Sansa sat on the bed, only a robe wrapped around her body, starring at the door nervously. The sheets beneath her were soft, silky, covering the entire, large bed, making it look noble, expensive. And yes, expensive a visit in this room was.

If anyone had told her 3 years ago that she was going to be here, almost naked, waiting for her first customer, she would have laughed in their face. She was a Lady, a high born, and she was supposed to marry a Lord, a knight. No, Sansa would never have thought it possible that she would ever come into this situation.

Being a whore.

3 years ago

"Hide! Sansa, take Arya and hide!"

"But father!" She cried, grabbing onto Arya who was trying to run after her father and big brother, Robb, while Jon was still with them.

"Hide! NOW!" Jon called, shoving them roughly out of the great room, sword in one hand. "I'll find your brothers, but now you have to hide!"

And so Sansa took her little sister's hand in her own, pulling her out of the room, running along the endless corridors of their home, trying to think of the best place to hide. The Crypt would have been her first choice, but to get there, she would have had to go out into the courtyard, where her father, brother, and half-brother were currently battling against the men that had come to.. well, what had they come for? She didn't know, and didn't care to know.

Arya was fighting her with what Sansa assumed was all her might, but adrenaline was pumping through the young woman's veins, giving her an unknown strength as she pulled her little sister with her, determined to find a place that would keep them both safe.

Finally, she decided that the sewing room of her septa would have to do, and pushed her little sister into one of the big closets, filled with hanging clothes. Ushering Arya to hide behind the gowns, she stepped in herself, closing the doors behind her, hoping that whoever might come into this room wouldn't care to look in the closet of a room that was obviously only needed for one thing, making clothes.

The sounds of battle could be heard even from the closet, screaming, the violent clash of steel against steel. Sansa prayed that her family would come out of this unharmed.

When the door swung open, Sansa jumped off the bed, and onto her feet. To her relief, it was not the man she was waiting for, but her closest friend.

Marina, or as everyone called her, Mary, was a few inches shorter than herself, dark skinned and haired, with wistful brown eyes. Her face was just as beautiful as her movements were graceful, and Sansa simply couldn't imagine that she had been here for multiple years and still smile the way she did.

"Don't worry, he's not here yet." Mary calmed her, giving her a wink. "Relax Sansa, or he won't be pleased and ask his money back."

"I know, I know." Sansa whispered, ashamed, as she lowered her head.

"Don't worry, he's going to love you! You know you're the most beautiful from us all." Mary giggled, walking over to the young woman, gently patting her cheek with one hand, as the other pushed a strand of fiery hair behind her ear.

"Oh stop it." The former Stark muttered quietly. Yes, she knew she was beautiful, always had. Her pale skin, blue eyes and red hair had always been the center of anyone's attention where ever she went, back in Winterfell. The young boys had stalked after her, never daring to speak to her, and yet she had always noticed. Yes, she had always been beautiful. Right about now, she wished she wasn't.

"Just remember what we taught you, and you'll be fine." Mary said, giving Sansa that smile that she knew could stop the heartbeat of a man. "Remember to moan, but not too much, or he'll know you're faking it. I mean, he knows you're faking it. But its your job to make him forget that."

"I know." Sansa answered, lowering herself back onto the bed, pulling the silk robe tighter around her body. Even after 3 years of being here, she still couldn't get used to the liberal ways. Many of the women wore their 'work' clothes all day and night, showing off their bodies and not thinking twice about it. Sansa preferred to keep her body covered, as much as she could, though during her 'lessons' it had been demanded that she was naked.

Her cheeks blushed furious at the many memories of her lessons, naked with another woman under the watchful eyes of the owner of the brothel, though he never called it that. 'House of Pleasure' was what he had called it when she had first come here.

Lord Baelish, though widely known as the Mockingbird because of the little bird broach he always had pinned to his clothes, was the owner of this establishment, and had made sure that Sansa and any other girl that had come here that was too young to actually work, was properly trained.

She had been horrified when told that he would attend her lessons, but soon had become used to his presence, and his sharp comments when he had something to correct, or just wanted to add something. All these lessons had been with women, never had Sansa been with a man.

'Don't want to soil you. You'll be worth much more as a maiden than a regular whore.' Baelish had told her. Sansa didn't hate him, not really. But she was disgusted by him. What kind of Lord would run such an establishment? Coax suffering, young women into them with the promise of food and shelter, as long as they did what he asked? No, the knights and lords she had heard and sang about were honorable men, just as her father was.

"Was. Just as my father was." She corrected herself quietly.

Hours seemed to pass, and when silence finally fell, Sansa looked at her little sister, putting her index finger to her lips, gesturing for her sister to remain silent. Slowly opening the door, Sansa stepped out of the closet quickly, scanning the room swiftly. But it was empty, and she let out a breath she wasn't even aware she had been holding.

For a second she thought about leaving Arya in the closet, but then thought better. They should stay together. Calling for her sister quietly, she took her hand once more, peeking out the door just to make sure the corridor was safe, before slowly moving out of the room.

She tought it strange that she didn't hear her father calling for them, now that the battle seemed to be over. Fear started to rise in her chest, making it hard to breath as it seemed to wrap around her throat like icy claws, pressing down against her soft skin.

Tugging her sister gently, who seemed to be frozen in place, she moved along the hallways, making sure Arya was behind her, still holding her seemingly tiny hand. She couldn't hear anything but her own and Arya's footsteps, and that unnerved her further than she already was.

Her father, or brother, or even her half-brother should have been calling for them and their brothers by now. Calling them to open their arms and hug them tightly, to tell them they had fought off the bad men, and that they all were once more safe. But no one was calling for them this time.

Years later, it had occurred to Sansa what a foolish child she had still been back then, to only then be afraid when her father didn't call for her and her siblings, and not right when the attack had started. But she had thought her father, her entire family untouchable. She had been so sure that her father and her brothers would chase them away, that they would always win because they were good and honorable men.

But no, she had only started to fret once she had not been summoned by Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

"You ready?" Mary asked as she looked at the red head, and Sansa gave a small smile and nodded. "Good. He should be here soon. I better get out before he thinks he's getting two for the price of one. Just remember what the Mockingbird told you. Don't look at his scars. He doesn't like it."

Sansa swallowed. The scars. Yes, she had already been warned about the scars her first customer had, though Lord Baelish hadn't gone into detail what kind of scars the man that was going to take her maidenhood had. But she hadn't liked the gleam in his eyes at all.

They found her baby brothers first. Laid on the ground, slaughtered. Arya ran towards them, screaming, but Sansa had quickly caught her in her arms, pressing her hand over her sisters mouth, not budging until the smaller had finally stopped screaming, holding back her own tears as she felt the tears of her sister fall onto her hand.

Slowly, when Arya was silent, she pulled back her hand, and then allowed her to kneel next to their brothers, looking down at them, at the puddle of blood around them, Arya kneeling in the crimson fluid as she wept silently. Sansa closed her eyes, willing herself to stay strong. She knelt down beside Arya, brushing her fingers over her brothers forehead's, before finally closing their unseeing eyes.

Now terrified, she urged her sister on, pulling herself and Arya to their feet and moving on. The next horrific sight didn't take long to come around though. Their mother, just as their brothers had been, lay on the floor dead right outside the doors to the great hall. This time Arya didn't scream. She simply starred at the corpse, her eyes wide. The smaller girl had been softly trembling the entire time, but now she shook in earnest. Sansa squeezed her had tighter, now slowly understanding why no one had called for them.

Because they were the only ones that had survived.

Sansa steeled herself with one last breath. She heard footsteps, heavy, loud footsteps. A man. She slowly slid open the robe, just enough to give him a peek at her breasts, just as she had been taught. Nothing could have prepared her for what came through that door, though.

A bear of a man opened the door, one side of his face badly scared, the mutilated skin a light red. He stood at least 6 inches higher than any other man she had ever seen, his physic bulky and muscled.

The man laughed at her expression, but it didn't sound in the least bit happy, or even amused. It was sharp, like the shards of broken glass, and hollow in a way that made Sansa want to inch away from him.

"No one told you about the scars, eh?" he asked, his voice a low tenor as he closed the door. Sansa quickly schooled her face, just as she had been taught as a child, when it had been expected of her to be able to hide her emotions, because that's what a good Lady did.

"I.. I apologize, my Lord. I was just surprised." She said, forcing the best smile onto her face, walking over to the man, and reaching out to touch the marred skin with her hand, brushing her thumb against it. He looked as if he wanted to flinch away, snarling at her much like a dog would, his eyes sparkling with anger. But she didn't back down, even though she felt almost nauseated as she felt the leathery skin beneath her hand.

"I ain't no Lord. And you better not call me one again. I got nothing in common with those men." He grunted out. Sansa was once more surprised by this, but her smile didn't falter as she kept her hand just where it was, placing the other on the man's bicep. She could feel the muscles working under the warm fabric as he clenched and unclenched his hands.

"What would you like me to call you then?" She asked quietly, tilting her head to the side coyly, her hair flowing over her shoulder freely. This was going to be horrible. The man was so tall and broad, and he seemed to have such a foul personality. Surely, he was not going to be gentle with her, and Sansa could only keep herself from trembling by bringing up all her willpower and courage.

"Sandor." The man bit out after a short pause, the scarred skin becoming even redder while his unharmed cheek started to turn red with what was clearly anger. Sansa knew that if she didn't get him to relax soon, he would leave, and the Mockingbird would not be happy with her, not happy at all. For he would have to give this man, Sandor, his money back, and apparently, it was quite a bit of coin, or so she had been told. Maiden's were rare, and their price high.

"Sandor.." she tested the name on her lips as she reached for the belt of her robe, opening it slowly as she looked up at him, watching his deep brown eyes flick downwards, to her neck and finally to her breasts. "I like your name. Now Sandor.. why don't we move to a more comfortable place?"

He grunted once more, but then did follow her to the bed. Her robe was now completely open, showing not only her breasts but also her womanhood, and the man shamelessly stared at her body, eyes moving across her skin slowly.

Feeling slightly nervous, despite having played through this situation about a million times, she slowly removed the robe, letting it drop to the floor as she looked him straight in the face, making sure the soft smile she had forced stayed in place, knowing full well that if she so much as twitched when he touched her, he would leave. No man liked being rejected by a woman, but being rejected by a whore was unbearable. Or so she had been told.

And so, when his eyes finally met hers one more, she didn't look away, but smiled, never breaking his gaze as she sat down on the bed, slowly moving backwards until she was in the middle of it. Leaning back, she rested her weight on her arms, placing them behind herself, pulling one leg up to her body to give a peek of the lips.

"Won't you join me?" she asked, reaching out one hand for him, waiting to see if he would take it. Sandor looked down at her, hesitant, standing at the bed looking almost lost. Well, as lost as a man his size could look. The red head was almost confused at such behavior, but then he reached out for her, his hands the size of a bear's paw, and took her hand into his own. His skin was rough, callous even. He was hard working.

Sansa smiled as she pulled the man towards herself, and Sandor knelt on the bed, moving towards her slowly.

"Here, let me help you with your clothes." She said soothingly, moving onto her own knee's, slowly removing the fabric covering his chest, surprised at how docile he was being. She had expected him to simply throw her onto the bed and take her, concentrate on his own pleasure and ignore the pain she was bound to experience.

When she moved down to his pants, she couldn't help but hesitate for just a second, swallowing hard, but then continuing. He helped her, moving back off the bed to stand, and Sansa was suddenly aware that undressing him first would have been more practical. As she looked up at him, the expression on his face was blank, letting nothing on. She had so far ignored his member, not even looking at it, but now that she was pulling off his heavy boots to get rid of his pants, she knew she only had a few more moments before she would have to pay it attention.

Shyly, she looked up at what had been described to her as hard and smooth, streaked with thick veins, and generally not a pretty sight. Mary hadn't lied to her. Sandor's member stood hard and proud, a thick vein running along the underside of his cock, the skin of it a little darker than the rest of his body. The crown was a gentle red, seed already seeping out of the tiny slit, just a little, but enough for her to notice.

"You can do this." She told herself, slowly running her hands along his strong legs, over his hipbones and to his chest, resting them on his shoulders. She couldn't deny that he had an attractive body. His muscles were big, and hard to the touch, almost as if they were made from steel, his skin hot and soft where it wasn't scarred. His entire body spoke of hard work, or training, and the scars spoke from battles. She had seen similar scars on her father's body. This man may not be a Lord, or a Knight, but he had seen battle. More than once, she wagered.

"What would you like me to do, Sandor?" she asked sweetly, running one of her hands down the male's body, slowly, teasingly, lower and lower until her fingertips brushed against the dark hair that his member was nestled in. She was surprised when he roughly grabbed her hand, snarling at her.

"None of that." He ground out, and she couldn't help looking up at him in utter surprise. He didn't want her to please him with her hand? Did he prefer to be pleased in another way? Would he want her to use her mouth on him, or simply push her down on the bed and thrust straight into her? Too frightened to speak, she simply looked up at the man.

Then, the hand around her wrist loosened, and he was on his knees on the bed once more, ushering her back gently. Sansa obliged, lowering her body onto the silken sheets, looking up at him, now with a smile again, not wanting to anger the man. He seemed dangerous, his entire body language spoke of violence, as if it was all he ever did. Be violent.

The male was now towering over her, moving to lay on beside her, laying on his side, looking, but not touching. Sansa blushed, something she hadn't done in a long time. While she didn't share the others preference of wearing as little clothing as possible, she had become used to others looking at her naked, and never really felt ashamed. But the way he starred at her, the way he ran his gaze along her body made her nervous, almost anxious. His gaze was intense, and even though he hadn't touched her, she could feel the tiny hairs on her body standing at attention.

When she grew tired of simply laying there, she turned to lay on her side, resting her head on one of her arms as the other reached out to touch his chest. Running her fingertips along the warm skin, she traced an especially vicious looking scar, hearing him grunt quietly. She looked up shortly, and once more his face gave nothing away. But as he didn't protest she continued, curious now as to how this man felt.

"You can touch me too." She encouraged quietly, moving closer to him as her hand rested on his hipbone, as close to his member as she dared to go. "Its alright. I want you too."

"Don't lie to me. You want me to touch you as much as you want to be touched by a man with the plague" He grunted quietly, and once more she could see anger rising in his face. Swallowing, she shook her head.

"No.. I. I do want you to. Not.. not because I care for you, or find you attractive, I admit." She would hear him growl, a deep rumble in his chest, and she quickly continued. "But I know you won't hurt me. Another man might have simply flung me on the bed and took what he wanted."

"And you think I won't use you for my pleasure?" He asked acidly, the words dripping off his lips.

"You will. That is what you came for, and that is what you will receive." She shrugged lightly, the first genuine smile creeping onto her face. "And yet you aren't doing anything. Not rushing me. You didn't hurt me. And I don't think you will, ever. Not more than you have to."

Sandor bared his teeth at her, the scarred side of his face an angry red as he did. But Sansa simply smiled at the man, slowly moving closer, inch by inch, so she wouldn't startle him, and be able to move back quickly in case he protested.

Her breast were the first part of her body to touch his, and the closer she moved, the more they were flattened against his hard chest. He didn't move, but he didn't stop scowling at her, either. Furrowing her brows lightly, she reached up to touch his unharmed cheek, bringing her lips up to his jaw line, pressing a soft kiss into his beard, not minding the slightly prickling sensation.

It took minutes until she was finally pushed flat against him, his member pressing thigh, hard and unyielding. The feeling was foreign, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it, but quickly set her thoughts about it aside. She wanted to make him comfortable, wanted this man to take her maidenhood, somehow sure that he would be gentle with her. Finally, she felt broad hands move over her side, slowly, as if he wasn't sure what to do.

The young woman moved her lips closer to his mouth, pressing another kiss against his skin, encouraging him, or at least hoping that she was. His hand moved to her hip, his thumb brushing against her hipbone gently, drawing little circles on it. Sansa had been touched and touched another woman in this way, but now as Sandor touched her in this way, she could feel her body warm in a way it never had before.

Moving her lips to the corner of his mouth, she was surprised as he turned his head towards her, capturing her lips with his own, gently kissing her. Sansa's eyes flew open in surprise, before fluttering shut. The kiss was sweet, slow. It made all the nerves in her body tingle, making her twitch softly as she moaned quietly, parting her lips for his slick muscle.

As hesitant as he had been before, the bolder he was now. His tongue slipped past her lips, exploring her mouth relentlessly, sliding his slick muscle across the top of her mouth, making her shiver and moan again. She found that she didn't have to pretend to enjoy this. She did. The way he held her, the way he kissed her, all of it was gentle and affectionate, and if she simply closed her eyes, she wouldn't see the hideous scars that still made her uncomfortable.

Sandor then rolled her on onto her back, hovering above her for a second as he looked into her eyes. Sansa answered his gaze, tilting her head to the side, smiling. Whatever he was going to do, he wasn't going to hurt her.

"Such a pretty little bird." He suddenly mumbled, making her raise a brow, something she had been told not to do. But she couldn't help herself as she heard his words. Little bird? Why would he call her that?

She was suddenly distracted, her breath catching in her throat. A wet, warm mouth was wrapped around her nipple, sucking at it gently, while a hot tongue brushed against it, circling it gently. The other bud was being pinched, and it hurt, but Sansa didn't mind as the sensation went straight to her core. The pain was thrilling, in a way. Not too bad, the exact amount of pain she found pleasurable. How he knew this was beyond her, and she decided not to dwell on it, but rather enjoy the pleasure it gave her.

Her breasts were thoroughly loved, cupped in big, rough hands, fondled and massaged as his mouth worked its magic on her hardening buds, until they were erect and perky. Her body squirmed under his touch, and as she opened her eyes for just a few moments, she could see that his face was relaxed, almost pleased. He gave away little, but the way his gaze moved over her breasts, she could tell that he was satisfied with his work.

She watched, absolutely dazed as he kissed down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel, making her hips jerk forward. By now, she was wet, a warmth coiling in her stomach she had never felt before. Her breathing was labored, her long, flaming hair sticking to her body as a thin layer of sweat covered her skin. His hot mouth was moving over her thighs, making her ache, for what exactly she did not now. Reaching out, her fingers connected with his hair, tangling into it as she watched him intently.

She was amazed that such a rough man could be so gentle, so tender. His hands gently spread her legs, running his fingertips along the inside of her thighs as he did, making her moan lowly. He settled in between her legs, running his nose over her skin, nuzzling into the small patch of dark red hair above her womanhood.

"I wondered if your hair would be red here too." He whispered, pulling Sansa back to reality. She wanted to reply, opening her mouth to speak, but then she felt his tongue stroke along her most intimate place, spreading her outer lips, teasingly running his tongue almost all the way to her clit, but then retreating, just to do it again. Her body almost lifted off the bed entirely as she arched her back, a surprised moan slipping past her lips as her grip on his hair tightened.

"Sandor.. please." She begged, not knowing what exactly she was begging for, but wanting more, more of his touch, of the pleasure she was feeling, more of everything this man had to offer.

"You'll get it when I want you too, little bird." He growled, his hands taking hold of her hips, holding her down forcefully. Groaning with frustration, she tugged at his hair, pulling him upwards, urging him to touch her aching bud, to give her more of the delicious sensation. But Sandor did not budge, slowly opening her folds, stroking them with his tongue, until he dove deeper, slowly teasing her entrance. The young woman threw her head from side to side, trying to buck her hips, but being firmly held in place by his strong hands.

And just was she was about to lose her mind, his tongue stroked upwards, higher and higher, until it connected with her aching bud. Her entire body froze as she cried out, her mind going blank as he gently circled the sensitive little bud, making her moan loudly, squirming violently beneath him.

"Yes.. Oh.. Sandor." She moaned, running her fingers through his hair. But as soon as she had moaned out his name, his entire body tensed, stopping his administration to look up at her.

Sansa looked back at the man that was teaching her so many new things about her body, her lips swollen from their kissing, cheeks flushed as she panted, her chest heaving as she tried to fill her lungs with enough oxygen to survive, and finding that task particularly hard.

"Little Bird.." He whispered, nuzzling his nose against her thigh, eyes closed as he inhaled deeply, moving his nose to run along her folds. "Your scent.. it's perfect."

Sansa could feel her cheeks heat even more, his words making her shy, gently running her fingers through his hair. This man was a mystery to her. In one moment he was angry, his aura speaking of nothing but danger, inspiring fear without even having said a word. And now, he was as docile as a lamb, gentle, loving even. His mood changed quicker than she could keep up with, and she wondered how he had become his way. Maybe his scars were the reason, or whatever caused them. Not wanting to think about what horror the man had to endure in the past, she moved her hands to his cheeks, pulling his face up to look at her.

She didn't know what to say, and silence settled between them as they simply looked at each other. A soft smile appeared on her face as she looked into those deep brown eyes. His expression was as always blank, but his eyes were filled with emotions, talking to her in what seemed to be the only way he could express what he felt. Gently stroking his cheek, brushing her thumb over his lips, she simply waited for him to make the next move.

"Oh little bird.." He groaned after another moment of silence, before once more dipping his head between her legs, engulfing her entirely with his mouth, sucking and teasing her leisurely. Sansa felt as if she was drifting, soaring across the sky, pleasure sparking through her body, setting her blood on fire. Her moans filled the room, bouncing off the walls as she felt something deep within her tightening with each stroke of his tongue, coiling more and more, making her toes curl.

"S-Sandor..!" She cried out, and suddenly she saw nothing but white, as the tension in her body released, making her entire body shake violently as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. She felt her juices gushing out of her, embarrassed for just a second before another wave of pleasure rolled over her, and she once more forgot the world.

Slowly, she came down from her high, her breathing returning to normal. She barely registered that Sandor had moved back to hovering above her, hands placed next to her head until he spoke to her.

"Little bird.. This is going to hurt." His low voice called, coaxing her back into reality. She could suddenly feel his hard member pressing against her thigh once more as he laid between her spread legs. She looked up at him, finding that she was not afraid in the least.

"You won't hurt me." She whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Aye. I won't hurt you. Not more than I have to." He answered gravely. Sansa didn't understand why he was so strained, why he looked at her with such pain in his eyes.

She watched as his hand reached downwards, grasping his rock hard member, the slit now leaking his seed continuously. She felt him nudge at her entrance as he held himself up with his other hand.

"You deserve better than this, little bird." And again, she could not respond to his words, for he was pushing into her, slowly, and yet the pain was worse than she had thought. She was being stretched and filled in ways she never thought possible, and it hurt. Her nails dug into the skin of his neck as she whimpered, desperate for something to hold, to chase away the pain.

"Easy, lass. Relax. It'll hurt more if you don't." Sandor whispered, his hot breath brushing against her ear as he lowered himself onto her, resting almost his entire weight on her, pushing her into the mattress. Desperately, Sansa tried to relax her muscles, and the pain eased a little. And still she couldn't hold back the soft sounds of pain. As she looked into his face, she was startled by his expression. His face was screwed up, the scarred side an angry red, lips pressed into a firm line. Was he in pain? Was she hurting him? Did he not want her? Thoughts raced through her head, mixing with the pain, making her dizzy.

"Breathe, little bird, Sansa. Breath." And she breathed, gulping down air as she dug her nails deeper into his skin, forming little half moon shaped creases in his skin that would fill with blood as soon as she pulled her hands away, moving to scratch over his back, trying to bare the pain the best she could. And then, he thrust into her, breaking through her maidenhood, making her scream out in pain.

Sandor stilled, his body shaking with restraint as he allowed her to grow accustom with the feeling of being filled to the hilt. Sansa was thankful for this, taking a few deep breaths. It still hurt, but it was nothing like it had before. Sometime through the entire thing, her eyes had fallen shut, and as she opened them, she stared right into the brown eyes of the man that was connected with her in the most intimate way. His face was creased with worry in a way that made her heart ache.

"I'm well, Sandor." She breathed, wanting to ease his worries, her hands coming up to his face, cupping his cheeks tenderly. "Do not worry. I know you only hurt me as much as you had to. You hurt me now so that another wouldn't hurt me worse."

"Aye.." Was the only answer she received as he buried his face into the hollow of her neck, hiding himself from her. Sansa didn't know what else to but wrap her arms around him and cradle the man that seemed to big and strong against her body.

"We can stop now, if you want." He suddenly said, once more surprising Sansa. He would stop now? All he had done was pleasure her, and then essentially protect her from the pain others could have, would have cause her. He had done nothing for himself, and still he was willing to stop.

"No.. please don't stop." She whispered, her heart warmed by the kindness of this rough man. It took no more for Sandor, as he slowly pulled back, thrusting back inside gently. Sansa winced at the first few thrusts, but then found that if she relaxed completely, her body would accommodate the hard, smooth member of the man. It wasn't until Sandor reached down with one hand, drawing delicious circles around her sensitive bundle of nerves that she started to feel pleasure once more.

Her moans, at first quiet, grew louder as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, stimulating her bud as he slid inside her, again and again, until she was screaming in pleasure. Somehow, as he had shifted his hips, he had started to rub against a spot inside her that made her gasp for air whenever it was touched. She could feel her body wind up, tensing and trembling in a way it had only once before, only minutes ago.

She could hear the low grunts and pants from the man above her, but aside of that he was quiet, briefly making her wonder if he didn't enjoy this as much as she was. Sweat was gathering at his eyebrow, slowly traveling down his face, and dripping onto her chest. And she found it unbelievable arousing that she could cause this. That she could bring this stoic man to emotional reactions, to excite him.

Her thoughts were once more overthrown by the pleasure of her release, her mind going blank as she cried out, not even trying to stifle the sounds. She could feel his member inside her as her tight channel contracted around her, making her moan even louder. A low groan pulled her attention back to the man's face.

His eyes closed, face contorted once more, the mutilated skin almost purple, Sandor's movements became erratic, frantic, and with another low grown he sheathed himself deeply within her, releasing his seed into her body, causing the young woman to moan lowly, feeling the hot liquid filling her.

As Sandor retreated, Sansa felt empty, as if her muscles wouldn't return to the way they were, and she wondered if she would simply stay stretched. Mary had told her that it would go back to normal after a little while, but maybe she was different, and she would always be stretched to fit the member of her first.

Sandor slowly pulled out, falling onto the bed next to her, his eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing. Once more silence settled between them, but Sansa wouldn't have known what to say anyway.

'Thank you, maybe.' She thought wearily, feeling her eyes fall shut, simply exhausted. She felt the silken sheet being pulled over her body, thankfully wrapping herself into it as her head rested on one of the pillows.

"Sleep, little bird." He whispered into her ear, but Sansa was already drifting off, not able to say a single word.

"I will be back soon." Was the last she heard, before sleep overcame her, and she was pulled into the land of dreams.

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