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The Education of Sansa Stark

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“My lady,” he rasped when she appeared from around the corner.
He was standing guard as she had asked before her chambers, her personal chambers that weren’t shared with her husband. The room had been transformed into a parlor for her ladies-in-waiting, but they were few in number and hardly used it anyway. Dinner with her newly wedded husband had been an awkward experience, especially after the disaster of their wedding night. Memories of that clumsy night made her pale with embarrassment and she could hardly look him in the eye over her plate. They barely spoke to one another at all.
It was here that Sansa decided she could use some proper lessons, some practice to hone her capabilities in the bedroom. How else will I be able to please him without making a fool of myself again? Asking one of her maids for help would’ve been useless; they were too untrustworthy and besides, she needed a real man to work with. And there was only one she could truly trust with this secret: her sworn shield, her savior, Sandor Clegane.
“I’m pleased you decided to come, my lord.” How will I approach this topic now? Through all the time he’d served at her side, she still had trouble reading his hard expressions. “I do as my lady commands, when she commands it,” he replied, looking at her. His stance was rigid, he was expecting something, obviously, for why else would she have invited him to her solar? His eyes followed her as she twisted the doorknob and walked into the room. “Won’t you join me, my lord?”
He seemed reluctant. Taking one stride past the frame, ducking his head slightly, he moved no further. His hand was casually resting on the hilt of the shortsword at his hip. He looked out of place when not in his full-body armor, the rough spun brown tunic tight around his arms and chest, unlaced at the neckline so as to give him more room.
Making a sound like a cough, she shoved the door closed, hitting his buttocks and pushing him into the room further. Turning, he watched her lock the latch on the door.
She faced him. “Sit, please,” she said, looking towards the divan. He grunted and cautiously made his way over, but didn’t sit. Instead, he picked up a dusty looking-glass that rested on the nearby table. Gripping the handle, he ran the side of his palm across the mirror, stared into it. “Why did you ask me here, little bird?”
A shiver ran through her. She sat on the divan. “I would ask your assistance in a…personal matter,” she ventured. His eyes moved from the mirror to her face, filling with alarm. “What is it? Is it him? Is he hurting you-?” He moved closer. “I’ll kill him, you need only say the word.”
“No, it’s not that. He’s been kind to me.” He physically relaxed, but still seemed tense. “I swear it.”
The mirror was still in his hand, now at his side. He sat next to her, causing the small cushions to bounce under his weight. Sansa almost bumped into him. He set the mirror down on the tea table before them. Elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands and sighed.
“He is not like Joffrey. He wouldn’t hurt me, and if he did you’d be the first to know. It’s just…”
He straightened, leaned back. “It’s just what?”
“I don’t know how to please him.”
He coughed, a cough that sounded suspiciously like laughter and she blushed furiously. She tried again.
“I… I wasn’t expecting….” No. “It was the first time I’d ever lain with a man, no one taught me what to expect, what to do.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is your lord husband too haughty to teach you?”
“I’d rather not concede to asking him. He doesn’t take too well to… imperfections.”
She knew he understood now, but he had to ask anyway. “And what is it you would have me do, my lady?” His face was hard to read again, the marring did hinder his expression some. Her hand found his bicep and she moved closer. “Will you teach me?”
His face became serious. Eyes searching her own, he seem to be at a loss for words. She continued. “You’re the only one I trust and –“
“How would you like to learn?”
Confused, she asked, “How do you mean?”
“Little bird, you truly are as innocent as I’d thought you were. If you really want to go through with this… I am your sworn shield; I’ll do as you command. Now,” he pulled out his shortsword, “I could simply tell you what to do, but that wouldn’t be enough now, would it? No, you need demonstration.” He examined the handle of the sword with his long fingers.
Sansa was so mesmerized by the sight she almost forgot herself. “Y-yes, that sounds… that makes sense. I would like that very much.” Heat flooded her cheeks, neck, and bosom. She’d rarely felt this way, and when she did it was never this intense. He grinned knowingly at her. “Is the handle of my sword sizable enough, then?”
Is he mocking me? Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Not long enough, but we will make do.”
He harrumphed, leaned back and set the sword down. “Are you suggesting I find something bigger, little bird?” Don’t look. “No, I-“ Her eyes betrayed her, flickering to his lap. Her curiosity got the best of her.
He barked out a laugh. Sansa thought she was lucky her lord husband was a heavy sleeper. “I’ve no shame,” he said, “to do as you ask. I would ask in turn, however, for some stimulation. Surely you know a man needs some help to get his blood churning…” His arm rested behind the divan now, behind her. Those long fingers reached to touch a tendril of her auburn hair. “But with the way you blush so sweetly, I’ve all the stimulation I need just looking at you, your chest….” His eyes raked over her.
She stuttered. “There are other ways?”
“Unlace me.”
The order came unbidden. Sansa remained frozen in her seat. “Shouldn’t we move to the bed-“
“I’m comfortable enough. Besides, we have all we need right here. Now, don’t be afraid. Your husband would love it if you undressed him, I’m sure.” There was some iciness to his tone, but she chose to ignore it.
“You want me to just, unlace you?” What a stupid question.
“Yes,” he rasped.
“Would you kiss me first?”
He looked at her again. The same hard look as before, unreadable. “I would learn how to kiss properly, first.” She snuggled into him, bravely placing her face inches before his. His arm came around her. “Sansa, I… to kiss is nothing compared to what takes place in bed.” He looked away.
Understanding, she cupped his cheek. “In this, you and I both are unfamiliar.” Turning his face back towards her own, she placed the lightest of kisses onto his lips. She felt him grimace; his hand gripped her wrist, pulled it away. “I may not be suitable to teach, if this is what you’d learn,” he snarled.
Embarrassed, she scrambled for a response. “Did you not like it?”
He grunted, “No, pretty bird, it was perfect.”
She looked at his lips again, his thick beard. The grip on her wrist loosened, and she ran her fingers through his beard, on his cheek. She tried again and, this time, he yielded to her. They kissed lightly for a while and she felt his hand move to the back of her head, massaging her through her hair. Her lips pressed harder to his, his mustache tickling her. He growled, and when his lips parted so did hers. She felt his tongue wander over her bottom lip when he caught it with his own. Tilting her head, caught between his mouth and his hand, she let him in.

Some time had past before they finally pulled apart. It was then that she realized she was astride his thigh, feeling flustered. His hands had made her hair all messy, she knew. But she didn’t mind. She rode his thigh, the feeling low in her belly pooling to a point between her legs, she was using him. Catching his face in both hands, she leaned in to kiss him once more, but he stopped her, grabbing her shoulders. “What are you doing?” he half rasped, half whispered.
“What? I am kissing you!” she exclaimed.
“I mean,” he growled, “what are you doing with this.” He grabbed her thigh, right under her bottom. So he noticed, then. “I- I am not entirely sure myself…” she admitted, embarrassed. He slapped her thigh playfully, chuckling. “You’ve no idea how to please yourself, let alone please a man. Tell me, little bird, when was the last time you touched yourself?”
“Pardon?” Now she was completely flustered.
“Get up,” he commanded, gently leaning her forward.
When she did, he gave her another command. “Now, turn around and sit on my lap again. I’m going to show you something. Hand me that mirror there.”
Nervously, she picked up the mirror and sat in his lap as she would’ve sat on the divan. His hands found her waist and, when she was comfortable, he took the mirror from her hand. He held it up in front her, his face right above her shoulder. She felt the hard muscles of his chest on her back and that of his manhood on her bottom. She sighed, looking at his eyes through the glass. Her hair truly was wild, but her gaze remained fixed on him through the reflection, expectantly.
“Lift your skirts.”
She thought she was beyond shock, but this came unexpected. She saw her own cheeks burn. Tilting her head up towards him, she asked “My lord?”
“Do as I say, and you’ll never leave your bed unsatisfied again.” Looking at her hands in her lap, she grabbed the material. “Go on, show me what you were riding me with now.”
The hand resting on her waist was ten times warmer now, she felt. A thrill raced through her like never before. Gathering her skirts in her lap, she exposed herself to the waist. She was wearing silk undergarments.
“Take them off.” His breath was hot on her ear.
She did as he said, wriggling in his lap to get them past her thighs. The hand on her waist was like iron, anchoring her to him. She was naked now, from the waist down. He was looking at her white thighs, the thick auburn hair that grew in the crevice between them.
“Yes, good. Now, spread your legs, little bird. More. Put your pretty little feet on my knees. Good. Now,” he lowered the mirror between her legs, “I’ll show you what you’ve got here.” His hand finally moved from her waist, but it now traveled to the curls between her legs.
“Just like the pretty curls on your head, yet courser. This is called your mound.” She was sweating. Her mind was racing. She could see a part of herself she’d never thought to look at before there in the mirror held in his large hand.
“Hold it,” he said, giving her the mirror. Her hand almost trembling with need, she took the mirror from him, held it up just as he had done. His hands came under her thighs, and with two fingers on her he gently pulled her folds slightly apart. She gasped, almost dropping the mirror, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
“Mmm, so pink. Yes, Sansa, this is your sweet little cunny. Take a good look now.” One of his thick fingers slid up between her slippery lips, up towards her mound but not all the way. It found a sensitive spot, hidden. She moaned, threw her head back on his shoulder, eyes closing.
“No,” he growled, “look. Hold that mirror up straight. This, what I’m rubbing right now,” he kissed her neck just below her ear, “this is your clitoris.” She was moaning too loudly. “Please,” she gasped, “keep rubbing it.”
His voice rumbled deep in his chest, “this is where you find your pleasure, little bird. It’s one of three points that serve the same purpose.” His voice like steel on stone only served to inflame her arousal. “Where else?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“In here,” his finger moved from her clit to her opening, probing. “I’m sure your husband found that spot just fine for you.” That almost turned her off, if it weren’t for the jealousy blatant in his voice. “He might’ve,” she sighed into his neck, kissing him there, wriggling her hips a little to encourage his hand. He thrust two fingers in her and she let out a startled cry. It was almost too hard, in stark contrast to his usual gentleness. He began fingering her roughly, in and out, faster in pace with her panting. His other hand came down over her mound and began rubbing her clit again and the feel of his long fingers stretching her combined with another playing with her nub overwhelmed her and, holding on to his muscular arms, she came in his hands, her voice breaking and echoing in the chamber. He didn’t stop his movements so she rode out the feeling, faint wet noises coming from where his fingers worked her. She placed a hand down over his to still him.

Dress soaked with sweat, she turned to him and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said delicately. He seemed to have been breathing heavily as well. Realizing he had not come to completion as she had, she turned to face him, lowering her skirts.

Sandor’s eyes bore into hers, his hair covering the burned side of his face, silent. She had never been more aroused to look upon any man in her life. The large bulge in his trousers was still there, begging to be let loose.

They went for each other. Lips crashing, kissing furiously as he almost ripped her skirts off getting them over her waist when she straddled him. She dug her hands between their bodies pressed against each other, unlacing him when he squeezed her bottom with both hands, hard, growling into her mouth. “Ride me as you would a horse,” he rasped, “use me.” She drew all of him out, his cock hot and heavy with need, and big. She felt intimidated, afraid for a moment but his lips on her neck and his fingers caressing her again overrode any doubt for what she was about to do.

Positioning her hips over him, she felt the head of his penis at her opening, pushing. His hands came up to her bodice, ripping it down the center as he slid into her. She felt a sharp pain and was afraid to move. Her breasts exposed, his hands moved to her thighs, grabbing them tightly. “Is that big enough for you now.” It was not a question, he seemed to be almost talking to himself, she tried moving and the pain was intense. Her husband was nowhere near his size; Sandor completely filled her up.

“It hurts,” she exclaimed, and she loved it. “Go slow,” he said reassuringly, rubbing her thighs and butt. She moved her hips despite the pain, not up and down, but forwards and backwards, rubbing her clit on the base of his cock. “Just like that, little bird, ride my cock.” She was already close.

His fingers dug into the underside of her thighs, strong forearms lifting her slightly from his lap so that he came out of her and pushed back in when he set her down again. She started doing it on her own now, taking him in and out of her, her breasts brushing up against his beard. She held onto his muscular shoulders and went faster.
“Squeeze your muscles around me. Yes,” he furrowed his brow, “on your way up, squeeze.” She did as he said, listening to him grunt now. His hands, on her waist, forced her to go faster. She felt him throbbing inside of her; he was so thick. He spoke again, and he sounded angry to her, her thighs slapping against his own: “You’ll think of me whenever he’s in you,” her breasts bounced before his face and she moaned, keeping in time with her own thrusts, “he’ll never fuck you like I will.” His arms wrapped around her back, one hand traveling up into her hair, pulling it to expose her neck. His teeth grazed her there and she finished, again, her moans filling the room. He came as she rode out her orgasm, filling her with his seed, grunting into her neck, the echoes of their love cries reverberating through the room.