Chapter Three

Learn Your Place

Once all of them had filed out Ramsay realized that Sansa alone remained in the room with him. She moved around him to sit just as she had before she had begun the long process of shaming him. It had been a long process, hadn't it? Try as he might, he was entirely uncertain as to exactly how much time had passed.

The slow, steady punishment that Sansa had made him endure both before and after the arrival of her guests had seemingly distorted his sense of time. He could only hope for the sake of whatever tattered remnants that might yet remain of his sense of self that he had at least held out for a lengthy duration before collapsing so completely on himself.

But that didn't seem likely. Much more likely it was that the things that had happened to him in that room had lasted no more than a few scant hours. Ramsay had tortured people for days on end without them weeping as he had from such a stint… and the fact that she never drove nails into him or removed body parts made it worse…

Just an ample and judicious application of swats to his rear and only his rear, as if he were a young man who had erred and needed a good swatting to correct him… it was a never-ending source of personal humiliation to know that something so simple, so basic would spell the unraveling of his personal willpower.

As a torturer he had often spent hours working a victim over to find what would really make them sing, often having to implement crueler and more brutal techniques and devices to succeed, but Sansa had done so little to dominate him so completely… he glanced over at Sansa, seeing that she was smiling with one side of her mouth.

Apparently Sansa was enjoying the play of humiliated guilt and helplessness that was so firmly planted on his face, and was not shy about letting Ramsay see that she did. In fact, she probably wanted him to see that his suffering was making her so very happy. Ramsay frowned in a rising sense of agitation at this, but that too seemed to please her.

Sansa stood up from her chair, walking over to stand behind Ramsay now that it was only the two of them again, "Now that we are alone again, I'm afraid I must make a confession to you, dear 'husband'." She ran a hand ever so lightly over the scorched flesh of his tenderized backside and Ramsay flinched and hissed even at this.

It stung, her touch, but the worst part was the unwanted affections; he wanted such things from her less now than ever. She continued speaking as her hand went on exploring his reddened posterior, "Punishing you until you begged for death…" he flinched, "…until you cried for mercy…" he flinched again, "…it has made me very wet."

Ramsay's eyes widened as she squeezed one cheek gently, certainly knowing that it would send a shock of pain through him when he was so very tender, "Now where did we leave off?" She leaned down to whisper almost conspiratorially into his ear, "That's right; I was fucking you, and you thought to test me, see what I would do…"

She went on, her breath hot on his ear as he shook in her grasp, her hand clamping down painfully on his exposed buttocks, "…and now you have. So now I'm going to return to enjoying you as I had started before, except this time hopefully you have finally come to know your place in all of this, or is there anything you'd like to say?"

Ramsey shook his head, his mouth a very tight line as he almost literally swallowed his pride, taking gulps of air and breathing rapidly in her grasp. How was she making him feel so ridiculously vulnerable?

Ramsay would of course guess that it was a culmination of all that had happened in that room within the last few hours, but…

…But it was far more than that. Sansa had been getting underneath his carefully laid veneer since the beginning, and no matter how hard he struggled to return to his cool, perhaps even cold disposition, that demeanor that he had long ago created to show others when he wanted to frighten them or assure them that he was unaffected… he failed.

No matter what he told himself or how hard he reached for that inner calm that had spared him from showing emotion to father or even mother in the past, Sansa somehow rubbed it away from him now, and as she shared with him her intentions to continue her indignities to his ass he found himself sniffling like a beaten dog.

Now he simply lay there saying nothing, to the apparent great satisfaction of Sansa, whose bemused smile spoke volumes as to her enjoyment of his quiet servility. She leaned back and gave him a playful swat that caused him to cry out in startled pain. She called her attendant to herself and moments later Ramsay heard a familiar sound.

The sound of leather on leather and the tiny click of small metal joints occasionally clicking into each other to create an almost bell-like noise; she was being fitted once more with her harness… Ramsay gulped hard, wondering suddenly how many others might know of this particular treatment. The guards and her chamber-maid for starters…

She had not performed this particular humiliation before the others… his gut twisted at the thought of those noble men and women seeing that certain degrading act… but servants spread news like wildfire. Even if Sansa were to command them to silence soon the whole of the castle would know that she was pegging him.

Also any noble worth his weight would know to occasionally find out what the servants knew, at least if he or she wanted to remain Lord of the castle, and then they would know and spread that knowledge to the prestigious of other houses… Ramsay felt his face heating at the thoughts that spiraled around within his head.

He wasn't sure why he was letting any of those thoughts affect him; after all, he had essentially just been publically shamed down to the level of bastard-less-than-a-servant, so why care any more about those whose favor and affluence he once dreamed of accruing? He glanced back to see Sansa; he certainly had more pressing matters to think on…

Like the giant phallic shape designed from bent and hammered metal, expertly molded into the shape of an obscenely large cock. Ramsay couldn't help but wonder who exactly it was that made the thing she strapped to her thighs. The leather was stitched perfectly to fit Sansa's form, and the work of the interlocking rings that let her attach the dildo…

There was no mistaking master craftsmanship, so whomever she had conscripted to have such a device made was not simply knowledgeable about the arts of working leather and smithing metal but accomplished at it as well. There was only one man of such caliber in the hold, and Ramsay knew that man.

How many suits and swords had that man forged for his father's armies of late, only to join Sansa in creating such a blasphemous item now? He seethed with constrained fury at the betrayal, not because he cared about the man or even knew anything about him for that matter, but because he couldn't help envisioning how that must have went…

How awkward a conversation piece it must have been for Sansa to bring to the blacksmith down at his workshop, not so much for the smith himself or even Sansa for that matter, but for Ramsay. How humiliated he felt now as he thought loosely on the awful words that would have to be traded to convince him to make it.

Had he decided to do it simply because she was in power now, and he feared upsetting his new ruler, or did he oblige because he perhaps also reveled in the opportunity to make Ramsay suffer as yet another member of the 'oppressed' Ramsay had so badly vexed. He glanced at the heft of the item as she screwed it in place; yes the man clearly wanted him to suffer.

From the tip of the head to the root of the shaft the thing had to be a foot long, and the girth of it was equally obscene… he had no idea how she had ever managed to fit it inside of him, and he squirmed at the thought of her placing it in him once again. He remembered with the cruel clarity that one remembers things they hate most.

It had been an awful sort of invasion of his self, and now after all else that had happened this day between himself and Sansa he was somehow more effected by the notion of such violation. She of course took her time once she had completely strapped the awful device upon her shapely hips. She walked over, pausing behind him.

Ramsay's cheeks were crunched together; he couldn't force himself to relax even though he knew tensing like this would only make it hurt more when she inserted her false cock. Sansa made the minutes stretch to infinities as she slowly ran her hand along the braised skin of his ass, seeming to enjoy the heat of his punishment there.

She placed the head of her dildo against him, causing him to flinch and strain further, despite the pointlessness of doing so. He was as like to tire himself out as do anything whatsoever to slow her ravaging of him. She spoke slowly, enjoyment in her voice, "How does it make you feel to know that it was I that took your virginity?"

Ramsay balked, glancing up at her over his shoulder. This wasn't the first time she had mentioned this; Sansa seemed to enjoy taunting him with the fact that she had humiliated him in a way that no living person ever had. His frown deepened and he turned his face into the mattress. The least he could do would be to hide his face from her.

Sansa did not seem to be interested in letting him ride out the act of degradation in any manner of his choosing, however. To his surprise he saw that she began to untie his bonds at the feet, surprising him further as she moved to untie his hands. Ramsay hesitated for a moment as his hands slipped free, which was very unlike him.

But that moment passed as everything that remained of his will to live threw him into action. With a growl he twisted, prepared to strike at her with his fists. Already he felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought of choking her to death. A death far too fast, true, but he would want to make sure she was dead and unable to call for help for his escape…

Except that he was unable to twist around. Sansa grabbed his arms from behind him and slammed him into the bed. Ramsay tried to rise again, but she quickly placed her weight on him to pin him down so that his face remained to the mattress as she quickly tied his hands together. He struggled to pull his hands free but Sansa was stronger than she looked.

Ramsay was wide of eye at the realization that Sansa was 'man-handling' him; in all of the times that he had raped her, it had never occurred to him that she was more or less allowing him to do so. Her resistance was a token thing at best, likely because she realized that if she did manage to completely resist her lord and husband it would only have made more problems for her.

But now the shoe was on the other foot, and the fact that Sansa was taller, heavier and stronger than him was no longer something that could be missed as she savagely yanked the small man about the bed to get him where she wanted him. Once his hands were tied behind his back she swatted his ass hard with her hand, making his back arch as he yowled in pain.

Sansa kept her weight pressed into him, pinning him as Ramsay continued to try to roll out from under her. Every attempt was met with another swat, which only seemed to enrage Ramsay at first, causing him to redouble his efforts to get free, wriggling this way and that, but after this had continued for some time he finally subsided.

After all, trying to worm his way free was not only failing to free him from Sansa's grip but was also furthering the punishments he received for the attempt, and with enough of that negative reinforcement even Ramsay had to admit to himself that all he was truly doing was inviting more pain for himself.

So he went very still, trembling a little at the fresh stings she had administered; his ass was after all still criss-crossed with welts from her previous endeavors, leaving him extremely tender and vulnerable to further pains received. Sansa paused that way for a while, perhaps to be sure he wouldn't try again or maybe to make a point, he didn't know.

Then she slowly mounted him, placing herself behind him and lifting his hips so that he was raised on his knees with his chest and face upon the pillows of the bed. He thought to try to roll away again but before he could act on it she slapped him, "Don't try it." He hissed at the sting, freezing in place as he tensed against the burn of it.

She seemed to be able to read him very well indeed to have punished him preemptively he thought. This of course added further discouragement to further attempts; if she could tell he was going to try before he even did so what chance did he have to succeed? She could have done that as a bluff, of course, but how to tell?

And more importantly… did he wish to risk the pain that would immediately follow a failed attempt to call her bluff? Ramsay would like to say that he dared greatly but a core truth of himself that he had to admit now was that he actually wasn't much of a risk taker. He was not a coward per say he told himself, but…

If he had in fact been the sort to take risks he would have accepted Jon Snow's challenge to single combat and avoided the slight to his reputation in turning him down, as doing so never helped in gaining the respect of those soldiers who fight under one's banner. He had to wonder if this would have gone differently if he had accepted.

As pathetic as it was, he found himself musing that it might have been better win or lose; he would have made himself a legend among his people killing Jon single-handedly if he had actually managed to best him in combat, and at worst he would have been slain, finding failure just as he did now but with the sweet release of eternal sleep before he could stew in that failure.

Like he did now. Like Sansa assuredly wanted him to. So he lay there, hating her and what she wanted and what she made him do and what he allowed her to make him do. He could only wonder how many of his victims had felt this way… Ramsay stayed perfectly still as best he could, his only movement due to his ragged breathing.

Sansa seemed to realize that he had given in to her command; he could hear the smile in her voice even if he could not see her with his head turned to the pillows as it was, "That's right… you do what you are told and things will be less rough for you… though I don't promise to be gentle…" Ramsay tensed again as she used her legs to spread his open.

Ramsay choked on his own voice as she put the awful thing inside him. Sansa began the slow process of ravaging him once more, her hands clasped tightly to his sides as she went about doing so, pulling him into her as she pushed into him from behind. Ramsay's face was a picture of agony and misery he was certain.

Not only was she fucking him as if he was some whore to do with as she pleased but every time her hips clapped into his ass as she began to become more fierce in her ministrations he was rewarded with another dull ache from his own rear, his tortured cheeks not faring well with the excitement at all as they continued to remind him of what else she had done.

"Please…" he found himself saying. It was pathetic, really; Ramsay did not know who this man was that he had become, but apparently he begged… Sansa slowed but did not stop fucking him, "How many times did I ask you to stop when you raped me? Do you imagine I might have felt as you do now?" She spoke softly but…

…There was anger to her low spoken words, a resentment borne of the helplessness he had once forced her to endure. Ramsay could hear that note now, could feel it and finally understood better why Sansa did everything that she did to him. She was not a master manipulator as he often imagined her to be, nor had what she had been earlier been a lie.

No, Sansa was angry and hated him as so many others had come to hate him, but she had dared to act on that hatred where others had not for fear of him, and been clever enough and resourceful enough to see it done. In a moment of realization Ramsay came to the conclusion that he hadn't been bested by a master spy.

No, he had been beaten by a combination of a willful woman and circumstance. This didn't make him feel better of course; imagining that he had been bested because of the scheming of long range plans was easier to digest than being beaten because he had crossed the wrong naïve young woman with connections to the Vale.

He managed not to beg again, still a little shell-shocked that he had been wrong this whole time, and that Sansa Stark, who had likely never tortured a single person in her life, had so easily caused him to cry and plea in front of several noble families of the North. But why… no, he knew why she was fucking him; it was the basis of his discovery.

She was getting her revenge upon him, plain and simple. He had already figured that to be her motive when he had thought her a lady of multiple mysteries, but now it seemed much more personal, much more real now that he realized her reasons were simpler and closer to the heart. The way she went at him…

She was being rough now, but there was a familiar ring to the way she bent him over, how she placed her hand on his neck like so and thrusted hard into him like so… she was emulating almost exactly what he had done the first time he had raped her, when he had taken her virginity. He supposed if her anger ran deep enough, she would want to repeat that upon him many times more.

"Please…!" he was begging again, but this time there was a different ring to it, a far more desperate cry for mercy. Now that he could guess as to her exact motives for what she did to him he could also guess how deeply she wanted to hurt him and how unlikely she was to actually show mercy. The thought gave him a sense of urgency he could do nothing with.

After all, there was nothing he could do but beg ineffectually; he was truly and irrevocably helpless. He glanced back over his own shoulder and saw that she was watching him carefully, perhaps taking in every detail of how he reacted to her assault. He recognized that look; she was getting aroused by what she saw, much as he had once been aroused by what he saw in her.

He bit his lip and turned his head away, hiding his shame as she continued taking what she would from him. He knew now that what she did would run its course; her raping of him was a venting of her own sexual frustrations and pain that he himself had inflicted upon her and the bitter irony was that this might be the only way for her to resolve it at this point.

Ramsay waited miserably for a very long time, and finally with a shuddering and a moan, Sansa released herself in a powerful orgasm caused by her gyrations against him, pushing hard into his tortured backside as she shuddered with waves of ecstasy. She lay atop him for some long moments, breathing hard from exertion.

Ramsay found himself relieved that she had finally subsided in her efforts, laying perfectly still beneath her and trying to regain his own breath and bearing as well, glad that the pounding sensation to his hurt buttocks had at last ceased. Sansa was smiling as she whispered into his ear; he couldn't see it, but he could hear it in her voice.

"This is how I wish it to be every night for the foreseeable future; I will come in here when I am done with what business I must attend, and relieve myself of the burdens of my day by taking you in any way I wish… 'Husband'." Her hands started to move along his body again, "But I think that tonight I shall take you more than once…"

So the days went by with Ramsay forced to remain within the bedroom of the Stark House, awaiting Sansa Stark's return so that she could resume committing varied and numerous acts of sodomy upon him. A guard watched his door at all times, ensuring that he did not leave the bedroom; he was not permitted exit, ever.

Sansa of course took no heed of how boring and tedious it was for a man to have to stay in a single room day in and day out with absolutely nothing to do, or perhaps she did and simply didn't care; all part of her plan for his 'punishment' perhaps. He found himself tidying the place up at times, straightening furniture and sweeping the floor.

He would spend the majority of his time staring out of the window down at the courtyard and the rolling, snowy lands beyond the castle walls. People below would often see him looking out and point at him, speaking about him with voices too distant to be understood by Ramsay. At first this had soured him to looking out the window.

Over time however he grew to ignore it; let them say what they would of him, the former Lord trapped in the current Lady's bedroom, he was going to stare out of that window because it was the least boring thing he could now do with his pathetic life. There were only so many times you could pace a room in thought before it became tiresome.

He often thought of trying to escape out of that window, but the stone beyond it was icy and treacherous, and the ground was several stories down. He had heard that one of the Stark boys had broken his back falling from the heights of that very same castle, and Ramsay had no intention of following suit.

And then there was the help, Sansa's servants. Ramsay didn't see many of them since there were only a few persons allowed into the Lady of the castle's private bedroom, but she had one woman who came in to change the linens and chamber pot and see to the general cleanliness of the room. Ramsay didn't know her name but she always hurried in her tasks.

In fact, Ramsay noticed that she downright rushed to finish her chores, never once looking in Ramsay's direction and giving him a wide berth. He found this oddly amusing, and after she had visited a few times began to play games at her expense; after all, he was very, very bored and had nothing better to do with his time.

At first he simply would move himself closer to her, watching in amusement as she scurried to busy herself with her tasks further from his new position. He found that if he cornered her with his slowly advancing movement she would simply quit her tasks and leave the room altogether, returning to finish at another time.

This of course led to another game, in which he intentionally disrupted her work by ruffling the bed or disturbing the closet of its shoes just to watch her reaction when she returned to find that she would have to start all over again. He smiled widely at her frown, but she never saw his smile since she avoided even glancing at him.

Ramsay found this a little annoying for reasons he couldn't personally fathom, striving always to push her a little more and grin a little more widely and darkly at her from his seat in the corner whenever she would first arrive or return to that bedroom. He had almost given up on her, and would likely have done so due to her patience, but as stated before, he was dreadfully bored.

So he kept up with his little pet project of seeing how far exactly he could push the chambermaid until the day when he finally got her to openly acknowledge his presence. He had just finished the process of dumping the contents of the chamber pot upon the area of floor she had last cleaned before his advance had driven her out.

The little old woman balled her fists, shaking with a surprising fury that caused Ramsay to chuckle. He couldn't help himself; the woman's ire was nothing less than comical. She glanced up at him, and Ramsay froze in surprise a moment before applauding her with a jovial smile, "Why there we are; finally you are polite enough to look when a Lord is about."

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she looked very much like she had something to say. Ramsay leaned forward, his eyebrows raised expectantly at what she might retort with, but instead of speaking she shook her head and turned around, gathering her bucket and mop, and leaving the room without a word.

Ramsay jumped a little at the sound of the room's wooden door slamming shut as he stood there, baffled. Was the woman really such a pushover that he could take it that far without result? He decided then that he would need to find a way to up his game come tomorrow. Perhaps next time he would dump the pot on the bed.

He wrinkled his nose at the thought; no, no that would be too much. Sansa might violate him every evening in the most humiliating ways, but she still let him sleep on the bed, often falling asleep clutching him to her, so he wouldn't want to intentionally befoul his very own sleeping space. No amusement was worth that much.

He was smirking with satisfaction for some while after the incident though, setting a chair near the window as had become his habit and looking out at the view beyond with a small cheer to his otherwise bleak and loathsome existence. With that small victory, he had managed to win something intangible back for himself.

He looked about for a while, trying to see if anything interesting might happen in the courtyard below, perhaps another fight between the visiting soldiers and the wildlings, those were always somewhat less dull than the regular drudgery of simple people going about with simple tasks. But no show for Ramsay today; the wildlings kept to themselves in their camp outside the walls.

He sighed as boredom once again sank its claws into him; it took so little for him to grow bored after all. He leaned back into his chair, watching a bird of prey circle the castle from up on high, and gazing serenely out at the looming white mountaintops. Frozen; everything in the north was frozen this time of year.

His reverie was suddenly and rudely interrupted by a cuff to the back of his head. Ramsay was knocked aside, falling from the chair gracelessly as the furniture toppled with him. He looked up with surprised eyes to see a guardsman glaring down at him, his post apparent by the chain shirt he wore and the sword strapped to his hip.

Ramsay quickly scurried back to the wall beneath the window, his wide eyes tracking the movements of the obviously angry guard. The guard still had his fists balled in a universal expression of impending violence, or in this case further violence, and a sour expression sat upon his face, "What is this I hear of you hassling the chambermaid?!"

Ramsay sat bolt upright against the wall; the old woman had told on him! He gave the guardsman a large smile as he slowly raised himself along the wall to standing, "Hassling? Well, occasionally I have tried to engage her in simple conversation, but she has always ignored me in the most rude of ways…" He shrugged, "I…"

Ramsay's head snapped back as the guard punched him squarely in the mouth with a fist that was moving far faster than what Ramsay was expecting. He staggered a few steps away, one hand on the wall and the other on his bleeding lip. The soldier growled at him, "You threw a chamber pot upon her work."

Ramsay grimaced at the guard's warning glare; saying the wrong thing now was going to earn him a sound beating, so he served himself best now by saying nothing at all. The guard maintained the steady glare for some long moments, his eyes both searching and daring Ramsay to say or do anything he might regret.

"Have nothing to say for yourself then, Snow?" Ramsay's teeth set tightly at the insulting reference to his former name, but he remained silent. The soldier went on, "If you have taken to playing with shit like some kind of man-infant, perhaps I should discourage you by placing your head within the pot… would you like that?"

Ramsay's teeth grated at the disgusting threat of humiliation but he simply shook his head, "No… your point is well received." No point in riling the man any further; he was in no place to so much as defend himself. The soldier and Ramsay turned as a voice called from across the room; it was Sansa Stark, "What is going on here?"

Ramsay stiffened at the sound of her voice, his eyes widening a bit in both surprise and unwanted and unexpected fear. After all, her voice was resonant with what happened in the bedroom to his dignity each evening, and that was certainly something for a man to learn to dread, a regular activity that never grew more tolerable, only less so.

The guard turned, also seeming a little surprised by Sansa's sudden appearance, "Lady Sansa… this lot has, according to your chambermaid, been ceaselessly harassing the help to the point of literally soiling the room with shit. I came inside when I saw how aggravated the poor woman was; you know how meek she is."

Sansa nodded as she walked into the room to join the two of them, her gaze leveling on Ramsay as she did so. He stiffened further at the way those cold eyes studied him, "Yes, I know well how hard it is to get under that patient woman's skin; Ramsay must have worked very hard to irritate her so that she would inform you that way."

The guard nodded again, "Aye, so I came in and cuffed him a bit. He's still got a mouth on him, though, and I'm not entirely sure the lesson has sunk in." The guard spat at the floor as he spoke, leveling Ramsay with an angry expression that told the latter that the former very much meant every word of his threat.

Sansa shook her head in the universal sign of negative, however, holding up a hand dismissively, "That won't be necessary. I appreciate your immediate attention to this serious matter, but I will attend to his discipline from here on in." She turned to regard Ramsay, who now stared at the floor, kicking his feet together sheepishly.

The guard seemed hesitant for the briefest of moments, but then a strong sense of duty and obedience seemed to take hold as he saluted and walked out regardless of whatever personal reservations he might have had; after all, Lady Sansa was his superior and no matter what the circumstance it was not his place to question her orders.

Once the soldier had exited the room to the sound of the heavy wooden door closing, Sansa finally broke the silence between them with words, "I would say you chose the right person to torment in the guise of my chambermaid but I suppose I didn't leave you anyone else to harass. I know it must have taken some time…"

She walked over to the window, looking out at the courtyard beyond but still facing Ramsay and clearly watching him regardless of her direction, "…that good woman is as sweet and humble as they come, and with the sort of patience that can only come from being mother to a great number of children and grandchildren."

Ramsay shrank back from the window a bit as she approached. Sansa did not seem angry but that didn't make him feel better about her reaction to this discovery. He only licked his lips nervously, quietly watching and listening to what she had to say. Sansa went on, "I blame myself in part for not anticipating this event…"

Ramsay stood straight again as she suddenly turned to face him, a dangerous resolution flashing in her half-lidded expression, "…but you can be assured that I intend to punish you severely for testing her and thereby me in this way." Her eyes panned across the room, searching. At last they came to rest on a nightstand across from the bed.

She nodded towards that piece of furniture, giving the baffled Ramsay instruction, "Bring me the hairbrush there." Ramsay looked back at her after glancing at the indicated item, a tense silence hanging between them. Sansa did not often directly order him to do anything, but when she did it was always a blow to his shattered pride.

Ramsay gulped, licking his lips nervously; he still tasted the coppery remnant of the drying blood upon his face where the guardsman had struck him. After the moment of quiet stretched dangerously close to disobedience he made the choice he always did; the only one he really had that wouldn't cause him unnecessary suffering.

Ramsay strode over to the nightstand, snatching the hairbrush there and strode back over to Sansa, practically throwing it at her with the way he savagely tossed it. He was curious if the only reason she had made him do such was to make a display that he feared her reprisal. He shook with the surge of frustration this caused him as he glared at her.

She glanced down and then looked him in the eyes again, "Now take off your pants." Ramsay froze, his heart racing at both the words she chose and the tone she used when addressing him. She usually reserved that particular way of speaking, words and otherwise, for when she took him to her bed at night.

He broke into a nervous sweat at the thought of the biggest thing about his life now, the one that he spent every waking moment trying not to think about, threatening him once more. It was far too early though, he thought, his eyes darting to the sun outside which still burned softly behind the fog of the mountain.

But then he supposed that Sansa didn't really have to keep any sort of schedule being in the position over him that she was, nor had she ever told him that she would only ravish him at night. Ramsay swallowed hard, feeling himself tense up in several places in reflexive memory of what it was going to be like shortly.

Sansa seemed to pick up on what he was feeling, or at least what he was anticipating, because she smiled in amusement at him, "No, I'm not going to do that to you… at least not yet. I did not ask you to retrieve my brush for me because I felt a sudden need to brush my hair." She slapped the brush against her other hand hard.

Ramsay wondered at how she could read him so easily, but he supposed that having subjected him to rape so many nights in a row had taught her what ways he reacted to it. That thought fled from his mind as she spoke and struck her hand with the brush, however, as it became immediately clear what she actually intended to do to him.

Ramsay could only respond dumbly, his face a twist of confusion and apprehension, "Wait… what?"

Sansa only replied by smiling wider at him, "I'm going to put you over my knee and spank you; after all the guardsman was right… you have been acting like an infant throwing a tantrum." As she said this she walked over to sit upon the bed.

Ramsay stood rigidly watching her, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Did he dare to resist her humiliating treatment this time? Every other time he had tried to argue with her or dared to physically fight what she decided to do to him it had gone badly. Why did the idea of receiving a spanking crush him so?

Regardless of how this particular treatment made him feel, though, Ramsay knew he would have to endure it of his own volition or there would be further discipline; Sansa was proving to be a tough mistress, and not giving her what she wanted would lead to further problems, and Ramsay without solutions.

So he reluctantly moved over to Sansa, who continued to sit waiting patiently for him. She patted her lap and instructed further, "Lay yourself down over my lap so that I may easily give you what you so desperately need." Ramsay's face flushed at her words and the gesture, but mostly at the air she held, how she talked down to him.

He continued to hesitate and this seemed to cause her a slight bit of ire, as she raised an eyebrow at him, "You aren't going to make me repeat myself, are you?" Ramsay bristled at the treatment, at the whole of the affair, but what was he to do? He knew that the guard who had roughed him up stood just outside the door.

No doubt listening for him to make any form of trouble that would give the soldier cause to rush back into the room and make Ramsay into a veritable punching bag. Not only that but he had discovered that Sansa herself was actually quite formidable in her own right. Sure, she didn't know much about fighting, but neither did he.

Normally, that would still give him an advantage over a woman, but Sansa was not an average woman. For one, she was no meek, passive soul like the other women he had brutalized, nor was she of average stature; Sansa was both taller and heavier than he with his slight frame and short height, giving her a solid advantage.

No, Ramsay thought, he didn't want to go down that road again; whatever chance he might have of overpowering Sansa was negated by the fact that he stood in her castle occupied by her guards, and he didn't feel like suffering the added degradation of being man-handled again by a woman. So with a sad sigh, he complied.

Ramsay carefully lowered himself across her lap, feeling strained at the whole of the affair. He tried his best not to look at the standing mirror across from them but his eyes found it from time to time nonetheless; he looked absolutely ridiculous propped across her lap with no pants, and the image was only compounded as she started to slap him.

It was beyond embarrassing to see himself treated like a young boy in the lap of his mother, as that image he saw would suggest, so he did his best to simply stare down at the floor, using all of his willpower to try to shut out as much of what was happening to him as he possibly could. Sansa of course made it hard.

As her hand peppered his ass with a series of swats that left his pristine white cheeks covered in hand-shaped red welts that started to merge together over time, giving the whole of the arch of his buttocks a reddish glow, she spoke to him, "Surely this isn't what you wanted when you acted like some sort of juvenile delinquent, was it?"

Ramsay choked on a reply, taking a moment to swallow back his pain and humiliation to decide what best to say. He wanted to rant and rave at her, to call her a whore and a raging cunt, to insult her and her family living and dead, or to at least remain quiet, as some sort of passive defiance to her overbearing domination.

But the former was likely to get him even more of this sort of treatment, perhaps even push her to make it worse, like fetching an implement worse than a brush or displaying his shameful position publicly again, and the latter would likely do the same or at the very least do him no good, as she patiently waited and continued hitting him.

For he now had no doubts at all as to Sansa's patience, and also knew that he could stand for little enough of this awful treatment as it was, so he would need to opt for the easiest way out and give her what she wanted. He swallowed his remaining pride and told her what she wanted to hear, "No, Lady Sansa, I did not…"

Sansa nodded, as if having expected him to say nothing else, "Then why would you act so childishly if you did not want me to treat you as a child? Your mischief speaks of a young man crying for attention. Now you have it." Ramsay squirmed under the administration of her hairbrush as she suddenly began hitting him with that instead of her hand.

Under the sharp new stings of what she did Ramsay found it hard to concentrate on speech, trying his best to tell her what she wanted to hear but a little confused now on what that was, which only left him with more urgency and uncertainly than the already considerable levels of such that he had already been feeling.

He strained to speak quickly anyways, saying what came to the top of his head in a fast effort to relieve himself of the punishments he received as quickly as possible, "I… I do not know… wait… ow!" Sansa apparently did not agree or approve of this first attempt and Ramsay whimpered, already unable to tolerate what he was getting.

Unable to tolerate but also unable to evade. As he started to squirm harder against the rain of blows the brush dealt to his butt, and eventually started trying to buck free despite knowing that such might anger Sansa, she responded by tightening her hold on him. Her free hand roped around his waist, pulling him tightly against her own waist.

Also, her right leg wrapped around his calves, holding his legs pinned down so that he could not kick with any sort of leverage. A feeling of helplessness settled in on him as her grip gradually became concreted and his frantic mind grasped that he could not get away from her even if he gave it his best effort.

She didn't say anything, but the brush kept coming down harder on the tortured flesh of his exposed cheeks, and Ramsay felt stinging tears in his eyes well up in an inconvenient and unwanted way. He didn't know whether she was hitting him harder because he involuntarily bucked in her grip or because of what he had said.

Perhaps both, but either way he had to cling to the option of the latter because it was the only one of the two that he could potentially rectify. His mind raced as he tried to think of what to say that might appease her, but the painful swatting made concentration all but impossible, so he opted for the truth, hoping it didn't make things worse.

"I was bored! I was just trying to get a rise out of your woman servant…!" Sansa did not slow, but the brush also did not seem to be hitting him any harder either. She still didn't respond though so Ramsay elaborated, willing to tell her about anything now to get her to stop, "She wasn't responding to me, I just wanted her to look at me!"

Sansa nodded and her rhythm slowed ever so slightly, "Ah… so you did in deed throw a tantrum, and entirely because you didn't feel that you were being shown enough attention." Her hand continued its work as Ramsay squirmed to its delivery, "No… that's not it! She was showing disrespect… servants shouldn't…"

Her hand sped up again at the sound of his words, and he was interrupted by the terrible sting inflicted as she struck him particularly hard in obvious punishment for his statement, "That was not a question but a statement of fact Ramsay. I did not say it because I wanted your opinion on how you acted; that was plain to all involved."

She continued to speak even as she continued to spank his now tortured and deeply reddened ass as he squirmed in her grip, "As to your attempt to justify yourself, you should know these things; One, you are not in a position to defend your actions and will speak when spoken to. Two, my chambermaid is not required to show you respect."

Every time she counted out one of her reasons her hand brought the brush down hard as a sort of accentuation of her argument, the sort that from Ramsay's point of view certainly could not easily be ignored, "Three, she did not show you anything one way or the other, she only did her best to attend her duties without interaction with you."

"Four, if she had said or done anything that might be construed as unseemly or rude, then no one in this castle would fault her for it, since you have committed atrocities enough to earn the hatred of many. Five, you speak as if you still bear your stolen lordly status, as if anyone here sees you as a noble; they do not."

She shrugged at him offhandedly as she continued to pepper his ass with swats, "So as you can see you have no argument to stand on even if you were being given the right to argue, which you aren't. So shut up and take your discipline for acting like a child and stop whining and mewling about it like one; it only further cements the image."

Ramsay was fully red in the face, seemingly unable to speak or at the very least biting back his words less they cause him even more trouble. His feet occasionally kicked out as she mercilessly administered her form of justice, and he scrambled to think of what he might say to end the whole awful debacle. In the end he could only come up with one thing.

"I'm sorry!" he cried. He strained to look back at her over his own shoulder, so that she might see the plaintive, pleading look on his face, "I have erred please forgive me!" Sansa was so surprised by what he said she actually stopped hitting him for a moment before resuming after that moment of being taken aback.

She raised an eyebrow, a slight smile sculpting the corner of her mouth as she replied, "Well, I certainly didn't expect apology or begging this early in your punishment. Well done; I must say that I am pleased to see how positively a little physical negative reinforcement can affect you, and glad to see you put your pride away."

Her comment alone stung and Ramsay looked away, burying his face in the bedding below him so as to hide the humiliated expression on his face from his tormenting mistress. He could still hear her words though, and he most certainly could not hide himself from the sting of her repeated blows to his posterior.

Sansa set the brush aside, but then went on to continue slapping his practically glowing red arches with her bare palm, which also started to shine red as she applied herself so vigorously to spanking him that her own hand was becoming heated with it. Ramsay wasn't entirely sure but for a moment he thought she might be enjoying herself.

"Tomorrow I will have you clean my bedchambers out at first light and then you will humbly apologize to my chambermaid for your crass behavior, begging her for forgiveness." Ramsay was very quiet for many long moments after she said this and Sansa's face turned up again in a wry grin, "You still find that hard don't you?"

Still he did not answer, and Sansa seemed to gain knowledge of how he felt on the matter by that fact as if he had actually spoken, "You don't want to lower yourself to the level of apologizing to someone that you somehow still consider lower than you, despite being a fatherless bastard who has lost what stolen holdings he had to his smeared name."

Ramsay twitched, and not just because of the awful lashing he continued to endure, which was certainly causing him to twist and dance in its own right, but because Sansa was hitting the proverbial nail on the head while insulting in the vilest of ways at the same time, attacking his weakest point, which happened to remain his legitimacy.

And yet still he did not answer, so Sansa reached over and took the brush in hand again, and the sharp sting of its descent snapped Ramsay out of his quiet with a yowl as Sansa took to punishing him now for his passive disobedience. "When I speak to you expecting reply you will answer me, and you will do so promptly."

Ramsay's back arched as she landed another string of searing blows that left him breathless in an awful moment where he wondered if he would be able to regain his speech in order to say what was needed to stop the awful rain of painful swats that took his breath away to begin with. Oh what cruel irony that would be!

But he found his words quickly enough, pain being one of the greatest of motivators, "Yes… yes, I will do as you say!" He slumped forward, panting hard as Sansa finally ceased in her ministrations concerning the spanking. He glanced back to see her nod curtly, "Good." To his great relief she reached over to set the brush down once more.

Sansa ran her fingers lightly over the raised flesh of his welted ass, commenting in an amused and relaxed tone, "The back of that particular brush has our house's emblem engraved in relief on it; I find it rather fitting that in some places on your rear my father's sigil can now be clearly see in red and white pattern."

Ramsay flushed again, feeling the tips of his ears burn at the notion that she was marking him with her family crest as she punished him. He just wanted it to be over and patiently waited, being as he had no choice but to do so. Thankfully, Sansa did not return to hitting him with her hand again, which is what he feared she might do.

Also though she did not immediately let him up, instead keeping him upon her lap in that most awkward and humiliating position, entirely for the effect of shaming him further Ramsay had no doubt. "If my chambermaid does not approve of your apology we shall repeat this process, perhaps in front of her next time."

With a suddenness that Ramsay found almost surprising Sansa stood, pulling him to stand by the crook of his arm. She looked him up and down and tapped at her chin thoughtfully, "I think I shall have you remain pant less until such a time as I don't have the constant feeling that I might need to discipline you at the drop of a hat."

Ramsay felt the blood rush to his face, his ears burning he blushed so hard in his unrivaled shame at her comment, "You mean to leave me walking about nakedly? That is no way for a…" Sansa put a finger to his lips, cutting him off, "If you were going to say 'Lord to act', then you still aren't paying attention to your new place here."

She went on, patting the side of his face in a patronizing way that was a sort of universal language for mocking dominance through personal touch, a taunt of sorts, "You'll do whatever I say no matter how you feel on the matter besides, because you are not a lord; you are in fact of lower station than the chambermaid you offended."

Ramsay's jaw worked against the new wave of resentment and humiliation this statement caused and worse yet Sansa could easily see his unhidden ire, smiling in a small way that gave reason for him to think she might be enjoying toying with him with such direct insults. He could only suppose that doing so was further pointing out how little he could do to stop her.

She moved in closer, her breath upon his face as she spoke to him intimately, the way the closest of friends might conspire together or perhaps the way two lovers might share an important secret, "I know you have often made a habit of walking about your quarters without garb, and when I had you upon that table earlier you had no such issue…"

Ramsay flushed again, as her words made him consider what it was that he was actually shamed about. Before he could give it much thought though she gave words to his thoughts, "You are only worried because it will serve as a constant reminder not only to you but also to others that I will take you in hand for your sins…"

Ramsay pulled at the collar of his shirt, feeling even more heated with the uncomfortable air Sansa was creating between them as he gulped wordlessly, not answering her statement but knowing that silence was still answer enough as to the truth behind her words. She went on, "And you know that all will see the marks upon your rear…"

Ramsay grimaced, immediately regretting doing so as a slow smile of satisfaction spread from one side of her mouth to the other. Why was he so completely unable to regain control of his composure? He kept feeling like he might be on the verge of reasserting himself into a state of calm indifference, his usual veneer…

But then Sansa would do and or say something that shattered his countenance entirely. He found himself wishing with every fiber of his being that she would just turn around and leave the room, so that he might start trying to reassemble the pieces of his broken pride and confidence. Sansa didn't go, though.

Instead, she stood there, intimately close to him, watching his face closely as he stared at the floor in his shame, shifting from foot to foot, trying not to think about the tender, stinging sensation he felt on his heated cheeks as cool air blew in through the window across his naked flesh. A thought occurred to him, "Milady…"

"If I am to be pant less at all times with winter falling over this already cold land, will that not cause me to catch my death?" Sansa was still smiling when he glanced up to see her face, and when he did she answered, "We'll close the window and tend the fire. I suggest you spend an adequate amount of time in bed…"

She reached around and squeezed his left cheek, causing him to wince, a whimper escaping his throat before he could think to stop it, due to the suddenness of the unexpected action. This only seemed to please Sansa more, her eyes alive with something that scared Ramsay deeply, "After all, I'll be taking you to bed nightly still…"

Ramsay gave way to a very deep frown, still staring at the floor as he moped a bit, giving in to despair and self-pity, "I am… indisposed as of this event, yes? Perhaps we could wait until tomorrow or the day after to…" Sansa cut him off with a chuckle that told Ramsay that was never going to happen, "I think not."

She elaborated, "It's almost funny how you still attempt to barter and deal as if you had anything with which to trade for what you ask or had any ground to stand on whatsoever. If you are going to beg me not to fuck you in the ass again tonight then you will need to do it properly if you hope to have any chance of success."

Ramsay balked at this, his tone changing due to his frustration, fear and shame all mixing together so powerfully that he felt completely out of control, like his whole situation in this new life forced upon him was spiraling further and further into chaos, "But… I'm sore… surely we can abstain for…" he looked at her as she raised her eyebrow.

"Please…" Still she seemed completely unmoved. Worse, the expression on her face hinted that his request was downright ludicrous in her sight, and amusing at best, offensive at worst. He had to wonder for a moment if she wouldn't punish him again for what she perceived to be him speaking out of turn… the cheeks of his face flushed as red as those below.

With some amount of hesitation and no small amount of humiliation Ramsay went down to one knee and then the other, speaking at the ground in harsh, rasping, forced words because he was unable to say these awful things while looking her in the eyes, "Please… please give me the night." As awful as what he was doing was he could not stop.

As much as it made him hate himself, all Ramsay could think of was how much more painful and degrading it would be for her to fuck him anally while he had yet to recover from this most recent punishment. He knew that as tender as he was that everything she did would only make his suffering worse.

Sansa's face screwed up into a thoughtful look as she tapped her finger to her chin thoughtfully again, though Ramsay sincerely doubted she needed any time to decide; she had likely already decided what she would do with him and was making him endure awaiting her answer simply to cause him further anxiety over her choice.

Sansa let out a long, deep sigh and nodded, "I suppose because you begged so very, very meekly, your humility should be rewarded. I'll let you have this one night to think on what it took to alleviate your own suffering." Ramsay couldn't look at her, his shame was so great he felt like humiliation alone might kill him.

A person couldn't die from shame alone, could they? Ramsay didn't actually think this could be the case, but from the way he felt right now, his stomach tight and his mouth dry as wave after wave of nauseating negative emotion pulsed through him, he could be convinced that it was within the realm of possibility.

But… she had said yes, and as awful as the truth of his subservience was, he was immediately relieved to a shameful extent that he would not have to endure her… ministrations again this particular evening. He gulped hard at the sense that this whole situation instilled in him, feeling sick with how Sansa so clearly reveled in it.

She waved at the window casually, "Shut that and tend the fire. Tomorrow we shall see how well you can grovel for the appeasement of my servant." She watched him as he slowly stood, trembling, and made his way over to the window, shutting it as a chill swept through him. She hadn't been speaking false before.

Ramsay would need to stoke the fire hot and likely also spend much of his time wrapped in blankets if he wanted to avoid frostbite on his toes or worse, his manhood. The tiniest of winds had blown through that window before he had closed it, but even that promised a bitterly cold winter ahead of him with her command of pantlessness.

Sansa seemed to be satisfied and finally turned to leave him alone in the room, which in itself caused him to release a breath he had not realized he had been holding in relief. Ramsay stood there for a long while, just reeling from all that happened and how completely incapable he was of knowing where to go from here.