A Song of Lust and Desire: Chapter VI: The One In Which Sansa And Joffrey Take A Ride
Introduction:
I do not own anything in the “A Song of Ice and Fire” book series, nor the characters living in it. They wholly belong to George R.R. Martin, and I most certainly don’t make any money from the writing of this story.
Sansa was having absolutely the best day of her life. When her scheduled lemoncake brunch with Queen Cercei was cancelled upon the arrival of the honor guard to escort the King and her Father to King’s Landing, her stomach was set aflutter as the Queen told Prince Joffrey – Sansa’s betrothed – to entertain her. And despite the unsettling gaze of ser Ilyn Payne, and the harsh, barking laughter of the Hound, Sansa’s spirits took flight.
And so Sansa and Joffrey’s glorious, magical day began. The pair galloped across the fertile riverlands, exploring here-and-there. Sansa could never recall being happier. When the pair stopped for a bit to eat, Prince Joffrey produced a wineskin from his pack. Sansa’s eyes widened in surprise and, reverently lowering her voice, she confessed, “Father only let us have one cup, and only at feasts.”
Joffrey shot a sleazy yet charming smile at the beautiful and infatuated Stark girl, and chastised her by saying, “I am the Prince, and my betrothed may have as much drink as she wants.”
With a tentative yet relenting smile, Sansa drank a few more cups of the sweet, sweet wine when she felt the hand on her soft, supple thigh, and froze. Her cheeks burned crimson as her face and eyes tilt to Prince Joffrey. Her voice sequaks in surprise as the young man practically lunges ontop of her, causing the empty cup to tumble into the grass.
Prince Joffrey kissed her aggressively, showing no skill or experience, only a primal lust. Sansa’s hands lift to his narrow, weak shoulders and she mumbles to him, her mind swimming with a combination of wine and lust, “M-my Prince, you mustn’t!”
A strong hand surrounds her young breast, crushing her beautiful blue silken dress into her supple flesh of her breast, eliciting a mewling moan into her assailant’s mouth. Lifting his sneering mouth from her plump lips, bright green eyes snarl at her and say, “I am the Prince. I take what I want.”
His hands move to the stag-shaped belt buckle around his waist as Sansa, still immobilized by fear, stares shocked at him. Just as the young man loosens his belt, an echoing moan reaches the pair’s ears. Joffrey’s eyes shot up past her at the tree line, and he murmured to Sansa, “I don’t think we’re alone out here.”
The beautiful blonde stands and, grabbing Sansa’s arm, pulls her to her feet. Sansa’s head spins and throbs painfully, a dull and unfamiliar ache behind her forehead. She pushes her auburn hair backward, and presses her hand to her skull. Joffrey smirks at her and says, “I want to make sure we’re not interrupted, then I’ll take you.”
Sansa can’t even formulate a reply as she drunkenly stumbles with Joffrey, her arm still stuck in his vice-like grip. They tromp shortly through the treeline, to a small creek nearby, hiding behind a tree. Sansa’s eys blurrily squint at the boy sitting on a rock in the small clearing, and mumbles to Joffrey, “I think I saw that boy in the entourage.”
Joffrey noded raptly and whispers “I think that’s the butcher’s boy.” His predatory sneer got wider, “It looks like he’s not alone.”
Sansa squinted at the butcher boy, and – oh my – yes there was a woman kneeling in front of him. The way the boy’s boy was positioned while sitting on the rock blocked most of the view of the young brown haired woman, but the obvious bobbing motion of her head told obviously that her pliant young mouth was eagerly working the cock of the butcher boy.
Another gasp escaped the auburn-haired Sansa Stark as Joffrey pressed himself to her back, pinning her to the tree that she hid behind. His hot breath washed over her ear as she groaned in nervous complaint, “No, please. Not until we’re married. I want to go back”
Despite her protests, her pert ass was wiggling back against Joffrey’s lap, but paused completely when the butcher boy and the woman adjust slightly, revealing the identity of the scrawny girl in soiled leathers. Prince Joffrey laughed loudly. The butcher boy turned to the treeline, long cock dangling from his breeches. The girl glared at the pair of them, sucking a bit of cum off her fingers, and Sansa was horrified, “ARYA?” she called out frantically.
“Go away!” Arya stomped forward as the butcher boy quickly does up his pants, cum leaking off Arya’s cheek “What are you doing here? Leave us alone!”
Almost instantously, Joffrey seemed to lose interest in Sansa, and slipped out from the tree to strut arrogantly towards Arya. He pauses and skims her with his gaze, before asking of Sansa “This slut is your sister?” She nodded, blushing furiously.
With quick speed, Arya grabbed a nearby stick and shouted at Joffrey, “I am not a slut!”
Sansa was afraid, “Arya, please, come back to camp with us. No one has to know what you…did.”
Joffrey’s eyes never left Arya’s body, and advanced towards her, “You won’t be leaving yet…not until I’ve had my turn.”
Arya went for him.
Sansa lunged forward, but she was too slow, and everything happened before her horrified eyes. Arya swung the branch like a two-handed club, cracking into the Prince’s skull. Joffrey wavered to the left, swearing profusing. Mycah bolted for the trees as fast as he could. Joffrey unsteadily drew his sword from his sheath as Arya swung again, this time slicing the stick in half. Undaunted, Arya picked up a rock and hurled it at Joffrey, missing wildly all the while Sansa shrieked in terror, “Stop! Don’t! Stop!” Joffrey slashed at Arya, blood dripping into his eyes growling at her that he was going to fuck her bloody. Arya danced back, fear playing across her face.
Sansa stood there uselessly, tears overflowing her cheeks, until her dress swooshed as a grey blur raced past her. Suddenly Arya’s direwolf Nymeria was there, leaping, jaws closing around Joffrey’s arm. His sword, Lion’s Tooth, fell to the floor and rolled into the grass as the Prince and the wolf crashed to the floor, the wolf snarling and ripping and the prince shrieking in agony.
Arya’s voice rang sharp through the clearing, “Nymeria!”
The Prince lay sobbing on the ground as the direwolf trotted to Arya’s side. The youngest Stark sister picks up the discarded sword and advances on the scared, whimpering Joffrey. A wolf-like snarl crosses her face as she says to him, “Maybe I’ll have my turn, and fuck you bloody with this!”
“YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Sansa screamed at Arya, and ran, crouching down beside her beloved prince, cradling his head in her arms. Arya turned and whipped the sword into the air, putting her whole, tiny body into the throw. The castle-forged steel flashed and glinted in the air, before sinking into the river with a loud splash. Joffrey moaned pitifully, and Arya ran off into the woods, followed quickly by Nymeria.
Sansa’s eyes lower to Joffrey’s blood-stained, crying, slightly purple face, “Joffrey, oh my love, look what they did. My poor prince. Don’t be afraid. I’ll ride back and get help for you.” Tenderly she reached out and kissed his golden blonde hair.
His furious green eyes snapped open and sneered at her, nothing but loathing in his gaze, “Then go, you bitch.”
Sansa jerked back as if struck and ran, crying, for the camp.
