I own nothing
"Yes, something in green as well. Make sure the neck-collar is high enough and that sleeves and hem are long enough, so her bonds won't show." Sansa instructed Brella with the last specification for Margaery's new wardrobe before dismissing her handmaid, reclining in her chair.
The day had progressed, to her surprise, rather normally, since Tyrion and her had, for the first time, made use of Margaery talented tongue that morning. They had eaten leisurely before Tyrion had been forced to retreat to his solar, fulfilling the duties as Master of Coins, he hated so much. Sansa meanwhile had been able to have a quick bath, having Brella take care of her hair and then dressing appropriately, Margaery had tend to herself.
Now her slave was standing before her, her slender but shapely figure covered by one of Sansa's old gowns again. Margaery might have been older than Sansa, but not as tall. Letting the observation go through her head she mustered Margaery, taking a sip of her wine.
"You don't look very happy with my wardrobe decisions for you." Sansa noted, pondering her decision once again to have Margaery tailor rather conservative gowns, in contrast to her former wardrobe. "Speak up!"
"I would prefer something less … confining." Margaery raised her head a little, avoiding Sansa's eyes.
"I see" Sansa found the entire situation rather enjoyable, how uncomfortable Margaery was with the norms of westerosi fashion. She was however a little bit scared how fast she, and Tyrion as well, had apparently progressed into slavers so quickly. Yet, after the morning there was no way back, not that they wished it. Sansa smiled and Margaery, she said grandiloquent: "Nevertheless, luckily I am the one dressing you now" Like a puppet. Who knew I would enjoy playing with one again. "More important, I don't want everybody to stare at your metal when we are outside" Sansa explained her property, feeling the rush of power in her again.
"Of course Mistress" Margaery replied, blinking gradually.
Sansa couldn't make sense of Margaery. She had adored the older girl, when she had come to the city, had wanted to be her friend. That had been, of course, before she had shown her disregard for Sansa on her wedding day. Now, Margaery, intelligent and shroud Margaery, was a willing slave to her and her husband. She had shown her willingness, serving all desires of them. She didn't even know, that Tyrion and Sansa had decided, or better Sansa had denied her permission yet, for her to be penetrated in her other orifices by Tyrion. Sansa wasn't sure she wanted him to enter her like this, he complied without complaining.
"Do you enjoy it?" Sansa asked, her curiosity taking the better of her. "Being our slave, I mean?" She mustered Margaery thorough, she was looking lost for an answer. "I know it arouses you, but is there more?" Sansa specified, her facial expression kept neutral. Her slave finally looked at her, hesitantly opening and closing her mouth. Sansa waited patiently, swirling her cup, pulling one of her legs over the other.
"I think so, Mistress" Margaery replied weakly, clearly unsure. "It is … different."
"Aha" Sansa was tempted to ask what she meant with 'different', instead she commented playfully: "You know, you can also address me with 'My Lady'. Just to get some variation. The monotony bores me."
"Yes my Lady" Margaery responded immediately. Sansa could have sworn to see a small grin on the other's face.
Disregarding that, Sansa thought about what to do next.
"Bring me my cloak and boots." Sansa ordered resolute. "And find yourself something similar. I will go to the Godswood. And you will accompany me" And Pod. Sansa added in her mind, not unaware of Tyrion letting his squire behind for protection, trusting him more than Ser Bronn.
Margaery hurried to follow her orders, disappearing in the bedchamber, letting Sansa alone. She used the time to muse in her mind. She hadn't visited the Godswood in some days now, too occupied with her daily life. However she felt an urge to pray to the old Gods, about what had happened, assuming the Seven wouldn't have brought Margaery to them, but rather the old Gods, for some reason.
Margaery returned swiftly, one of Sansa's old cloaks around her shoulders, not hiding her collar as well as Sansa would have liked, a pair of old boots on her feet and Sansa's best leather boots in her hands, together with her cloak.
Unasked Margaery knelt in front of Sansa, beginning to remove her shoes from her feet. The cloak she was wearing part, giving Sansa a good look on her cleavage. Wordlessly Sansa allowed Margaery to remove her shoes and put her boots on, enjoying the view.
A sudden devilish idea appeared in her mind, watching Margaery on her knees before her. Sansa's hands and chest filled with tension.
"Would you kiss them?" She asked curiously, wiggling her booted foot in front of Margaery's face, observing her thoroughly. She had no idea from where the idea came, but it made her fussy.
The excitement grew in Sansa as soon as she observed how Margaery brought her lips down on the tip of her boot, lingering with her pink lips on the light leather. Sansa's inside tingled, her face gracing a wide grin.
"Now lick." She ordered huskily, a wolfish expression on her face, her eyes darkening with delight.
Margaery said no word of protest. Darting her tiny tongue out, she licked up and down Sansa's boot. She went on methodically, from the tip up to the beginning of the shaft, back down to the tip, paying special attention to the tongue of the boot. Sansa watched how she then worked her way up the shaft of her boot towards the rim, nuzzling at the junction between leather and Sansa's skin before guiding her tongue back down.
Sansa felt herself moisten by the sight, the feeling of power heightening her arousal. She would have to stop soon, before she couldn't control herself anymore.
"Now the other one" She commanded, removing one foot from Margaery's face, procuring a astonishing, small whimper from her before reaching out with the other boot. She had decided to make it an exercise of self-control, - for herself. Sansa knew she couldn't have Margaery pleasure her physical whenever she felt the need, without losing the control over the situation eventually. So she let her slave give her boot the same attention than the other, watching with growing lust.
When she couldn't watch anymore, feeling how she was losing control, Sansa ripped her boot out of Margaery's grasp, raising from her chair. She took her cloak and pulled it over her shoulders, walking towards the door. Sansa turned back to Margaery, still kneeling on the floor:
"Come, slave."
-##-
Sansa returned to the chambers in the late afternoon, Margaery trailing behind her. Several hours she had spent praying. First she had gone to the Godswood. Bathed in the autumn sun Sansa had prayed to the gods of her father, fulfilling her need to thank them for the weird turn her life had taken. She prayed the path, she was on, would not guide her into another horrible faith. While she had prayed, Margaery had silently knelt behind her in the grass, not moving.
Afterwards Sansa had decided to also pay the Seven her respect, fearing she could displease them. Once again her slave had followed her obediently, the stains of the Godswood's grass visible on her gown. Sansa had noticed how the people of the court had starred, passing them, chuckling behind her back.
They think Tyrion makes me walk his concubine Sansa had realised soon. She had chuckled silently by the thought. But how should all of them know what was really going on in Tyrion's and her bed. They wouldn't chuckle then, Sansa was certain, but dying of envy, all of them.
They had crossed path with a few Tyrell lieges near the castle Sept, however, Margaery hadn't left Sansa's side or tried to hide. Without hesitation she had passed them. Sansa found her behaviour still fascinating, how she had been able to transform so seamlessly into her new state of existence, as if she had never been someone else. Sansa had vowed to get to the bottom of the enigma Margaery presented – but not soon. For now Sansa wanted to know how far she could go with her doll.
In the Sept Sansa had quickly lightened candles at the respective altars, making her prayer to the Mother. This time Margaery had stood behind her, not kneeling, but waiting in a shadowy corner of the Sept. Sansa hadn't minded, she had been aware of the nasty glances the Septon and the Septas had shoot her.
Now, finally back in her chambers, Sansa glided down on one of the cushioned armchairs near the enlightened fireplace. Sighing gratified she took a cup of the table between the chairs, filling it with wine. Holding the cold golden cup at her lips she observed Margaery over the rim, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Change my shoes" Sansa ordered, training her tone to be as authoritative as her little husband's, before she took a sip of her wine. Her eyes monitored Margaery's movements through the room. The older girl brought Sansa's house shoes and knelt down at her feet, carefully removing the boots from her feet, replacing them with the house shoes. This time Sansa didn't order her to lick the shoes, instead a host of wicked ideas marched in her head.
"Must be Tyrion's influence" She muttered to herself, hiding her smirk with anther sip of wine. She wanted to play a bit with her doll, testing the limits of the woman.
With her free hand she gestured Margaery to stand up. Sansa leaned back in her chair, letting the cup in her other hand swirl slowly, crossing her legs. Sansa's Tully-blue eyes beheld Margaery for a while, like a Shewolf stalking her prey. The girl was very beautiful, her body slender yet shapely, combined with unblemished skin and very pretty lightly curled brown hair, fitting her eyes.
"Strip!" Sansa commanded slowly, observing Margaery's reaction closely. Her slave followed her order without hesitation, her facial expression not changing, remaining a neutral, not pained mystery for Sansa.
After the boots were removed from her feet and she had stepped out of the gown pooling around her feet, Sansa mustered Margaery thorough for a second time. Her skin was indeed, unblemished. Sansa regarded her up and down, finding particular liking in Margaery's shackles. What she had regarded as atrocious not two complete days before, now found Sansa's appreciation. Margaery looked good in her bounds.
Sansa took another sip of her wine, whereas her curiosity was further seduced by the space between Margaery's legs.
Sansa gestured her slave to come closer with her free hand. Margaery obediently followed the unspoken command by stepping a pace closer. Sansa, however, wasn't satisfied and urged her closer again. This time Margaery hesitated, if only for a moment, before stepping closer. For Sansa she was still out of reach, so she pointed at the space before the armrest of her free hand, observing her property sharply.
Margaery hesitated again, again only for a moment, spiking Sansa's interest, before she finally stepped on her assigned place, bringing her crotch on level with Sansa's eyes for a closer inspection.
Sansa beheld her folds critically: The skin around her womanhood, as well as her legs were free of any sight of hair. She knew, out of her own experience, that shouldn't be. She glanced up quizzically in the older girl's lightly blushed face, before fixing the object of her interest again. Tentatively Sansa reached out with her free hand, slowly grazing her fingertips over the smooth skin around Margaery's entrance.
"What is the meaning of this?" Sansa asked dreamily, letting her fingers wander over the velvet skin, fascinated by the oddity.
"A custom of Lys my Lady." Margaery answered timid, Sansa detected a light tremor when her fingers went close to the girl's folds.
"Mhm" Sansa murmured, silently demanding the girl to elaborate with a glance, before returning to her explorations.
"All the body's hair is removed. Except for the one on the head." Margaery explained, her breath coming shorter. "It is done with hot wax, to rip the hair out of the body, to make the skin smooth."
"Indeed" Sansa commented absently, moving her hand to push Margaery's arm away casually so she could look upwards to her armpit, finding it hairless. She then returned to let her fingers wander over the woman's thighs, gliding over the skin as if over silk. "It must be painful" She observed, gazing in Margaery's face, hardening her voice: "You did that for Joffrey?"
"Yes, Mistress." Margaery's voice trembled, she averted her eyes out of Sansa's reach, her arms twitching nervously.
"I like it." Sansa remarked encouraging, changing her tone deliberately. "You will continue doing so. Ensure there won't be stubbles."
"Yes my Lady." Margaery sounded relieved, her body relaxed under Sansa's fingertips. Sansa however brought her hands back up to Margaery's folds, making it a habit to scratch the sensitive flesh during the circles her fingers wandered.
Sansa observed how her slave's walls started to glister with moisture, hearing amused how her ministrations yielding a whimper out of Margaery. Sansa slightly dipped her fingertips in the hot, wet hole, making Margaery moan wantonly.
Feeling cruel however, Sansa retreated from her victim, leaning back in her chair, taking a sip of wine, observing Margaery quivering. The sight aroused Sansa, filling her again with an unholy desire and feeling of power. The rush reached a new high when her eyes fell on a certain item on a nearby table, bringing forth a wicked idea.
"Go to the table" Sansa ordered, much more maliciously than she had thought herself capable of, her belly tingling anticipating. She thought her idea could be fun.
Margaery glanced over her shoulder to the table Sansa had pointed at. Confused she looked back at Sansa quizzically. Sansa shot her a warning glare, fully aware that she wouldn't be able to do anything, if Margaery would refuse. Sansa knew the only threat she hold over the girl was to tell Tyrion. She alone was not able to overpower Margaery with certainty.
Luckily there was no need to test any of that. A moment later Margaery obeyed freely, walking over to the table and turned to look at Sansa. Taking her time, Sansa placed her cup on the table besides her, raising out of the chair unhurried. She walked over to her slave, a sweet smile on her face when gesturing the girl to turn around. – Margaery submitted.
Sansa came up behind Margaery, laying her right hand between her shoulders, not pressing down. She used her foot to push the naked feet of her girl apart, exposing the vulnerable parts. Margaery responded by pushing her rear out, offering Sansa easy access.
However, Sansa had something different in mind. She reached out with her other hand, wrapping her fingers around a thin white candle on the table. She took it out of the chandelier making sure Margaery would see the item of wickedness. The slave's breath hitched slightly. She turned her head, starring at Sansa wide eyed.
Sansa smiled at her, indicating her to turn her head back. She detected a hint of fear in Margaery's eyes, but when she turned her head away without further protest Sansa proceeded, slowly guiding the candle between the smooth legs. She let the stick rest under Margaery's folds, before pushing it up lightly between her lower lips. She was careful, not applying to much pressure in fear the candle could break. Sansa let the candle slide over her slave's walls for a few time, making Margaery moan lasciviously. The scenario caused her own smallclothes to dampen with arousal and she was considering to end what she was doing to bring Margaery's mouth to work on her instead.
Sansa decided differently, her curiosity of how the situation would unfold bigger than her current needs.
Grinning widely Sansa finally realigned the candle stick, invading Margaery with the thicker end first. The girl cried out huskily, her hands grabbing the table. Sansa ignored her, moving the candle inside her. Margaery moaned loudly, her upper body slowly bending over the table.
"Oh, no" Sansa exclaimed sharp, her right hand gripping the girl's collar. It was a tight fit, but Sansa pushed her fingers between Margaery's throat and the silver metal, yanking her back in an upright position. She brought Margaery's head close to hers, hearing the girl gasp for air.
However, after making sure she hadn't cut off the woman's air supply fully, Sansa sped up her other hand. The candle stick moving in and out the gasping slave, Sansa holding on to the collar tightly.
-##-
Tyrion felt a certain anticipation, making his way back to his chambers. He hadn't really been able to concentrate on his work today. Not that he had ever much enjoyed his tasks as Master of Coins. He found the juggling of numbers, trying to make sense out of Littlefinger's accounts rather dull. For Tyrion the work felt demeaning, he had been Hand of the King, and now, he was a glorified scribe.
However, the natural associated dullness of his appointment hadn't been the reason for Tyrion's difficulties today. It rather had been his cock. – Or better his wicked mind, replaying the events of the last days, making his cock painfully hard.
The developments, shady as they were, enticed Tyrion. He was surely the luckiest dwarf in the world right now. Not only had he a beautiful, intelligent wife, who, against every odd, the Gods had given them, had formed a bond with him. He now felt a real chance for happiness and normality for the first time.
No. – He also unexpectedly had an oddly willing pleasure slave, - ignoring the situation with his nephew of course – And to top it all he hadn't even a need to hide her from his wife, no, his wife took part, relished, the situation.
Tyrion still wasn't sure if he was dreaming a very strange, long dream. But no, he would have never even dared to dream watching little, chaste Sansa Stark getting pleasured by a collared Margaery Tyrell. – The Gods had certainly humour.
Tyrion sped up his pace, his mind wandering towards his wife, waiting in their chambers for him, perhaps entertaining herself with Margaery. He couldn't exclude the possibility, he realised with a grin. She had no idea he had ended his work so much earlier today than usual. He hoped he could catch her, confirming that she hadn't just played along the previous days. He was fairly certain she had had not, but an Imp should always be suspicious of his luck, he had learned that the hard way.
In close proximity to the chamber door, Tyrion dismissed Pod, who stood guard at the door, with a gesture of his hand. He followed the boy with a short glance over his shoulder. Tyrion feared Pod could lose something, if he saw dear Margaery in a compromising position. His cock could grow and poke one of his always downcast eyes out. Tyrion owed it to the boy not to let that happen.
Alone, Tyrion didn't open the door immediately, but laid an ear on the door, listening attentively. He could hear slight moans and gasps from the other side of the door, a lecherous grin forming on his face. Feeling a bit like a boy waiting to go into a whorehouse for the first time, Tyrion pushed the door open, strolling inside like on any other day. – He froze where he stood by the sight offered to him, the sound, of the door falling shut, behind him, mixed with the gasps and moans.
Tyrion beheld Sansa, standing behind Margaery's naked form. The slave was pressed at a table, legs spread, her back arched. Tyrion observed how one of Sansa's hands moved between Margaery's legs, while the other held on tightly to the older girl's collar. Margaery's face was purple, she was gasping for air between moans. Tyrion looked up to Sansa, her face framed by her auburn hair, he saw a grin under her glinting eyes. Her facial expression made his heart leap, she looked stunning. Tyrion felt his breeches tighten again.
"Oh, Tyrion" Sansa noticed him surprised, she let go of Margaery, her hands moving to her side turning to him. "You are early." Margaery collapsed on the table, panting heavily. Sansa smiled at him, making Tyrion ignore the other girl further. However his curiosity got the better of him and his eyes glanced to their slave. He took a sharp breath, finding a white candle stick locked inside the other girl, sticking out of her folds where Sansa had let it.
"I couldn't wait to see you again" Tyrion flattered his wife, finding his composure back. He walked over to Sansa, his eyes ripped from the candle back to his wife. He took one of her hands, kissing it gently. Grinning upwards he asked playfully: "And what are you doing?"
"I am playing with Margaery" Sansa replied innocently, however Tyrion detected a slight blush on her cheeks. To his eternal happiness Sansa lowered herself to his level, kissing him gently, locking her eyes with his. She then asked uncertain: "Are you angry?"
"Why would I?" He replied, fearing his grin would now be permanent, his lust heating him up. "Please, don't feel disturbed by me."
Tyrion stepped back, giving his wife enough space. He couldn't wipe away his grin, watching her returning behind Margaery. She took her by the collar again, this time Tyrion noticed only using three fingers. However, Tyrion could still see their slave gasping for air again when Sansa pulled her upright, continuing to use her other hand to move the candlestick.
Tyrion watched open mouthed, fascinated by the spectacle. Sansa took complete control over Margaery. The appealing sight crippled Tyrion's ability to think. What he saw, combined with the moans and desperate gasps, united with the scent of Margaery's arousal filling the room, overloaded his senses. He couldn't even call attention to that he feared Sansa could choke Margaery to death. But what did he truly care? – If it made Sansa happy.
It didn't take long for Margaery's body to spasm under what seemed to be a powerful orgasm. Tyrion watched closely, how his smirking wife pulled the trembling girl's head close to hers, whispering something in her ear, all that while she cried out loudly.
Afterwards Sansa let go of Margaery, letting her collapse on the table again. Tyrion could clearly see the exhaustion in the girl's, once again purple, face, her eyes closing slowly, small tears flowing down her cheeks. He continued to watch Sansa removing a glistering candle stick from the slave's body, mustering it in her hand before tossing it on the table next to Margaery.
Finally Sansa's attention fell back to Tyrion, her eyes finding his. He could see how amused she was, she was visibly glowing vivid. Tyrion chuckled, turning to get them some wine from the table between the armchairs. He filled two cups, holding one out for Sansa, watching her coming to him gracefully. She thanked him wordlessly for the cup, letting herself glide in her armchair.
Tyrion climbed in the chair besides her, toasting her with his cup before taking a huge gulp. He sighed at the sight of their slave, so collapsed over the table she appeared sleeping.
"That was fun" Sansa commented absently, a quick glance to his side told Tyrion she was also observing their victim.
"You nearly strangled her to death" Tyrion chuckled, taking another gulp, resting his head back.
"No I did not" Sansa exclaimed, slapping him lightly on the arm, fixing him with a glare. "I was careful."
"Your expertise surprises me my Lady" Tyrion teased her a bit, grinning up at her face. "Where did you learn not to choke a woman to death?"
"Pfff" Sansa blew out a breath, not answering him, but taking a sip of her cup, averting her eyes back to Margaery.
"What did you whisper in her ear?" Tyrion asked curios, forgoing his former question. She most likely choked my sweet sister in her dreams.
"Nothing" Sansa avoided his question, blushing again. Tyrion found great liking in the situation. He thought about pressing the question further, however thought different of it. He had no wish to sleep on the armchair tonight if he made her angry.
"Did you do other fun things today too?" Tyrion interrogated her cheekily, wanting to know more of her activities and simultaneously relinquished his earlier question.
"Oh yes" Sansa answered ominous not elaborating further. "But I must say I just try out what comes in my mind"
"A much filthier one than I thought" He chuckled again, this time taking her hand, letting his fingers wander over her bones. "Not that I am complaining"
"You have a bad influence on me. That is all" Sansa responded, her fingers entangling with his. "What do you want to do with her now?"
"I have very usual thoughts my love" Tyrion looked up to her for a sign of disapproval. "However, I can come up with a few depraved ideas as well. But for now, maybe we should let her rest. For the rest of the day at least."
"Yes" Sansa put her cup aside turning in her chair to face him completely. "I have the feeling we are doing it wrong."
"You mean we wouldn't try to tame a wild horse by ourselves, no matter how mild it is?" Tyrion turned to her as well, smiling. "We would take counsel from a professional."
"Something like that." Sansa averted her eyes. "What if we ruin it?"
"So perhaps we should enlist the help of a professional?" Tyrion suggested. "A slaver from the Free Cities. I am sure we will find one under the merchants, even without slaves. Someone like that could provide us with some advice – and maybe even equipment."
"Sounds good" Sansa laid her head on his shoulder, both of them watching their property sleep.
"I will have Bronn search one tomorrow"