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Therapy Session

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Sansa’s court appointed therapist, Dr Sandor Clegane, wasn’t what she had expected.

His office was minimalist, with a large couch, a couple of pot plants under a big window facing the city, and a picture of an ocean vista on the opposite wall. Sansa’s experience with therapy was limited to hearing about it from Bran, but the relentless inoffensiveness of the office seemed reasonable.

The man himself didn’t match his office. He wore jeans and a black ‘Brotherhood without Banners’ band t-shirt, with long dark hair that hung half over his striking, burn-scarred face. He had a full beard and he frowned a lot whilst rasping questions at her.

The therapist asked her about her family. Yes, she loved them. Yes, they loved her back.

They addressed her life. Yes Fleabottom High School employed her as a history teacher, no they  hadn’t fired her because of the court appearance but she needed to comply with the therapy order.

They covered why she was here. Yes she slapped Joffrey, no she didn’t regret it.

She was restless, unable to see the point of this. Sandor, he refused point blank to be called Dr Clegane, was a distractingly compelling figure.

Eventually Sandor sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers in front of himself and asked, “Did this Joffrey ever fuck you properly, girl?”

Sansa blinked. She stood up from her seat on the couch, walking over to the window to buy herself some time before she had to answer. She smoothed down her skirt. She hadn’t known what to wear to talk about her public meltdown, so she’d chosen her work clothes of plain blouse, dependable shoes, unexciting knee-length skirt. “Is this your usual way of doing therapy?” she said, glancing back at him.

He shrugged. “Each patient is different.”

Sansa turned back and gazed out of the window, leaning on the frame. The office faced one of the main Kings Landing motorways. “You are a very unusual therapist.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Sansa stared at the cars slipping past. Each driver in their own little world, their own bubble of privacy and safety. Oblivious that life might simply step in and shatter the illusion at any moment. “No he didn’t,” she said finally. “Sex with Joffrey was about Joffrey. I don’t know how you define ‘properly’ but I don’t think what we did was any good at all.”

Sandor made a few notes on a sheet of paper. “How does that make you feel?”

Sansa’s shoulders tensed. “Angry,” she replied sharply. “So angry. Like I was an object to be used, abused, dumped.”

Sandor tapped his pen on one of his heavily muscled thighs. “Angry enough to hit him, even after you’d broken up.”

“Well obviously.”

“Have you ever hit him before?” he asked.

“No of course not.” Sansa placed the palm of her right hand on the window, feeling the glass, cool and soothing.  “I’ve never hit anyone before. Not even when I was a child and playing with my brothers and sister.”

Sandor hummed. “And yet you hit him, in public no less.”

“He treated me like that,” said Sansa, fury and sadness bubbling up in equal measure, “and then just replaced me, like I was worth nothing.”

Sandor made some more notes. “Is that how you felt when you saw him that day?”

“It bought everything back,” Sansa said in a rush. “The way he made me feel worthless, ugly, unlovable. I saw him at the gallery opening with a new girlfriend and I realised I’d been replaced without a second thought. He had treated me like I was trash and walked away and started again. No consequences for his actions. No issues for him to deal with. I can barely look at another man and he’s living his life in freedom.”

“Are you jealous of his new girlfriend?” Sandor said neutrally.

Sansa laughed bitterly. “No of course not.”

“Yet you are angry?”

“I don’t want to be with him. I never want to see him again.” She sighed. “I hate being left with all the problems and he gets to live his life happy and oblivious to the damage he caused.”

Sandor scribbled something on the paper. “Have you considered fucking your way out of this? Letting out your rage and grief through sex?”

Sansa turned to look over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“You’re beautiful as fuck,” he said. His eyes didn’t waver from her face and his expression was neutral. “You’d be able to pick up any man you wanted.”

Sansa bit her lower lip as she imagined going out choosing a man to seduce. A kind of sex buffet. “Just go to a bar and pick a man?”

Sandor leaned back in his chair. “Why not? You wouldn’t be thinking about your scumbag ex with a big cock pounding your cunt.”

A jolt of arousal hit Sansa at his words. She licked her lips. Her whole body suddenly ached to be taken by this huge man. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“Aye. You need to be bent over and shown how a real man fucks a beautiful woman.”

“And you have some experience on how that might be done?” She spoke lightly, but his words were desperately turning her on in a way that Joffrey never even came close to.

His lips twitched in a slight smile. “Well that would be fucking unprofessional.”

“Especially in a court-ordered therapy session.” She was quite sure this wasn’t how therapy sessions usually went.

He stood up then and walked the two paces it took to stand behind her. “I am obligated to do the best thing for the patient though.” He spread his hands expressively. “And if the patient needed cock…”

Sansa’s knees were getting distinctly wobbly. She turned to face him. “Well I wouldn’t want to stop you from providing me with the appropriate treatment.”

She closed the gap between them and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

She’d never kissed a man with a beard before, and she liked it. Sandor rested his big hands on her waist and pulled her body against his. He was hard against her stomach and she hummed and gripped his broad shoulders. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and she responded in kind. Sandor tasted of coffee and the thrill of the forbidden.

“This is nice,” she whispered when they both paused to take a breath, and it was. Kissing Sandor was a full body experience.

“You don’t need nice,” he said against her lips. “You need to be fucked and fucked well.”

She moaned and nodded. “Well show me then. Fu… fuck me like I need.”

He spun her around to face the window again, pressing himself up against her back. He quickly ran a hand under her blouse, pinching a nipple roughly through her bra.

“You don’t need nice,” he repeated, moving his body heat away from her back as he kissed down her neck. “You need to come hard around my cock.”

He jerked her skirt up, paused to hum approvingly at the sight of her, then pulled her plain blue cotton underpants down. She’d have worn something sexy if she’d had any inclination where this day would end up. As it was, she was too aroused to be embarrassed about standing in front of a large window with her modest skirt hitched up around her waist and her sensible underwear around her ankles.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasped, lightly smacking her bare bottom.

She moaned in response.

“I want to fucking hear you,” he said in a low voice. “Tell me again that you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you,” she gasped, her voice husky. “Please, I need you now.”

He swivelled them both around and pushed her to bend forward and Sansa caught herself on the arm of the couch. She was more exposed than she’d ever been, half naked and bent over in front of a virtual stranger. She arched her hips towards him, shameless around exposing herself to his gaze and touch.

Sansa expected his fingers to stroke her, but there was a brief rustle of clothing then she felt the blunt head of his manhood pressing against her.

“Yes,” she breathed.

This was nothing like she’d ever done. They hadn’t even discussed contraception and he clearly wasn’t wearing a condom. She couldn’t bring herself to care. For once in her life, she had no regard for the consequences.

He pushed one of her legs up to kneel on the couch arm, exposing her even more. He gave a satisfied grunt, then slid inside her in a smooth motion.

“Oh my gods,” she almost sobbed. He was huge, like nothing she’d ever experienced.

He stopped for a few moments, rubbing her hip and lower back soothingly while she adjusted to him.

She was desperately wet and could feel every inch of him in her body.

“You okay girl?” he said, eventually. “Ready to take more of my cock?”

“Yes,” she whispered in reply. “Yes, please, now.”

He gave a hum of satisfaction from behind her, then gripped both of her hips and started moving in earnest.

Sansa couldn’t suppress a wail of pleasure.

She had thought there must be something wrong with her when she didn’t particularly enjoy sex with Joffrey. It had always been so one sided, so fast. Even when he’d been inside her, she’d often ended up thinking about other things. Her work that day, what was going to happen next in the book she was reading, what she should make for dinner tomorrow.

But this. All she could focus on was Sandor. Her whole being fixated on what was happening inside her. His hands with their bruising grip. His enormous manhood moving slickly in and out of her body.

The sound was unbelievably obscene. She was wetter than she thought possible and the sounds of their flesh colliding just turned her on more.

“Come on girl, fucking take it,” he rasped, his voice sounding distant through her haze of pleasure.

He sped up, now slamming into her. She held on to the couch arm for dear life, resting her forehead between her hands, bracing the leg she still had on the floor.

Her orgasm hit without much warning other than her already continuous pleasure. Sansa had never climaxed without touching herself, but she did so now, clenching hard around Sandor and crying out.

“Fuck yes,” he hissed. He slowed down a little, letting her catch her breath.

Her one leg still on the ground was getting dangerously shaky. Sandor must have noticed because he pulled out of her, saying, “put both knees on the couch cushion and lean forwards over the back.”

She followed instructions, grateful to kneel on the soft seat and let the sturdy back of it take her weight.

He gave her bottom another quick tap and she arched herself towards him again.

“So fucking sexy,” he murmured. “Showing me your pretty pink cunt, all wet and freshly fucked.”

He lined himself up and slid back inside her in one movement, prompting another moan of pleasure from them both. She wished she had seen what his cock looked like before he’d sheathed himself in her again. She wanted to see him covered in her wetness, shiny with her desire.

He resumed moving when she’d adjusted herself, leaning against the back of the couch with her arms folded along the top and her cheek resting on her arms so she could catch a glimpse of the bulk of him thrusting against her.

He leaned forward to murmur into her ear. “You’re going to come again for me.”

Sansa was well beyond the ability to speak in that moment, but she thrust her bottom further towards him in reply.

He hummed and slipped a hand over the bare skin of her hip and forwards to brush through the neatly trimmed curls, then over her sensitive clit.

She cried out as he rubbed slow circles over her, matching his thrusts in time. He stayed close as he touched her, his lips moving against her ear as he talked in a low voice. “You feel so fucking good taking my cock. Any man who would be stupid enough to let you go is a worthless cunt who doesn’t deserve you.”

She pressed herself up towards him and he licked the shell of her ear as she moaned uncontrollably. “Come on girl, come for me.”

She wailed and shook through this orgasm, pleasure sparking from her core throughout her whole body. Every part of Sandor’s body touching hers flew into focus, his hairy thighs behind hers, his fingers flicking over her clit, his manhood splitting her open.

He hummed in a satisfied way when she slumped against the back of the couch.

“You are going to fucking make me come too,” he said, punctuating his words with thrusts.

“Yes,” she hissed, finally finding her voice. It sounded wrecked. “Come hard inside me.”

His movements were rough again, pounding into her after the sweetness of her second orgasm. His grunts of effort were louder now, and he slammed into her and reached his own climax with a roar.

She moaned at the loss as he pulled out of her, though she didn’t move from her exposed position kneeling on the couch cushions. She shut her eyes and listen as Sandor stood up and walked the few steps across the room. There was more rustling, then he came back and gently pressed some tissues between her legs.

“Come on girl,” he said roughly, pulling her to sit on his lap.

He held her against him, stroking her bare back underneath her blouse, and she buried her face in his neck. He smelled good, like sex and clean sweat.

“That was fucking sexy,” he said eventually. “How do you feel?”

Sansa gave a shaky laugh. She sat up to look at his face. He looked the same as he had before he bent her over and reamed her. Scarred, handsome, frowning slightly. Given how intimate they had been, she considered he should appear different in her eyes.

“Is that question part of our session?” she asked.

He smiled, just a little. “Aye, why not?”

“Well then, I feel good. Like I want more of your… therapy.” That was an understatement. Her whole body was still abuzz from the force of her orgasms.

He smiled again, showing his teeth this time. “I’m free this time next week.”