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The Hound's Wife

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When your Father had displeased Joffrey he’d found it amusing to marry you off to his most prized possession, his dog, the man they called The Hound. Today was your wedding day and by now it was almost over. You had shared your vows, you were cloaked in the yellow and black colours of the Clegane house and the only thing left to do was the bedding.

It was Joffrey who called for it, his smile wicked as his men began to grab at you while you’re horrified mother looked on. You remained frozen, your scream caught in your throat and even your tears too afraid to shed.

You didn’t think you could find anything but fear in your new husband but when his voice boomed “get your fucking hands off my wife” your eyes sought him out and relief hiccuped a pitiful sob from your lips.

With long strides he crossed the room, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder while the crowed jeered. “I don’t need any help fucking my own woman,” he announced, making the crowd even more excited as your heart sunk to an even lower place than it had been. Perhaps your relief had been short lived after all.

You cried shamelessly as your new husband carried you every step of the way to his chamber before dumping you on the bed. The fall left you winded and as you rolled over preparing to defend yourself from his advances he was walking away. He paced to the table besides the fire and poured himself a cup of wine which he drank sloppily before sinking down into the nearby seat and pouring another.

“What will you do with me?” you asked after a time.

Sandor snorted, slamming his cup onto the table and growling, “what do you think I will do?”

You knew what happened on a wedding night but you had never expected to be spending yours with a man you found so deplorable. You didn’t answer him, instead turning your face away with your arms clutched tight around you and a look of contempt etched across your face.

“I didn’t want this marriage anymore than you did, girl. So you can stop sitting there thinking you’d stand a chance of fighting me if you tried. I’m not interested in fucking you or stealing your ladylike virtues. Sleep, let your husband drink in peace.”

“I’m not a girl,” you snapped, surprisingly wounded by his rejection. You were no great beauty like Cersei Lannister but you were beautiful and you were far old enough to be his wife. You didn’t want The Hound as a husband but to think he didn’t want you was an injury to your vanity.

He laughed at you, pouring more wine and loosening his cloak until it was falling over the back of his chair. “Aye, you’re a girl and I’m an old dog.”

You pouted as if to prove his point but he paid no regard and settled back down to ignoring you. You didn’t know how long you were prepared to sit in bed watching your husband drink cup after cup of wine but your evening was quickly interrupted. The bedroom door flung open to reveal Joffrey flanked by two of his men, one of them Sir Meryn Trant, a man you found more awful than even The Hound and suddenly you wanted to run to your new husband.

Joffrey laughed, the sound of it a horrifying thing as he stared at you on the bed, “I thought you knew how to fuck your wife, Dog.”

Sandor’s face remained impassive while yours turned a shade even whiter than the bedsheets.

“Maybe I should get one of my men to show you how,” Joffrey sneered, stepping into the room, his hands grasping towards you. You could have fought him, he wasn’t tall and broad like the hound, he was weak and cowardly but you let him drag you from the bed anyway.

He slid a dagger from his belt and for a heart stopping moment you thought he was going to kill you. Instead, he used to the blade to slice along the fastenings of your dress until it was pooling on the floor. If it was any other man you were certain The Hound would have gutted him for daring to touch his wife but this was Joffrey and he was beyond reproach.

He stroked your face, tormenting you with his gentle touch before he began yanking at the neck of your tunic, exposing your breasts for all to see. Sandor looked away, his eyes fixed on some far off place while you could almost feel the way Joffrey’s men were staring at you and enjoying the twisted show.

“Your master has given you a pretty mate,” Joffrey praised himself, leering at you with his gleaming smile before squeezing your breast so hard you yelped. “Breed with her or I’ll have no choice but to sample her myself before I throw her to the men.”

Your stomach turned over so quickly you thought you would be sick while Joffrey laughed, walking away with one final warning, “don’t disappoint me, dog. I’ll know if you haven’t enjoyed your marriage rights and your punishment will be even greater than hers.”

The slam of the door made you jump, your hands carefully covering your modesty as a lone tear slipped across your cheek.

“That bastard,” Sandor hissed, throwing his cup of wine to the flames and pushing out of his seat. He crossed the room quickly to stand before you and when your gaze met his, you didn’t feel afraid. You’d hated The Hound for his loyalty to Joffrey but now you saw that he was no more loyal than you were. Like you, he was trapped.

You knew what you had to do and you knew a night with Sandor would be far better than suffering at the hands of Joffrey or Meryn Trant. So, you let the neckline of your smock fall away, your nipples budding against the cold and your heart racing.

“Seven hells, girl!” Sandor cursed, his eyes avoiding you as he paced towards the window.

“Do you not desire me, my Lord Husband?” you asked, your words more formal than affectionate.

He laughed bitterly, turning back toward you, his gaze never falling below your chin and his hand gripping tight on the hilt of his sword as if it was his only comfort. He was uneasy and in that you gained some modicum of confidence. You took his seat by the fire, pouring yourself a cup of wine before your fingers began to loosen the fastenings of your hair.

“Would you help me?” you asked, your face only partially turned to his but just enough to catch the look of surprise that filled his eyes. “Please, my Lord,” you added.

Sandor shifted awkwardly, considering his answer before his hand tentatively reached for your hair. “I’m no Lord,” he rasped, clumsy fingers loosening the intricate braids which had been so carefully woven before your wedding ceremony.

You didn’t cry out when he pulled your hair too tight nor did you sigh when his touch seemed to shiver along your spine. You remained silent, the crackling of the fire filling the room until your hair fell in waves around your shoulders and your body trembled with nerves.

You sipped your wine hoping it would give you courage but the sourness only made you hiss while Sandors laugh rumbled from behind you. “It’s very strong,” you remarked, unused to anything more than the sweet wine your father allowed on special occasions.

“Aye,” he said, taking the cup from your hand and downing the last of it.

“What will you do with me?” you asked for the second time.

Sandor considered his answer, the burnt side of his face twitching and his eyes, which always looked so sad, carefully inspecting you. “Better me than Joffrey,” he whispered, to you or his own conscience you couldn’t decide but you knew one thing. He might have been a killer but he wasn’t a monster. It comforted you, it gave you something to hold onto as you watched him prepare for what came next.

First he unbuckled his sword belt, placing the weapon in reach of the bed. Next he removed his shoes and tunic leaving him in only his shirt and breeches. The idea of him removing more made you nervous, your throat dry and your foot tapping an uncomfortable rhythm on the stone floor. So, you stood, carefully stepping towards the bed before climbing under the coverlet and laying back with your eyes fixed towards the canopy.

Sandor blew out the candles but the fire and the light shining from the window stopped the room from being truly dark. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw him pulling his shirt over his head and without getting a good look he took his place by your side, both of you in bed but neither of you touching.

“Will you not kiss me?” you asked, a kiss seemed to be the least of what you should share and the anticipation was making your stomach swim with nerves.

“You’d want to kiss an old dog?”

“I’d want to kiss my husband,” you decided, turning to look at him. In bed his face was as close to yours as it had ever been and even in the dark you could see every line of his scars. You reached out, curiosity overwhelming but your approach slow enough for him to stop you if he wanted to. He didn’t, and the feel of his skin was softer than you’d expected.

Your simple gesture had been enough and with a dart of his tongue across his lips he leaned forward to kiss you. His mouth pressed against yours quickly before he pulled back, looking you in the eyes to gage your reaction.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, his gruff voice filled with more gentleness than you could have imagined while his hand slowly snaked under your body to bring you closer to him.

You pressed your palms on his chest, his hair course and his skin heated. You could feel the ways his muscles shifted as he rolled so he was almost covering you, the weight of his body reminding you how powerful he was.  His gaze fell to your lips, a shaky breath shuddering from his body as he leaned down to kiss you again.

The press of his lips was more certain, his tongue sliding into your mouth to dance with your own. He tasted of the wine he’d been drinking but it had lost it’s sour edge leaving only sweetness, and you felt an unexpected rush of warmth between your thighs.

You’d been kissed before but much like your first kiss with Sandor they had been chaste affairs, over as quickly as they began. This kiss was tender yet commanding, his lips possessing yours and sealing you together in a way you didn’t want to end. A rough thumb brushed over your neck, the kiss deepening enough to make you breathless while your heart raced and your mind filled with a single thought. It’s happening.

You thought you would be afraid to be bare before him but when he began to remove your smock you found yourself eager to lose the barrier between your skin and his. Your head swirled with all the sensations he seemed to arouse with every calloused touch of his hands exploring unchartered skin.

You groaned into his mouth and his lips moved down, grazing your neck, nipping your collarbone and finding your breasts. You arched your back, craving more and he rewarded your desperation by sucking your nipple, erupting a throb of pleasure that made you gasp. Sandor chuckled, taking the other nipple in his mouth and teasing it in the same way.

When his kisses begin to explore lower you found yourself tensing and you didn’t know if you were more embarrassed or excited when his lips brushed between your thighs, the tickle of his beard only adding to the sensation. You buried your fingers in his hair as he settled his face between your legs, his nose nuzzling along the wetness that was soaking your pussy before his tongue found the spot which has been aching for him.

“Sandor!” you called, pushing his head away as the delicate touch seemed almost too much for you to bare.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks quickly and you find the words to describe what you’re feeling completely at a loss.

“I… it’s strange…” you whisper, breathless and still wanting.

He chuckles, the heat of his laugh caressing you in the most delicate places while your head falls back, giving into whatever he wants to do, however he wants to do it.

His tongue explores you again and this time you are lost to it, squirming from and craving the feeling at the same time. You can feel pressure beginning to swell, your breath panting with every stroke of his tongue. Your hips buck, desperate for release from the tension that has your legs trembling and your body squeezing tight.

“Oh god, oh god, oh,” you shout, unable to restrain yourself as your body bursts like wildfire, pulses of pleasure licking and tingling until you are dazed.

When you open your eyes you see Sandor wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He’s watching you, or maybe he’s admiring you, either way you blush while your gaze trails down his torso. His chest is wide, his arms thick with muscle and your body throbs again for the release it has just found. “You like that, Lady wife?” he says, uncouth in the way he starts to grin.

Your blush deepens, but you answer him anyway, “very much.” In truth you didn’t know it could feel that way for you. When your Septa had instructed you about your wedding night she had simply told you to lay still while your husband takes his pleasure. This was unexpected and it only made you want to discover what else you’re Septa had been wrong about.

Sandor shifted on the bed, kicking off his breeches before crawling on top of you. You’d never seen a man’s body but you knew what it was that was pushing, hard and wet, against your thigh and you knew what he was going to do with it.

With hooded eyes he ground his cock over your pussy, softly groaning with every movement and his breathing laced with desire as he kissed you, the taste of your body on his lips and the tip of his cock seeking entry.

“Be gentle,” you whisper, feeling vulnerable with his body completely covering yours.

Sandor grunted, clenching his jaw and trying to calm his shaky breathing. “I’ll never hurt you,” he promised again and the vow meant more to you than the ones he’d repeated in the Sept.

You shifted onto your elbows, placing a small kiss against his cheek and silently submitting your body to his.

He reached one hand between your bodies, guiding himself inside you in one slow push until his body was joined with yours. The pain was more bearable than you had expected and now you were truly his.

“Are you ready for more?” he asked and your eyes grew wide as he slowly inched further, filling you deeper and stretching you even wider around him.

When he stopped, you released the breath you’d been holding, your body trembling against his before he began to move, his hips grinding and his length drawing in and out in a torturous rhythm. You could feel the same sweet tension as you had before and your own body desperately tried to meet his strokes to find its pleasure again.

“Sandor,” you moaned, arching your back and riding the rolls of pleasure that tightened around his cock.

He groaned your name, his face burying into your neck, and finding his own pleasure with hard strokes before his seed spilled inside you.

When he rolled away you stared at the canopy of the bed, unsure of what to do or your feelings about what had just happened. You’d thought you would hate this night but you had found more pleasure in it than you could have ever dreamed.

You nestled your body against his and he tucked his arm around you, both of you falling asleep while somewhere in castle Joffrey laughed at what a great punishment it had been to give you to his dog.