A Need to Suffer

Torn Apart

Chapter Seven

Torn Apart

Ramsay’s mind flitted from the present where Sansa was steadily unwrapping her ‘toy’ to use on him to what he’d just done with her. He could still taste her he thought absently as he ran his tongue across his lips savoring the imagery it produced of seeing her heaving chest and tremoring body. The feel of her soft thighs squeezing against the sides of his face the closer she came to orgasm and her feet pushing against his shoulders to keep his tongue at bay when he was giving her a little too much of a sensory overload still excited him to think about even now in lieu of the awful thing she planned to do to him next.

She was beautiful, and when he’d first seen her arrive on horseback with Petyr Baelish, he had been more than a little relieved she hadn’t looked like his step-mother or worse like many of the inbred nobles that tended to have elongated ears and crossed eyes. It had been a revolting prospect that he’d considered may come to pass when his father had told him that earning the Bolton name meant he’d also be made to marry to form alliances between houses (this was suggested to undo much of the mess Ramsay had made trying to keep other houses in line by flaying the heads of those houses as a deterrent to others to pay their taxes and more so for Ramsay to produce an heir since apparently that was all he was really worth to his father, a legitimized Bolton produced with another house to make it official. Even with the Bolton title, he still knew deep down Roose would always see him as a bastard.)

So many moments in his life he looked back to see where the dots connected now and how he ended up in his current predicament. He could blame his father, but he was more than sure Roose would have chosen a much different tactic on the battlefield, the man was always chiding him about his ruthless tactics. Roose would have had them stay holed up to pick off the Wildling army at the gates. Snow’s forces weren’t even half of what the Bolton army had, and their men had provisions for more than enough time to make it through half the year and whittle away Jon Snow’s forces with the winter alone. It was the long game, and Ramsay was far too impulsive to play the long game, but if he had, he would have likely won. Ramsay had been foolish, always playing more games; life had always been a series of games that he had been the one making the terms for. Games were exciting in that way, but not when you were in the game and not making the rules for it. He glanced back to see Sansa had unwrapped the dreaded two-pronged phallic device and had set it on the chair, and his stomach tightened, he was definitely a pawn where Sansa was the queen now.

The door to the dungeon creaked open, and Sansa looked up to see the guard had arrived carrying a small cup for her. Her eyes shifted to Ramsay, “A little something to make things easier for you as promised, but I think this time, I want you on your back when I take you.” Her eyes drifted up to the approaching guard, “Get another man, unchain him, and flip him on his back.”

The guard handed the cup to her and nodded, “Aye, my lady.”

As the guard hurried off to fetch another guard, Sansa’s eyes drifted back down to regard Ramsay who was starting to look panicked as she laid the cup on the small table. It was bad to be taken from behind, but he really didn’t want to see it happening to him. It was a sickening thought to have that visual to keep him warm at night.

Sansa lifted a brow, “You seem less inclined to please me on your back. Is there a reason it should matter? I do like taking you from behind, but I want to see your face when I’m fucking you this time… I always did admire your pretty blue eyes.”

Ramsay’s jaw dropped in his mortification for her to see him in such a way meant that he also would take her in in such a way. She kept blurring the lines for him, he did like the thought of staring into her eyes, but not like this! He would have liked to have her ride him looking as sensuous as she did now, but she wasn’t going to fuck him like that he knew. He swallowed hard, “I might be able to please you better without the use of foreign objects. I can be gentle if you but give me the chance,” he hated how his voice dripped with his desperation to avoid what she planned to do to him. He must sound pathetic to her Ramsay thought with no small amount of self-pity, but he just couldn’t help trying to change the course of where this was going… at least if she would take him in this way, he might at least be able to convince her to go one round in a way that was pleasing to him.