ROS
I'll have bruises the size of turnips
come morning, she thought, gritting her teeth as she braced for the next hit.
Preparing didn't stop the aching of her thighs as the ward of Winterfell slammed his hips against her own, forcing her further into her mattress as he rutted atop her in a race to reach his peak.
"I'm so close." She whimpered, drawing his head from her shoulder where she held it. He smiled brashly, leaning closer to press a kiss to her lips. Shifting her head, taking his lips on her chin, she tightens her hold on his shoulders, rolling him onto his back and straddling his hips. "Just a bit further." She whispers, gently nipping at his ear.
Straightening her back, she takes his hands, guiding them over her body; from breast to belly and finally settling on her hips.
Rolling her hips above him, she throws her head back and looks to the ceiling, losing her mind in the tedium of the motion.
It isn't always like this, she reminds herself, smiling in anticipation.
For the most part, her days and nights were a succession of bruised and sore flesh, somewhat stiff cocks and a collection of coppers and the odd silver every now and then. Occasionally, however, the gods favored her in the form of the only man she could ever truly see herself loving.
Lean and graceful and loving, Benjicott of White Harbor had been her first, just as she suspected that she'd been his.
It had been three years ago, or near enough that it made no matter.
She'd been raised to the south by her mother, a serving woman in Lord Medger's household, until the age of twelve when she died of a chill – or so the master had said. With no father to speak of, the Lord of Cerwyn made a vow to see to her care, taking her into his household where she's worked in the kitchens.
Desperate to make demonstrate her gratitude, she worked hard each and every day, learning the trades of those above her eagerly and applying her knowledge.
Alas, it was not meant to be. Less than a month later, Lord Medger summoned her to him, offering apologies and excuses for her dismissal, gifting her with a handful of silvers and the clothes she'd accumulated over the years.
With a small fortune and no heading, she decided to seek employ with the greatest house in the North: the Starks or Winterfell.
Ten stags and one week later, she arrived at the gates of Winterfell. Her visit was dreadfully short, as word had reach the ear of the Lady of Winterfell; a strange and fantastical tale of a lascivious kitchen wench and her plots to dishonor herself upon the son and heir of Lord Cerwyn.
Ros' words of protest fell on deaf ears as she was ushered from the lady's presence and into the streets of the winter town, where she wandered for nearly a fortnight, straddling deaths door until Emma found her.
Tall, slender and curved in the right places, Emma was everything that a woman should have been – everything that her mother had been before the sickness took hold. With a kind smile and a warm hand, Emma invited her into her home, fed and bathed her and taught her the meaning of a pleasure house. She told her what Kato expect and prepared her for it, so that when the day did come, she would know what to expect and she would no dread it.
And then that day came. The day when a short, skinny son of a merchant wandered into her life, offering good coin for a warm cunt.
In her wisdom, Emma offered the boy the chance to take her maidenhead, taking from him a golden dragon.
The stingy of a rough smack against her rear brings her back to the present. Lowering her head to look upon the man beneath her, she affects a lustful expression.
Had she the choice, she would not be bedding Theon Greyjoy. Of the men of residing in Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy was certainly the worst.
Aside from Theon, she'd only ever met the Lord Robb on three occasions, having been brought by Theon to enjoy her company the first time on his thirteenth name day and returning on his own for each name day afterward. From what she'd seen, he was courteous and respectful, treating a whore such as herself as though she were any other subject. Add to that his attention to her pleasure, he was ahead of his companion by leaps and bounds.
Tot her sorrow, she'd never had chance to lay eyes upon the prince. From what she'd heard from Robb, she was certain she'd enjoy his company more than the prick beneath her as well.
Of course she said none of this to Theon.
Slowing her movements atop him, making an effort to jerk her hips, she pulled his right hand from her hip, slowly moving it over her body as she brought his fingers to her lips. She put his thumb in her mouth.
The lump in his throat jumps as his cock twitches inside of her. "Say my name." He demands, thrusting his hips upward, sending a shock of discomfort through her system. She hides it well.
Releasing his thumb with an audible pop, she sighs loudly. "Theon." She moans loudly, hoping he'll be satisfied with this much.
He isn't, as evidenced by another hard smack against her rear. "I said," He begins, pulling his hand from her own to grip her breast harshly. "Say my name!" He says, thrusting his hips against her own harshly.
She doesn't have to fake the scream she releases from her throat, feeling a sharp pain lance through her hip. "Gods, you're so deep, Theon," She screams, rolling her eyes as she looks to the ceiling. "I'm yours, Theon Greyjoy!"
Abruptly, she is thrown from his lap, landing roughly on the bed. "On your knees." He demands, scrambling from the bed to stand before her.
Now on her knees before him, she folds her arms beneath her breasts, silently drawing attention to them.
Her stomach drops as he smiles down at her. "Open your mouth." He demands.
Still smiling, she does as she's told, taking him into her mouth as he spills his seed.
With a twitch and a groan, his cock deflates as he pulled it from her lips. "Gods!" He shouts, turning his back on her as he finds his clothes.
She takes this opportunity to rise from her knees, stepping behind a screen separating the small corner from the rest of the chamber and spitting his seed into an empty bucket meant for such things.
The ache in her hip is gone, but the stinging of her thighs lingers.
Suddenly – and certainly unbidden – she feels a pair of hands at her breasts, followed closely by a warm firm body, made complete be soft wet lips. She nearly retches. "Back for more?" She asks facetiously, bumping him with her bum as she passed him by.
Recovering her robe and pulling it onto her shoulder. It was perfect for situations such as these; thick black and opaque, it left everything to the imagination.
"I have the coin." Theon offers, pulling another silver from his purse.
Fighting the burger to roll her eyes, she smirks. "Once was enough for me. You've worn me out, m'lord."
He smiles, taking a step forward, moving in for a kiss. "Goodnight."
Placing a hand on his chest, she shoves him lightly toward the door. When he opens his mouth to speak, she raises a brow. "Kisses cost, m'lord."
For a long moment Theon stands there, dumbfounded. She worries that she's gone too far. If word reaches Winterfell that she's rebuffed his advances, it may adversely affect her earnings.
Her fears are assuaged when he offers a sheepish smile, nodding his head before backing out of the room.
The moment the door closes behind him, she throws her robe to the bed and sprints around the screen. He'll be here soon, she laments, kicking herself.
Dipping a clean rag into a bowl of lemon water, she quickly cleans every surface and crevice of her body, going over her breast, cunt and neck twice. She is contemplating a third pass when a knock upon her door interrupts her. "Just a moment!" She shouts.
It was clear that her words went unheeded when she heard the door open. "Calm yourself, girl." The smoky voice of Emma floated over the partition. "You're never this unnerved about anything else."
Scoffing, she rolls her eyes into the corner. "I'm not unnerved." She returns, deciding to take a third pass, after all.
Snickering to herself, Emma stepped closer to three screen. "I can only imagine it's because he has a big, fat cock."
A small, spiteful part of her wanted to affirm her suspicions, but the rest of her knew she'd just be playing into her hand. Instead, she continued her preparation, offering a simple, "Is there something you needed." She breathed, slipping her dress onto her shoulders and taking one last look in her mirror.
"No, not really," She said, rounding the edge of the screen. "I heard Greyjoy earlier, and thought I'd warn you that your visitor has been waiting in the common room."
"Shit!"
Before she could make a move, Emma's hands shot out like arrows. "Easy. I have Greta and Becca distracting him." She whispered, brushing her thumbs over Ros' shoulders. "I came to tell you that you have a few more minutes.
"Wash the Greyjoy's children from your mouth and prepare." She said, smiling at her crude jest. "The next knock you hear will be you man." Having said her fill, her employer and mentor floated from the room.
As she stood alone, looking to the door, she felt unsure.
For years, she'd wondered why the son of a merchant – someone who could afford to dress so finely and gift her gowns of silk and sable and pay her in gold – would bother with a whore like her. Why would he profess his devotion to her? Why would he teach her to read and write and protect herself? What purpose did he have to teach her her sums and the ways of natural medicines?
Like Emma and Becca, she thought it strange that he voted on her to such a degree. It only made since if he truly cared for her.
Her time for reflection came to an end with a short series of knocks upon her door.
With one final adjustment, she opened the door, her heart quickening at the sight of the man without.
Man was a strong word. Three years her junior and bare faced besides, Benjicott was more boy than man on the outside. Unfortunately, this fact did little to diminish his beauty. At fifteen, he had a lean, graceful build, meant for speed and precision. His face was long and elegant and angular, like nothing she'd seen on any man – or woman for that matter.
Over the years, he'd grown taller than her, though he'd never be considered exceptionally tall. He could easily see over her head, and when she lie in his arms his body cradled her perfectly.
"Are you unwell, Ros?" Ben asks, taking a step into the room. "I know I said I'd come, but if you're unwell, I can come back later."
It was then that she realized she'd been staring for too long. "No!" She answered, her voice nearly a shout. "I was just - you look nice."
She replayed the words in her head, kicking herself harder with each examination.
Allowing her to maintain her dignity, Ben merely smiled and nodded his head. "You look lovely as well, Ros." With that, he held out an arm, gesturing for her to move to the bed. The movement revealed a small satchel tucked beneath his cloak.
Following her gaze, he looked to the satchel, smiling broadly as he opened it to reveal its contents. "A new shipment came in today." He pulled a large skin from the bag, holding it between them with reverence. "And with it, a couple of casks of wine from the Arbor," he said, handing her the skin as he reached into his bag once more, pulling free a smaller sack, "and a crate of lemons."
"You remembered?" She said through a smile, stepping forward to swap bundles with him.
"Of course." He whispered, leaning in to kiss her.
She began to lean into it before recalling these last hour of her life. Recoiling from him, she shook her head in disgust before disappearing behind her screen once more with her lemons.
Scrambling with her collection of gifted herbs, she quickly mixed them together before swishing the contents around her mouth and swallowing.
On the other side of the partition, she hears a sigh escape Ben's throat. "I saw Greyjoy leaving on my way in." He confesses. "Did he-"
"Make me swallow his seed?" She finishes. When she received no answer, she simply continues. "He tried. He seems obsessed." She says, as she rounds the veil between them.
He's on her before her mind can register his movements, pressing his lips to her own, gentle and yet somehow hungry. She returns the gesture eagerly, after a long day of bedding the wrong men.
As he guides her to the bed, the wine and lemons and satchel forgotten, she swiftly and carefully begins to undress him, mindful of the quality of his clothes. "Are you hurt?" He asks, releasing her lips to survey her pale flesh for blemishes.
"I'll have a bruise or two in the morning, but nothing you need to worry about." She replies, removing his tunic and exposing his bare chest, revealing the results of a life of hard work.
"Fucking Greyjoy!" He growls, pulling her dress over her head, exposing her breasts to the evening air.
Not to be outdone, she unties the binding of his breeches, removing them along with his underthings. "Fucking Greyjoy!"
Sitting before him, naked as the day she was born, she slowly makes her way to her knees. Before she can touch the ground, strong hands grip her under her arms, pulling her into an embrace.
"Did you miss me?" He breathes into her hair, his quickly hardening cock pressed against her belly. "Did you think of me when you were with those other men?" Reaching between them, he positions his cock between her thighs, slowly drawing it along the lips of her cunt. "Did you think of my cock while you were fucking the squid?"
She knew what he wanted. He knew that he wasn't the only man to have her. He'd be an idiot to think that. What he wanted was to know that he was the best.
He was, of course. Aside from Robb Stark, who she bedded once a year at most, every other man to find her bed sought his own pleasure with no regard to her own. The best that she could typically hope for was someone with the skill to make it somewhat enjoyable, though she typically found herself bedding someone like Theon Greyjoy: a talentless beast who equates hard to good, and fucks like he's quarrying rocks.
Despite all of this, she hated admitting it.
After a long moment of silence, he slides his cock from between her legs, making his way to the bed and lying on his back with his arms spread. Following his lead, she moves to the bed, placing her knees to either side of his head as she looks down over his beautiful body.
She's given little times to admire, as he start without her, his tongue reaching out to circle her pearl with practiced efficiency.
Leaning forward, resting her hands against his thighs as a wave of pleasure washes over her, she takes in the sight of his hardened manhood. Emma was right in a way: it was large.
She'd seen larger, given her line of work, but not many, and certainly not recently. Longer than her hand, from fingertip to wrist, and far too thick to hold with one hand, it was safe to say he'd been given something special. Though, honestly, it had little to do with her feelings – it was just an added benefit.
Moaning audibly, she presses her head against his hip, licking her lips as what she can only assume is a muffled chuckle makes it way through her core. Taking his cock in one hand, she uses the other to slap his thigh.
Removing his lips from her cunt, he chuckles rough before saying, "My apologies, love." His voice filled with mirth. "I seem to have gotten carried away."
It was always like this when Greyjoy came to her. Perhaps it was the fact that he knew him personally, from his family's dealing with Lord Stark. Whatever the reason, she welcomed it. "No apologies necessary. Just let me find my rhythm."
And with that, she took his cock into her mouth, eliciting a feeble groan from her lover. "I think you've found it, darling."
Grinning around him, she continues with her attentions. For what feels like hours they continue pleasure one another, vying for the honor of proving who was more grateful for the other's companionship.
Slipping his throbbing member from her mouth, pausing for a few moments to tease his bulbous head, a shiver runs through her spine as a hand leaves her rear, only for his fingers to join his tongue in its ministrations, delving deeply into her folds and tickling her cunt. Pausing for a moment, releasing a shuddering breath against his hip, she resolves to not be outdone.
Pressing his member flat against his belly, she slowly licks the length of his cock – down, then up, then back again – paying special attention to his the head and the veins running along the underside. She knows she's won when a frantic breath escapes his lips, followed closely by a familiar twitch in his manhood.
Victory in mind, she moves upon his balls, sucking one tenderly before another wave washes over her. Though the motion of his fingers had changed slightly, curling slightly inside of her, tickling her flesh, it was the motion of tongue that truly startled her. Where he'd previously circled her pearl in a practiced circle, the path seemed to have changed; he still circled her from time to time, but there was no pattern to it. It was random and erratic and it driver her cunt crazy.
Then he took it into his mouth, gently suckling the tiny nub of flesh as she came undone atop him, all thoughts of victory erased from her mind.
Slowly and carefully, he rolls her onto her side before moving to lie beside her, smiling smugly. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" He questions, reaching out to take a strand of her crimson hair, twirling it around his finger. "Apologies. Do you need a moment?"
Welcoming the urge to roll her eyes, she punches him in the shoulder, though she can't help the smile on her face. "Arrogance is unattractive in a man." She says, eliciting a rough chuckle from his throat, which she answers with a mother punch.
He catches it, pulling her close and wrapping his other arm around her waist, rolling her onto her back. "So you say," He whispers, pressing a kiss to her neck. When he lifts his head once more, his brows are creased as if in thought, "but you took such great pains for someone so unattractive." He smiles.
Lifting her shoulders from the bed, she grips the back of his head and draws him into a deep, passionate kiss, tasting herself on his lips. As their kiss deepens, each of them equally unwilling to relinquish their hold of the other, she feels the way Ben's body shifts above her; his knees straddle her left leg while his hand takes hold of her left knee, laying her calf upon his hip. "What do you want." He whispers, grinding his the underside of his shift along her lips.
Bucking into his hips, she whines when he pulls away. "Say it, or I'll leave." He says, lowering her captive leg as if preparing to depart.
She breaks. "I want all of you inside of me." She mumbles.
Having heard all that he needs – knowing the power he hold over her body – he pulls her hips close to his, turning her slightly to press her left leg against his body, her foot resting upon his shoulder as he is opened up to him. With his vacant hand, he takes hold of himself, lining the tip of his cock to her welcoming folds.
Smiling down at her, he rubs himself against her cunt, slowly gliding over her folds, paying extra attention to her pearl. After more than a minute of this, she's ready to strangle him. The moment she opens her mouth, he slides inside of her, hard and fast, touching his balls to her bum.
Looking to him, holding his gaze with her own, she notes a fire in his eyes as he stills within her. Smiling reassuringly, she nods for him to keep going.
Nodding stiffly, a self-satisfied smirk o his lips, he continues move within her, his pace agonizingly slow. With each forward stroke, their centers meet in a confluence of soft, curly hairs, tickling her pearl and pushing her further over the edge.
It seems to go on forever, her body slowly acclimating to his rhythm and direction, only for him to change the flow: speeding up and slowing down, changing the angle of the stroke and rubbing her bead with his thumb. Worst of all was when his tongue slipped between her toes; it was strange and foreign and positively exhilarating.
It didn't take her long to reach her second release, her back arching as she thrashed around him. Yet he refused to release her, holding her fast as his movements slowed, becoming more precise by the second, drawing out her pleasure.
When he stilled once again, she flopped against the bed, heaving and wet.
Carefully remaining inside of her, he wrapped an arm around her back, repositioning her legs to wrap around his hips as he lifted rolled her onto his lap, pressing a hard kiss into the car in in her neck as their bodies met. "Tell me how you want it." He whispers into her skin, his kisses rising higher.
Shifting her head to catch his lips, she draws him into a hungry kiss. When she's done, the flesh around his lower lip is red and angry, though he makes no complaint. "On your back." She commands.
Without another word, he releases her thighs and slowly lowers his back to the bed.
Repositioning her knees to either side of him, she watches in amusement as he reaches for a pillow to place under his head. "Are you comfortable, Benji?" She mocks.
Nodding vigorously, he responds with an equally mocking: "Very."
Smile broadening, she has to fight the urge to giggle. She has to show that she is in control. "Good."
Pressing his shoulders to the mattress, she moves her hips along the length of his body, falling into a steady rhythm. It doesn't take long from his hands to find her breasts, teasing and pinching her nipples softly in an attempt to wrest control from her.
Going a step further, he lifts his shoulders from her bed, curling his back to lay his lips upon her left nipple and suckling softly. For a long moment he lavished the nipple with attention, pulling, sucking and flicking it with his tongue, before moving on to her right.
It is in that moment that she shoves his shoulders to the bed once more. "I said: 'on your back.`" She reminds him, her voice playfully stern.
He raises his hands, a gesture of surrender, but the smile on his face tells her that he has no intention of accepting her dominance.
Changing tactics, she releases his shoulders, straightening her back as she rides his hips, lifting herself from his lap and bouncing on his cock. He groans audibly, letting her know that her tactic is working.
As she continues to ride him, holding his hands to prevent further interference, she begins to feel the telltale twitching of his legs behind her, letting her know his release in forthcoming.
Smiling down at him, she releases his hands, rising just enough to turn her back to him while keeping his tip inside. Resting on her haunches, she continues to ride him, throwing her hips up, before crashing down upon him.
She's barely able to get into a rhythm when he pulls his cock from her, spilling his seed on her lower back and in the valley between her cheeks.
Slowly and carefully, she dismounts and rolls onto her side, smiling just as smugly as he had previously. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" She questions, drawing an exasperated sigh from his lips.
"Probably better." He returns with a laugh. "Give me a moment to think of something witty."
The laughter that flows from her is uncontrollable. More than that, she has no desire to control it.
Leaning into him, she presses her lips to his neck, nibbling softly.
Shifting his neck, Ben gives her a serious look, letting her know he's too tired for her antics.
Resting her head against his chest, she listens to the beating of his heart as her fingers trace patterns into his chest. With each beat she etches a line, her patterns growing larger as the beating slows. With one final lazy line between his nipples, she smiles against his skin, before taking another nip at his neck.
This time it garners three reaction she is hoping for.
Rolling her onto her back, he descends upon her, taking her for a second time.
This pattern continues long into the night, with her childishly antagonizing him in the hopes of provoking a savage reaction, and him falling for it each time.
She's uncertain of how much time has passed when they both collapse onto her bed, sated and debilitated, but judging by the sorry state of the candles positioned at the edges of her room, it's certainly been hours.
"So," Ben begins, back rumbling against her chin, "have I convinced you to stay?"
For a long while she refuses to answer, content to trace the markings etched into his spine. They hadn't been there the last time they coupled, or she would have noticed. Tracing an angular marking upon his lower back, just above his rear, she nearly jumps from her skin as he rolls onto his back with the quickness of a snake, wrapping her in his arms.
"At least for a little while," he pleads, burrowing his face into her neck as she squeals in surprise and delight, "then, when I go south," he whispers into her ear before nibbling at the flesh there, "you'll want for nothing."
At this she recoils, staring him in the eye. "Those are some large promises." She returns, wriggling from his grasp. "You mean to take me south? Make me your wife? Spend months at sea while I raise your babes and tend your home?" She questioned playfully, though there was a clear bitterness to her voice.
Wealthy men had made promises to her before. Thus far none of them had been kept.
That's not entirely true, a small voice told her. Over the years, Ben had made a handful of promises, keeping them all.
A sigh brought her attention back to the boy in her bed. A look of consternation was etched into his beautiful features. "My family won't allow it," he admits, suddenly very interested in her feet, "I can't explain it just yet, but I'm to wed as woman of their choosing." When he lifts his eyes to gaze upon her, there is a fire to them: an unyielding determination. "But I promise that you will want for nothing. All I ask of you is to wait for me."
With a weak smile she reaches out to run a hand through his long dark mane, drawing his head to her breast. "If that is all you ask," she swallows thickly, struggling to get the words out, "I will wait for you."
The lie hurts her. More than anything, she wishes for a future with Benjicott, but she knows, despite all that he's done and the promises that he's kept, that she cannot rest her life on his word.
Removing his head from her bosom, he stares intently into her eyes, taking her measure. "One month from now, I will be in King's Landing." he says, moving from the bed to the side of the room, where his satchel had been thrown. Bending to examine it's contents – displaying his naked body for her viewing pleasure – he fishes out a small wooden box and a band of gold.
Though she'd never seen the box, she recognizes the band as he makes his way closer. It's the one that he wears to keep his long, raven mane in order; a thick band of gold, cast in the shape of two beast entwined in some sort of embrace, with their maws facing one another, below eyes made of sapphire and ruby respectively. "I want you to take this," he pleads, setting the box aside and pressing the band into her hand, "I'll retrieve it when we meet again, but should trouble find you in that time, go to any of the gates, guard postings or the Red Keep, show them this band and tell them that the third as offered his protection." He cautions, as though she shout understand exactly what he is saying.
"Ben, I don't-"
"Repeat it." He demands, interrupting her protests. "Repeat what I just said."
She nods uneasily, swallowing. "Go to the Red Keep or the city gates," she begins, eying him warily, "and tell them that the third has offered his protection."
Not for the first time, she wonders who Ben is. Though strange, it wasn't unheard of for lords and wealthy merchants to be taken as guests of the nobility, but for him to be familiar with the Starks of Winterfell and someone in King's Landing powerful enough to promise her safety was more than odd.
Before she can press the issue, Ben leans forward, kissing her deeply, nearly pressing her into her bed before making a startled noise. "I nearly forgot!" He almost shouts, scrambling back onto his haunches and retrieving the box. Pressing it into her hand with a broad smile, he gestures for her to open it.
It's a small plain thing, strongly made and unadorned, held together by a steel clasp. "What is it?" She questions, shaking the contents and feeling disappointment when it makes no sound.
"I know that I'm asking a lot of you," he says with a shy smile not meant for someone who has been bedding a woman for nearly three years, "So I want to make sure that you want for nothing while we're apart."
Lifting the clasp, she opens the box, gasping at its contents. Densely packed within the unassuming box are six stacks of golden dragons. "Where," she breathes with a suddenly leaden tongue, "where did you get this?"
Smiling, his attention shifts to the window behind her. "I hadn't thought it was so late." He says, bringing her attention to the small pane of glass, and the sunshine beaming through it. It was dawn. "Sadly, I must leave you."
Placing a chaste kiss to her lips, he dresses quickly before fleeing the room in short order, leaving his band, his box and half a bottle of Arbor wine.
Only after his departure does she realize she is once again left with many questions and little in the way of answers.
Rising from her bed, she moves to clean the proof of their love from her body, only to stumble upon the satchel he'd brought with him, kicked beneath her drawing table. "Forgetful." She sighs, bending over to pick the parcel from the floor.
It's heavy and hard, owing to its contents, which she empties onto her bed, finding a large tome with a slip of parchment peaking out from its pages.
Taking the book in hand, she draws her fingers along the spine, finding the familiar text of a book she'd once read in this very room; one that Benjicott had allowed her to borrow.
Pulling the parchment free, she slowly reads the contents to herself, rereading and rereading until her eyes blur.
It is only after the first tear drops, smearing the ink on three page, that she realizes her true feelings for the boy she will leave behind.