Chapter Four

Worthy Apology

Ramsay woke with a start, rolling over as his mind groggily returned to the mortal coil and almost immediately regretting the habitual movement as the welted, tender flesh of his backside caused him to hiss and flip quickly back onto his side. Ramsay had always enjoyed sleeping on his back prior to his odd relationship with Sansa.

Now though he was resigned to trying his rest upon his side to avoid irritating the wounds her punishments left upon him in the form of grisly rashes upon his buttocks. He had tried to sleep on his stomach as a safer alternative to avoid accidentally rolling onto his back as often but he found the position utterly uncomfortable.

Along with the stinging pain came a torrent of humiliating memories he would rather have left forgotten within the hazy realm of whatever dreamland he had visited the previous evening. What Sansa had done to him, what he had done, and how he had further embarrassed himself, an activity he seemed unable to avoid repeating.

And of course he remembered what he still had yet to do. His face soured at the thought of having to apologize to a lowly servant for anything at all, never mind that he was having to do so to a servant that he had been attempting to instill some form of respect in. Now this woman, whomever she was, would never properly fear him.

Nor anyone else for that matter, he thought drearily. He rose and looked over to the mess in the corner he still had left to clean up. He had started the task last evening after Sansa had finally departed, but discontinued the activity when bending over repeatedly to scrub at the floor had caused him too much discomfort.

Then there was the humiliation, to be certain, probably the biggest reason he had stopped and left the work to sit until the morrow. The wounds to his ego were far larger and even more painful than the other maladies he suffered, and in the evening just after what she had done to him Ramsay still felt too fresh with that injury.

But now he would need to get to work and finish the job, especially since he could see from glancing at the window that he had overslept and that the roosters of the keep must have long since crowed their rallying cry for morning's arrival. Whatever he might think of Sansa and what she did, he didn't doubt she would offer more of it if he failed to do as told.

That thought of course caused his face to burn with renewed shame that his station in life, which he had worked so long and hard to improve, had led back to him acting with fear of repercussions from those that ruled him. Before it had been his father, whom he had strove to impress, and now Sansa, who might be the first person he ever truly feared.

Another thought to be added to the growing pile of reasoning that could only leave him flushed with intense self-loathing and a more than ample helping of self-doubt. That he found himself kneeling to muck up filth in this manner simply to avoid a… even in his thoughts he had trouble allowing himself to say it…

A spanking. How awful to even consider such a crass child's punishment as the default way that Sansa brought him to heel and worse that it was so terribly effective, saying numerous negative things about his character and resolve as a man. He tried to stand up and throw the cleaning pail out of the window a few times, but in the end he did not dare.

He would stand there, shaking with the fury of his own weakness, feeling almost enraged enough to act against his fear but ultimately impotent. As great as his shame and his rage over the whole of the affair was, he found that his reasoning mind was still more than conscionable of the fact that if he were to toss those things out…

She would then be forced to make an example of him, and likely to the whole of the court if he did something as openly public in his defiance as hurl objects out of his window into the courtyard. The idea of the greater shame in being made to suffer such very specific ridicule before the eyes of his peers again was dreaded even more than his current circumstance.

In the end in every single instance of his near-rebellion, he found himself setting the wash bucket back upon the floor and lowering himself with an awful sense of resignation to his knees on the floor, taking the cloth from the bucket and reapplying himself to the scrubbing of a mess that he had meant to be a lesson to another.

Eventually despite a great many hesitations and his overall disdain for the task at hand causing him to move as slowly as a cold snail, he finally finished the task of cleaning the mess he had made. He miserably retreated to his bed, feeling soiled by the fact that he had been made to commit to an act out of fear.

Given his own nature and predilection to forcing others to do things against their will for gain and amusement, Ramsay had a special insight into exactly what Sansa had done to him here, making the sting to his already ravaged pride that much greater. He had to wonder how much more of such treatment he could take.

He sat upon the mattress of the large double bed, pulling his knees to his chest and curling into himself in what anyone watching would be able to recognize as universal body language for a person feeling most miserable. Painted on his face was a deep, unhappy frown to match the rest of his pose as he thought on his plight.

He tried hard not to think on it, but where else could his mind go when he was literally being forced to stay within the confines of the bedroom? He couldn't take a walk to clear his head or find a book to distract himself in study, not that Ramsay had ever been an avid reader, but within these four walls all he had was contemplation.

The sound of footsteps outside finally interrupted his train of deeply self-pitying thoughts, but he did not find the change of atmosphere to be as welcome as he might have expected; Sansa's return to him today would not herald anything good for Ramsay. She had kept her promise and not harassed him the previous evening.

She had simply walked into the room and disrobed, putting on her nightwear and settling down to sleep for the evening. Not a word had passed between the two as Ramsay had quietly pretended to sleep, watching her through narrowed eyes. But now he was certain that they would have to become engrossed in a rather unpleasant conversation.

As the footsteps grew closer Ramsay could hear that there were two sets of feet involved, and his mouth twisted into an even deeper frown that bordered on a grimace. As the two entered the room he saw what he had expected; Sansa had her chambermaid in tow with her. He sat there as they approached, glaring at the bedding.

There were a few awkward moments of silence in which Sansa and her chambermaid simply stood before Ramsay, staring at him as he remained seated on the bed and tried not to look back at them. Occasionally he would glance up at Sansa, who stared at him evenly with an expression on her face that he could not read.

In those micro-moments in time he was pressed upon by a wonderment of whether or not she expected him to begin speaking and if so, what exactly it was that she wanted to hear him say. He wished he knew exactly what would suffice to her by way of this ridiculous apology, but it seemed that she was going to make him feel it out.

After the tense silence had continued well past the point of comfortability, Ramsay could only assume that Sansa expected him to say what he would right off, and he opened his mouth to speak. No sooner had he done so that Sansa spoke, "Ramsay here can barely make eye contact as you can see, nor will he rise to meet us."

Sansa glanced over to her chambermaid with a knowing expression and a confident nod, "He is ashamed of his behavior as I told you he would be." Ramsay flushed with heated energy of the negative sort, the worst kind in fact; there was nothing he could do with this awful shame in the situation he was in but to swallow it.

He could now only wonder at what things had been said to this servant woman about him, and it bothered him to no end despite trying to let it go. He told himself that this little old woman who emptied chamber pots for a living was inconsequential to him but he knew better; she was a servant in a castle.

If the other servants didn't already know what she did of him they would soon enough. Servants spread rumors faster than lords did, part of the reason why Ramsay had chosen to torment her in the first place; if she could be made to properly fear him then maybe the others would follow suit… but not now. No, now he would be a laughing stock.

It wouldn't just be the lords of the realm that gathered to mock him in hours of boredom, but even the scrubbers of filth and muckers of stables would mingle with the pure intent of taking humor in how low Sansa Stark had brought Ramsay Bolton… no… Ramsay Snow they would call him. At least, these are the thoughts that ran through Ramsay's head.

He could only see the worst sort of tormentor when he looked up into Sansa's face, with all the plots he could imagine and even the idea of grand plots beyond his ken seeming to be wheeling about in her eyes when she looked back at him with that smug, superior almost smile of hers. He was so caught up in this he almost didn't hear what Sansa was saying.

"I said; are you ready to tell her just how sorry you are, Ramsay, or am I going to have to remind you of how very sorry you are?" Ramsay stiffened at those words, glancing over to the chambermaid, whose name he didn't even know. Probably better to remain that way, he thought to himself, but had Sansa told her what motivated his 'shame'?

Regardless of whether or not she knew prior to this debacle, she would certainly know about it in greatest of detail if he continued to delay what Sansa was demanding of him, and not only did the idea of the current event turning into another awful lashing seem bad for that reason he thoroughly did not wish to anger the mistress of the keep into action for a multitude of other reasons.

He parted his lips again, half expecting Sansa to interject with another timed interruption, but she said nothing and he was left having to enunciate his poorly construed apology, "I… um… I have given the matter of my treatment to you before a lot of thought and decided that perhaps I did not treat you fairly…"

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest, her expression flat and obviously unimpressed, "You should probably start over; not only are you using the wrong words no one is about to accept such barely attempted false sincerity. Remember what I said would happen if your performance here was found unsuitable."

Ramsay felt his chest constrict even as his hands curled into fists at his sides. His mouth felt dry even though he wasn't thirsty, as if the notion of the words that had to play out over his tongue made that tongue into sandpaper in his mouth. He smiled in a false, tight way and began again, "I wish to ask your forgiveness for my behavior, as I know I have not acted in the best…"

She interrupted him yet again, "Still not good enough. You sound like you are trying to sell her stolen clothing in a back alley, and you are still no closer to using the right words." She walked over and picked up a familiar item; the brush that she had so recently used to braise the underside of his buttocks, with the carved image of a wolf on the back.

Ramsay went completely shock still at the sight of her taking it in hand, his breathing becoming unsteady and erratic in his own ears as his heart started to race in his chest. What the hell was she wanting him to say? Was there even anything he could say to make this end well for him? He chastised himself for thinking there might have been.

After all, how many times had Ramsay himself offered a scrap of hope like a dangling rope ever out of reach to his victims, just to mock them in the end for the futility of hoping? Was that what Sansa was doing now, just getting him to think that if he played by some sort of rules and was a good boy, he wouldn't still be punished?

But she had told him that she would make him like Reek, though, he told himself. She had promised that when she was done with him there would be little difference in the way that Ramsay obeyed her and how Reek had been trained by Ramsay to obey him. He had treated Reek well enough, mostly, when Reek had been obedient, because rewards were incentive…

He looked up at her as she crossed back over to stand above him and he sat there, his lower half covered by the blankets of the bed as he was prone to do since she had declared that he could no longer wear pants without threat of punishment, he was left torn with the notion of whether she was going to reward him for obedience or punish him for false hope.

"You are still wording yourself in the manner that does not nearly display the level of heartfelt regret and overwhelming humility that I promised her she would see tonight, which she will most definitely see here tonight. Do you think that I will not spank you again right here in front of her until your answers become more pleasing?"

Ramsay grimaced at her words, unable to make eye contact with her or the maid out of sheer humiliation, so instead glaring down at the sheets of the bed with an intense, focused stare, "I… I don't know what it is exactly that you want me to say…" he licked his lips, "…I am very sorry and shamed about what I did…"

Sansa frowned at his words, clearly still not pleased, "You obviously don't, since you are only repeating what I said." She swatted her other hand with the brush in a menacing manner as her eyes narrowed dangerously, "I'm not going to tell you what to do since that would be making it too easy for you to fake your way through this apology."

Ramsay's mouth opened and closed a few times as he was overwhelmed by a feeling of trapped helplessness. How was he supposed to put on a convincing show for Sansa if he wasn't aware of what she was looking for? Well, he supposed, that was probably the point… this whole thing was likely rigged to end with another degrading spanking no matter what he did…

The thought that he would have to endure another humiliation of that nature helped to spur him to try something degrading for the small chance of avoiding it; he would actually apologize. He shifted around under his blanket so that his knees were under him and bowed to the chambermaid, his jaw tight with restrained anger and shame.

"I was wrong to annoy you as I did… I was acting out like a child out of boredom…" he turned watery eyes towards the woman, doing his best to funnel the humiliation he felt in prostrating himself to a servant into a convincing apology, "… and I was punished like a child for it, so now I humble myself and ask for your forgiveness."

The servant woman seemed a bit taken aback by Ramsay's level of sincerity, putting a hand to her chest in a universal sign of surprise when exhibited by those who were not prone to the feeling, "Well… very well young man… I did not expect I would be saying this given your reputation, but for this more recent rudeness at least, I forgive you."

Ramsay felt a rush of relief at those words, unexpected relief; he had not expected that this surly old woman was going to say anything so positive despite his best performance. Sansa smiled and gave Ramsay a knowing look as she moved to set the brush back down where she had gotten it from. He felt his relief tarnished by the knowledge that Sansa still got to see this miserable display.

Sansa motioned to her chambermaid, "You are free to go, Ramsay has already cleaned up the mess he made and tidied the room as part of his apology. Take the rest of the day as consolation for the trouble he caused you in the interim." The servant curtsied in a manner to Sansa, "Thank you, mistress, have a pleasant evening."

She turned to leave and Sansa looked down at Ramsay, who was sitting back again against the headboard of the bed, the blanket still wrapped around his lower half. She licked her upper lip slowly with her tongue in a lewd manner, staring at Ramsay through slatted eyes, "Oh, I do intend to have a very pleasant evening."

Ramsay had always preferred bold women, and Sansa had proved herself to be the boldest, most headstrong woman he had ever known, but the sex appeal from this was always dampened by his knowledge that she wasn't thinking of fucking him when she made such lascivious comments, but that she was wanting to anally violate him.

She still called it fucking, of course, and she often told him that he should feel lucky that he was being fucked nightly by the lady of the house rather than being executed, but not in a million years did Ramsay ever think he would find it possible to conceive of himself as being 'lucky'; her ministrations were rape and they would always be rape.

Which of course made him wonder almost absently as she commanded him to exit his blankets and bare his ass so that she could 'get a good look at him', what were the other lords saying about him now? Had they allowed the name of Ramsay Bolton, or worse, Ramsay Snow slip into obscurity as boring news no one cared about?

Or, perhaps, he thought as he bent over nakedly to Sansa's instruction so that she could run her hands over him in that suggestive way that she did, perhaps those nobles still talked about him almost daily as a sort of amusement, trading stories of how he was routinely raped by a woman as a sort of lesson in how to be a fool?

Sansa distracted him from his thoughts by giving him a light slap across the bottom. He cried out in surprise from the suddenness of the sting, "Ah! What was that for?!" Sansa merely smiled down at him when he craned to look back at her, "I was just being playful… besides, I don't need a reason to do it; you are mine, and I can do with you what I like."

Ramsay's face flushed at that comment and he turned back to face the bedding again, not wanting her to see how ruffled her words made him but certain that she knew anyways, "I… I'm doing what you said… please don't hit me." Sansa chuckled at his words, continuing to massage his ass in a lewd manner, "I rather like it when you say please."

Ramsay's jaw worked but he said nothing, because there was nothing he could say that would help, and nothing he dared to say that wouldn't. She shoved his upper torso down and he felt her climb on the bed behind him. He knew she hadn't put her device back on, but she still seemed to enjoy humping at him this way, as if testing him out before going for a ride.

Ramsay lowered his head until it rested on the sheets of the bedding, closing his eyes and wondering if he would ever again know anything other than fear, degradation and self-loathing. Because at the rate that she was going, Ramsay was starting to question how close to being like Reek he had come. After all, he was doing everything she told him to now…