wry smile, "Surely with everything that has happened, you must be contemplating much more. If I were in your position, I think that my head would be quite full of thoughts on my future. Does your fate not concern you?"
It did, but in truth, Ramsay had been avoiding such a conversation with her because he was fully aware there was nothing he could do to affect his fate. To be told what only served to indemnify the paltry status he'd already been made to come to terms with was a bit depressing. The only saving grace of all of this was that he was Sansa's, and even that was a fact that he'd just recently found himself to be okay with if only so that he could continue to glean some form of much sought after affection from her.
It still didn't change the fact that he was no longer his own man, a lifetime prisoner until Sansa grew weary of him. These ruminations made a frown cross his face, "I know I'm to serve you, what more is there I need to know?" His temperament concerning the subject was sour not for the duty to serve her but for his diminished role, and his words reflected a bit too much of his mood he'd realized to see Sansa's face darken as she observed him. Realizing he'd spoken poorly, Ramsay's eyes widened as he amended quickly, "I wish to serve you; all else matters not!" This was a lie, it did matter, but he didn't wish to upset her further, and the thought of doing so had a cold chill run up his spine.
She didn't look convinced as her eyes narrowed menacingly, "Your mouth says one thing, but the rest of you tells another story. I'll tell you now, Ramsay, I don't take kindly to lies, and if I catch you in one, I will punish you severely. You don't doubt my word do you?" Her remarks dripped with malice as an anger began to brew within her. Instantly her mind turned to the thought that he was playing her now, and the insinuation alone made her blood boil. The way he'd reacted had reminded her too much of the old Ramsay, and it was a clear detriment to their conversation now.
Ramsay's mouth parted noting that his words didn't seem to placate her and instead only seemed to incense her further. He shook his head numbly as his synapses fired to respond in a way that would make her stop looking at him like that. "I… I'm not trying to lie to you, my lady! I swear! I didn't think you'd wish to hear me complain is all! I meant what I said; I do wish to serve you, I do!" Ramsay swallowed hard; his hands laid splayed on the table, his form rigid with apprehension, as he fixed her with a furrowed brow, "But… but to think of what I am now to you… to anyone else that takes the sight of me in…" Ramsay paused, his mouth becoming a tight line as his words took on a rather subdued tone now, "I …I meant no disrespect, but I can't say a noble to a servant is exactly anything one aspires to become. What am I now to you other than property?" He was well aware even though he'd pledged himself to her that he was more similar to slave now than her servant, and admitting this aloud caused Ramsay's chest to feel tight and his stomach to lurch. The truth in his statements further damned him to take into himself the weight of what he'd now confessed to her as Ramsay's face contorted to display his anxiety on the subject plainly.
Sansa took in a deep breath, her eyes boring into him a moment longer as if trying to root out any untruths he may still be secreting away. Her expression shifted as she took in Ramsay's words and his countenance. She understood why he'd kept his true feelings to himself, but she also had to instill a firmness in her resolve; she needed his openness if she was ever going to trust him, and so Sansa responded in a clipped tone, "In the future, I expect the full truth the first time I ask unless you wish to force the need for me to punish you; am I clear?"
"You can be sure that I'll be more forthcoming in the future, Lady Sansa," Ramsay nodded obediently, but even as he did so, a small part of himself was revolted at how easily her words served to cow him. He had to wonder; had she really taken that much of him? The answer was painfully clear; yes, she had. Sansa had taken enough of him to terrify Ramsay into never wanting to test her limits again. He was curious about many things concerning Sansa, but pushing her resolve to feel a need to punish him was definitely not one of them. Ramsay knew too well by now that a Stark's word would not be compromised, and the punishments she'd felt fit to give him before had fragmented him into a barely recognizable wretched mess of the man he was. The humiliation alone to look back at himself blubbering to her for mercy made Ramsay reel in self-loathing.
Sansa's face softened as she leaned back in her chair seemingly taking him at his word now, and in this, Ramsay found the tension bottled within him dropped back to a neutral level as he let himself uncoil feeling a sudden urge to take a large gulp of his wine before moving back to pecking at his plate thoughtfully. He'd lost his appetite, but wished to look busied to halt their conversation feeling rather out of his depth.
Sansa couldn't help the small smirk that played across her lips to note his nervousness and how Ramsay tried to subtly play it off. His unease with her now wasn't a bad thing she conferred wanting him to be more than a touch fearful at the thought of lying to her. It wasn't until after the moment passed and they sat in the disquieted wake of silence that it dawned on Sansa that she'd been willfully intimidating him without even realizing it. She was again reminded of Theon and worried about her own agenda with Ramsay as she served to cut him down every time he looked like he might get legs to stand. Was it really for his own good and to keep herself safe, or was she just subjecting him to her will for the sake of lording over him? It was both, the real question was which held the higher priority?
It was true that any hint of the old Ramsay that emerged sent an immediate reaction to want to squelch the reminder under her boot heel like a scurrying roach, but on some basic level Sansa understood she'd have to let some of the man come forward or she really was no better than he had been with Theon. Observing his behavior and her own, she honestly wasn't sure that she actually was any better, she had a lot of reason to doubt herself. Sansa wondered if Ramsay had had inner battles like this with himself concerning the way he'd treated Theon, (Ramsay had not; he had felt he was completely in his rights to treat others with the power he'd managed to wrest over them and relished every bit of it) but for Sansa the want to do this at all was something she still questioned constantly.
As Sansa watched him now, she could see the look of consternation etched across Ramsay's face as he fought within himself to digest everything that she was constantly throwing at him. So she addressed him more kindly deciding to try and open a less volatile dialogue, "Did you like the food, Ramsay?"
Her words pulled him from his inner reflections as his eyes drew up from his plate where they had remained since she'd last addressed him. Ramsay nodded, "It's quite pleasing, thank you, my lady," he was careful now to ensure he showed gratitude since he'd gathered from previous words shared she'd liked to hear him say as much, and a happy Sansa meant more of a chance for him to be happy too.
She regarded him now utterly at a loss as to what to speak to him about, pleasantries aside, she wanted to know him in a way simple dinner conversation wasn't going to cover. She wanted more, so she decided to be blunt with him now being they'd just covered honesty, "Tell me something about yourself, Ramsay, a memory that you hold dear."
His brow raised as Ramsay considered her, "A memory?" He blinked as his mind turned to her question flashing through moments he held dear but thought better than to tell Sansa. Most momentous occasions he'd seen as an accomplishment had definite negative connotations to how he was sure Sansa would react to hearing them. Anything regarding his Reek of course Ramsay moved quickly off the table just as anything that encompassed bloodshed. This left for an ungainly stretched silence as Ramsay worked to sift through his memories to find something she might find acceptable. His mind turned to her then, and he smiled a slight blush blooming across his cheeks to think of her running her hand through his hair, another memory he didn't want to comment on. He shook his head, "I… I honestly don't know what to say. Memories are fleeting, and not many I hold a candle up to venerate."
Sansa frowned, "You must have something you can tell me. What of your mother?" It was a simple question meant to spark a fond memory, but one Sansa realized quickly had an immediate opposite reaction from Ramsay as his body tensed and an instant sneer moved across his face.
Ramsay averted his eyes quickly working to regain his composure as a dangerous smile crept across his face, and he finally turned his eyes up to look at her. His entire mood shifted into something unreadable, "She's probably milling her farm… or dead. It's been years since I've seen her, so I couldn't really say," he said this all rather casually and without emotion.
His response was enough to make her pause noting she'd obviously hit a nerve, and the mercurial way his demeanor had changed signaled a warning to proceed with caution. She didn't plan to give up that easily though as she asked evenly, "You didn't really get along with her then I take it?"
Ramsay's eyes lidded into languid slits as he shrugged, "Well enough until we parted ways. She was a lifetime ago," he stared fully at her now with a hard glare that stated finality, "I tend to like to leave the past where it belongs." It was a less than subtle hint that he wanted to move away from the conversation.
Sansa stiffened straightening her back as she felt a friction building between them. She could tell what she was touching on was a sensitive topic and reached out once more to settle a hand gently around his wrist leaning in close and penetrating him with her own stare, "Sometimes that is for the best. I apologize, Ramsay; I did not wish to make you feel uncomfortable; I was just trying to get to know a little more about you."
His eyes moved to her hand cupping his wrist where his balled fist now loosened under her soft touch. He hadn't realized he'd even clenched them. Ramsay regarded her now with a hint of bewilderment as his face went slack, "Why? What does she matter if you want to know about me?"
Sansa tilted her head curiously at the odd response, "I assumed your youth was spent with her and to mention her would be cause to help you pick a fond memory to answer my question."
Ramsay blinked looking dazedly back at Sansa's hand as he went quiet for a long moment. Sansa was about to withdraw when Ramsay finally spoke, "I remember after the harvest, once the hardest of the grinding had been completed, mother would bake from sunup to sundown for the harvest festival. The smell of the bread would linger for the next two days. When she would return, she would always bring meat which she would cook a hearty stew with, and we would eat it in these bowls made of her bread. I always thought them amusing because I could eat the whole of it. It was something every year I always looked forward to," Ramsay's eyes drifted up to regard Sansa now as the corner of his lip tugged upward and a small smile creased his face in a timid fashion showing his reluctance to have shared with her in this way. He was still on the fence to whether he'd given her what she'd really sought.
Sansa could tell he was trying to please her, and to dig that memory out for her had taken effort. The fact it had taken so much to get so little gave Sansa a better understanding of Ramsay than he'd realized he'd given her. She smiled warmly back at him and gave his wrist a small squeeze before retracting her hand, "That would have amused me too I think. When I was a young girl, I remember going to the harvest festivals and begging my mother to run through the maze fields where the other children would play hide and seek. It seems so long ago now…" she stared off in the distance wistfully remembering such simple times when her family was whole. With a sudden pang, Sansa felt their absence acutely now, and the pain of it rippled over her face. She felt the warmth of Ramsay's hand then cup hers, and she lifted her sights to him in surprise.
Ramsay rescinded the hand quickly looking apologetic, "I'm sorry… you looked… unhappy." His jaw worked wondering if he'd crossed a line to have touched her.
Sansa put his mind at ease as she exhaled shaking her head, "You're fine," she smiled gently at him, "I was just reminiscing. Sometimes the past is best left in the past."
Ramsay found his smile broadening for her to have used his own words to reflect an understanding that she had identified with his meaning when he'd said it originally. It made him feel a little closer to her.
She stood, and Ramsay followed suit watching her carefully as she paused to regard him, "It's getting late, and I think it's time I retire." Her eyes wandered over him as she closed the distance between them. The wine moving through her made her limbs feel limber and fluid as she extended them out to gently caress the sides of his arms smoothing the fabric lightly as her eyes flicked to his.
Ramsay's breath caught in his throat as a flush coursed through him. He wanted her so badly, and images of her nudity, the softness of her breasts, her smell, all of her invaded his every senses. She was intoxicating. Her hands moved up his shoulders, to his neck, and up to cup his face as she leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his lips; he let out a soft moan reaching out lustfully to pull her to him.
"No," she stated authoritatively taking a step back, and he froze rigidly with a stilted gulp standing immobilized and staring speechlessly at her but obeying nonetheless.
Sansa smiled wickedly then as she closed that gap between them hovering next to his ear as she whispered, "I didn't give you permission, Ramsay. I touch you, you don't touch me unless I tell you to. Understand?"
He could feel her voice reverberate off of his neck as he closed his eyes nodding his ascent and growing instantly hard as she took another step closer to grab his hip and pull him in to press her body flush against him.
Her right hand trailed up the back of his neck, and her fingers wove seamlessly through his hair at the base of his skull before snatching his head back harshly to snap his face to the ceiling as she nipped at his neck possessively.
Ramsay's eyes flared open in surprise gasping at her suddenness; he fought now not to physically respond to her ministrations as Sansa had instructed him explicitly not to touch her (which was incredibly hard with the urges he was overflowing with; it was a torturous restraint, but he found it served to turn him on even more.)
His jugular bobbed letting go of a muffled whimper as she roughly kissed up the side of his neck to his jawline all the while holding a firm grip on his scalp to keep his head in place guiding his neck to the side for her hungry mouth. His body relaxed, lips parting, as his eyes fluttered mesmerized by the feel of the heat of her mouth sucking and biting at him as he groaned in pleasure. It was an easy sensation to get lost in.
Sansa pulled away from Ramsay now just as suddenly as she had taken hold of him releasing him abruptly as if coming to her senses. He blinked in confusion as she backed away from him taking in a heady breath, "I want to take you now, but I wish for you to heal first. Please go before I wish to take you regardless of your suffering."
Her words were akin to a cold shower instantly awakening Ramsay to what it was she really wanted from him most and how much that was not what he wanted from her. He swallowed hard as he offered, "I would please you other ways, lady Sansa."
His words made her moistened sex swell at the prospect, and her eyes affixed on him like a predator, "Would you now Ramsay? Tell me, what will you do for me?"
He slowly approached her now stopping to pull out the chair she had been sitting in and motioning a hand for her to sit.
Sansa regarded him a moment before following the gesture and gently seating herself. Once she had sat, Ramsay lowered himself to his knees in front of her staring up at her devoutly as he spoke barely above a whisper, "May I touch you, lady Sansa?"
Sansa took in a deep breath and nodded, "You may."
Ramsay never took his eyes off of her as he ran a hand up each calf and up her thigh carefully working her dress up to reveal the smooth milky skin beneath.
Her chest heaved, and Sansa found herself eagerly working her hips forward on the chair to bring her sex closer to his awaiting mouth.
His lip curled up in that quirky smile he used when he thought he was being clever, and where that smile had brought her nothing but grief before, it only made her want to shove his face into her crotch now. He would do so on his own soon enough though, and she was eager to watch him do it.
Ramsay uncovered her fully ducking his head to move between her thighs as she spread herself further inviting him to please her. He could smell her excitement and see that she glistened with it as he lightly grazed his tongue to lap at her mound delighted to see Sansa shiver in response. He tentatively tested licking at her to see her reactions as his own hard on pressed painfully against his thigh as he watched her bob and weave her body to the flickering of his tongue.
Sansa had found the side of his face, and as he worked her over, her fingers tenderly stroked at his temple and through his hair. Ramsay realized quickly by the touches she afforded him whether he was hitting the mark as the closer she got to coming the tighter her grip in his hair. It was almost painful, but this too Ramsay found to his liking especially as her soft moans became more vocal and she finally pulled his face into her tightly to take the sum of her orgasm fully.
He lapped at her greedily on the verge of coming himself as he groaned into her sex with his fervor kissing her clit lightly as her body shuddered with sensitivity and she giggled softly peering down at him with a smirk, "You really are getting rather good at this already; I think maybe you were born to lick my pussy, Ramsay."
Ramsay couldn't help but chuckle at the lighthearted remark as he kissed at her inner thighs and once more on top of her sex, "I've always fancied myself to be a quick learner, my lady." He stared at her imploringly as he licked his lips to speak, "May I… may I cum, lady Sansa?"
She lifted her brow to stare down at him on his knees before her as she debated ultimately deciding he would not, "I will let you cum when I take you. I want the first time you cum with me for me to be inside of you. I want you to tell me when you're ready for me to take you, and I will fuck it out of you."
This admission served strike a chord of discomfort to run through Ramsay at the mere thought of him actually getting off while she had that thing inside of him. It was never going to happen, but regardless, Sansa's adamancy to do it again made Ramsay realize he was coasting on borrowed time until she deigned to use her toy on him again. He grimaced trying not to think about it as he stared up at her mournfully to show his disappointment.
He looked so pitiful, Sansa almost gave in, but she had a plan in mind to get him to like getting fucked by her, so he would wait, and when he did cum, it would be on her terms. She only hoped that if she did have him hold off, it would make the occurrence when she did fuck him that much more positive of an experience, "Do not look at me so, Ramsay. You have pleased me," she leaned down and lifted his chin to kiss him passionately on the mouth.
This act seemed to please him as his eyes moved to stare at her with full attention once more. She kissed him again lightly this time on the tip of his nose, and his mouth quirked into a smile, "Go back to your bed and get some rest. Tomorrow we will get a bit of fresh air. How does that sound?"
Ramsay's smile brightened as she stood holding out her hands in a gesture to help him off the floor. He didn't need the help, but he took her hands anyway just to get to touch her once more before giving her a slight bow, "Sweet dreams, lady Sansa," he glanced up at her through his haphazard bangs his expression dancing with a hint of mirth as he backed away from her and finally turned away to let the guards lead him back to the dungeon.
Sansa watched him go feeling more than a little invigorated by their encounter as she let herself collapse back on her chair. She reached over to the table grabbing her glass of wine and downed the remainder of it as she leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. Dinner had gone much better than she'd expected.
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