Here's part 2! I hope you all enjoy! :D
Sandor had been astonished when he first saw the little bird in the Vale after all those years. While the girl he had known in King's Landing had been undeniably beautiful, the woman she had become was somehow even more breathtaking. She'd changed, was taller, curvier, more confident… and those tits, Seven Hells, how he had longed to touch them. Thus this morning, Sandor did not resist when the impulse came. The temptation was too great. He would only brush them with his fingers, he told himself. A foolish decision if ever there was one. They felt too perfect in his hand for him to keep himself in check. Without realising it, his touch grew more insistent in a question of seconds.
"Aah" he heard her moan even as he was playing with her hard little buds
His heart jumping in his chest, Sandor halted in both his exploration of her tits and the stroking of his cock, feeling the girl's frame grow stiff against him. Wincing, he propped himself up on his elbow and flipped her on her back to see that she was wide awake, her eyes large and round.
"Shit," he rasped, looking down at her with eyes just as wide.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, but then Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. "Little bird... for how long have you been awake?"
She opened her mouth as if to speak, yet didn't utter a word. Her cheeks and chest had taken the same colouring as her pretty red hair and she looked shamefaced, same as a child who'd just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
Sandor snorted dryly. "Long enough to realise what I was doing, I wager," he filled in for he, a sneer twisting his lips. "And yet, you didn't say a word to stop me… Why?"
Clearly at a lost, Sansa hesitated for an instant. "I… I wasn't sure of... of what was going on at first," she breathed.
Sandor almost laughed at that. "For the fist few bloody seconds perhaps. It escaladed pretty quickly: maid or not, you're not so innocent as to not have understood what I was up to." He grew silent then, all too aware of the way she laid just under him and of how their skins touched his in places. It would be so easy to lower himself over her and resume touching her everywhere… "Were you scared?" he asked instead.
"A little," Sansa admitted in a murmur, but the guilty spark that passed in her eyes before she averted them said otherwise.
That gave Sandor pause. For a quiet instant, he studied her, feeling the hardness of his cock twitch between them. What if she's not scared at all, dog? What if she enjoyed your attention and has just been too bloody well raised to admit it? It was probably preposterous of him to even consider a highborn lady like her could take any sort of pleasure to being humped on the arse by her ugly old dog, yet in his state of arousal, Sandor simply couldn't think clearly anymore. No matter how absurd it may be, the idea was too appealing to discount.
"Did you like it?" he asked lowly, his voice more gravelly than ever. Even to his ear, he sounded like a starved man.
Sansa gazed up at him in surprise, her chest heaving and mouth agape, but didn't answer.
"You did, didn't you? You're just too damned proper to say it," he whispered, a small smirk spreading on his lips. "Doesn't matter. I'll keep at it then. Unless you tell me you don't want me to, that is. I'd obey, of course, and you know it. I'm but your loyal dog, I told you as much before we've left the Vale."
With that, he gathered a handful of furs and covers and threw them all away. The girl squeaked in surprise and then, groaned when he circled her breasts with his hands and took one stiff nipple in his mouth.
The Hound's words kept replaying in Sansa's mind. He told me he would stop this nonsense if I only asked, she reminded herself, over and over again. While it may seem strange seeing the liberties he had taken already with her, she did trust he would do as he had said, that he would not continue if she only spoke up. So why was she not asking him, no, ordering him to stop? She wanted to do it, truly did, yet the words stayed stuck in her throat and all that escaped her lips were moans, whimpers and gasps.
His mouth was so good on her, his touch unexpectedly gentle... Sansa had always known men were attracted by a woman's breasts; she'd seen countless knights and men-at-arms grope serving women over the years when they thought she wasn't looking or were too drunk to care, however, that such caresses could be enjoyable for a woman came as a surprise to her. There was no denying it though, it was intoxicating even. Her nipples were so sensitive and with Sandor's ministration, ripples of bliss were sent down her loins. She was curious about those feelings she had, no matter how inappropriate this was, and that was probably what kept her from uttering a word of protest.
Both of Sandor's hands were on her breasts, moulding them just firmly enough even as his greedy mouth sucked at her nipples. He was balancing his weight on his elbow, his muscled body brushing against hers and his very big and hard member touching her thigh. Then after a time, the Hound lowered his head and moved away from her, his wet mouth trailing down her stomach. With strong hands, he started to open her legs, but Sansa clenched them close.
"Don't!" she let out in sudden fear. She tried to twist away from him, yet his hold on her was too firm.
"Little bird, don't be afraid," Sandor whispered to her, his voice so very raw. Staring at her from the end of the bed where he kneeled, he was panting like the dog he claimed he was, his hands still on her knees. His scars looked gruesome in the wan morning light, Sansa noticed, yet she had grown used to them by now. Once, very long ago, she had even touched them with her hand even as green flames rose in the night sky. "I'll not take your maidenhead. I promise I won't," he added , the word calm yet urgent. "I just want to... to have a taste of you . I'll leave you intact, as if you had never been touched, you have my word on that." He waited in silence for her to speak, his eyes both wild and pleading.
To have a taste of me? Sansa repeated inwardly. Randa had told her about a thing men could do to women with their mouth to pleasure them. Would he really… really dothat to her? The pressure in her lower belly increased at the thought and her pulse hastened.
Having probably read her silence as a 'yes', Sandor readjusted the hold he had on her knees and parted her legs. This time, Sansa barely resisted.
A grunt escaped the Hound's lips as his stare fell on the red curls that grew at the juncture of her thighs. Sansa was mortified, yet a part of her was fascinated by the strange gleam she saw in his eyes. That her body could put him in such a state was sort of… what?Thrilling ?
Bowing over her, Sandor approached his face to her most private part, his lips and tongue delicately caressing the inside of her folds just as soon. Sansa gasped and shook, yet the man circled her thighs with his hands to keep her well in place before his mouth.
Sansa could barely believe what was happening. While at the Eyrie, she had often tried to picture how it would feel to be kissed by the Hound again if they were ever to be reunited. Never would she have dared imagine that while they would indeed cross path eventually, his next kiss would be not on her lips but on her lady's part.
This was so base, it ought to repulse her. He was acting the dog indeed, lapping at her so very eagerly, like she was some sort of delicacy, something to be savoured lengthily. Having his head between her thighs was unbelievingly odd. Sansa did her best not to glance down at him for fear that she might meet his gaze. I should tell him to stop, she thought even as pleasant shivers ran up and down her abdomen like the warm currents of an ocean. Once again though, the sole sounds that came out of her mouth were moans.
Sandor had never tasted anything more delicious than the little bird's virgin little cunt. And the sounds she made, by the buggering Others, it was driving him mad with lust. He'd dreamt of her in his bed for longer than he cared to admit, had always craved to claim her as his, and while this was not everything he had wanted, it was certainly far more than he deserved.
He'd promised to leave her a maiden and he would not betray her on that. Although Sandor wanted nothing more than to dip his forefinger deeply in her, he resisted. Even with his tongue he did not dare enter that sweet cleft of hers. All he did was flip it over her folds and that small nub of flesh women took their pleasure from. He would not ask more of her. It was enough that she had not kicked him out of bed from the moment she'd caught him fucking his hand and groping her. No incredibly instead, she had allowed him to stay and continue, though her agreement had been implicit at best. But she has not told you to stop, dog. She has not, he repeated to himself.
Sandor would not waste his luck, nor would he give her a chance to change her mind. He needed to make her know ecstasy, to keep her dizzy and breathless and confused until she reached completion and then perhaps that, if he was lucky, she would have enjoyed it so much that she would want him to service her that way again.
The idea was certainly ludicrous - Sandor would have sneered at himself for considering such a thing in any other circumstances - yet now that he had her wiggling under his hands, that his face was buried between her legs, the fantasy didn't seem so farfetched. How perfect would his life be if he could be both the little bird's sworn shield and bed warmer... A real dream come true . The girl would never need to touch him herself. Sandor would not ask that of her, not that it'd be his place anyway. Even if she only ever allowed him to sleep on the floor by her bed, he would not complain and still readily kneel before her whenever she commanded it.
To Sandor's utter pride, all of his efforts seemed to pay off. The little bird was breathing hard, mewing and squirming with each of his meticulous caresses. His forearm flat on the mattress, bearing his weight, he was busy massaging her breasts with his free hand, his tongue incessantly swirling around her sensitive little nub. In all of that though, his throbbing cock was left unattended and he had no choice but to thrust it against the bedroll as best he could in order to alleviate some of his unbearable tension. Yet it didn't matter one bit to him. He would take care of himself later on.
Lowering the hand he had on her perfect, rounded tits, Sandor brought it over her mound and removed his mouth from her. The little bird uttered a small noise, of complaint at his withdrawal he hoped, yet he quickly replaced it with his thumb, moving it in slow yet steady circles. His stare fixed on his task, he listened as her cries grew louder, throatier. Seven Hells... she loves it, he thought headily.
Her folds were slick, so very slick, and his thumb and forefinger slid over her as he kept teasing her sweet pearl. Sandor wanted nothing more than to fuck her with his tongue. He couldn't very well break her maidenhead with it, could he? Gods, he was so clueless where maidens were concerned, he didn't want to risk it. Yet another idea came to him as he gazed down her pink cunt, so prettily opened before him, and glimpsed what lay just under. In a fit of burning hot desire, Sandor lifted her hips slightly with a hand under her upper thigh and licked her between the arse cheeks, his cock twitching under him.
He had time for just a couple of flips of his tongue, his thumb and forefinger never leaving her nub, before Sansa stirred and whined in protest. "Sandor! No!"
Sandor didn't want to test her limits. What if she asked him to stop altogether? It was enough that she was tolerating this. "As you wish, little bird," he said, his voice no more than a raspy murmur. Obediently, he lowered her onto the bedroll, his mouth back on her cunt just as soon.
As the Hound resumed his ministrations, Sansa tried to chase the thought of what he had just done from her mind. His misplaced fervour was embarrassing: what appeal could find to that part of her? He was such a beast, no better than an animal! Yet for all of that, his fingers, tongue and lips were doing such wonders to her that it was easy not to dwell on it - so long as he didn't try it again.
To be fair, that he stopped was even the last thing she wanted. If she had not been so well-bred, she might have gone as far as to beg him to go on. Yet instead, she clutched at the bedroll and let out groans and other meaningless sounds. While pleasurable, touching herself as she had sometimes done at night while at the Vale had never brought Sansa such elation. She felt as if she was just on the edge of something, something she yearned to plunge in head first. Would Sandor bring her to her climax , as Randa called it? Sansa certainly hoped so. From what she was experiencing already, it promised to be beyond exhilarating.
And then suddenly, it hit her so hard, she lost control of herself completely. Sansa cried out in a voice so raw and wanton, it didn't sound like hers at all. She ought to be ashamed, she knew, yet at the time being, she couldn't find it in her to care. There was no stopping her from living the moment fully.
After her peak had subsided, Sansa was left totally exhausted, disoriented and giddy. Her chest heaving, she watched as Sandor rose to his knees. He was holding his member in hand, stroking it vigorously, and gazing down at her with the eyes of a madman. Sansa had not gotten to see his manhood so far, only felt it against her, and her eyes widened at the sight. Seven Heavens , she mused.
As she gradually came back to her senses, Sansa grew aware of the unseemly position she was in. Her legs were still wide open, her swollen and moist folds exposed to the Hound's eyes, same as if she had no shame. But she did. While the man had had his mouth on her mere instants before, she couldn't bear his gaze anymore and went to close her thighs.
Sandor stopped her with a hand on her knee. "Don't... let me look at it while I finish," he said as softly as his rough voice allowed and for some reason, Sansa didn't have in her to refuse him. Her eyes still on him, she opened her thighs wide again.
It was a scary sight that of that beast of a man, naked as on his name day, taking his pleasure as he loomed over her. His manhood was as threatening as any deadly weapon, his body huge and hairy... And Sansa was sort of scared indeed, scared and breathless and confused, but still, there was that throbbing in her core that did not seem to want to go away…
He was frantic now; sweat beading on his skin even as his fist moved faster and faster, his stare never leaving her woman's place. With the tips of his fingers, he was touching lightly at her lower lips, parting them faintly. Then bowing over her, he brushed her folds with the head of his manhood and let it slide against her sensitive flesh a few times. The sensation made Sansa moan again and she threw her head back, knowing fully well she ought to be frightened to have him rub his very manhood so near her precious maidenhead. With no more than a little thrust of his hips, he could enter her with his shaft and turn her purity in naught but history in the blink of an eye. Before she had time to really think it through and attempt to push him away though, he grunted, his features contorting. Lowering himself urgently over her, he brought his member to her lower belly and spilled his seed on it in long, sticky white drops even as he groaned loudly.
"Little bird," he breathed before letting himself fall heavily by her side
Nothing had ever been as beautiful to Sandor as Sansa bloody Stark , nude in front of him with her legs wide open, her pretty pink cunt glistening with her own juice. She came, he thought in amazement. You made her come, you dirty old dog.
Sandor had spilled his semen on her stomach, only inches from her mound. For a crazy moment, he had considered spilling it directly on her folds, but he had thought better of it, thankfully. He was not her husband, only her shield, her servant. I'll serve her well, do whatever she asks... Sandor mused as he lay by her side, catching his breath. There was only hoping that she would want to be served that way again. She didn't ask me to stop, not even once. And she even came... he repeated to himself. That had to be a good sign.
Shacking himself, Sandor sat up at on the side of the pallet and found some random garb on the floor. He used it to rub the girl's belly clean and then, tossed the covers and furs back onto the pallet. The little bird seized them at once and covered herself. Sandor glanced at her face, his heart dropping when he saw how troubled she looked.
"Little bird... Sansa, is everything alright?" he asked, trying to keep the genuine worry he felt from showing in his voice.
Sansa was lying on her back and she had pulled the covers up to her chin. Her stare was fixed to the ceiling, but when he spoke, she gazed down at him and nodded, a wan little smile curving her lips. "Sandor... you're such a brute. What am I to do with you?" she said, her brow knitted in despair.
Sandor's mouth twitched as he tried to figure if this was a true reproach or if she was teasing him. "It's for you to decide, little bird. I'll do whatever you ask," he rasped, echoing his previous thought. Shifting in his position on the pallet, he twisted his torso towards her to better face her.
"Really?" she asked, clearly unconvinced, before rolling her eyes in the most unladylike manner. "You don't seem very docile to me. I fear I may struggle with you as my shield if you keep taking such liberties with me. A dog is not supposed to lay his claim on his mistress!"
Snorting, Sandor tilted his head to the side. "But I didn't do that, little bird. I'd say I did pretty much the bloody opposite in fact."
"Oh and what is that?" she asked.
"I showed you the extent of my devotion."
"Your devotion?" the girl repeated, her brow creasing with doubt.
"Don't you mock me, Sansa, you know it's true," Sandor insisted. Propping himself on a hand, he lowered himself until he hovered over her. "I'm devoted to you, have always been. Why do you think I came all the way to the Vale from the moment I heard of your presence at the Eyrie? Why do you think I suffered through all those damned miles of cold and snow? I don't give a rat's arse about the North or Winterfell and you know it. It's all because of you . You're the queen I worship. I'll do as you say, whatever it is. I would've stopped if you had asked, I did not lie about that. I hope you don't doubt it."
The little bird looked at him in silence, but said nothing to contradict him, her eyes big and blue and beautiful, her luscious lips set in the smallest of smiles.
"It's for you to decide what happens next, little bird, but you know that a dog will never refuse a treat from its master. And sometimes, a dog will try to get the treat it longs for without asking beforehand, the sly bastard. It's up to the master to stop the dog, to teach it to behave. I'll learn to behave if you train me well, Sansa, I'm sure I will, but perhaps you'll need be patient."
For a second or two, Sansa stayed silent, but then, she burst out laughing and Sandor was sure he'd never heard any lovelier music. He flashed a grin at her, satisfied with himself. Things were looking pretty good for him.