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Hot and bothered

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Sandor had just finished teaching his last spin class of the day and was eager to grab his stuff and get out of here. He wanted to get home, have a shower, eat and crash, in that order. He was mentally planning what he'd have to eat as he shoved his navy towel into his rucksack when a voice interrupted his musings.

“Hey Sandor!”

‘Sodding hell. Sansa bloody Stark!’ he thought with with rising panic. She had a tendency to chatter on and sometimes he would be late home and miss the start of the Monday night match. But that wasn't his worry. No. In fact he enjoyed it when she hung back and chatted with him. She’s bright and witty. Yes, he enjoyed it a lot, an awful lot and therein lay the root of his problem; testosterone overtook his brain function and he became incapable of acting like a normal human being around her.

Social interaction had never been his strength and his conversation skills leave a lot to be desired at the best of times. So when faced with the woman of his dreams, things became a million times worse. Somehow he manages to get even more shy and tongue tied. He usually ends up either grunting and blurting random words at her like a caveman, or gesturing wordlessly like a bad mime artist. An especially large and grizzly looking mime artist he thought.

Sansa is a beautiful person. Inside and out. She is kind and thoughtful, treats him the same as she does everyone else, with manners and respect. She looks him full in the face regardless of his scars, maintaining eye contact without flinching and amazingly no sign of disgust.

Her kindness is a little overwhelming at times if he’s honest. Especially for someone used to being shunned or only afforded the barest interaction necessary for courtesy's sake.

She also talks to him like he’s an intelligent person and she values his opinions. Though god knows why when he feels like he loses half his IQ whenever she’s near.

Sansa also happens to be insanely hot. Off the charts hot. Long red hair, amazing blue eyes, a delicate pretty face. And her body has curves in all the right places, very attractive curves and her legs go on forever.

Her body makes his body want to do things. It made his body do things. Things that he couldn't always control. Like now! Her sweat damp t.shirt was clinging to her still slightly heaving chest, her hair tousled and face flushed a gentle pink. He could feel the stirring of his arousal.

‘Don’t look, don't look, don't look,’ ran through his head like a mantra.

“That was such a good workout, Sandor. Although I feel disgusting, all sweaty and sticky. I’m going to need an extra long shower when I get in.”

Oh God! He was getting turned on. Arousing images flashed before his eyes. Rubbing his hands over her sweaty body… grabbing her ass as she raked her nails on his back… licking her neck and nibbling her earlobe… soaping her naked skin in the shower… his hands massaging her perky tits.

He just stared at her gormlessly dropping his towel onto her bag as his hands fumbled needlessly. He was busy trying not to look like he had been thinking what he had just been thinking, certain he was failing miserably. He willed his budding erection to remain at bay, or better still, go away completely.

“And that last incline was an absolute killer, the burn in my butt and thighs! I bet I’ll be walking like Bambi tomorrow,” she giggled.

He groaned internally. Did she do it on purpose? Her butt. Her thighs... he’d love to feel them wrapped round his waist squeezing him tightly...or his head shoved up between them inhaling her scent...tasting the silky soft skin of her folds. He’d give her a reason to walk like Bambi and it wouldn't be from a bloody spin class.

His dick was definitely hard now. Then she bent down and picked up her bag giving him a prize view of her pert lycra clad ass.

“You’re a very bad man punishing me like that," she said flashing him a wide smile handing him back his towel. Their hands brushed and he nearly yelped out loud.

'Don't go there!’ he shouted at himself internally. 'Do not think about spanking her ass.' Too late.

Yeah. He was rock hard and straining uncomfortably against the seam of his underwear. He prayed silently that it wasn't half as visibly noticeable as it felt.

He needed her to shut up. Right now! He needed her to stop tweeting so he could haul his giant sized ass out of here pronto.

“Yeah. Well. Bye,” he said snatching his towel and making a hasty exit. As he hurried down the corridor he congratulated himself on at least managing to speak words and was relieved that he didn't just run away screaming which was a seriously close call.

He had to get home now. He had pressing needs. Very pressing!

He crossed the busy foyer in record time and quickly angled his groin against the reception desk in an effort to hide his prominent bulge. He was scrawling his signature in the staff log book when a small, dry cough alerted him to Ms Tyrell's presence by his side.

That was all he needed! She looked a sweet, frail old lady with her diminutive five foot height and wrinkly skin, and one could be forgiven for assuming that she was here for the over 60’s yoga with that oddball Melisandre. But no. Olenna was a feisty firecracker, shrewd as they come and the darling of Bronn & Tormund’s MMA class.

“Hmmm, mmmmm I see that work out got your blood pumping just fine young man,” she said with a raised eyebrow whilst blatantly eyeballing his cock. With a wink she brushed closely behind him, very closely, so closely he’s sure she copped a feel of his ass as she did so.

Mortified he slammed the book shut. Grabbing his stuff and holding it strategically to protect his modesty, he stalked out of the gym and across the car park to his truck.

As always when horny and embarrassed he started to get angry.

“Bloody fool,” he berated himself under his breath “acting like a green boy who's never seen a pretty girl before. One fucking bat of her lashes and you practically jizz your pants. For God’s sake get a bloody grip of yourself!”

Yes. That was exactly what he needed to do. Get a good long, hard grip in the shower. As he drove home his mind wandered.

Sansa. She was perfect. Sexy as fuck too. Her smile. Those delightful pouty, pink lips. He wanted to kiss those lips, nibble them. See if they did taste of cherries like he imagined...her lips sucking on a cherry, hollowing her cheeks as her tongue flicks around it. He groaned as his cock twitched uncomfortably.

Now he was picturing her lips sucking on something else. Her beautiful blue eyes looking straight into his as she takes his cock into her warm, wet mouth…lips wrapped around him snugly as she takes more and more of his length...her nimble tongue flicking around his rim and over his slit to taste his precum. His cock was like steel now and throbbing, begging to be touched.

“Awwww come on!’ he shouted seeing the temporary three-way traffic lights change from green to red at his approach. Did the universe not appreciate how great his need had become? Taking a deep breath he tried to calm his fraying temper. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited, he tried very hard not to think about sucking on Sansa’s nipples.

“Hallelujah!” He said as the lights changed to green but the car in front didn't move. The driver must not have noticed.

“Why aren't you moving you fucking moron?” he fumed honking furiously at the stationary vehicle. In their fright they stalled. The lights turned back to red.

‘Fuck my life!’ he thought.

This was bound to add at least fifteen minutes to his journey now and by extension the amount of time before he could empty his now presumably purple balls.

Finally the lights changed again. Thankfully this time the driver was sure to pull away promptly without incident and thereafter his journey was plain sailing.

He parked hastily on his drive and silently gave thanks for getting this far. Soon he could pleasure his dick to all the lewd thoughts he wanted in the privacy of his own home. But first; first he needed to navigate Mr Varys.

Mr. Varys was always lurking somewhere and he definitely did not want to be accosted by the head of the Neighbourhood Watch in his current state. The man had a creepy fascination with genitalia at the best of times. Personally, Sandor thought the safer neighbourhoods thing he operated was a load of bullshit. He went well beyond the expected role of even the most diligent of Neighborhood Watch co-ordinators.

‘Just an excuse to get all up in everyone else's business, the nosy, bald cunt,’ thought Sandor. With relief he saw the coast was clear and got out of his truck as quickly and gracefully as a six foot six guy can and rushed inside.

Slamming his front door shut he exhaled a massive sigh of relief. Then he wasted no time and headed straight to the sofa, shoving his shorts and boxers down to his ankles in one well practiced, single handed move as he went. His other hand swiped magazines and newspapers into a heap on the floor, dropping his bag on top. Crashing down he immediately grabbed hold of his thick shaft and squeezed firmly.

‘Ahhhh...Yes! Fuck yes!’ he moaned collapsing backwards, one foot still planted on the ground and flinging his other leg over the arm of the sofa. For a moment he just savoured the delicious relief that his firm grip brought without moving.

Immediately he thought of Sansa. His fantasies weren't always lewd. In fact more often than not he was more than content with innocent thoughts of her. Holding her, running his hands through her gorgeous long hair, sitting snuggled up watching TV, eating their favourite meals, laughing together. He wanted her in his life, in all ways.

But tonight he was too tormented and aroused after that tortuous drive home, so he fast-forwarded to think about the physical desires she stirred in him.

He imagined it wasn't his hands holding his thick, veiny cock but her pale dainty ones. She'd struggle to hold his full girth single handed he thought with pride. He didn't have much going for him in the looks department he knew, but his body was desirable to women. Tall, muscular and masculine with lots of dark body hair. He knew plenty of chicks dig that. Although it was a rare few who could get past his face to indulge and even then they were usually drunk. But Sansa. In his fantasies she was always stone cold sober, she always wanted him as much as he did her and she always looked him in the eyes as he fucked her.

He felt himself twitch, his cock’s way of asking for more stimulation. Slowly he dragged his hand up and then down his full length, teasing himself. He gently pressed the pad of his index finger into the sensitive knot on the underside of his cock, then brushed it up onto his sensitive cockhead where his slit was already sticky with precum. He already knew it would be, he’d felt it leaking with each throb as he’d sat holding his dick thinking of her hands. He gently spread it around sending sparks of pleasure down his shaft straight to his balls.

Cupping his heavy balls in one hand he began to fondle them. Gently tugging and massaging them, his littlest finger just brushing that sensitive patch of skin behind his sac and before his ass. Spitting into the palm of his other hand he began to fuck himself.

His hand moved firmly and steadily up and down his full length, twisting at the top to smooth his palm over his now swollen and sensitised cockhead. Lifting his ass up off the seat to thrust into his tight fist, lewd images assailed his mind.

He pictured her naked...firm breasts tipped with blush pink nipples... suckling and nibbling on those stiff, pointy teats extracting small whimpers of delight from her pretty mouth…running his hands up the insides of her thighs seeing gooseflesh raise as he goes...his fingers finding her folds hot and slippery, soaked in her arousal…teasing her entrance...pushing just the very tip of his middle finger inside her silky wet warmth...using his thumb and forefinger to tweak her clit...pushing harder and deeper into her tight, wet, warmth up to his knuckle...feeling her body writhe under him... hearing her moan his name beg him for more…

‘Fucking hell.’ The pressure in his balls was mounting, he could feel them drawing up ready to shoot his load. Furiously he fucked his fist in earnest moaning her name.

“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa.”

He’s going to cum he can feel it. He’s right there...right on the cusp of it surging up and spilling onto his stomach. Hastily he tries to use his chin to yank his t.shirt up and out the way.

Filthy, obscene images of Sansa covered in cum…ripping his cock from her pulsing cunt to squirt all over her tummy...her perky tits glistening in pearly droplets...her luscious mouth overflowing, dribbles escaping over her chin…his load slowly oozing out of her freshly pounded pussy...Sansa crying his name in ecstasy as she cums.

‘Fuuuuuuck!’ he groaned as he came with a powerful climax, thick white spurts of his seed splattering his tummy and hands. Spent he collapsed back. Breathing heavily he threw his arm over his sweaty brow, his mind blissfully blank and his limbs heavy and sated.

He thought he ought to move and sort himself out, before he fell asleep where he was, half dressed and covered in a pool of rapidly crustifying cum.

'Now I really need a shower’ he thought with an amused huff. Reaching down and rummaging in his bag he grabbed his navy gym towel and mopped up his sticky mess.

Heaving himself to his feet he headed through to the bathroom for a shower.


Freshly showered and wearing clean sweats he headed out of his bedroom and towards the kitchen to fix himself some dinner. He had worked up an appetite he smirked to himself, feeling relaxed and satisfied.

He was just on his way through the lounge, stopping to pick up his gym gear as he went, when his text alert beeped. Grabbing his phone he was surprised to see it was Bronn.

'What's that fucker want?’ he grumbled opening the text. Last time it had been a DIY favour that Bronn had been browbeaten by his girlfriend Margaery into doing and which he roped Sandor into like a mug. Something about high ceilings, him being the perfect height and it being safer to have stability when using power tools or some shit like that. Either way he had spent the afternoon painting ceilings and hanging curtain poles whilst Bronn watched the match with a beer.

Bronn: Hey, really sorry to bother you Sandor, but I think you might have accidentally picked up my towel at the gym. A navy blue one with a red bird and my initial on the corner? I wouldn't normally bother but it was a gift from my mother, who as you know died. So I would like it back please. That's if you do have it. Thursday is fine. Thanks, bye.

He was confused. Why was Bronn, of all people, so concerned about a fucking towel? And hadn’t he said he never knew his parents, that he grew up in a kids home? Before he could ponder further there was another text alert.

Bronn: Oh it's Sansa by the way. Bronn is letting me borrow his phone. I left mine at home. So yeah, let me know about the towel. Sorry again. Thanks, bye.

His eyes widened in horror as he read. Sansa!

Instinctively shame flooded him. The way he had thought about her. She would be horrified. Disgusted. He had disrespected her by thinking of her in such a degrading manner. How would he face her on Thursday? One look at him and she’d know, the guilt would be written all over his face.

Then the penny dropped.

“Oh fuck. No! No,no,no,no,no!” he prayed. But a glance down at 'his’ crumpled navy towel in his hand showed him there that there was a little red bird peeping up at him, sweetly sitting atop the initial S. The towel which, now he came to think of it, was smaller and noticeably softer than his own.

‘She must use fabric softener,’ he thought dazedly as he processed the situation with growing horror. He looked in shame at the drying tell-tale white stains and the sad red bird which he had thoroughly smudged with his cum.

He could pretend that he didn't have it, he panicked. But she would be devastated, it was her dead mother's gift. He groaned. Not only had he spunked all over her towel, but a sentimental towel at that.


There's no way he can risk taking it to the launderette in this state with Varys spymaster ready to pounce at any given moment. The humiliation would be catastrophic. Nor could he chuck it in with the gym laundry. That would be even worse, it doesn't bare thinking about. No. He’ll have to handwash it. Thoroughly. He’ll need to buy fabric softener.

Resigned to his new evening chore he texted back.

Sandor: Yeah I’ve got your towel. Rest easy, you’ll get it back Little Bird

Bronn: Thanks Sandor. You’re the best xoxo

Oh if only you knew Little Bird.