I own nothing
Warnings: Underage, explicit sexual content, sexual slavery, abuse, Dom/sub, BDSM, couple infernale (eventually(maybe))
Breathing heavily Sansa collapsed limp at Tyrion's side, sweat running down her pale skin, soaking the bedsheet. The remains of her peak still lingering hot in her blood, she cradled herself close to the loudly panting Tyrion, resting her head in the crotch of his neck. She could feel his heartbeat booming, closing the last inches between them, pressing her naked body against his, feeling him pressing a soft kiss on her forehead with a satisfied groan.
Sansa had had no notion how pleasurable their joining could be, how much peace and content she found in the embrace of the little, deformed man she had been forced to marry, but had come to appreciate once she had realised the kindness and worship he showed her.
She had been afraid of their joining first, not willing to give him the permission, he had granted her to grant, in their wedding night. Eventually she had done it, because she had seen no other path anymore, a decision born out of desperation, which, against all odds, for the first time in nearly two long years, had not brought her sorrow.
It had happened, after they had found Dontos, not two days after she had learned of Robb's and her mother's brutal faith at the Twins. The Kingsguard had dragged her before Joffrey, Lord Tywin beside him, both ready to make an example out of her. Joffrey's cruel grin had frozen Sansa's blood. They had wanted to whip her to death, a symbol of how they dealt with traitors.
But Tyrion had stopped them, he had come to her protection, again. He stood between her kneeling, weeping self and them, fending them off, before he took her away to the safety of their chambers.
"I have made promises to you. I owe you protection." He had told her. "I am not angry about what you planned. Who could blame you, trying to escape me?" He had said. He had come up to her, she completely decomposed and at the brink of her sanity, laid a hand on her cheek. "No harm will come to you, my Lady Wife, as long as I am there to stop it."
Sansa had looked in his face, in is horrible marred face and saw the truth in his eyes. She didn't know what had befallen her next, but she had slung her arms around him, crying in his shoulder for the first time. He had hold her, patted her back and had stayed silent for her, like a rock. She had relished his comfort, the first time since her father's death she had let loose, letting him console her.
In the evening she had realised, he was the only thing she had left in the world, the only one there for her, what a wicked faith. Thus she had made a decision: Mustering all her courage she had took his hand, guided him to their bed. He had been hesitant, unwilling even, but Sansa had insisted until his defiance broke. What followed was more than she had expected.
He might be the ugliest man in the seven Kingdoms, but when he had been between Sansa's legs, his tongue working wonders between her folds, Sansa had forgotten everything around her, exploding with heat. He had tenderly kissed his way up afterwards, waiting for her permission – she had granted it. The pain had been negligible, after what he had done to her folds. She had peaked again under his ministration.
Since that night Sansa had changed her perception of her predicament. She now longer loathed the circumstances of her marriage, neither felt she despaired that Tyrion was all she had left, but she started finding delight in what she had. A husband that adored, maybe even loved her. – He said often that he loved her, but never was she sure.
Since that faithful night, a moon ago, they enjoyed themselves often, and with that, their relationship had grown. Sansa now appreciated his company, his wit and charm. Sometimes, she fell back into her old timid self, but not very often. Tyrion however pushed her boundaries nearly every day to greater levels of familiarity. She let him, because once again she started to feel happiness, even in this dark place they were stuck in for now.
Snuggling closer to Tyrion, with his arm around her, while his other pulled the covers over them, Sansa smiled, a satisfied moan escaping her lips. Nonetheless, her mind wandered to the day, they had, Joffrey's wedding with poor Margaery.
Sansa pitied the poor girl, to have to suffer that monster. She was lucky, Joffrey's interest towards her had faded utterly, so even at this black day Sansa had been at peace. – Not without Tyrion's effort.
"We can do better than them, don't we?" He had pointed at a couple at another table. The man had laid his hand on the woman's thigh, making her giggle childishly.
"We can" had been Sansa's only response, before taking his hand and moving it slowly over her body, leaning in to nibble at his neck in the public of the hall. It had been a good day.
A loud boom from the other room ripped Sansa out of her pleasant memory. She shrieked up in sudden panic, clutching the blanked to her bare chest. Tyrion swung up even quicker, his right hand fumbling on the nightstand when Joffrey's voice sounded through the door.
"Uncle, where are you?"
What madness had befallen his dreadful nephew this time? Tyrion asked himself, jumping out of the bed. Exhausted he looked confused where he had put his dagger.
"Come out, come out. Your King awaits you" Joffrey sounded way too cheerful for his taste, making Tyrion's blood run faster. Concerned he turned towards Sansa, she was clutching the blanked to her chest, her face pale in the moonlight. He gestured her with his hand to calm down before searching for his trousers and an undershirt. While he did so Sansa was climbing out of the bed behind him, putting on a simple gown. When Tyrion noticed, he shook his head silently, wanting her to stay save behind, but she only narrowing her eyes, silently signalling him she wouldn't stay naked with Joffrey in the next room.
Tyrion quickly pointed her towards the chest, he now remembered, his dagger waited in, motioning her to take it with her, before he made his way to the main room of their chambers. He slipped through the door crack, not baring Sansa to the gaze of his 'guest'.
"It is way past midnight. What are you doing here?" he grumbled irately, filling his voice with as much strength and authority he could muster once he beheld his nephew standing in his chambers, Ser Boros behind him. "Aren't you supposed to sniff a rose or something?"
Before Joffrey could answer, the door behind Tyrion opened, and slowly Sansa tiptoed in the room. Tyrion turned his head, worries written over his features. Sansa looked frightened, one hand gripping the door, while the other was inside her unrevealing gown, probably tightened around the hilt of his dagger.
"Ah, my dear Aunt, good, you joint us" Joffrey smirked maliciously, making Tyrion's blood freeze, cold sweat ran down his spine.
"Don't you eve…" Tyrion began, fury in his voice, when he remembered Joffrey threats towards Sansa.
"Don't be so dramatic sweet uncle" Joffrey cut him off, chuckling coldly. "I wouldn't want to come near something you touched" he added with discussed in his voice, not regarding Sansa further. Tyrion wanted to jump him for the insult, but thought better of it. Instead he turned his head back to Sansa, the feeling of guilt washing over him, feeling he was a defiler.
But Sansa seemed not to mind Joffrey's commentary, instead of looking shocked or offended, she actually seemed to relax a bit. Letting go of the door, she stepped closer to Tyrion, not shying away to let her free hand rest on his shoulder. The gesture filled Tyrion with so much love for her.
"I am here with a present for you uncle, for you and your wife." Joffrey demanded the attention of the room back, snapping his fingers, smirking.
Suspiciously Tyrion's eyes followed Ser Boros out of the room, his confusion growing with every moment. When the white clad knight stepped back in, he threw a shrieking form before Joffrey, brown curls hitting the floor of the chamber, the clatter of metal echoing through the room.
A surprised squeak escaped Sansa's mouth, her hand gripping tight in Tyrion's shoulder to the point of pain. Tyrion's mismatched eyes widened in realisation, his mouth gaping open.
"She is for you" Joffrey declared, once again signalling Ser Boros. Joffrey's minion grabbed the whimpering woman's hair, forcing her in a kneeling position, holding back her head, revealing the red, crying face of Margaery Tyrell.
"Are you insane?" Tyrion spat out, trying to move forward but Sansa's hand was still anchored tight in his shoulder. "She is..."
"A whore, uncle" Joffrey commented matter-of-factly, signalling Blount again, the Kingsguard man produced a sealed parchment throwing it at Tyrion's feet. "Now she is yours."
"What?" Tyrion's puzzlement reached new heights – was he dreaming? He took up the parchment, starring from it to the poor girl, kneeling naked on the floor, to Joffrey and then to Sansa, questioning her with his yes if he dreamed. His wife was pale like snow starring at the scene, frozen.
"I had sadly to discover that she isn't as pure as I was made to believe" Joffrey started explaining, face contorted in dark amusement. He paced close to the girl, Tyrion now noticed had silver cuffs on her wrists, ankles and a silver metal collar tight around her neck.
"Your Grace, please" Margaery whimpered pitifully. Joffrey raised his arm in response. She shrieked back.
"Don't you dare!" Tyrion put all force and danger he had in his voice, his eyes starring Joffrey down, despite their peculiar situation. His nephew looked uncertain, luckily he simply shrugged and lowered his arm.
"If you wish. I won't damage your new possession." He grinned smugly stepping back.
"What are you talking about?" Tyrion was near losing his countenance, and close to screaming.
"I was explaining that just now." Joffrey clearly enjoyed himself. "I will not be marry to used whore. When I found out, I remembered I owe you a debt for losing your nose, - even if it may be an improvement to your face, - and trying to defend my city, of course." Joffrey wiggled his finger towards the parchment in Tyrion's hand. When had his nephew become so calculating in his madness? "You hold a royal decree, from me tonight. I made dear Margaery, by my law, to your concubine," Joffrey reached down and took Margaery's face in his hand, ripping it in Tyrion's direction, "or slave, if you prefer that term."
"You are insane!" Tyrion commented, his utter helplessness to help the girl in Joffrey's grip made his blood boiled. Without Bronn or Pod he stood no chance against Ser Boros.
"By decree I took away her name, her title and claims, and of course the marriage. As is my right." Joffrey empathized. "I even had this nice jewellery attached for you – it was quite a challenge on such a short notice – first I thought gold, but that would be too good for her." Joffrey let go of the girl, Tyrion felt Sansa's fingers digging in to him to the point he feared blood. "I also had Pycelle give her a certain drug." Joffrey smirked evilly. "He guaranteed, it would scrap her womb so clean she would be barren." Sansa's squealed again hearing that, Tyrion could detect anger in her sound, the same anger that he felt. But Joffrey wasn't finish: "So what good is she, other than being a pleasure slave, your – and maybe your wife's – slave." He looked too pleased with himself.
"If you think we will indulge your madness, you are mistaken." Tyrion shaking finger aimed at Joffrey.
"I made her your possession!" Joffrey suddenly screeched at him. Before he ordered further: "You will do as I say. Take her, and use her. Or I make her dangle from a rope after giving her to the City guard. Do you want that?"
Without further comment, Joffrey turned on his heels, strolling out with his muscle obediently behind him. Letting his three plaything behind.
Sansa starred shocked at the scene unfolded before her. The naked Margaery had curled herself into a ball on the floor, weeping openly now. Tyrion was pinned where he stood, not moving. Sansa felt sick, sick and nauseated by what she had just witnessed, how could he?
Freeing herself out of her state, she first let go of the dagger, she had kept in her gown, letting it fall to a floor with a lout clang, before letting go of Tyrion's shoulder, regretting the pain she might have caused him. She rushed at Margaery's side, remembering how she had felt after Joffrey's last beating, the one Tyrion had stopped.
Not thinking further, Sansa laid her arms around Margaery, carefully holding her cold flesh. She helped her up, putting an arm around the older girl, Sansa tried to stand her up. She looked up to Tyrion but he was still frozen, the parchment in his hand. She made a very unladylike grunt, catching his attention, silently gesturing him to open the door to their bedroom. He understood her immediately, opening the door while Sansa but all her strength in supporting Margaery, so she could guide her to the bedroom.
Passing Tyrion she saw how he had turned his head away, not leering at the naked flesh. Sansa managed, with unexpectedly great effort to lay Margaery down on their bed, which was still damp from their lovemaking, but that had to be insignificant now. To her horror, Sansa entangled a strain of her hair in one of Margaery's cuffs, ripping a few auburn hairs painfully out of her scalp, forcing her attention to the barbaric devices.
Margaery turned away from her, not stopping her weeping. Understanding Sansa wanted to let her, but she couldn't just yet. She lit some candles to illuminate the room better, before getting a damp cloth and a bowl of water to at least attempt to help the injured woman.
Back at Margaery's site Sansa gently pushed her on her back, lying the damp cloth on her forehead first. Their eyes met, Sansa saw the pain and desperation in them, only for a split second, before Margaery tried to avert her eyes again.
"Can I come in?" Tyrion's voice made her notice that he still waited at the door. Glancing over, she found him standing in the doorway, his back towards them, his eyes on the ground. Looking at Margaery, Sansa tried to decide what would be wiser, weighting the girl's faint dignity left to the question if she could take care of her alone, she wouldn't dare to call for help, not now, maybe Joffrey waited for that with a more horrible trap.
"Yes." Sansa called over her shoulder. "And bring wine." She added quickly, thinking it might help, not to mention she craved it herself.
She brought her attention back to Margaery, cleaning her red and puffy face, before proceeding to her neck, appalled by the tight silver metal collar with an O-ring at the front. The collar was nearly close enough to her skin to choke her. From the other room Sansa heard Tyrion bolting the door shut, sighing with relieve for his awareness before she proceeded washing the shaking girl, only pausing shortly to pull the blanked over the part of her body she didn't wash, to shield it from the cold – and eyes.
She was at the left elbow when Tyrion waddled in, a flask of wine and three cups on a tablet, together with the roll of parchment. She followed him with her eyes, he placed the tablet on a table away from the bed. He filled a cup and drowned it in one gulp, sighing loudly.
"That, I didn't thought possible" He said resigning while filling another cup. He went towards Sansa, circling the end of the bed to her site and let her take the cup before going back.
"Me neither" Sansa agreed with him, placing the cup on the nightstand and pushing Margaery in a sitting position. The woman pulled her knees under her chin, franticly holding up the blanked to protect herself. Sansa patiently held the cup towards her urging her to drink, trying to smile reassuringly, but failed.
Margaery, shy like a dear, suspicion in her eyes, took the cup, sniffling terribly. While she took a sip Tyrion reappeared at Sansa's side handing her another cup before leaving to his place again, deliberately keeping a distance to Margaery. Remembering how she had been after her abuse, Sansa approved of his precaution, even little men were terrifying in such a moment.
"I will have Bronn and Pod stand guard first thing in the morning" Tyrion told her, after he had refilled his cup. Sansa listened to him while she continued to gently clean Margaery. "Then I will talk to my father, this madness is beyond anything." Sansa looked up seeing him wiggle the still sealed parchment. "The Tyrells will run havoc for this."
Sansa nodded absently, anxiety filling her, more and more. She now had reached the first wrist cuff, again with an O-ring. She was carefully cleaning around it when Margaery flinched. Fearing she would have hurt her, Sansa showed Margaery her hands waiting patiently until she allowed her to touch her again. Sansa inspected the wrist in the light of the candles, screeching in shock.
"She is burned" She exhaled loudly, looking up at Tyrion. Her husband immediately rushed to her side, inspecting the small burn marks himself.
"Gods" He shook his head burying his face in his hand, he turned around, hands moving to his head. "Madness!"
"What is it" Sansa said fearfully.
"He had the wristbands bolted together glowing." Tyrion explained, looking wearily. "Glowing hot studs, so they would never be broken, without cutting the cuffs." He gestured to Margaery. "And seeing how tight they are, I doubt they can be cut without serious injuries, especially at the collar."
Sansa was horrified, she glanced at Margaery and back to Tyrion: "So you mean she will never lose them?"
"Like my sweet, sweet nephew most likely intended, scary how he could hatch such a plan with his tiny brain."
Until sunup Sansa was carefully cleaning Margaery, she never said a word, just hid from Tyrion's eyes whenever he got close in order to change the water for Sansa, or brought fresh cloths.
At first light Tyrion was leaving, after instructing his squire and Ser Bronn to stand guard, letting Sansa and Margaery alone only with her handmaid Brella. Sansa felt exhausted, she wanted nothing but sleep, while at the same time not being able to do so, her blood ran fast through her veins. Her eyes hurt terribly, and her breath was unregularly. Nevertheless, she stayed at Margaery's side. They maybe had never been true friends, but Sansa felt an obligation to help her, because she knew, at least in parts, how much she suffered.
Brella helped Sansa to dress Margaery in one of Sansa's gowns, so ill-fitting the hem didn't reach the ankle cuffs, and brought food before Sansa dismissed her, she didn't want to distress Margaery with the presents of too many people. Sansa figured, herself and Tyrion had already been to many over the night.
Sansa was sitting on the bed at Margaery's side, leaning against the headboard, her eyes half closed, when a small breath escaped her neighbour.
"They killed him" Margaery whispered, catching Sansa immediate attention.
"Whom?" she asked gently, putting her hand on Margaery's shoulder.
"Loras" Margaery snivelled, turning Sansa's inside to ice. The Knight of the Flowers was dead? How could there be no bloodshed soon? "He wanted to protect me" Margaery sobbed, holding at Sansa's arm, she let her, petting her head.
Still distraught, and really disordered, Tyrion passed the threshold of his and Sansa's chambers, maybe an hour before noon finding Sansa at the table alone, picking at some grapes. She looked exhausted, with dark rings around her eyes and rumpled hair. Beautiful as ever. Would the situation be different he would have tried to lure her into their bed, she looked as stunning as in her best gown.
"How was it?" She asked looking up from her plate, not bothering to stand up for him. Tyrion felt a quick rush at that, her familiarity with him now wouldn't have been possible a month prior.
Sighing he made his way towards her, dragging a chair, he grabbed on the way, besides her, with loud scraping. He climbed on the chair and let himself slump in it, reaching with his hand to take hold of hers.
"They are all mad!" he puffed out, guiding her hand towards him stroking it absently.
"That sounds bad" She agreed, averting her eyes and added sadly "Margaery told me Ser Loras..."
"…died valiantly defending his sister." Tyrion finished her sentence, a pang of jealously boiling up in him, seeing that the death of the man affected her – was it more than pity for Margaery? He shook of his feeling, continuing his account: "There will be however no more bloodshed." He explained to a surprised Sansa. "My father, apparently, anticipated problems – even not such a mountain of manure – So the Tyrells are neutralised and forced to settle on a deal. And as far as I can foresee it, at this very moment, they discuss what happens next. One of them will get Margaery soon I presume." Tyrion assured a clearly relieved Sansa. For the situation, these were good news.
"Really?" came a meek voice from the other side of the room. Tyrion looked up, finding Margaery standing in the doorway to the bedroom, wearing a loose fitting gown of Sansa's not able to hide her cuffs on wrists, ankles or neck.
"Yes" Tyrion assured her, feeling how Sansa gave his hand an affectionate tuck.
As if rehearsed, a knock at the door took all attention in the room. Tyrion turned his head hearing Bronn's voice from behind the thick wood.
"Ser Garlan is here!"
"Let him in!" Tyrion practically screamed back, leaning back in his chair, smiling up to Sansa at his side, she looked pleased as he was that Margaery could finally leave them.
"Garlan!" Margaery squealed as soon as her brother stepped in the room, wearing a green doublet with his two roses. She ran towards him, swinging her arms around his neck, beginning to sniffle. The scene was heart-warming. But Tyrion looked concerned to his wife, who observed them with a little tear on her cheek.
She long wished for a similar rescue. Tyrion reminded himself, bitter feelings about Robb Stark's death coming up in him.
"Margy" Ser Garlan said, way too heavy-hearted for Tyrion's liking, he took her at the arms and pushed her away from him, earning a confused look from all in the room. "Margy…" he stammered, averting his eyes helplessly.
"What is it?" Margaery asked, panic in her tone, looking up at her brother, frozen to the ground.
"Father has, he has" Ser Garlan continued stammering gesturing with his arms.
"Spit it out!" Tyrion spat at the man frustrated, startling both Tyrells, which most likely had forgotten about their audience.
"He has..." Ser Garlan turned his head to the ground, remembering Tyrion of Pod's demeanour. "He has disowned you."
"What!" Margaery cried out, her surprise not minder that of Tyrion or Sansa's, who's Tyrion could feel through her tightened hand.
"He has apologised to the King, and declared he didn't know of your, eh, situation" Ser Garlan continued for the shaken Margaery, his eyes averted to the ground his discomfort and anxiety visible in his face. "He further acknowledges the King's decree about your, eh, status and sworn to reinforce it"
"What!" Margaery asked again desperately, shaking visible. "Grandmother…"
"Is forbidden to see you, as well as all of us from the moment I leave." By these pressed out words from the knight Margaery broke, but no tears were streaming down her face, she simply turned and left, closing the door to the bedroom behind her.
Tyrion felt Sansa trying to pull her hand away, maybe to run after Margaery but Tyrion stopped her. He looked up to her, with deep sadness he shook his head. He saw she understood, she fell back in her chair, looking deeply troubled.
Tyrion looked up, seeing the knight of Highgarden with slumped down shoulders stand in his room, looking absently at the bedroom door, his sadness turned to fury.
"What is wrong with you?" He barked angrily, jumping from his chair and marched over to the Tyrell screaming at him from the side: "She is your sister! Did someone stuffed your hollow head with rose petals?"
"The King…" Ser Garlan turned towards Tyrion to justify himself but Tyrion wasn't finished:
"Fuck the King! To the seven hells with him. Listen to me!" He said: "Tonight you get her, and leave, easy as that. Flee to the free cities or even further, but leave. We won't see anything" Tyrion exclaimed, turning to Sansa, his ego swelling with pride seeing the look of respect and support she gave him.
"Impossible we can't" The knight contorting himself. Tyrion could see he wanted to take the offer. "This battle is lost."
"She is your sister" Tyrion accused him unbelieving, ready to slap him hard, even he would safe his sister out of such predicament, and his sister was Cersei.
"That is why I will do this" Ser Garlan drew his sword, causing Tyrion to jump back, in the background he heard how Sansa hopped up from her chair. But Ser Garlan didn't attack him, he went on his knee, offering his sword towards Tyrion: "I know Lannister pay their debts. Do you also take debts from others?"
"Always" Tyrion confirmed confused, what was happening?
"Then take this dept." Ser Garlan lowered his head. "Take good care of my sister, and I will, no matter the reason, no matter the circumstances hear your call and be at your side with my sword, my life, my claim. This is my oath."
"Of course we will" Sansa was the first to answer the knight's wish. Tyrion looked over his shoulder seeing her standing straight, the image of a queen. She nodded. Tyrion turned back to the knight, still waiting for his response.
"As she says" Tyrion assured the man, who had regained partly the respect he had lost not moments earlier. "We will keep her safe."
Gulping audibly Ser Garlan nodded and rose to his feet, waiting a moment before leaving, his eyes on his shoes.
As if I need a second Pod. Tyrion thought, he turned and walked back to Sansa, seating himself back in his chair beside her.
"That was very painful." He declared, sighing.
"Oh yes," she agreed, taking a sip of her cup.
Good idea Tyrion thought filling a cup for himself and drowned it nearly half in a single gulp. His mind began to wander.
"And what will we do now, with our new addition to the household?" he formed words out of his thoughts, turning in his seat so he could face Sansa comfortably.
"I have no idea." She admitted, looking overwhelmed by the entire situation.
"Don't you need a new Handmaid? Since the last one left. You know …" Tyrion asked, feigning ignorance towards Shae, the whore he had dismissed the day after Sansa had allowed him near her.
"Shae" Sansa helped him out, blissfully ignorant about Tyrion's misdeeds. "Hopefully the King will accept that."
"You mean because he wants her to be our pleasure slave?" Tyrion asked, still not gasping the concept of Joffrey's madness completely. Did he thought it humiliating for her to be his whore in particular – most likely?
"Ours?" Sansa asked confused, mustering him suspiciously.
"OH yes" Tyrion grinned a falsely mischievous smile. "I am sure she would please you well."
"So you want her in our bed?" Sansa asked, taken aback, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Tyrion felt a knot in his throat suddenly. – Bad idea!
"This is one of the sort of questions I can't win, right?" He inquired carefully, ducking his head down. Sansa raised an eyebrow, so he elaborated: "If I say no, you will accuse me of lying, and if I say yes, I am the unfaithful whoremonger. Both outcomes see you outraged and me sleeping alone."
"So you want her?" Sansa asked him, her demeanour not betraying her real thoughts.
"Isn't wanting her, what is perfectly natural, but not acting on it, proof of my loyalty and affection for you?" Tyrion tried to appease her, having the feeling it wasn't going well for him.
"Mhm" Sansa let out a small sound, a small smile playing on her lips while she turned towards her plate again. Tyrion had a bad feeling about this, he wanted to say something, but the door to the bedroom interrupted his preparations.
Both turned their attention towards the door that had swung open seemingly by itself. Tyrion crooked his head to the side in stupefaction.
Out of the door strode Margaery Tyrell, naked as on the day of her birth, only the silver metal shackles on her. With widening eyes, and to his shame, a slowly rising cock, Tyrion observed how she walked through the room, her brown, curly hair behind her shoulders putting the collar on display as much as her round breasts. She had lowered her head, looking at her bare feet. However she managed to navigate the room, until she came to a stop at a point where no table was between her and Sansa and Tyrion.
Tyrion couldn't look away, no matter how much he tried, her skin and body demanded to be looked at. Only for a moment he could free himself, out of the mixture of arousal and confusion that overwhelmed him, to look at his wife. He found her equally dumfounded, starring at Margaery open mouthed. When he turned back, he mustered the girl again. There weren't much signs of abuse on her body, at least on the outside. His gaze fell inadvertently on the region between her legs, finding no brown curls but bare flesh, as well as on her legs. Wandering back up, trying to avoid her breasts he hoped to catch a glimpse of her eyes. They were a mixture, Tyrion had never seen: Determination and emptiness combined, focused on the ground, while an inner struggle played on her face.
Sansa moved her hand to his shoulders, tugging him backwards, he freed himself of the sight, turning his head back to his wife. Sansa gave him a questioning look, searching for answers in his eyes. Void of them, Tyrion shrugged helpless, his eyes torn open wide, wiggling empty hands in the air, equally unwitting.
"Master, Mistress" they finally heard Margaery speak in a docile voice, they turned their attention back to her.
Margaery didn't look up, instead she let herself sink to her knees on the cold floor, before bending down, pressing her face to the ground, with her hands at her side and her round ass in the air.
"I am your slave" Was the next thing she said, but Tyrion did only listen to her absently, too shocked to response or notice. What the seven fucks!
"Stand up" Sansa freed herself apparently quicker out of her frozen state than Tyrion, ripping him out behind her "You are no slave."
"I am" Margaery objected, not moving.
"Nonsense" Tyrion stepped to Sansa's aid "You will stand up now. I don't care what Joffrey or your father thinks you are not…"
"I have decided" Margaery interrupted him. "Better your slave, than their world. This is my decision"
Tyrion's confusion reached the point of physical pain. Had everyone else gone mad while Sansa and he had been doing it?
"What now?" Sansa had leaned close to him, hissing in his ear, he turned, finding her eyes fixed on Margaery. "This is madness!"
"It is" he whispered back, hoping Margaery wouldn't be able to hear them. "She can't..." he lowly stuttered, no longer understanding the world.
"Yes, but she doesn't want to stand up" Sansa stated helplessly, looking at her. "What shall we do?" Tyrion had no idea what to do. Margaery definitely had made some hasty decision, but how to make her undo it?
"We will scare her!" He whispered a sudden epiphany in Sansa's ear. He turned to her fully, seeing a stunned face. So he explained: "We show her how unpleasant it can be to be a slave. She will stop this madness then."
"How?" Sansa asked uncertain, glancing back and forth between him and her. Tyrion grinned lightly, raising his finger to his eye, waiting until Sansa gave him a silent consent for his plan. She didn't look contented.
"Slave!" Tyrion addressed Margaery in an authoritative tone – as good as he could muster – looking to his side he saw how Sansa also tried to look imposing. He ordered: "Rise to the knees!"
"Master" Margaery replied subservient, rising her upper body, folding her hands on her lap.
"You already failed your duty slave" Tyrion made it up as he went along, in a stern voice, not sure if he would vomit in self-disgust, because a little part of him enjoyed it, or would start laughing, trying to keep a straight face. "A slave never disobeys her mistress. So you have to be educated." Tyrion's cock began to twitch by his words and the sight, he hoped Sansa wouldn't notice. "Bend over the table, ass in the air!" he gestured to a small table behind Margaery.
The girl looked at him in a mixture of confusion and fear. Tyrion considered his task already completed.
"Or do you thought better of your decision?"
"Master" Margaery stunned him again, when she rose hesitantly to her feet, slowly making her way to the ordered table, bending her upper body over the wood. Her round ass looked mouth-watering, her folds in part exposed to his gaze.
Tyrion rubbed his forehead. Madness!
"What now?" Sansa hissed in his ear pressuring, gesturing towards Margaery with frantic eyes.
"Spank her!" Tyrion answered without a better plan, his cock seeming to like that.
"WHAT!" Sansa's mouth contracted in a silent shout. "Why me?"
"She disobeyed you" He explained, not wanting to do it, or did he? "Not to mention you won't need a stool to stand on" he gestured towards the bend over behind of the Rose of Highgarden.
Sansa made the gesture of scratching her face with her fingers straining in tension "Are you mad as well?"
"Just a few slaps. Enough to make her reconsider" Tyrion tried to convince her whispering. He looked at her, she was as lost in the situation as he was.
Sansa exhaled a low growl, she rose up straight in a fluid but fast motion, carefully approaching Margaery's ass. Tyrion couldn't believe what he was about to see.
Sansa came to a halt left of Margaery's legs, eying her behind first before giving Tyrion a confused look. He encouraged her with silent gestures, uncomfortable in his own skin, before saying, in his broken master-voice:
"Your Mistress will now discipline you, slave." He gestured to Sansa to start. His lovely wife shot him a glare before mustering Margaery's buttocks closer. She tried to figure out what to do with her hand, struggling to find the right gesture. Tyrion observed how she hovered her flat palm over Margaery's left bum cheek, moving her hand over it. The sight shortened Tyrion's breath, his cock was nearly releasing his seed.
Sansa lingered over Margaery's skin for another moment, clearly still uncertain, her white porcelain skin a contrast to Margaery's complexions. Cautiously she raised her palm, letting it float in the air before she brought it down on the bare flesh. A nearly silent smack went through the room, Sansa's hand connected lightly with Margaery's skin.
To Tyrion's and, visibly, Sansa's further confusion, the reaction wasn't a little cry, but a gentle moan.
Sansa turned helplessly to Tyrion, her eyes, her beautiful eyes lost, her mouth open.
Sighing heavily Tyrion fisted his hair, lost as well. He slowly closed and opened his eyes, Sansa was still waiting. He sighed again, shrugging and encouraging her to hit harder with wild gestures. Sansa crooked her head, grumbled audibly and raised her palm again. – What the fuck was wrong today?
The next time her palm hit Margaery, this time her other cheek, the smack was clearly to hear and Margaery's reacting was more squeaking than moan.
At least something Tyrion thought, not sure if he should feel frustrated, guilty, or finally following the need of his painfully hard cock, taking it out and using his hand for a clearly short whipping.
Sansa brought her hand back above her target, Tyrion saw how she bit her lip before delivering another blow to the round mounds, this time the smack echoed in the room and a whimper followed, Margaery spread her legs slightly, but nothing else.
With a cock growing harder, and the fear he would spill his seed in his breeches soon Tyrion witnessed Sansa bringing her hand down on the naked flesh of Margaery another three times. She switched carefully between both sides, finding a short rhythm, however without further result. Margaery didn't say a word only letting small whimpers out.
Visibly tense Sansa turned away from the girl, facing Tyrion shrugging and throwing her hands in the air. Tyrion was at the point he couldn't really think anymore. All he wanted was to go over there, throw Sansa on the ground and fuck her senseless. His eyes burning with lust. Sansa saw that, he knew it, but she didn't reacted outraged about it, rather receptive. Was she aroused as well?
Oh gods, what is going on?
Suddenly He saw how Sansa wrinkled her nose, glancing at him before turning towards Margaery. She was mustering her, the girl's round cheeks reddened, but not much, by Sansa's administrations. Sansa was closing in, looking back at him before focusing her eyes between Margaery's legs.
Tyrion couldn't believe what he saw, his hands gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles turned white, he grinded his teeth when Sansa tentatively reached out with her hand. Margaery opened her legs little more to grant better access. He couldn't stop it anymore, the moment he saw Sansa's hand, his innocent wife's hand, connecting, only so little, with Margaery's folds he let out a long, loud, ashamed groan, his seed spilling in his cloth.
Sansa straightened up, looking at him, surprisingly not judgingly or angry. She was absently rubbing her fingers together:
"She is wet!"
I had to get this story out. There is far to litte Sansa/Tyrion smut out there. Far to little. This one will have some twists if I continue it.
I hope you enjoy
Much longer chapter than expected please review