Westeros - The dark side of a kingdom

[LaLia]

Teaser:The following project has been on my mind for a while and is, in a way, a tribute to a story that appeared on RavishU: "Whore of Thrones" by LeNa. For me, it was a story that was really exciting and didn't get enough attention there. So I'm taking a risk here, but I want to approach the story differently and not incorporate the plot of the entire "Game of Thrones" series, but focus more on the individual characters. There will be individual parts, each focusing on a single woman in a block, and then divided into chapters. I'll start with Sansa Stark, but at least Daenerys, Margaery, and Arya will probably play a role later on.

I hope you enjoy this story, and no, it doesn't require any extensive knowledge of the series or the books. So just read In addition to the non-con scenes, there will also be consensual situations.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental. The photos are AI works, thus not subject to copyright, and are taken from the game "Whore of Thrones." The story is about the fictional characters, not the real-life actresses.
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Index:

Chapter 1 - Sansa Stark:

1.01. - Arrival in King's Landing

1.02. - The first touch

1.03. - Jeyne Poole

1.04. - Dark alleys

1.05. - Maidenhead

1.06. - Queen Cersei, the Mistress

1.07. - Beg for mercy






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Title: Westeros - The dark side of a kingdom
Author: @LaLia
Chapter Tags: #SansaStark
Content Warnings: ----
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The following project has been on my mind for a while and is, in a way, a tribute to a story that appeared on RavishU: "Whore of Thrones" by LeNa. For me, it was a story that was really exciting and didn't get enough attention there. So I'm taking a risk here, but I want to approach the story differently and not incorporate the plot of the entire "Game of Thrones" series, but focus more on the individual characters. There will be individual parts, each focusing on a single woman in a block, and then divided into chapters. I'll start with Sansa Stark, but at least Daenerys, Margaery, and Arya will probably play a role later on.

I hope you enjoy this story, and no, it doesn't require any extensive knowledge of the series or the books. So just read In addition to the non-con scenes, there will also be consensual situations.
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Westeros - The dark side of a kingdom



1.01. - Arrival in King's Landing

The morning in Winterfell was cool, but the sun shone through the clouds, bathing the gray walls in a silvery light. There was a flurry of activity everywhere: horses were being saddled, wagons were being loaded, servants were shouting orders to one another. It was the day the royal retinue was to depart on their return journey to King's Landing—and Sansa Stark was to travel with them.

Her heart pounded with excitement. She had barely slept all night, waking repeatedly from dreams in which Prince Joffrey, smiling, offered her his hand and led her into the great, golden hall of the capital. "One day you will be queen," he had whispered in her ear. And she had believed it, as surely as the stars in the sky.

That morning, when she had put on her best, light-blue traveling dress, Septa Mordane had carefully pinned her hair up in a delicate coiffure. "A proper little lady," she had murmured, while Sansa sat impatiently on the stool, waiting to finally be allowed to join him. In the courtyard, the air was filled with the whinny of horses and the metallic clang of armor and mail. The banners of House Baratheon and the Lions of Lannister fluttered above the men's heads.

There he was.
Joffrey.

The prince wore a shimmering, black robe with gold embroidery. His blond hair glinted in the sunlight, and when their eyes met, he smiled—a little crookedly, almost awkwardly. A moment Sansa cherished forever.

He came to her, leading his snow-white steed by the reins, and bowed slightly. "My Lady Sansa," he said, in the voice of a boy trying to sound like a man.

"Prince Joffrey," she replied, curtsying for countless hours with Septa Mordane. Her face glowed.

He had a gift for her.
A small brooch in the shape of a golden stag, the heraldic animal of his house. He pinned it to her cloak himself, his fingers fleetingly brushing her skin. It was a tiny moment, little more than a breath of air, but to Sansa, it meant everything.

"To the fairest star in the North," he said, and she felt her heart leap.

The journey began. Days filled with endless forests, green hills, and still, shimmering rivers. Sansa rode a soft-maned white pony, accompanied by Septa Mordane, her handmaidens, and occasionally Arya, who soon found herself more often among the squires and boys. Sansa paid little attention to her little sister. Her world consisted of Joffrey and the stories she imagined in her mind.

In the evening, when camp was set up and the tents rattled in the wind, they sat together by the fires. Joffrey told of tournaments, of his sword, which he would one day wield against the enemies of the realm. He spoke of the magnificent halls of King's Landing, the golden domes of the Great Sept of Baelor, and the Red Keep, whose walls were so high they touched the clouds.

Sansa listened to him with shining eyes. Sometimes, when they rode side by side, he was silent, almost embarrassed. Then he would steal glances at her, as if afraid to show his weakness, and Sansa pretended not to notice, even though her heart leaped each time. Once, he handed her a flower, a simple wild rose he'd picked along the way. "The fairest bloom for the fairest maiden," he had stammered, and Sansa had carefully placed the petal between the pages of her prayer book.

She was on cloud nine. At night in her tent, she imagined what her wedding would be like. The grand banquet, the golden cloak he would place over her shoulders, the kiss before the assembled lords and ladies. And later, when they were alone, his kisses would cover her entire body... she hardly dared to think about it, but her cheeks grew hot, and she pulled the blanket over her face.

One day she would be Queen of Westeros.
Her children would have golden hair, noble and beautiful, and everyone would love her.

The dream seemed within reach.

She had no idea how dark the path she had chosen would become.

But in these days of travel, everything was bright, light, and wonderful.
Like a song. Like a sweet, luminous dream.

The party had stopped that afternoon at a small, shimmering stream to let the horses drink and the men rest. The sun was high, and the air shimmered over the meadows.

Sansa had sat on a blanket beneath an oak tree; the skirt of her dress carefully tucked around her. The scent of wildflowers and warm grass hung in the air. Arya's joyful laughter could be heard in the distance as she once again romped with the boys, but Sansa barely registered. She looked expectantly toward the small path that led from the tents to the clearing.

And there he came. Prince Joffrey.
In his hands he held a small basket, from which peeped the golden rim of a fruit plate and a small flask of wine.

He seemed a little embarrassed as he approached.
"I... I thought you might like some... company, my lady," he stammered, sitting down beside her, careful not to touch her dress.

Sansa felt her heart leap in her throat.
"That would be... wonderful, my lord," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

He opened the basket and placed some sweet, ripe berries and white bread on the blanket. He filled two silver cups with wine, even though it was probably too strong for both of them. But it was the proper thing to do.

They talked about King's Landing, about the great tourney to be held in honor of the Hand of the King, and about the songs the singers would sing in the evenings.

Sansa floated.
His smile, the way he looked at her—as if she were the only woman in all of Westeros—made her forget everything else.

Then it fell silent.

Joffrey plucked at a blade of grass and tossed it carelessly into the water.
"Sansa..." he began quietly. "May I ask you something?"

She nodded, her cheeks hot.

"In the songs... the ladies and knights kiss... in quiet places like this... and they say the first kiss is something you never forget."
His voice was uncertain, almost shy.
"I... wanted to ask if... if you... perhaps..."

Sansa felt her fingers clutching the hem of her dress. Her heart was pounding so loudly she thought he must hear it.

"Yes," she breathed.

He leaned forward.
Uncertain, his movements a little angular, quite different from the smooth knights in the stories. But that was precisely what made it so precious to Sansa. His lips touched hers only fleetingly, barely more than a breath. Warm, soft, hesitant. A cautious, embarrassed kiss that still meant the world to her.

When he pulled away, he looked at her as if he'd done something incredible.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Sansa felt a strange tingling in her stomach.
"It was... more beautiful than I ever imagined," she confessed, her voice trembling with happiness.

For a moment, the world belonged to her.

The rustling of the leaves, the gentle rippling of the water, the distant laughter of the others, everything blurred. Just her and Joffrey under that old tree, in a moment that would remain theirs forever.

For back then, Sansa didn't yet know that dreams can bleed.

The days after the picnic were like something out of a song for Sansa. Joffrey repeatedly sought her company, and even though he usually acted cool and regal in front of the others, there was that look he gave only to her. She was sure: he loved her. Soon she would become his wife, and she would sit by his side on the Iron Throne.

It was all a dream, until that afternoon.

They rode along the river. Arya, as wild as ever, bound through the long grass with her direwolf, Nymeria, laughing and throwing clods of mud at the boys. Sansa was ashamed of her sister, who was so far from being a lady.

Joffrey rode at her side, a mocking smile on his lips. In his right hand, he carried his light sword, which he called "Dandelion."
"Come, let's ride forward a bit," he had whispered, and Sansa had followed, intoxicated to be alone with him again.

But then they heard voices by the water.
A boy, Micah, the butcher's son—was playing with Arya. They pretended to fight, wooden sticks in their hands.

Joffrey's face twisted in disgust.

"What kind of scum is this?" he hissed, his whole expression changing. The soft, shy smile was gone. Instead, his blue eyes flashed coldly.

"He's just a boy," Sansa tried to reassure her, but he didn't listen.

"How dare he attack a lord's daughter with a cane? Let him feel the feel of a real blade!"
Without hesitation, Joffrey nudged his horse, pulled Dandelion, and knocked the wooden weapon from Micah's hand.

Micah whimpered, raising his arms protectively.

"Please, my lord, it was only a game!"
Blood oozed from a cut on his arm where Joffrey's blade had grazed him.

"A game? Are you insulting me, butcher's son?"
Joffrey raised his sword again.

There came Arya.
Like a whirlwind, she lunged at him, ripping Dandelion from his hand. Her face was contorted with rage.

"Stop it, you cowardly, conceited coward!"

Joffrey stumbled backward, surprised, unable to compose himself.

Then Nymeria was there.

The direwolf darted from the bushes, snarling, and grabbed Joffrey by the arm. A short, hoarse yell, blood spurted. The blade clattered to the ground.

Sansa screamed.

Joffrey lay in the grass; his face was contorted between pain and humiliated rage.

"You will pay me! „All of you!" he spat, his cheek filled with tears and anger.

Arya threw Joffrey's sword into the river, called Nymeria back, and ran away.

When the royal retinue heard of this, the mood was icy. The king screamed, Cersei raged. Joffrey sat with a bandaged arm; his eyes filled with hatred.

"She let her direwolf attack me!" he cried again and again.

With Nymeria gone, Cersei wanted blood. And Joffrey insisted.

"Then let her sister's wolf pay for her," he hissed.

"I will tolerate no wolf that could harm me."

Sansa was horrified.

"Please, my lord... Lady hasn't done anything! She is gentle and harmless... she loves me! She wasn't even there!"

Joffrey looked at her, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.
The sweet boy who had given her the flower was no longer there.

"A wolf is a wolf, a beast," he said coldly.
"That's what I want."

Sansa's heart broke.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She begged her father, pleaded, but it was in vain. The order had been given.

That very night, Lady was killed.
Eddard Stark had had to do it himself. He didn't want a foreign sword to do it.

Sansa lay in her tent when she heard the soft whimper, the brief sound—and then silence.

Her beautiful dream was over.

That night, Sansa learned there were two Joffrey’s:
The smiling prince of songs.
And the cruel, cold child who demanded blood when he was humiliated.

And she knew she'd entered a world that bore no resemblance to the songs she knew.

A dream that bled.

The days after Lady's death dragged on, slow and gray. The sun was shining, the sky was wide and bright, and yet something invisible and heavy weighed on Sansa that she couldn't shake.

Joffrey barely spoke to her anymore.

At first, she had convinced herself he was hurt, wounded by the incident at the river, and that he just needed a little time. But with each day, the sweet, awkward boy of old shrank a little further, and in his place stepped another Joffrey—cold, haughty, mocking.

He often rode alongside his mother or with the other young nobles. When their eyes met, there was no longer the hesitant smile that had once made her heart race. Instead, only a short, cool nod, more like a gesture for a serving maid than for his promised bride.

Sansa felt lonely. But she found some comfort in Jeyne Poole, her friend from Winterfell. Jeyne was the daughter of the steward and had been allowed to travel with her. She slept in the same tent as Sansa, and during the long, dark nights, they spoke quietly of the wonders of the capital, of silk-embroidered gowns, golden crowns, and lavish banquets.

Jeyne listened when Sansa spoke of Joffrey, of the tender memories of the picnic, of the kiss that still lingered sweetly on her lips. Even though Jeyne sometimes tried to gently say that the prince had changed, Sansa didn't want to hear it.

"He's a prince," she said defiantly.
"Perhaps he can't show how he feels here on the journey. But in the capital... everything will be better there."

Finally, after endless weeks, they reached King's Landing. The city loomed like a vast, shimmering promise behind the last hills. The red walls of the Red Keep gleamed in the afternoon sun; the golden dome of the Great Sept of Baelor sparkled like a star.

Sansa could smell the sweet scent of strange spices, roasted meat, and the salt of the sea. The streets were crowded with people, and everywhere merchants were calling out their wares. It was like an old song that had come to life.

She had dreamed of it.
And now she was here.

"Your girl will be good for the court," King Robert had told her father as he studied Sansa.
"A Stark in King's Landing—that's what this place will need."

Cersei Lannister stood nearby.
Her beauty was undeniable, but her green eyes were as cold as ice as she gazed at Sansa. A courtly smile played on her lips, but her gaze was scrutinizing, calculating.

Sansa could sense that the queen did not want the union. But King Robert had already announced that Joffrey and Sansa were betrothed to each other. For the realm, for the unity of House Baratheon and House Stark.

A wise move.
The connection of the most powerful house in the North to the Throne in the South was priceless. Even the Lennisters had to accept it.

During her first days at court, Sansa searched in vain for Joffrey's gaze. He was always surrounded by others—by Ser Meryn Trant, Ser Boros Blount, and the other knights of the Kings guard, or at his mother's side. When she met him, he spoke with the cool courtesy of a prince. Not a word more about flowers, songs, or her kiss.

Sansa bore it silently.
That night, she wept into her pillow while Jeyne quietly tried to comfort her.
"He's a prince, Sansa," Jeyne whispered. "Everything is different at court. You must be patient."

And Sansa hoped.
She hoped that the Boy from the River, who gave her a flower, was still somewhere inside him. She hoped that soon her name would be sung in song, like Sansa Stark, the beautiful Queen of the West and the North.

She didn't want to let go of the dream.

Not now.

Not yet.

[Lucius]

Did the kingdom have a bright side?

The following project has been on my mind for a while and is, in a way, a tribute to a story that appeared on RavishU: "Whore of Thrones" by LeNa. For me, it was a story that was really exciting and didn't get enough attention there. So I'm taking a risk here, but I want to approach the story differently and not incorporate the plot of the entire "Game of Thrones" series, but focus more on the individual characters.

I'd like to see you tackle the subject -- do you intend to diverge from the TV show, or are NonCon and Con slotted into the interstices of the plot? What would you like to add to the plot, the kinky parts excepted?

There will be individual parts, each focusing on a single woman in a block, and then divided into chapters. I'll start with Sansa Stark, but at least Daenerys, Margaery, and Arya will probably play a role later on.

The TV Sand Snakes bring out all the latent misogyny of mine... just a suggestion.

[LaLia]

@Lucius

Good question...everything was probably evil, but here it's even more evil than shown in the series.

So, I'm not going to throw the entire plot out the window, even though that would probably be good, especially in the last season. You didn't read Lena's story in the old board, did you? She really incorporated the whole story, which was good, but also read a bit like a summary. I want to shed more light on the individual characters, and it will be a bit of a mix of the series and the PC game. Jeyne Poole, for example, doesn't appear much in the series, but she does in the books and the game. But there will also be plots that are perhaps a bit more fictional; maybe I'll keep people alive longer or adapt their stories. I'll also act a little spontaneously, though, but I want to be sure that those who have watched GoT can't predict everything, and those who haven't watched the series don't have to be too familiar with the law.

Yes, I already had Ellaria Sand or her three daughters in mind. Ygritte would be a good fit, and Myrcella certainly would too. So young, pretty, and innocent.

[LaLia]

1.02. - The first touch

The days in King's Landing passed differently than in Winterfell. The air was warm and heavy, the light seemed to lie golden over the narrow streets, and everywhere the scent of salt, blossoms, strange spices, and something rotten lurked in the narrow alleys between the houses.

Sansa still loved the city.
The magnificent gardens of the Red Keep, the white marble statues of the Seven, the tall battlements, and the fluttering banners. It was like a song she was finally experiencing for herself. She wandered through the wide courtyards, took part in embroidery lessons with the other noble maidens, and waited longingly for Joffrey to call her back.

But it rarely happened. He always seemed busy, riding out with his men or attending court parties. When he saw her, he was kind, polite—but that special warmth, the shy smile that had made her stomach flutter, had become rarer.

Sansa told herself it was duty that consumed him.
A prince had much to do, and she was just a young girl looking forward to the day he would finally make her his queen.

Her first conversation with Queen Cersei came one afternoon in the small orangery of the Red Keep. The queen had summoned her.

Cersei sat amidst flowers, her golden hair, a shimmering curtain over her shoulders, a cup of wine in her hand. Her beauty was flawless, her smile was like porcelain.

"Sansa," she began, studying the young girl with that gaze that saw so much more than one would have thought possible.
"You have become a beauty. One day, you will bring Joffrey much joy."

Sansa didn't know what to say to that. She stammered a compliment that the queen was even more beautiful, and Cersei smiled gently.

"You will have to learn to be vigilant, child. Things are not always as they seem at court."
Her voice was soft, almost coaxing, but there was a cold edge to it.

Sansa felt her throat suddenly go dry.
"I only want to be a good wife to Prince Joffrey," she said quietly.

Cersei nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You will. As long as you are wise enough to close your eyes when it is called for."

Sansa didn't quite understand the words, but she nodded.
In that moment, she longed for Jeyne, for Arya, for the simplicity of Winterfell.

Arya was barely within reach.
The girl wandered through the winding alleys, climbed walls, and returned in the evenings dirty and with disheveled hair. She barely spoke to Sansa anymore, instead laughing at things Sansa didn't understand and disappearing again and again for secret practice sessions with Syrio Forel, the Braavosi who taught her fencing.

"She'll ruin herself," Jeyne once whispered.

But Arya just laughed when someone confronted her and disappeared again.

Her father was rarely seen.

Since becoming Hand of the King, Lord Eddard had been almost constantly busy with advisors, messengers, and noblemen. When Sansa saw him, he seemed tired, as if carrying an invisible weight on his shoulders.

The intrigues and dark plotting of the court remained hidden from her.
What she heard were only fragments: whispered names, sudden marriages, missing servants, messengers sneaking through secret doors at night. But she paid no attention.
She wanted to believe in her song.
In her future.

The Hound, Sandor Clegane, frightened her. His scarred, burned side of his face was horrible to look at, and whenever he spoke, there was a growling, cutting edge to his voice. He was always at Joffrey's side, and when he looked at her, it was as if he could see all her fears.

Once, he had met her in an empty corridor.
"Little birds like you are quickly eaten at court," he said.
His voice was harsh, his words like blows.
Sansa had run away, her heart pounding.

Joffrey... Over time, he seemed to turn more towards her again. He occasionally took her on rides, talked about tournaments, about the Iron Throne he would one day ascend. But it was different. His gaze had become scrutinizing, his tone condescending. He took her hand when etiquette demanded it, but he often left her when a beautiful lady-in-waiting passed him.

Sansa noticed it.
Time and again, she noticed other young women smiling at him—and Joffrey returning it.

But she said nothing.

In her heart, she held onto her dream.
She told herself that everything would be all right, that she would be queen, that she would love Joffrey and he would love her, as the songs said.

The evening air was warm, the sun was sinking slowly behind the battlements of King's Landing, and the sky was turning soft gold and purple. The balcony above the gardens was deserted. Only the sounds of the city drifted up from the distance, the hammering of a blacksmith, the distant shouts of merchants, and the occasional clang of armor from the courtyard.

Sansa leaned against the stone railing, her gaze sweeping over the rooftops of the capital. The lights flickered in the windows, and in the distance, the water of the bay shimmered like molten silver.

She didn't know why her heart was racing.

Perhaps because Joffrey had called her. He had sent her a message—a simple, polite line: "Come to the balcony of the gardens as soon as the sun sets."

And he had come. Suddenly he was there, a shadow between the high arched windows that led into the hall. His robe shimmered in the last light of day, the golden lion crest on it glowing as if alive.

"Sansa," he said softly, and his gaze was different than before. No longer shy, no longer embarrassed. There was a strange sparkle in it that frightened and attracted her at the same time.

"My prince," she breathed, curtsying, even though no one was watching.

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving her.
"You are beautiful when the light falls on your hair like this," he murmured, and before she could respond, he took her hand and pulled her toward him.

His grip was firmer than before. No longer a cautious touch—he claimed her closeness as if he had the right to do so. His other hand closed around her waist, and then he bent down toward her.





The kiss was no longer timid groping.
His lips pressed hard against hers, demanding, almost greedily. Sansa felt her heart race, her whole-body tingle. It was different, harder, strange—and yet she enjoyed the way he boldly pushed his tongue toward her.

There was a strange taste on his lips, wine and a hint of iron, but she closed her eyes, let herself fall into the kiss, felt his breath mingling with hers.
When he finally pulled away, he was still holding her by the waist.
"Meet me tonight," he whispered in her ear, his voice rough, almost like a command.
"In the great hall in the south wing."

Sansa swallowed. She didn't know why a shiver ran down her spine. Why his voice made her tremble so much, and yet why did a part of her still want nothing more than to see him again.

"Yes, my prince," she breathed.

He smiled—that thin, self-satisfied smile—and turned away. His cloak swished across the stones of the balcony, and Sansa remained, her hands on the cold railing, her eyes fixed on his fading shadow.

What did he want from her?
Why this secret rendezvous?

Her heart pounded wildly, her thoughts raced.
Part of her was afraid. Another part wanted to feel that kiss again, that tingling, that burning sensation under her skin.

She knew only one thing:
She would leave.

How could she not?
He was her prince. Her destiny. Her song. And still her dream.

Night had fallen over King's Landing, warm and sweet, the air heavy with the scent of blossoms and the distant salt of the Black Water. Sansa Stark strode slowly down the wide stairs, her heart pounding in her throat. Her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched the hem of her dress.

She had made an effort.
A dress of soft, pink silk, the fabric so fine it whispered softly with every step. The bodice was tightly laced, lifting her cleavage subtly, as ladies of court wore.

The south wing was dark, with barely a servant in sight. Sansa barely knew this part of the Red Keep—it was old, its walls rough and cold, the torchlight casting long, flickering shadows. When she reached the great hall, her heartbeat even faster.

The door was open.
An uneasy light flickered behind it.

Sansa pushed it open carefully.

The hall was nothing like she had imagined. No flower-filled arched windows, no music, no sweet scent of perfume and wine. Instead, stone pillars rose, and iron torches hung on the walls, their flames illuminating the rough stonework.

An iron gate led to the old dungeons. The floor was smooth and cold.
It was no place for a secret love affair. Or was it?

And then she saw him. Joffrey.
He stood beneath one of the torches, his face in the shadows. His gaze was on her, piercing, sharp. But he wasn't alone.

A woman was with him. She was a few years older than Sansa, but she was a stranger to her.

Sansa's breath caught in her throat. The young woman was completely naked, her naked body leaning against one of the pillars. As she braced herself with her hands, Sansa could see her bare bottom.

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"My prince..." she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joffrey smiled—thinly, a little mockingly.
"Sansa," he said, as if her name were something he was tasting.

The stranger gave her an appraising look, a smile that seemed to know what Sansa didn't understand.

Sansa's stomach clenched.

"I... I thought you wanted to speak to me... alone," she stammered, her gaze shifting uncertainly from Joffrey to the woman.

He stepped closer, leaving the stranger at his side, and took Sansa's hand, his fingers gripping hers far too tightly.
"I wanted to see you. You're beautiful when you dress up like this."
His gaze slid over her, lingering on her cleavage.

Sansa felt the blood rush to her face.
Part of her wanted to pull away, the other wanted to hold this moment.

He leaned forward.
His kiss was no longer hesitant, no longer the timid groping of before.
His mouth pressed hard against hers, his hand on her waist, and Sansa felt her heart race, a sweet, shimmering tingle running through her.

Something about his determination made her shiver and catch her breath at the same time.

When he pulled away, his gaze was unfathomable.

"This is Noemi, one of my playmates," he breathed. His voice was strangely quiet, as if he were keeping something to himself. Noemi nodded almost imperceptibly, her eyes fixed on Sansa, who was leaning against the far wall and casting evasive glances at Joffrey.

"Not a lady like you, just a whore. But I like whores." He raised his hand as if to grasp the words. "Are you a whore too, my lady?"

Sansa flinched. Her throat tightened as she tried to answer. I am not a whore, she thought, I am Lady Sansa. But the words caught in her throat. She stood there frozen, her fingers clenched around the hilt of her dress.

Take off your dress, Sansa. Joffrey's voice made her jump. Her fingers loosened. No, no, you mustn't. But the fear of the consequences, the fear of looking into Joffrey's eyes, overcame everything else. She hesitated. Her cheeks burned as if they were on their way to a fire. The heat from the fire in the opposite corner seemed to settle down her spine. If I do this, she told herself, he'll hate me. Or he won't let me go.

"You want to be a faithful and obedient wife, don't you?" He stepped closer. His breath smelled of peppermint and alcohol.

Faithfulness? Obedience? Slowly, Sansa raised her hand and, with trembling fingers, began to peel off her dress. The fabric suddenly felt foreign against her skin. This is a mistake, she pleaded silently, a terrible mistake.

Her naked body shimmered in the flames. Sansa's skin was delicate, almost transparent in the flickering light. She covered her breasts and private parts with her arms, as if her emotions were too visible beneath her dress. Noemi smiled. A slight twitch of her lips before immediately transforming it into an emotionless stare. She bit her lower lip.

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Joffrey circled Sansa. His gait was quiet, almost tender, as he walked around her. His eyes gleamed in the firelight.

Two shapely buttocks, firm and perfect. He placed a hand on her bottom. The touch made her tremble; a tingling sensation ran from her bottom up her spine.

Sansa slowly let her arms hang. The space seemed to thicken. The flames no longer touched her body through the fabric of her dress. Her legs—long and slender—were revealed. Her flat stomach barely bulged, and her breasts—not large, but firm—were clearly visible. Most men's hands would be well-filled by those.

Joffrey smiled, and Sansa swallowed. His smile wasn't pleasant, but rather... amused by her reaction. No strange man had ever seen her like this. He moved closer, his hand sliding over her hip.

Joffrey's gaze was uncomfortable. They bored into her, not desire, but an investigation. Yet they made her tingle. A strange feeling she couldn't interpret.

"You are obedient, Sansa?" After a minute of silence that seemed like an eternity, he asked. His voice was soft again.

Sansa nodded. Yes, she thought. I am obedient. She hoped he would see how much she wanted to be. She hoped he would like her body. She hoped he would look at her again and take that tingling in her chest with approval. „I’ll do anything,“ she told herself in a raspy voice. Do anything to please him.

"Then kneel down, lick her ass, and finger her," Joffrey breathed.

Sansa couldn't believe her ears. The words echoed in her head, each syllable painful, as if spoken from a strange, cruel tongue. She looked at the young prince, speechless, stunned, and for a moment she thought he was just playing, trying to lure her with fear and shame.

But Joffrey looked at her impatiently. His gaze was firm, determined. No joke. He had meant the absurd demand seriously.

A cold shiver ran down Sansa's spine, but at the same time, she felt another movement within her, a strange mixture of resistance and... a certain willingness to obey. Did she want to understand that? No. But she wanted to please Joffrey. She didn't want to lose his favor, his eye contact, his approval, even in this situation. And perhaps, a tiny part of her instinctively hoped that this act, this command, was enough to prove her submission. She suddenly sank to her knees.

The backs of her knees gave way beneath her, as if her legs suddenly refused to bear any weight. She wanted to please Joffrey. Even if she didn't understand why he was demanding this of her. Why Noemi?

She sighed briefly, a small, muffled sound, as she leaned forward and assumed the position Joffrey had specified.

The stranger woman—Noemi—stared at her with wide-open eyes. Noemi felt Sansa's hands on her thighs and immediately on the space between them. She was wet; Sansa immediately felt it on her fingers as she gently stroked her labia.

And she moaned as Sansa's breath hit her, just before his tongue slid between her buttocks, which Joffrey had now spread apart. Sansa tilted her head. The sight of Noemi's bottom was both fascinating and strange. The fine hair on her skin stood slightly erect in the candlelight. She played around her rear door with her tongue, beginning very carefully.

The taste was unfamiliar and initially repulsive. Sansa held her breath and concentrated on the task at hand. Her lips glide over the smooth skin, finding the sensitive spot between her bottom and labia. She licked gently, in short strokes.

Noemi's body twitched with each of her kisses. Her breath caught, and she arched her hips slightly, as if welcoming Sansa's action. The mere idea of someone licking her bottom so deeply and unashamedly was so dirty, so forbidden, that it triggered a strange ecstasy. Sansa felt a tingling on her own skin that had nothing to do with Joffrey.

She felt the urge to keep licking, to lick deeper, until she touched the core. Her tongue found the sensitive skin around the entrance. She moved it gently, fanning the labia apart.

Noemi slowly lowered her arms. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When her pussy was touched from the outside, she opened her legs a little more, longing for more.

Sansa felt the heat and wetness beneath her lips. The sight of her own tongue where it didn't belong nearly drove her mad. She felt like an animal being hunted.

With the tip of her tongue, she probed further. She found the sensitive pearl and began to suckle. Noemi let out a deep sigh, a sound of excited submission. Joffrey watched her with an expression of pleasure and lust.

Joffrey said, "And finger her."

Sansa obeyed immediately. Her hand rested on Noemi's cunt. The skin beneath her fingers was smooth and warm. She felt the distinct wetness immediately.

Without hesitation, she pushed two fingers into the tight opening of her pussy. Noemi moaned loudly and arched under her continued gentle pressure and the persistent movements of her tongue. The tightness around her fingers was arousing, and she slowly penetrated further.

Sansa sucked Noemi's clitoris again and again. The pearl pulled beneath her touch. She began rubbing small circles over the sensitive spot. Noemi flinched with each contact, her hips moving rhythmically against her hand.

"Yes... oh yes..." Sansa heard Noemi gasp. The sound sent a wave of animalistic pleasure through her as Noemi screamed out her climax.

Joffrey smiled softly, satisfied. He'd been right: This wasn't just a whore.

Joffrey gently but firmly grasped Sansa's wrists and pulled her slightly upward. His eyes bored into hers, sparkling with triumphant satisfaction. "Do it yourself," he whispered softly and longingly. The words were like an affirmation of what was happening.

Sansa stood there, flushed with shame and aroused at the same time. She felt like a loser in a game she didn't understand, but which was clearly assaulting her body and her senses. She gave only a brief nod, a quick, unwilling jerk of her head. Then, as if Joffrey's affirmation were enough to overcome her inner resistance, she leaned her head back with a sigh, placing herself completely under Joffrey's control.

Her left hand immediately went to work. It slid between her legs, feeling for the damp spot between her thighs. She felt how wet it was.

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Her fingers were skillful, but her movements were uncertain at first. She parted the skin, finding the moist entrance to her body. A hint of pubic hair lay there, but she paid no attention. She pushed two fingers inside herself.

The entrance felt tight, but she pushed further. Her fingers found the right rhythm, probing the sensitive spots inside her. She began with a slow back-and-forth movement, deeper and deeper, faster and faster.

Joffrey watched her with an expression of contentment and clear arousal. He loved how she was beginning to find her own pleasure. He saw her hips moving to the rhythm of her hand. The sight of her bare skin in the candlelight, the expression on her face, the mixture of shame and arousal—it was a delicious sight for him.

Sansa breathed heavily, her nipples strained toward the flame, her body began to relax. She felt lost, seduced, but at the same time so strangely humiliated by this act of masturbation.

Her fingers found her clitoris. She began to drum on it in circular motions. Each touch brought a wave of ecstasy that surged through her body.

She gasped, her movements becoming more and more wild, her fingers penetrating her deeper. She felt her insides begin to contract. Everything around her seemed to spin as she slipped into a world of pure pleasure. Her screams grew louder, her body shook, and she reached a powerful orgasm.

Joffrey smiled softly. He had been right: Sansa was far from being just a loyal and obedient lady. Her masturbation was a delicious discovery. And he would ensure she made many more such discoveries.

Suddenly, Joffrey had her wrapped around his arms. He held her tightly, one hand on her breast, while his right hand briefly glided over her still-twitching crotch. As he did so, Sansa felt his arousal pressing against her slit through his trousers. Her whole body burned, she longed for more, but Joffrey breathed, "I'm done with you for today. Get dressed and leave us alone."

Sansa froze as he dismissed her. Like a toy he could use as he pleased, whenever he wanted, and put away at any time. She sighed and dressed; She looked around once more and saw Joffrey undressing and turning to Noemi. Then she left the room.

[Lucius]

You didn't read Lena's story in the old board, did you? She really incorporated the whole story, which was good, but also read a bit like a summary.

I didn't, but I suppose she could hardly do worse than the TV series.

Yes, I already had Ellaria Sand or her three daughters in mind.

Lusty Tyene is a good target.

With 1.b we're in business, and I'd say there were more touches than one! Noemi, even when seen by us (and Sansa) mostly from behind, is a lovely original character (or is she from the PC game?). She isn't meant to get out of the story alive, is she?

[LaLia]

You didn't read Lena's story in the old board, did you? She really incorporated the whole story, which was good, but also read a bit like a summary.

I didn't, but I suppose she could hardly do worse than the TV series.

Yes, I already had Ellaria Sand or her three daughters in mind.

Lusty Tyene is a good target.

With 1.b we're in business, and I'd say there were more touches than one! Noemi, even when seen by us (and Sansa) mostly from behind, is a lovely original character (or is she from the PC game?). She isn't meant to get out of the story alive, is she?

I think she only appears in the game, but her name is Ayna there, which is why I changed it to reflect Arya. There are some fictional characters in the game who appear neither in the book nor in the series. Like in the next part for example: Jeyne Poole, is in the book and plays a more important role there; in the TV series, I think she only appears as an extra at the beginning. And in the game it has a much greater significance on the plot.

And I think I won't have as high a mortality rate as in the original. It's not quite my favorite that everyone has to die, but if it makes historical sense, why not. But Noemi won't play such a big role anymore either.

I'll keep your Sand wish in mind, in case the story itself is well-received. But first Sansa, and then we'll see. Although Sansa alone potentially offers several chapters of material, especially if you're familiar with the game as well as the se

[LaLia]

1.03. - Jeyne Poole

Jeyne Poole was more than a friend to Sansa. She was a memory and a home within the strange, dark walls of the Red Keep. The two had known each other for as long as they could remember. In Winterfell, they had roamed the snowy gardens together, secretly stolen cakes from the kitchen, and told stories of old knights and secret princes under the great weirwood tree.

Jeyne was never as good and innocent as Sansa.
Where Sansa dreamed of courtly songs, poems, and the grace of a perfect prince, Jeyne had always had a cheekier smile. She spoke openly about the stable boys, giggled at the guards, and knew more about what really happened between men and women than Sansa would ever have dared to ask.

When Joffrey turned away from her, his gaze increasingly directed at other girls, and his tone grew harder, it was Jeyne who stood by Sansa. They climbed the walls of the upper garden together at night, told each other stories of home, sometimes weeping quietly over what was lost—and laughing again when Jeyne mimicked one of the old maids or mocked a stiff courtier.

They shared all their secrets.
Even those they should never have spoken aloud.

On one of the last summer nights in Winterfell, they had holed up in Sansa's chamber. Outside, the wind rustled through the palace gardens, and the moon cast silvery patterns on the wall. They had lain side by side in bed, huddled close together, and talked of Winterfell. Of the balls that would be held when they returned. Of the dresses, the dances—and the kisses that awaited them.

"Have you ever...?" Sansa had asked quietly, her face half buried in the pillow.

Jeyne had just smiled. "Not just once. With a boy from the guard, the stable boy, and... But it wasn't anything special. But it was exciting."

Sansa had blushed.
She didn't know why her heart was beating so fast.

"Show me," she had whispered then.

And Jeyne kissed her. Gently at first, then a little more boldly. The warmth of Jeyne's lips on hers, the brief play of their tongues, the quiet, nervous giggles afterward, the hiding under the covers—it was a secret that belonged only to them.

They had never spoken of it since, but it hung between them like an invisible bond.

Now, here in King's Landing, Jeyne was her most important support. When Joffrey cut her, when the Hound stalked her with his cold gaze, when Arya climbed somewhere on the walls and the court became a thorny web of whispers and intrigues—it was Jeyne who, with a bold grin, took her hand and rescued her from her thoughts.

Night had long since fallen, and the moon shimmered palely behind the curtains of Sansa's chamber. The faint glow of a single candle cast flickering shadows on the walls, making the room seem larger and emptier than it was.

Sansa sat on her bed, her legs tucked under her nightgown, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Beside her lay Jeyne, also in her nightgown, her head resting on her hands, her dark hair loose.

They had been silent for a long time, only the crackle of the flame and the distant shouts of the night's watches had been audible.

Then, quietly, as if someone might be overhearing:
"I met him last night."

Jeyne raised her head.
"Joffrey? Where?"

Sansa hesitated, chewing on her lip. Her heart still pounded when she thought about it.
"In the great hall in the south wing. He summoned me..."

She felt heat rise in her face.
"There was another woman there. I don't know who she was. Stranger. Beautiful. He... he demanded I lick her."

Jeyne's eyes widened.
"What?"

"It was... strange," Sansa whispered.
"She enjoyed it. And afterward... I masturbated in front of him."

She swallowed, looking into the shadows.

Jeyne straightened, her brow furrowed.
"Sansa, you must be careful. Just because a boy desires you doesn't mean it's love."

Her tone was serious, uncharacteristically matter of fact. "Some people do things just because they can. Because they enjoy it. Here at court... nothing is like what we knew in Winterfell."

Sansa lowered her gaze.
Part of her wanted to believe that Jeyne was wrong. That the song she had always dreamed of still existed.

"But maybe..." she began tentatively, "...he loves me again. Maybe it was just because he missed me. I meant nothing to him for so long, Jeyne."

Jeyne sighed softly.
"Sansa... there are boys who look at you because they love you. And there are boys who look at you because they want power over you. Joffrey is not a loving person. Not like in your songs."

They were silent for a moment.

Then Jeyne reached for Sansa's hand and squeezed it warmly.
"Promise me you'll take care of yourself. Don't let him play with you."

Sansa nodded, yet she felt that familiar tug in her chest. That faint, yearning hope that it was a fairy tale after all. That somewhere beyond all this darkness, the prince who loved her still lurked.

"Sometimes I wish we were back in Winterfell," she whispered.

Jeyne smiled weakly.
"Me too."

For a moment, their eyes met. A hint of that old summer night secret they had once shared hung in the air. Sansa remembered the kiss under the covers, the giggles, the pounding heart.

But the time was different.

"Sleep now, Sansa," Jeyne murmured, extinguishing the candle with a wave.

Darkness fell suddenly, and only the distant wind sang softly through the walls.

The chamber was filled with the heavy warmth of the summer night. Outside, the wind whispered softly through the palace gardens, and the moon cast pale light through the open window, painting silver patterns on the stone floor.

Sansa lay awake.
For hours.

Jeyne slept beside her, the covers pulled up to her chest, her dark hair spread like a veil over the pillow. Her breathing was steady, but Sansa couldn't bear the silence. Her head was a whirl of thoughts.

The image kept coming back.
The hall in the south wing.
The strange woman who had licked Sansa to orgasm.
Joffrey's gaze on Sansa's naked body.
His arousal.

She could still feel the heat on her skin, the pounding in her chest, the uncertainty—and at the same time, the sweet, confusing hope that perhaps he loved her again.

She gently moved closer to Jeyne. She sought warmth, familiarity, the memory of Winterfell.
Her head rested on Jeyne's shoulder, her arm gently brushing hers.

Jeyne stirred, blinking sleepily.
"Can't you sleep?" she breathed into the gloom; her voice ragged with fatigue.

Sansa shook her head almost imperceptibly.
"I... I keep thinking about last night."

A soft sigh from Jeyne.
"I would, too, if I were you."

The silence was thick.
The moon bathed the room in pale, soft light, making their faces almost ghostly. But in that moment, only proximity mattered.

Jeyne felt how restless Sansa was.
How tense her body lay against hers, how her fingers nervously kneaded the linen sheet.

She turned to her, placed a hand on Sansa's cheek, and brushed away a strand of hair. Their eyes met—for a long, trembling moment.

Then Jeyne leaned forward.

Their kiss was gentle and warm. But different from that time in Winterfell, when they had giggled, their hearts leaped with childlike excitement.

Now it was a kiss that had lasted. That lasted longer, that sought something that neither words nor songs could express.

Sansa closed her eyes.
She broke away from thoughts of Joffrey, of the Hall, of all fear.

Feeling only the pressure of Jeyne's lips, the warmth of her body.

She snuggled against her, pulling the blanket tighter around them both, as if that way they could hide from the world outside for a moment.

Their bodies pressed together. Jeyne's hand stroked Sansa's back, beneath the fabric of her light nightgown, just a touch, but it made Sansa shiver. Not with fear—with closeness. With relief.

Jeyne's hands became bold and found Sansa's bottom. Her touch was direct, her thumb rhythmically tracing the small hollow between her cheeks. The kiss seemed never-ending, their tongues entwined with a passion that left everything else behind. Their lips pressed together, each movement of their tongues a silent moan of desire. Soft sighs, the hum of her body in the room.

Sansa, too, touched Jeyne now. Her fingers slid beneath the fabric of her nightgown, feeling her bare skin beneath the warmth of her own skin. They both felt the rising desire for each other, the tingling between their legs that grew stronger with each touch.

Suddenly, Jeyne pulled Sansa to the side of the bed. Her lips separated from hers to immediately caress her breasts. Jeyne's tongue ran over the hard, pointed nipples before gently sucking on them. Sansa's hips gently arched into the touch. Jeyne's hand moved between Sansa's legs. There was the soft thrust of her lower body, wet and expectant.

And then Jeyne began to finger Sansa. At first, just one finger, carefully entering her, found the tight entrance of her body. Gently, it penetrated further, feeling the depth, the tightness. Gently, Jeyne withdrew it and pushed it inside her again. Jeyne knew what she was doing. Her movements were skillful, almost perfect. She knew this body, knew the spot that needed to be aroused most.

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Sansa was confused. What did this mean? Why Jeyne? But the confusion melted beneath the feeling of her own desire. She felt strangely both vulnerable and strong. Jeyne's fingers found the core of her desire and began to circle there. Something inside her told her this wasn't the first time Jeyne had done this. There was an underlying familiarity in their touch.

Joffrey was gone; only Jeyne and Sansa remained—and the fire between the two women. Jeyne's fingers moved rhythmically in and out of her, driving her to ecstasy.

"Jeyne..." Sansa moaned softly at first, then louder and louder. "I... oh!" Jeyne's movements became faster, harder. The finger found the right rhythm, taking Sansa's breath away. "No!" Her pussy began to writhe around the intrusion, pulling Jeyne with her. "Yes! Oh God yes!" She moaned loudly, her whole body shaking. Her pussy overflowed with juice as she orgasmed. Her whole body trembled as Jeyne continued fingering her.

Sansa needed a moment to catch her breath. Her body still shook from the waves of ecstasy Jeyne had given her. She felt the wetness on her pussy, driving heat to her core. And suddenly, she wanted more.

"I want to lick you!" she breathed, her voice ragged with arousal.

Jeyne glared at her. Her eyes practically glowed, and Sansa knew she was just as aroused as she was. There was a strange, almost animalistic glint in Jeyne's gaze.

But their shared desire for fulfillment overcame everything else. Gently but firmly, Jeyne rolled Sansa onto her back. Then she lay on top of her, their bodies only inches apart.

Sansa had Jeyne's pussy directly above her. Jeyne, on the other hand, was looking down at Sansa's pussy, throbbing and pulsing beneath her.

"Ready for round two?" whispered Jeyne.

Sansa nodded, fascinated. She wanted it again, but this time together. "Yes, at the same time."

Without further words, they began. Jeyne gently kissed Sansa's pubic area while flicking her tongue over her clitoris. It was a slow, demanding kiss that already made Sansa moan again.

At the same time, Sansa placed her lips on Jeyne's pussy. She felt the soft, wet skin beneath hers, the warm heat surrounding her. She opened her mouth and breathed in the delicious taste of her best friend. It was a strange, intimate feeling.

Jean moaned softly as Sansa's tongue slid between her labia. She began to lift her buttocks slightly to facilitate access. At the same time, Sansa began to lick rhythmically, plunging her tongue deep into Jeyne's pussy.

Jeyne conquered Sansa's pussy with her tongue. She found the sensitive spot throbbing inside her and began to lick there. With each thrust of her tongue, Sansa felt ecstasy race through her body.

The two women moaned in sync, their bodies absorbing each other. Their lips and tongues moved in unison as they continued to plunge deep into each other's pussies.

"Jeyne... oh Jeyne..." Sansa gasped, her hips moving spontaneously in rhythm with the mutual tongue play.

"I'm... coming..." Jeyne exclaimed, her pussy beginning to vibrate beneath Sansa's tongue.

At the same time, they both began to moan. Their bodies began to tremble. The heat between them pulled ever more intensely. Jeyne's fingers dug into Sansa's hips as she climaxed.

Their pussies began to twitch beneath each other's tongues. One final thrust from Jeyne ripped through Sansa's core, and a breathless cry tore from her throat. Then Sansa came with a deep sigh and a silent whimper.

Their bodies were now wet with sweat, their mouths full of cum. They both lay there, breathless and content. One last gentle kiss before both fell asleep, exhausted.

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[LaLia]

1.04. - Dark alleys

The days passed slowly, and Sansa waited impatiently for a sign from Joffrey. But the prince kept her waiting, giving her no letter, no message, no sign of his attention. His interest seemed like a fleeting breath of wind—tangible, yet intangible, and above all, unpredictable.

Instead, Sansa found comfort in Jeyne. The night they had spent together had built an invisible bridge between them; their friendship had grown closer, cemented in a world that seemed cold and hostile to them.

But sometimes Sansa searched in vain for her best friend. Especially during the hours when the court was at its deepest rest, Jeyne was not in her chambers.

When Sansa asked her about it, Jeyne evaded the question, her eyes losing the gleam of familiarity, and she murmured only vague answers.
Was there a secret?
Did Jeyne have a secret lover?

But why did she guard this knowledge so carefully from Sansa?

An uneasy feeling grew within Sansa, a shadow creeping into her thoughts. She knew she had to know more.

So, she decided to be vigilant—and waited for Jeyne to leave her room at night.

She didn't have to wait long. It was the middle of the night when Jeyne slipped silently from the chamber, wrapped in a simple gown, her head bowed low.

Sansa hastily slipped into a gown of her own, felt her way around her room in the dim moonlight, and followed her friend.

She watched as Jeyne slipped through secret passages of the palace—dark, cold corridors that even Sansa had never entered.

They led Sansa out, out of the splendid and noble part of King's Landing, into the shadows of the city.

The air here was heavy with damp and smoke. The smell of decay mingled with the acrid scent of burnt wood. The streets were narrow, cramped, lined with crooked, dilapidated houses whose windows stared into the night like black eyes.

Thieves, murderers, outcasts—that's what the courtiers had called the inhabitants of this quarter, whispered by those who wouldn't enter these alleys themselves.

Sansa hesitated.
Her feet longed to return to the warm, safe chamber. But her curiosity was stronger.

She followed Jeyne through the alleys, her mind full of questions. Where was she leading? What was her friend hiding?

The dark quarter of King's Landing was another realm—one full of dangers, secrets, and unspoken truths.

And during it wandered Sansa, the daughter of the North, caught between the world she knew and the world she sought to understand.

Suddenly, Jeyne stopped before a dark, narrow alley. The damp moonlight seemed to barely fall here, and a cold wind lifted the edges of the tattered rags hanging from the rotten beams.

Seconds passed as if in slow motion. Then shadows emerged from the darkness. First three, then four, moving silently and eerily around Jeyne. Men.

They surrounded her, their faces etched with suspicion and hardness, their bodies ready for battle.

Sansa shuddered.
Thieves? Rapists?

Her heart raced, her breathing became shallow.
She wanted to scream, to flee—but her legs were paralyzed.

Then a harsh voice sounded, cold and merciless:
"Time to pay."

The speaker was a tall man, about 40, with a bald head. His clothes were simple but well-groomed—not rags, but the tough fabric of a man who wanted to command respect.

Sansa didn't understand what was happening, but she knew she had to intervene.

With a firm tone, she stepped out of the shadows:
"Hey, leave them alone!"

The men froze, looking at her in surprise. Jeyne stared at her too, having not expected Sansa's presence.

Sansa felt the madness of her actions; knew she stood no chance—not even two against these men.

One of the men frowned:
"Who's that?"

Sansa wanted to shout out loud, "I am the future queen!" — but before she could speak, Jeyne was quicker.

"Mia," Jeyne said crisply, "a friend who also works at court."
As she did so, she gave Sansa a look that said, "Play along."

Sansa just nodded silently.
Why was Jeyne hiding her identity, she didn't understand — but right now, silence was better than any answer.

The bald man nodded slowly and then said,
"Then the question is, do you pay alone — or do you share the debt?"

Jeyne raised her chin, her voice becoming icy and firm:
"I'll take care of that myself, Steelstorm."

She looked at Sansa, who stood motionless.

"She can watch, and maybe she'll change her mind. But now, to you, Nella."

With these words, two of the men approached.

The first was a dark-skinned man of a similar age to Steelstorm, who stood behind Jeyne, studying her coldly as his hands touched Jeyne's bottom.

The second was younger, with dark hair and a sneer that seemed menacing even in the darkness. His right hand reached out and unashamedly grabbed Jeyne's firm breasts, hidden by her green dress.

Steelstorm himself stood close to Jeyne, while Sansa watched in shock, and another man stood impassively a little way off.

He now also stepped closer, and Sansa saw her friend being pushed to her knees while the men unzipped her trousers. Should she say something? The word "debt" kept repeating itself in her mind as Jeyne leaned forward and the first cock slid into her mouth. Sansa couldn't believe her eyes; what was happening?

Jeyne seemed to have practiced this as she sucked one cock and grabbed the other two cocks with her hands, jerking them off. Sometimes she bent to the right to pleasure this cock with her tongue, then to the left to do the same there.

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Steelstorm himself didn't participate. He had now positioned himself behind Sansa, his pelvis pressed tightly against her bottom. "Do you like what you see?" he whispered in her ear as he touched her breast. Sansa only nodded slightly, even though she was shocked, but her body would have betrayed her anyway. Steelstorm grinned when he felt Sansa's erect nipples and whispered again, "Perhaps next time it will be you kneeling there, having to pleasure three cocks."

Sansa flinched at his words, but even more so when his other hand moved between her legs. Jeyne's smacking sounds, the men's slight wheezing, and their panting filled the dark alley. Sansa also gasped slightly as Steelstorm's hands touched her more intensely. She watched, mesmerized, as Jeyne made all three men cum, and a few minutes later, three cumshots graced her pretty face.

Sansa sighed, almost a little disappointed, as Steelstorm let go of her and the four men disappeared back into the dark alley. "What the hell?" Sansa suddenly said as Jeyne stood up, adjusted her dress, and wiped the cum from her face. She grinned slightly. "I owed him a gambling debt, and he gave me a choice about how to pay," Jeyne replied, shrugging her shoulders slightly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Sansa could only shake her head; it was so undignified, and yet, everything inside her tingled. In fact, for a moment, Sansa had imagined what it would be like to be there in Jeyne's place.

This thought still occupied Sansa even when she returned to her chambers. She stood in front of the mirror, naked and vulnerable, but her gaze was anything but uncertain. The last few days had changed something within her. She looked at her body, the contours of her hips, her breasts, the soft curve of her pussy, which was noticeably more prominent than it had been in Winterfell. She smiled slightly, a mixture of pride and surprise. She was no longer the good, innocent girl many had so desired to see. She was now a young woman, and her body allowed her to be desired by men.

Her thoughts wandered to Joffrey and Noemi, then to Jeyne and the crazy, wild night in the alley. Everything flowed together, everything began to spin. She thought about having Joffrey's cock in her mouth. The thought alone excited her unusually. Memories of the tender touch of Jeyne's finger, the heat of their kiss, the moans and gasps as they came together—all of it mingled with the image of Joffrey's body and his power.

For a moment, Sansa wondered: Could she be as good with her mouth...? The uncertainty returned for a moment. But then she pushed the thought aside. She was different from Jeyne. She was young, new to the art of pleasure. But she was learning quickly.

Slowly, she began to touch herself. Her hand slid between her legs, finding the wet spot between her labia. Her pussy glowed, practically throbbing. She closed her eyes and remembered the night with Jeyne, the softness of her skin, the sparkle in her eyes when she touched her.

She had masturbated before, in dark hours at Winterfell, but it had always been different. A dream of romantic sex with a prince had satisfied her desire then. Today, her thoughts were different. Depraved, depraved—she wasn't sure, but it felt right and wrong at the same time.

Her fingers moved between her legs, finding the wettest part of her body. The arousal practically rose from her. Her pussy felt not just wet, but practically leaking, as if she had to give everything to satisfy this delicious urge.

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"No, no," she gasped softly to herself as her fingers grew wilder. Her fingernails dug into her breast, leaving red welts. It didn't hurt; it was more a sign of her arousal.

The images of the last few days flashed through her mind: Jeyne fingering her, Joffrey with his harsh words and looks, Noemi with her confident body. All united in this one feeling: pleasure.

She moaned loudly as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. The climax came suddenly and violently, without warning. Her whole body trembled as she continued to touch her pussy. She felt herself dissolved in a wave of pure pleasure.

"Oh God, what's happening to me?" she thought to herself, and slumped down in exhaustion. Her body trembled for a few more seconds before slowly settling down. She looked at her hands, which were still between her legs. She smiled and lay down on the bed.

She was confused, yes. But at the same time, she felt more than ever. As if something inside her had burst open, and now everything was coming crashing down on her, the fear, the insecurity, the joy. She had discovered her body, loved it, and finally claimed it.

And she knew it was just the beginning.

[Lucius]

Oh yes, Jeyne plays a much greater role in the plot of this story... Jeyne plays a lot too.

Their pussies began to twitch beneath each other's tongues. One final thrust from Jeyne ripped through Sansa's core, and a breathless cry tore from her throat. Then Sansa came with a deep sigh and a silent whimper.

Their bodies were now wet with sweat, their mouths full of cum. They both lay there, breathless and content. One last gentle kiss before both fell asleep, exhausted.

I used to think 'cum' means 'semen' only, but I've been wrong.

come n. ... 4. (also cum) vaginal secretions.

Live and learn. Sansa and Jeyne must've been prone to gushing.

[LaLia]

Oh yes, Jeyne plays a much greater role in the plot of this story... Jeyne plays a lot too.

Their pussies began to twitch beneath each other's tongues. One final thrust from Jeyne ripped through Sansa's core, and a breathless cry tore from her throat. Then Sansa came with a deep sigh and a silent whimper.

Their bodies were now wet with sweat, their mouths full of cum. They both lay there, breathless and content. One last gentle kiss before both fell asleep, exhausted.

I used to think 'cum' means 'semen' only, but I've been wrong.

come n. ... 4. (also cum) vaginal secretions.

Live and learn. Sansa and Jeyne must've been prone to gushing.

Yes, the game is actually a bit more exciting when it comes to Jeyne's role, especially since in the series her father actually travels with her to King's Landing. So it's not entirely fictional, whereas Steelstorm (actually Steelsong in the game) is a completely fictional character for the game and doesn't appear at all.

Yes, "cum" doesn't refer to sperm alone, but it's probably associated with it because of "cumshot." In Germany, we often use the word "saft" colloquially for women. So, the word "juice" could have been used, but since I'm using the translator, it turned it into "cum," which fits perfectly and sounds good from the sound of it.