Adrift - chapter 1
Putting this here for the record.
Title: Adrift
Author: Maroucia
Summary: On a mission to escort Sansa back to Winterfell, the Hound loses his control with her in a hot spring. Non-con Sansan: read at your own risk.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters in this story are all GRRM’s propriety and I won’t make a buck out of this.
Rating: Explicit
Warning: Noncon, Underage
Pairing: SanSan
Word count: 5081
Beta: Kimberlite8 is the greatest! :D
Hi everyone! As said in the summary, this is a real non-con sansan story, written for people who have an interest for that kind of very unhealthy dynamic in their fictions. If you know for a fact that it’s not your thing, I strongly suggest you don’t give it a try because there’s no doubting you’ll hate it. If you read it anyway, please don’t kink shame me. My warnings are clear enough so nobody should get offended that this story is made public.
This fic would never have reached its full potential without Kimberlite8 who has not only betaed it but given me a lot of great advices and even written a few excellent lines which I gratefully added to the fic. Kim, I want to thank you for pushing me to make this story what it was meant to be! :D
And so that you all know, this takes place in a parallel world where there’ve been no BWB battle, bedroom scene and the like.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The weather was surprisingly warm and sunny for the end of autumn but the hot spring they were in was even warmer than the air around them. Steam floated over the surface, lending a mystical air to the scene that unfolded before Sandor: the little bird, innocently enjoying the water, unaware of his hungry eyes on her. Modesty and education should have inhibited a highborn maiden such as herself from bathing by a strange man’s side, yet the girl was far too obedient and trusting for her own good. That and far too beautiful too.
After a week or so of only coming across dilapidated and burned down villages and sleeping in the open every night, finding a hot spring hidden at the foot of a large rock formation had been too bloody good to be true. Both of them had had enough of cleaning up with a rag under their clothes, bowed over the ice-cold water of a creek or river. Not making the most of the occasion would have been beyond stupid of them and so they had not wasted an instant to set up camp nearby. Nevertheless Sandor’s insistence that they bathe at the same time had no good basis: these parts were still empty of people despite the recent peace and there had been no reason to believe that this area would be any different.
“Couldn’t you stay a few steps away, perhaps behind one of the trees just there?” the little bird had suggested timidly when he first told her they wouldn’t take turns. “You’ll hear me if I am attacked.”
“A good warrior could catch you silently and I won’t be able to deliver you to your kingly brother and keep Joffrey’s side of the treaty if some sellsword makes off with you, would I?” Sandor had responded. That had been horseshit of course. Moving in the woods without stepping on a dry twig was hard enough already but snatching someone from a body of water without any sound was damned near impossible. There would have been not an ounce of risk in permitting her the privacy she had asked for.
The thing was, the girl’s safety was not foremost on Sandor’s mind. He had spoken on impulse, seeing his chance of getting her down to her smallclothes and grasping it without thinking it over. For so long, he had lusted after her and tried to picture how she’d look stripped of all her fineries and while she wouldn’t do it for the purpose he’d have wished, he was not about to waste such a good excuse to get her to undress. It was unquestionably pathetic for a man of his age to manipulate a girl so young and clueless for such a base motive and yet, the prospect of getting to behold her half-naked had been too enticing to resist. Only once the little bird had started to disrobe had the awareness of how reckless he was being finally dawned on him. She was already tempting enough when wrapped in all her layers, to see her take them off…
Sandor’s qualms had not weigh much next to his curiosity and thirst and thus he uttered not a word to stop her as she unlaced and removed her dress. Enthralled, he watched as she walked to the steep banks of the spring - her luscious little body only covered by a thin white shift - and jumped into the steaming water with a cry of delight.
While she had tensed a little when he first entered the pool, the girl was now apparently not much bothered by his presence. She did keep her back to him to preserve a semblance of propriety but that was about it. Sandor was standing at about three or four steps from her, the warm water of the spring only reaching him mid-thigh as he pretended to clean himself up. Bent over, he threw the water over his head, bare chest and back, all the while never taking his eyes from the little bird more than a few seconds at a time.
“Mmm… this is so good!” she murmured happily after having crouched and briefly immersed herself completely under the surface.
“It is,” Sandor replied flatly, wishing she’d have said the words in another context.
The girl’s long red hair was fully soaked and plastered to her head, going down her shoulders and back in a glimmering, dripping cascade that made her look like an apparition from the Seven Heavens. Every now and then, she would put herself at an angle that offered Sandor a glimpse of her profile and to see the peaceful expression of her face and how the fabric of her shift clung so perfectly to her curves was starting to heat his blood.
Wasn’t that what you wanted? he wondered, slightly annoyed at himself, while feeling his cock hardening. Even from where he was, Sandor could smell her sweet scent, the steam that filled the air somehow helping in spreading it until it totally enveloped him. The effect reminded him of how he’d always imagined she’d rule his senses as he dominated her body if she was ever to inexplicably find her way to his pallet. Although he knew none of it was true, the illusion of intimacy the moment conveyed was so deceiving that a man couldn’t stop his body from getting primed for more. He could sense himself get excited and impatient in the very specific fashion he always did when he was about to rut even while his mind admitted that this was all a fantasy.
Bending over, the girl was splashing water over her head and rinsing her hair, the position attracting attention to her pert little arse. Sandor bit at his lip. How good it would be to grab it and fuck her like that. To feel her tight, virgin cunt squeezing his cock as he made his way into her.
You fucking idiotic dog, he sneered at himself as his aching shaft twitched in his smallclothes and a fever flooded his face. You’ve created your own personal hell with this buggering situation. It’s all good being able to look but when you can’t touch, what’s the bloody point? Still, in spite of his burgeoning frustration, Sandor stayed in the pool, the thought of taking his stare from the girl or moving an inch from her simply inconceivable.
Oblivious to his inner turmoil, the little bird was humming softly, her head tilted to the side and eyes shut as she carefully wrung her hair. Even in the middle of the spring, the water only reached her hips and Sandor could see the skirt of her shift seemingly flying around her legs under the surface. It was a maddening sight and he wished he could get behind her, slide his hands under and tear the damned thing from her frame…Or at least free his shaft from its confines and fuck his hand while admiring her. Seven buggering hells, the man cursed, exhaling loudly. His arousal was getting so acute, his ear buzzed but there was not much he could do about it. Sandor could feel himself growing more and more restless, each muscles of his sturdy build clenching and unclenching repeatedly and his hands closing and opening by his sides. Bugger it all, he decided suddenly, bringing a hand over his groin and stroking his erection as best he could over his smallclothes. He did it for just an instant - he only wanted to assuage his tension - but no sooner had he stopped than he was even worse than before. All the gesture had achieved was to tease him. Gods, if only I could fuck her…
Sandor was just about to touch himself again when the little bird’s lithe form stiffened. Whether it was his building agitation or the way he was standing in place and staring at her that had alerted her, the man couldn’t say, yet the fact was the girl had noticed something was amiss. Swirling around to face him, she laid wide eyes on him, probably expecting him to do the polite thing and avert his gaze just as soon. He did not though and Sandor could tell she was taken aback by it. No, instead, he shamelessly lowered his stare and let it roam over her figure, drinking thirstily at her sight.
The previously pure white cloth of the girl’s shift had lost its colour and became almost transparent thanks to the water, revealing the pale cream hue of her skin. Regardless of how tantalizing it was, for the moment all Sandor truly had eyes for were the alluring manner of her two stiff, little pink nipples pointed in the air before her and the hint of red just below the surface of the water where the juncture of her thighs was hidden.
In a way, Sandor was almost glad to have been caught, for it meant there was no point in pretending anymore. With the water arriving far bellow his thighs, there was nothing subtle about his state; the girl only had to glance down to realise why he had been studying her so much for the last few minutes. It was somewhat liberating to see his truth exposed, no matter how ugly it might look to her. Was she peeking at his cock just now? Sandor wondered, the thought not doing much to quell his ardour.
When he finally raised his stare to meet hers, the little bird’s eyes were rounded and the pale skin of her face and chest was coloured a deep shade of pink. The poor girl was biting at her lip and shivering, her breasts heaving noticeably every time she breathed. She was scared and it was easy to tell. Sandor couldn’t blame her; she was a maiden as helpless as they came after all and he was a frightful sight on his best days - and this was not one of them. The reality of the situation that she was nearly nude in a hot spring with a man more than twice her size had apparently hit her. While Sandor could read her fear, to see the little bird so lightly covered, face flushed and panting brought the most lewd images to his mind and he was suddenly overwhelmed by how much he wanted her.
“Little bird…” he rasped lowly, slowly crossing the few steps that separated them.
At first, the girl was too petrified to react but when Sandor seized her by the waist and yanked her to him, she stirred back in his hold, her slender muscles all taut under his touch. “My lord, what… what are you doing?” she asked in a small, distraught voice. Her face was cast upward but she seemingly couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze and her plump, pink mouth was slightly opened and breathless.
Sandor didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. Instead he pulled her more tightly to him and lowered his head to her neck to nuzzle at the soft skin there. The intoxicating, feminine perfume that emanated from her was clouding his mind, chasing away the meagre remnant of coherent thoughts he still had and replacing them with naught but burning hot desire like he had never experienced before.
Tensing and shifting awkwardly under his hold, the little bird was lightly pushing her hands against his arms but apart from that, didn’t truly try to flee from his clutches.
“My lord?” she repeated in an anxious whisper when Sandor lowered his palms to cup the cheeks of her arse.
The girl uselessly pushed her hands harder against his biceps, as if she believed the gesture would make a difference, but Sandor didn’t let her go. Instead, he kept on kneading her delicious bottom and pressed his erection against her firmly enough that there was no way she could ignore it anymore. Gasping, the little bird finally gave in to panic and she began squirming against him. It was all in vain. Sandor’s arms were locked too solidly around her and all her attempts to escape did nothing but stimulate his engorged shaft and make him picture more easily how her little body would writhe under him as he took her maidenhead. A faraway part of him still remembered he shouldn’t be doing what he was about to do but instead of heeding it, Sandor shut it off. Hoisting her over his shoulder, he walked out of the hot spring.
****
It had taken Sansa longer than it should to realise what she had gotten herself into. As always, the Hound had been right to tell her she was far too naïve and gullible for her own good. So often during her stay in King’s Landing, he had warned her against the evils of the world. Sansa would never have suspected the threat might come from him though and that was one more proof of the accuracy of Sandor Clegane’s words. She ought to be more wary. Yet for some reason, she had trusted and felt safe with him despite his harsh and intimidating ways and to see she had been wrong was yet another rude awakening. He has never pretended to be better than anyone else, Sansa reminded herself. Quite the contrary. He even once told me the only difference between him and any knight or great lord was that unlike them, he admitted to his brutality and didn’t pretend it was motivated by some noble purpose.
To see him stare at her like a starved animal watching its prey had been extremely disquieting and when Sansa noticed he was aroused, she had understood things were not looking good for her. The cold fingers of fear had seized her at once, rooting her in place and making her even less of a challenge for the Hound. As easily as if Sansa had been a wild flower, he had picked her up from the ground and settled her over his shoulder as he carried her out of the spring.
Installed on a bed of moss, she was now lying on her back and breathing hard while the man loomed just on top of her, his stubble covered cheek scratching her as he nuzzled and bit lightly at her neck. His body was so near, it brushed against hers with each of his movements - his skin warm and muscles as solid and powerful as steel. Yet, most disturbing of all was how his hand was moulding her breasts and his fingers played with her nipples through the soaked fabric of her shift.
Wide-eyed, Sansa was purposelessly searching the emptiness before her, unsure what she should do. “My lord?” she called, her voice sounding meek and frightened to her own ears. Lowering her gaze to him, she lifted her hands to his upper arms and squeezed them as hard as she could in an attempt to attract his attention. He seemed like in some sort of trance; perhaps he only needed to be shaken out of it. “Please… What… what do you want?” Sansa felt foolish as soon as she had uttered the question. She knew what it was he wanted, only it was much less terrifying to pretend she didn’t.
“Shhhh,” the Hound’s voice a low rumble in her ear. Leaning on his side, he began fumbling at the laces of her collar.
“My lord! Don’t!” Sansa begged him, laying her hands over his and trying to stop him but it was futile of course and in no time, the man had torn the laces open until both her breasts were completely uncovered.
Despite the sun, the air was cool against Sansa’s wet skin and her nipples stiffened even more at the contact. Sandor Clegane grunted appreciatively. It was both embarrassing and distressing to find herself so exposed to his eyes. All she wanted was to hide her nakedness from his view but the man was obviously not going to let that happen and so she stayed still - her stare lowered bashfully and face ablaze - and allowed him to look at her as much as he desired.
Almost immediately, the man brought a hand over the curve of one of her breasts, closing his palm around it and taking its nipple in his half-burnt mouth to suck at it hungrily. The girl squeaked and stirred at the twinges the touch sent all the way to her lower belly. The sensation was so odd - sharing the sharpness of physical pain without truly hurting - and Sansa wasn’t sure to make of it.
Grazing at her nipple with his teeth, the Hound removed his hand from her breast and let it trail down her stomach, grasping her sodden skirt when he reached her thigh and bunching it over her waist. Sansa had not worn anything under her shift in order to clean herself more easily and her heart skipped a beat at the memory. Faster than she could react, the man spread her legs wide apart and installed himself in-between. While she had so far managed to maintain a semblance of calm, the vulnerable position in which the Hound had just put her made her lose it completely.
“Oh no! Please! No!” she cried, her head thrown back as she uselessly pushed and scratched at his shoulders with her hands and wriggled her legs around him.
With all her strength, Sansa tried to lift her middle and torso but it was impossible. Sandor Clegane’s body was as heavy and solid as a fortress constraining her to the ground. No matter how much she tried, she could not get him to move even in the slightest. He stayed well in place over her, his forearm propped by the side of her head and his breath warming her neck and hair while his free hands fondled the flesh of her inner-thigh. Worse, with her effort, she was involuntarily rubbing his manhood and the notion that he might actually take pleasure from the friction finally impelled her to quit.
It’s all in vain anyway! Whatever I do, the Hound is going to steal my maiden’s gift in a few instants, Sansa was forced to admit to herself, the horror the idea woke in her bringing tears to her eyes. There was no way in all the Seven Kingdoms she could fight him off. He was far too strong for her and all she would achieve by resisting would be to make it harder for him not to hurt her even more as he broke through her veil. From what Sansa had been told, although a maiden was to expect pain on the night of her wedding, by being docile to her husband she could help the consummation run more smoothly. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, the girl decided, the thought sounding distant, as if it came from elsewhere than within herself. Let him do as he pleases and it surely won’t be as awful, she hoped, shivering of all her length in spite of her newborn pragmatism.
Trying hard to resign herself to her fate, she inhaled a deep and shaky breath and squeezed her eyes shut while forcing herself to relax. A wet noise was heard then and even before Sansa had time to wonder what it might be, she felt a spit-slickened finger reach the juncture of her thighs and spread her folds. Her lips gaping in shock, the girl’s eyes popped open - a whimper escaping her lips as the finger plunged into her. It was strange, sort of uncomfortable but she remained motionless, adamant about complying to whatever was coming.
“So tight,” the Hound rasped under his breath, his voice so raw, she barely recognised it.
Raising his hand to his mouth, he spat on his fingers and dipped his forefinger into her again. It stayed there but a moment longer, the man shortly removing his hand to grope at his smallclothes. Realising what was happening, Sansa tensed despite herself. Don’t resist. Don’t resist, she repeated inwardly, her pulse hammering madly in her ears. She was still reciting the words in her head when the end of the Hound’s shaft was positioned at her entrance. The girl could tell it was big - it was only natural with a man as tall and brawny as Sandor Clegane - and her cleft was already being stretched even at that early stage. The unwanted invasion, added to his bulky build imprisoning her so entirely, made Sansa feel trapped and panic abruptly overtook her again. Exactly as she had promised herself she wouldn’t, she began struggling against his hold.
“No! Please don’t do this! NO!” she cried out, her voice echoing into the emptiness of the woods for no one to hear.
Thrashing about, she scraped her nails at his shoulders and neck deeply enough to break skin but the Hound was unfazed by any of this and did not even pause to glance at her. Without thinking, she bit at his neck - finally succeeding in catching him off guards - however as he flinched and loosened his grasp on her, the head of his manhood slid the wrong way and bounced into her inner wall.
“Ah,” Sansa yelped, freezing at once and shutting her eyes against the bolt of pain that went through her.
“You little she-wolf! See what you’ve done?” Sandor Clegane grunted, pushing her flush against the floor with a hand on her upper arm. “Now calm down and I promise I’ll do my best no to hurt you. Understood?”
Nodding, Sansa sniffled and dug her nails into moist earth around her. It had been stupid of her to fight back. She had known it even as she did it but had acted out of instinct, like the hare that precipitates its death by trying to escape the snare that caught it.
“Good,” the Hound murmured.
A hand clenched solidly around her hip. He gradually but persistently began burying himself into her, each of his small thrusts inducing a gasp from Sansa and increasing the pain until she received his final and most unforgiving stab. A tear went rolling down her cheek and a quiet lament left her mouth as the Hound’s shaft hit her just underneath her entrance and his groin bumped against her mound, assuring her that no trace of her precious maidenhead remained. That’s it, I’m ruined, Sansa thought disbelievingly, the situation seeming so unreal, as if she wasn’t truly living through it.
Panting as loudly as an exhausted stallion, the man seemed very briefly dazed but he quickly braced his back and resumed rocking his pelvis against hers. While he did go slowly as promised for the first few shoves, it was easy to tell he had a hard time restraining himself and that his carefulness wouldn’t last very long. The idea was not reassuring in the least; Sansa’s insides were already burning like wildfire around his massive manhood and with every single of his comings and goings, she felt as if she was being torn open. How would it be when he released his full might on her?
The girl didn’t have to wait long to find out. Sandor Clegane had only begun possessing her when his movements grew more vigorous and hectic, the change in force and pace taking the air out of her lungs. His hand still firmly clasped at her hip, he successively pulled her to him and then propelled her backward with each of his thrusts which made Sansa’s back hit the moss under her one moment and collide against the Hound’s rock-solid torso the next. It was almost as if they were wrestling instead of coupling and the girl was suddenly reminded of those terrible, ferocious bulls she had sometimes seen when travelling in the countryside around Winterfell. This was surely how it felt to attempt to ride one - Sansa had seen young men break their necks trying - only now, she was the one being mounted.
Glancing over the muscular shoulder that obscured her view, she kept her eyes on the high canopy and the pure blue sky above all the while desperately trying to steady herself against Sandor Clegane’s constant assault but it was impossible. With a cry not far from a sob, Sansa shut her eyes and bit hard at her lip, ready to break down.
“Hold onto me,” the Hound mumbled roughly, his words startling her. As he spoke, he lifted one of her thighs and pushed it against his side and then, grabbed her arm and threw it over his shoulder.
Sansa did immediately as he bid her - closing her legs around his hips and snaking both her arms over his shoulder blades - and she was immediately relieved to see that by clinging to him so, her general discomfort was somehow alleviated quite significantly. Encouraged, she clutched at Sandor Clegane as tightly as she could, the smell of his sweat filling her nostrils.
This is not so bad, Sansa mused after a couple of much more bearable thrusts. I can deal with this. Instinctively arching her back, she began adapting herself to his motion and predicting his shoves instead of trying to avoid them as she had done previously. All she needed was to let herself get carried by the flow of his movements and not resist against the waves of his lust as they came rushing on her. His claiming of her became much more fluid - his shaft entering her with surprising precision.
While the soreness of Sansa’s womb still remained, the friction of the Hound’s shaft against her inner walls as he came in and out of her was also starting to rouse something entirely different, some sort of pressure or tickling - the girl wasn’t sure - that teased her loins in the most curious fashion. It wasn’t wholly unpleasant and made her eyelids grow heavy and body feel numb and sensitive at once.
She was forcing herself to focus only on that peculiar sensation when Clegane’s hand left her hip to cover her collarbone. “Tell me you love this,” he rasped. He moved his hand to her neck and his fingers tightened around it. The force was light - not hard enough to choke her but hard enough to convince. “Go on. You never gave me my song.”
Sansa moaned, hoping that it was what he meant, and breathed a sigh of relief when he freed her throat to roll her nipple between his forefinger and thumb instead. The touch, added to the man’s continuous invasion of her cleft as he tirelessly grinded his hips against hers soon impelled her to moan again. Dizzy and faintly abashed, Sansa distractedly glanced at him through hooded eyes all the while letting out another small moan. The Hound was keeping his face downcast and giving his entire attention to her body - his horrific burns only partially visible behind the locks of lank, black hair that fell before them and his eyes shining with a rabid spark. Sweat was beading all over his skin and his broad chest heaving almost violently and yet, he indefatigably kept on taking her, his calloused hand moving to stroke her breasts while his stare restlessly raked all over her curves. It was so strange the way he was looking at her; both totally captivated by her and heedless of her at the same time. Sansa wasn’t sure she understood it completely.
“Little bird…” Sandor Clegane whispered suddenly between clenched teeth. Straightening his back and raising himself on a knee, he clamped his hand to the back of her thigh, pushed it upward and increased his speed. “Oh gods…”
Sansa tried to follow his movement but it was difficult at this faster pace. Somehow, he could now reach into her even further than before which soon woke a new and different sort of pain that seemed to arise from the very depth of her womb. Her whole body clenched at the Hound’s pounding. Sansa dug her nails into the skin of his neck, whimpering and squeaking, fruitlessly trying to prevent him from going too deeply by any means she could. Yet once more, it was impossible and he continued claiming her just as intently, his hand like a vise keeping her well in place.
Just as it was getting too much for Sansa and tears were starting to well in her eyes, the man halted, uttering some sort of throaty growl, before resuming rocking his hips less franticly. After a few additional desperate thrusts, he sheathed himself to the hilt, stiffened and collapsed over her, crushing her under his weight. It’s over, Sansa realised with faint relief while letting her trembling arms and legs fall to her sides. The Hound was extremely heavy, nevertheless she didn’t voice a word of complaint and endured while waiting silently until he remembered she was under him.
A few second passed like that during which all Sansa could hear were the sounds of the singing birds, the wind in the leaves and the man catching his breath. However at some point, Sandor Clegane came round and moved over her. Propping himself on his elbows, he instantly found Sansa’s stare with his. It was the first time he looked her straight in the eyes since this had all started and at meeting his glare, the girl wasn’t sure she had missed it at all.
He made a little noise, a small, wry laugh, then averted his gaze from her. “You are so fucked,” he hissed lowly after a heartbeat or two in such a way that Sansa couldn’t entirely tell whether he was referring to her or to himself.
The burnt corner of his mouth twitching, the Hound rolled to his back, a thick and warm liquid dripping from Sansa’s throbbing folds as soon as he withdrew from her. After the heat of his skin, the fresh air of the forest was shockingly cool and the girl immediately began to shiver. She could vaguely hear Sandor Clegane mutter what she could guess was an impressive string of curses and see him bring his hands over his thrown back head out the corner of her eyes but Sansa didn’t pay it much attention. No instead, she stared at the high canopy as it towered over her and watched the now steady branches of the trees point at the cloudless sky above, wondering how she should feel.
Title: Adrift
Author: Maroucia
Summary: On a mission to escort Sansa back to Winterfell, the Hound loses his control with her in a hot spring. Non-con Sansan: read at your own risk.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters in this story are all GRRM’s propriety and I won’t make a buck out of this.
Rating: Explicit
Warning: Noncon, Underage
Pairing: SanSan
Word count: 5081
Beta: Kimberlite8 is the greatest! :D
Hi everyone! As said in the summary, this is a real non-con sansan story, written for people who have an interest for that kind of very unhealthy dynamic in their fictions. If you know for a fact that it’s not your thing, I strongly suggest you don’t give it a try because there’s no doubting you’ll hate it. If you read it anyway, please don’t kink shame me. My warnings are clear enough so nobody should get offended that this story is made public.
This fic would never have reached its full potential without Kimberlite8 who has not only betaed it but given me a lot of great advices and even written a few excellent lines which I gratefully added to the fic. Kim, I want to thank you for pushing me to make this story what it was meant to be! :D
And so that you all know, this takes place in a parallel world where there’ve been no BWB battle, bedroom scene and the like.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The weather was surprisingly warm and sunny for the end of autumn but the hot spring they were in was even warmer than the air around them. Steam floated over the surface, lending a mystical air to the scene that unfolded before Sandor: the little bird, innocently enjoying the water, unaware of his hungry eyes on her. Modesty and education should have inhibited a highborn maiden such as herself from bathing by a strange man’s side, yet the girl was far too obedient and trusting for her own good. That and far too beautiful too.
After a week or so of only coming across dilapidated and burned down villages and sleeping in the open every night, finding a hot spring hidden at the foot of a large rock formation had been too bloody good to be true. Both of them had had enough of cleaning up with a rag under their clothes, bowed over the ice-cold water of a creek or river. Not making the most of the occasion would have been beyond stupid of them and so they had not wasted an instant to set up camp nearby. Nevertheless Sandor’s insistence that they bathe at the same time had no good basis: these parts were still empty of people despite the recent peace and there had been no reason to believe that this area would be any different.
“Couldn’t you stay a few steps away, perhaps behind one of the trees just there?” the little bird had suggested timidly when he first told her they wouldn’t take turns. “You’ll hear me if I am attacked.”
“A good warrior could catch you silently and I won’t be able to deliver you to your kingly brother and keep Joffrey’s side of the treaty if some sellsword makes off with you, would I?” Sandor had responded. That had been horseshit of course. Moving in the woods without stepping on a dry twig was hard enough already but snatching someone from a body of water without any sound was damned near impossible. There would have been not an ounce of risk in permitting her the privacy she had asked for.
The thing was, the girl’s safety was not foremost on Sandor’s mind. He had spoken on impulse, seeing his chance of getting her down to her smallclothes and grasping it without thinking it over. For so long, he had lusted after her and tried to picture how she’d look stripped of all her fineries and while she wouldn’t do it for the purpose he’d have wished, he was not about to waste such a good excuse to get her to undress. It was unquestionably pathetic for a man of his age to manipulate a girl so young and clueless for such a base motive and yet, the prospect of getting to behold her half-naked had been too enticing to resist. Only once the little bird had started to disrobe had the awareness of how reckless he was being finally dawned on him. She was already tempting enough when wrapped in all her layers, to see her take them off…
Sandor’s qualms had not weigh much next to his curiosity and thirst and thus he uttered not a word to stop her as she unlaced and removed her dress. Enthralled, he watched as she walked to the steep banks of the spring - her luscious little body only covered by a thin white shift - and jumped into the steaming water with a cry of delight.
While she had tensed a little when he first entered the pool, the girl was now apparently not much bothered by his presence. She did keep her back to him to preserve a semblance of propriety but that was about it. Sandor was standing at about three or four steps from her, the warm water of the spring only reaching him mid-thigh as he pretended to clean himself up. Bent over, he threw the water over his head, bare chest and back, all the while never taking his eyes from the little bird more than a few seconds at a time.
“Mmm… this is so good!” she murmured happily after having crouched and briefly immersed herself completely under the surface.
“It is,” Sandor replied flatly, wishing she’d have said the words in another context.
The girl’s long red hair was fully soaked and plastered to her head, going down her shoulders and back in a glimmering, dripping cascade that made her look like an apparition from the Seven Heavens. Every now and then, she would put herself at an angle that offered Sandor a glimpse of her profile and to see the peaceful expression of her face and how the fabric of her shift clung so perfectly to her curves was starting to heat his blood.
Wasn’t that what you wanted? he wondered, slightly annoyed at himself, while feeling his cock hardening. Even from where he was, Sandor could smell her sweet scent, the steam that filled the air somehow helping in spreading it until it totally enveloped him. The effect reminded him of how he’d always imagined she’d rule his senses as he dominated her body if she was ever to inexplicably find her way to his pallet. Although he knew none of it was true, the illusion of intimacy the moment conveyed was so deceiving that a man couldn’t stop his body from getting primed for more. He could sense himself get excited and impatient in the very specific fashion he always did when he was about to rut even while his mind admitted that this was all a fantasy.
Bending over, the girl was splashing water over her head and rinsing her hair, the position attracting attention to her pert little arse. Sandor bit at his lip. How good it would be to grab it and fuck her like that. To feel her tight, virgin cunt squeezing his cock as he made his way into her.
You fucking idiotic dog, he sneered at himself as his aching shaft twitched in his smallclothes and a fever flooded his face. You’ve created your own personal hell with this buggering situation. It’s all good being able to look but when you can’t touch, what’s the bloody point? Still, in spite of his burgeoning frustration, Sandor stayed in the pool, the thought of taking his stare from the girl or moving an inch from her simply inconceivable.
Oblivious to his inner turmoil, the little bird was humming softly, her head tilted to the side and eyes shut as she carefully wrung her hair. Even in the middle of the spring, the water only reached her hips and Sandor could see the skirt of her shift seemingly flying around her legs under the surface. It was a maddening sight and he wished he could get behind her, slide his hands under and tear the damned thing from her frame…Or at least free his shaft from its confines and fuck his hand while admiring her. Seven buggering hells, the man cursed, exhaling loudly. His arousal was getting so acute, his ear buzzed but there was not much he could do about it. Sandor could feel himself growing more and more restless, each muscles of his sturdy build clenching and unclenching repeatedly and his hands closing and opening by his sides. Bugger it all, he decided suddenly, bringing a hand over his groin and stroking his erection as best he could over his smallclothes. He did it for just an instant - he only wanted to assuage his tension - but no sooner had he stopped than he was even worse than before. All the gesture had achieved was to tease him. Gods, if only I could fuck her…
Sandor was just about to touch himself again when the little bird’s lithe form stiffened. Whether it was his building agitation or the way he was standing in place and staring at her that had alerted her, the man couldn’t say, yet the fact was the girl had noticed something was amiss. Swirling around to face him, she laid wide eyes on him, probably expecting him to do the polite thing and avert his gaze just as soon. He did not though and Sandor could tell she was taken aback by it. No, instead, he shamelessly lowered his stare and let it roam over her figure, drinking thirstily at her sight.
The previously pure white cloth of the girl’s shift had lost its colour and became almost transparent thanks to the water, revealing the pale cream hue of her skin. Regardless of how tantalizing it was, for the moment all Sandor truly had eyes for were the alluring manner of her two stiff, little pink nipples pointed in the air before her and the hint of red just below the surface of the water where the juncture of her thighs was hidden.
In a way, Sandor was almost glad to have been caught, for it meant there was no point in pretending anymore. With the water arriving far bellow his thighs, there was nothing subtle about his state; the girl only had to glance down to realise why he had been studying her so much for the last few minutes. It was somewhat liberating to see his truth exposed, no matter how ugly it might look to her. Was she peeking at his cock just now? Sandor wondered, the thought not doing much to quell his ardour.
When he finally raised his stare to meet hers, the little bird’s eyes were rounded and the pale skin of her face and chest was coloured a deep shade of pink. The poor girl was biting at her lip and shivering, her breasts heaving noticeably every time she breathed. She was scared and it was easy to tell. Sandor couldn’t blame her; she was a maiden as helpless as they came after all and he was a frightful sight on his best days - and this was not one of them. The reality of the situation that she was nearly nude in a hot spring with a man more than twice her size had apparently hit her. While Sandor could read her fear, to see the little bird so lightly covered, face flushed and panting brought the most lewd images to his mind and he was suddenly overwhelmed by how much he wanted her.
“Little bird…” he rasped lowly, slowly crossing the few steps that separated them.
At first, the girl was too petrified to react but when Sandor seized her by the waist and yanked her to him, she stirred back in his hold, her slender muscles all taut under his touch. “My lord, what… what are you doing?” she asked in a small, distraught voice. Her face was cast upward but she seemingly couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze and her plump, pink mouth was slightly opened and breathless.
Sandor didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. Instead he pulled her more tightly to him and lowered his head to her neck to nuzzle at the soft skin there. The intoxicating, feminine perfume that emanated from her was clouding his mind, chasing away the meagre remnant of coherent thoughts he still had and replacing them with naught but burning hot desire like he had never experienced before.
Tensing and shifting awkwardly under his hold, the little bird was lightly pushing her hands against his arms but apart from that, didn’t truly try to flee from his clutches.
“My lord?” she repeated in an anxious whisper when Sandor lowered his palms to cup the cheeks of her arse.
The girl uselessly pushed her hands harder against his biceps, as if she believed the gesture would make a difference, but Sandor didn’t let her go. Instead, he kept on kneading her delicious bottom and pressed his erection against her firmly enough that there was no way she could ignore it anymore. Gasping, the little bird finally gave in to panic and she began squirming against him. It was all in vain. Sandor’s arms were locked too solidly around her and all her attempts to escape did nothing but stimulate his engorged shaft and make him picture more easily how her little body would writhe under him as he took her maidenhead. A faraway part of him still remembered he shouldn’t be doing what he was about to do but instead of heeding it, Sandor shut it off. Hoisting her over his shoulder, he walked out of the hot spring.
****
It had taken Sansa longer than it should to realise what she had gotten herself into. As always, the Hound had been right to tell her she was far too naïve and gullible for her own good. So often during her stay in King’s Landing, he had warned her against the evils of the world. Sansa would never have suspected the threat might come from him though and that was one more proof of the accuracy of Sandor Clegane’s words. She ought to be more wary. Yet for some reason, she had trusted and felt safe with him despite his harsh and intimidating ways and to see she had been wrong was yet another rude awakening. He has never pretended to be better than anyone else, Sansa reminded herself. Quite the contrary. He even once told me the only difference between him and any knight or great lord was that unlike them, he admitted to his brutality and didn’t pretend it was motivated by some noble purpose.
To see him stare at her like a starved animal watching its prey had been extremely disquieting and when Sansa noticed he was aroused, she had understood things were not looking good for her. The cold fingers of fear had seized her at once, rooting her in place and making her even less of a challenge for the Hound. As easily as if Sansa had been a wild flower, he had picked her up from the ground and settled her over his shoulder as he carried her out of the spring.
Installed on a bed of moss, she was now lying on her back and breathing hard while the man loomed just on top of her, his stubble covered cheek scratching her as he nuzzled and bit lightly at her neck. His body was so near, it brushed against hers with each of his movements - his skin warm and muscles as solid and powerful as steel. Yet, most disturbing of all was how his hand was moulding her breasts and his fingers played with her nipples through the soaked fabric of her shift.
Wide-eyed, Sansa was purposelessly searching the emptiness before her, unsure what she should do. “My lord?” she called, her voice sounding meek and frightened to her own ears. Lowering her gaze to him, she lifted her hands to his upper arms and squeezed them as hard as she could in an attempt to attract his attention. He seemed like in some sort of trance; perhaps he only needed to be shaken out of it. “Please… What… what do you want?” Sansa felt foolish as soon as she had uttered the question. She knew what it was he wanted, only it was much less terrifying to pretend she didn’t.
“Shhhh,” the Hound’s voice a low rumble in her ear. Leaning on his side, he began fumbling at the laces of her collar.
“My lord! Don’t!” Sansa begged him, laying her hands over his and trying to stop him but it was futile of course and in no time, the man had torn the laces open until both her breasts were completely uncovered.
Despite the sun, the air was cool against Sansa’s wet skin and her nipples stiffened even more at the contact. Sandor Clegane grunted appreciatively. It was both embarrassing and distressing to find herself so exposed to his eyes. All she wanted was to hide her nakedness from his view but the man was obviously not going to let that happen and so she stayed still - her stare lowered bashfully and face ablaze - and allowed him to look at her as much as he desired.
Almost immediately, the man brought a hand over the curve of one of her breasts, closing his palm around it and taking its nipple in his half-burnt mouth to suck at it hungrily. The girl squeaked and stirred at the twinges the touch sent all the way to her lower belly. The sensation was so odd - sharing the sharpness of physical pain without truly hurting - and Sansa wasn’t sure to make of it.
Grazing at her nipple with his teeth, the Hound removed his hand from her breast and let it trail down her stomach, grasping her sodden skirt when he reached her thigh and bunching it over her waist. Sansa had not worn anything under her shift in order to clean herself more easily and her heart skipped a beat at the memory. Faster than she could react, the man spread her legs wide apart and installed himself in-between. While she had so far managed to maintain a semblance of calm, the vulnerable position in which the Hound had just put her made her lose it completely.
“Oh no! Please! No!” she cried, her head thrown back as she uselessly pushed and scratched at his shoulders with her hands and wriggled her legs around him.
With all her strength, Sansa tried to lift her middle and torso but it was impossible. Sandor Clegane’s body was as heavy and solid as a fortress constraining her to the ground. No matter how much she tried, she could not get him to move even in the slightest. He stayed well in place over her, his forearm propped by the side of her head and his breath warming her neck and hair while his free hands fondled the flesh of her inner-thigh. Worse, with her effort, she was involuntarily rubbing his manhood and the notion that he might actually take pleasure from the friction finally impelled her to quit.
It’s all in vain anyway! Whatever I do, the Hound is going to steal my maiden’s gift in a few instants, Sansa was forced to admit to herself, the horror the idea woke in her bringing tears to her eyes. There was no way in all the Seven Kingdoms she could fight him off. He was far too strong for her and all she would achieve by resisting would be to make it harder for him not to hurt her even more as he broke through her veil. From what Sansa had been told, although a maiden was to expect pain on the night of her wedding, by being docile to her husband she could help the consummation run more smoothly. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, the girl decided, the thought sounding distant, as if it came from elsewhere than within herself. Let him do as he pleases and it surely won’t be as awful, she hoped, shivering of all her length in spite of her newborn pragmatism.
Trying hard to resign herself to her fate, she inhaled a deep and shaky breath and squeezed her eyes shut while forcing herself to relax. A wet noise was heard then and even before Sansa had time to wonder what it might be, she felt a spit-slickened finger reach the juncture of her thighs and spread her folds. Her lips gaping in shock, the girl’s eyes popped open - a whimper escaping her lips as the finger plunged into her. It was strange, sort of uncomfortable but she remained motionless, adamant about complying to whatever was coming.
“So tight,” the Hound rasped under his breath, his voice so raw, she barely recognised it.
Raising his hand to his mouth, he spat on his fingers and dipped his forefinger into her again. It stayed there but a moment longer, the man shortly removing his hand to grope at his smallclothes. Realising what was happening, Sansa tensed despite herself. Don’t resist. Don’t resist, she repeated inwardly, her pulse hammering madly in her ears. She was still reciting the words in her head when the end of the Hound’s shaft was positioned at her entrance. The girl could tell it was big - it was only natural with a man as tall and brawny as Sandor Clegane - and her cleft was already being stretched even at that early stage. The unwanted invasion, added to his bulky build imprisoning her so entirely, made Sansa feel trapped and panic abruptly overtook her again. Exactly as she had promised herself she wouldn’t, she began struggling against his hold.
“No! Please don’t do this! NO!” she cried out, her voice echoing into the emptiness of the woods for no one to hear.
Thrashing about, she scraped her nails at his shoulders and neck deeply enough to break skin but the Hound was unfazed by any of this and did not even pause to glance at her. Without thinking, she bit at his neck - finally succeeding in catching him off guards - however as he flinched and loosened his grasp on her, the head of his manhood slid the wrong way and bounced into her inner wall.
“Ah,” Sansa yelped, freezing at once and shutting her eyes against the bolt of pain that went through her.
“You little she-wolf! See what you’ve done?” Sandor Clegane grunted, pushing her flush against the floor with a hand on her upper arm. “Now calm down and I promise I’ll do my best no to hurt you. Understood?”
Nodding, Sansa sniffled and dug her nails into moist earth around her. It had been stupid of her to fight back. She had known it even as she did it but had acted out of instinct, like the hare that precipitates its death by trying to escape the snare that caught it.
“Good,” the Hound murmured.
A hand clenched solidly around her hip. He gradually but persistently began burying himself into her, each of his small thrusts inducing a gasp from Sansa and increasing the pain until she received his final and most unforgiving stab. A tear went rolling down her cheek and a quiet lament left her mouth as the Hound’s shaft hit her just underneath her entrance and his groin bumped against her mound, assuring her that no trace of her precious maidenhead remained. That’s it, I’m ruined, Sansa thought disbelievingly, the situation seeming so unreal, as if she wasn’t truly living through it.
Panting as loudly as an exhausted stallion, the man seemed very briefly dazed but he quickly braced his back and resumed rocking his pelvis against hers. While he did go slowly as promised for the first few shoves, it was easy to tell he had a hard time restraining himself and that his carefulness wouldn’t last very long. The idea was not reassuring in the least; Sansa’s insides were already burning like wildfire around his massive manhood and with every single of his comings and goings, she felt as if she was being torn open. How would it be when he released his full might on her?
The girl didn’t have to wait long to find out. Sandor Clegane had only begun possessing her when his movements grew more vigorous and hectic, the change in force and pace taking the air out of her lungs. His hand still firmly clasped at her hip, he successively pulled her to him and then propelled her backward with each of his thrusts which made Sansa’s back hit the moss under her one moment and collide against the Hound’s rock-solid torso the next. It was almost as if they were wrestling instead of coupling and the girl was suddenly reminded of those terrible, ferocious bulls she had sometimes seen when travelling in the countryside around Winterfell. This was surely how it felt to attempt to ride one - Sansa had seen young men break their necks trying - only now, she was the one being mounted.
Glancing over the muscular shoulder that obscured her view, she kept her eyes on the high canopy and the pure blue sky above all the while desperately trying to steady herself against Sandor Clegane’s constant assault but it was impossible. With a cry not far from a sob, Sansa shut her eyes and bit hard at her lip, ready to break down.
“Hold onto me,” the Hound mumbled roughly, his words startling her. As he spoke, he lifted one of her thighs and pushed it against his side and then, grabbed her arm and threw it over his shoulder.
Sansa did immediately as he bid her - closing her legs around his hips and snaking both her arms over his shoulder blades - and she was immediately relieved to see that by clinging to him so, her general discomfort was somehow alleviated quite significantly. Encouraged, she clutched at Sandor Clegane as tightly as she could, the smell of his sweat filling her nostrils.
This is not so bad, Sansa mused after a couple of much more bearable thrusts. I can deal with this. Instinctively arching her back, she began adapting herself to his motion and predicting his shoves instead of trying to avoid them as she had done previously. All she needed was to let herself get carried by the flow of his movements and not resist against the waves of his lust as they came rushing on her. His claiming of her became much more fluid - his shaft entering her with surprising precision.
While the soreness of Sansa’s womb still remained, the friction of the Hound’s shaft against her inner walls as he came in and out of her was also starting to rouse something entirely different, some sort of pressure or tickling - the girl wasn’t sure - that teased her loins in the most curious fashion. It wasn’t wholly unpleasant and made her eyelids grow heavy and body feel numb and sensitive at once.
She was forcing herself to focus only on that peculiar sensation when Clegane’s hand left her hip to cover her collarbone. “Tell me you love this,” he rasped. He moved his hand to her neck and his fingers tightened around it. The force was light - not hard enough to choke her but hard enough to convince. “Go on. You never gave me my song.”
Sansa moaned, hoping that it was what he meant, and breathed a sigh of relief when he freed her throat to roll her nipple between his forefinger and thumb instead. The touch, added to the man’s continuous invasion of her cleft as he tirelessly grinded his hips against hers soon impelled her to moan again. Dizzy and faintly abashed, Sansa distractedly glanced at him through hooded eyes all the while letting out another small moan. The Hound was keeping his face downcast and giving his entire attention to her body - his horrific burns only partially visible behind the locks of lank, black hair that fell before them and his eyes shining with a rabid spark. Sweat was beading all over his skin and his broad chest heaving almost violently and yet, he indefatigably kept on taking her, his calloused hand moving to stroke her breasts while his stare restlessly raked all over her curves. It was so strange the way he was looking at her; both totally captivated by her and heedless of her at the same time. Sansa wasn’t sure she understood it completely.
“Little bird…” Sandor Clegane whispered suddenly between clenched teeth. Straightening his back and raising himself on a knee, he clamped his hand to the back of her thigh, pushed it upward and increased his speed. “Oh gods…”
Sansa tried to follow his movement but it was difficult at this faster pace. Somehow, he could now reach into her even further than before which soon woke a new and different sort of pain that seemed to arise from the very depth of her womb. Her whole body clenched at the Hound’s pounding. Sansa dug her nails into the skin of his neck, whimpering and squeaking, fruitlessly trying to prevent him from going too deeply by any means she could. Yet once more, it was impossible and he continued claiming her just as intently, his hand like a vise keeping her well in place.
Just as it was getting too much for Sansa and tears were starting to well in her eyes, the man halted, uttering some sort of throaty growl, before resuming rocking his hips less franticly. After a few additional desperate thrusts, he sheathed himself to the hilt, stiffened and collapsed over her, crushing her under his weight. It’s over, Sansa realised with faint relief while letting her trembling arms and legs fall to her sides. The Hound was extremely heavy, nevertheless she didn’t voice a word of complaint and endured while waiting silently until he remembered she was under him.
A few second passed like that during which all Sansa could hear were the sounds of the singing birds, the wind in the leaves and the man catching his breath. However at some point, Sandor Clegane came round and moved over her. Propping himself on his elbows, he instantly found Sansa’s stare with his. It was the first time he looked her straight in the eyes since this had all started and at meeting his glare, the girl wasn’t sure she had missed it at all.
He made a little noise, a small, wry laugh, then averted his gaze from her. “You are so fucked,” he hissed lowly after a heartbeat or two in such a way that Sansa couldn’t entirely tell whether he was referring to her or to himself.
The burnt corner of his mouth twitching, the Hound rolled to his back, a thick and warm liquid dripping from Sansa’s throbbing folds as soon as he withdrew from her. After the heat of his skin, the fresh air of the forest was shockingly cool and the girl immediately began to shiver. She could vaguely hear Sandor Clegane mutter what she could guess was an impressive string of curses and see him bring his hands over his thrown back head out the corner of her eyes but Sansa didn’t pay it much attention. No instead, she stared at the high canopy as it towered over her and watched the now steady branches of the trees point at the cloudless sky above, wondering how she should feel.