“Write me a really wicked, nasty story,” my cyber sister Kira von Titty-Butts told me one night as we were discussing my obsession with Arya from GoT. We excitedly built up a wilder and wilder list of things to include in the story. I knew I was in trouble when she wrote “And include Little Finger in the story!”
So here we are.
This is a Westeros where that whole bloody, messy “Game of Thrones” thing hasn’t happened. Yet. Ned is still alive and please note that Arya is a restless, troubled 18 year old. And–like Deadpool 2–this is a family story.
The young woman shifted around in the large bed with the best feather mattress the inn could offer. She allowed the heavy quilt to slip down and give a view of her admirable cleavage and her long blonde hair cascaded down past her shoulders in wonderful disarray. He was a pretty man, she thought to herself, one of the few customers she would not mind having come to bed. She held the pose for another moment, but when no response came, she flounced back down under the quilt. The room was too cold to waste the view.
Petyr Baelish—LittleFinger to those who hated him—stared straight ahead, ignoring the girl. She was of no interest at the moment. He stood in the narrow doorway of a small balcony, a heavy woolen cloak died an almost mustard yellow—the color of his lowly house—wrapped tightly around his tall, narrow form. He held a copper goblet filled with wine steeped with bitter herbs in his black leather gloved hand. This balcony—which gave a view of the gently twisting dirt path that served as the road into Crofthaven—cost an extra piece of silver. He stored the smug look that stole over the innkeeper’s round face and blubbery lips in the limitless halls of his twisting mind as he handed him the extra coin. The fat slob would not have a place of prominence, but some petty act of vengeance against him would be in order if it could be easily done.
Wide set, intelligent eyes patiently watched the road as Little Finger watched the road. His pieces were in place. The image of Cersea’s commanding, condescending stare replaced that of the innkeeper. He savored her mistaken pride as she outlined her plan. Thin lips twitched his carefully groomed mustache as he smirked. It was a painfully awkward, simple plan, but he loved it. He could twist her goals into his own with just a few deft touches.
“Do you think she will really show up?” The young woman’s voice interrupted again. She decided if she could not lure this man into bed, she would at least get him to talk.
“She is already here,” Little Finger replied. “I showed you to her last night.”
He lifted the goblet to his expressive lips and took another sip of the bitter wine.
“She mistakenly believes that her parents decided to go to the south and she will be unable to resist appearing tonight,” he continued, cutting off the girl before she could ask her second question. “She believes this to be a safe place to try and seek what she desires.”
The young girl wrapped the thick quilt around her body and got out of the feather bed. She was not tall, but her youthfully voluptuous body hinted at a strength built from a hard life. Her name was Ygraine and the fact that she was 18 served as a delicious irony to Little Finger. It was the same age as Arya, and would be an additional barb on the hook, one that would leave an even deeper wound as it ripped a bond apart. Ygraine moved restlessly around the small room. She now understood that Little Finger bought women, but never for himself. He was disturbingly different from any other man that she had met. At first he was lavish, paying for her to have a bath and buying her new clothes. Then he was commanding, spiriting her away from the pleasure house in a neighboring village with gold. Real gold! Then he displayed no interest. That was different to the young woman. She could accept such men losing interest, but was surprised at how quickly it happened. That was when he calmly told her that he knew her secret. A familiar stab of fear went through her heart as she listened to him tell it to her. After the death of her mother, Ygraine had been sure that no one knew it, but this smiling man did. And he seemed to relish revealing that he knew it.
Ignored, Ygraine paced the room like a hunting cat. Little Finger’s rejection left her with no way to distract her mind, so she fell back into her angry obsession. She felt so close to getting some revenge on the man—the family—that casually destroyed her mother and forever made her a shamed outcast. It added a slight bounce to her step, and the quilt slipped off her shoulders as she practiced short punches under it’s protective cover. Little Finger allowed her a glimpse of the young woman last night. Small, dressed to look like a boy, she had dark hair and wide set, dark eyes. Ygraine glared at that girl, using her image to feed her hatred. Roughly her own size, she moved with a lithe grace. Those wide eyes were quick, taking in her surroundings. There was also an anger in that gaze, one that called to Ygraine’s barely concealed fury. The blonde woman could not wait for tonight! The strange man—it suddenly occurred to Ygraine that he had never told her his name—assured her that this girl had already discreetly asked about the room in the basement; whether or not the yearly festival that none mentioned would occur. The blonde girl’s left hand curled into a fist and smacked her right palm. The quilt slipped down to the floor and she felt pride in her nakedness. Her entire life had been a fight, and she had grown to love that life. Tonight she would have a chance to inflict pain on the Starks and she was almost dizzy from the desire to face that dark haired girl in the pit dug into the basement of the inn.
At the sound of the punch, Little Finger looked over his shoulder. He smiled, although Ygraine was not sure why. Cersea’s childish plan, he thought to himself! It almost seemed a shame no one could see how he would gain from it. The Lannister’s were already pursuing having Sansa marry Joffrey. That would turn the young girl into a hostage that they could use against Ned Stark. The queen’s vague idea to find a way to drive a wedge between Catelyn and Ned Stark fell to him like a ripe fruit falling from a tree. Little Finger would deliver, but he would pluck his own treasure from the pile. HIs secret love for Catelyn—hidden from even Varys’ spies—would finally be allowed to bloom. He would be the strength she needed as her injured pride forced her to retreat to her homeland. There they would rediscover the simple joy from when they were both children.
Little Finger turned back to the window, looking for the riders who were sure to come. He could not wait for tonight!
Ned Stark held the reins of Catelyn’s horse as she dismounted. She gave him a small smile and nodded her head, but he knew she was not happy. He preferred to be alone when he honored the annual tour of the countryside his family had performed for years, but his wife insisted she must go as well. Each time they rode to Crofthaven, the old wound was torn open again. Their marriage was arranged before they had ever met, but they had found a type of love over the years. He found that courtly raised Catelyn, however, was not bred to handle the rough needs of a man like Ned—the White Wolf of the North. He took care to be discreet, but they both knew his trips to the west were to allow him to fulfill needs they both felt were too extreme for a lady to handle. He tried to keep these affairs faceless, nameless encounters, but they both knew that years ago he had found a woman who met all his needs in this village. A woman that he grew to love. She had suddenly disappeared, but he still remembered her.
They could never speak of his former affair. He felt a wave of shame when he remembered it, but it merged with a sense of anger and he struggled to control the need to lash out. Catelyn silently brooded, lost in a morbid humiliation. It burned her pride, and she discovered over time that she needed it and the angry hatred it slowly stoked in her mind. The fear of some day facing a child from Ned’s forbidden love taunted her, teased her. It turned into a desire that she secretly longed to be fulfilled.
The innkeeper was a large, balding man who sweated profusely as he constantly wiped his rough hands with a rag. He rushed out as they dismounted and apologized repeatedly that the finest upstairs room was taken. He assured Ned he could arrange for it to be made available. Smiling, Ned said that it was not necessary and soon he and Catelyn were sitting, enjoying a savory stew and bread. As they ate, Petyr Baelish came down the steps. he moved quickly—but not too quickly—toward their booth.
“Lord Stark,” he said with a smooth bow.
Ned nodded, but did not stop from eating. He only briefly met Little Finger down in during his time in King’s Landing. A wealthy merchant elevated to nobility, Ned learned that the smaller man had become a force in the southern kingdom. He made Ned felt uneasy. Any time they spoke, it was as if they were engaged in a battle that Ned could never quite understand. Now Little Finger stood attentively by his shoulder, so Ned finally gestured for him to sit at the table.
“Many thanks, Lord Stark,” Baelish replied, sitting next to Catelyn. “I’ve been up here on business and would treasure some relief from the cold and loneliness.”
“Well, Peytr, we can offer a bit of relief for your loneliness, but I’m afraid we can not help with the cold,” Catelyn said. Unlike her husband, she was happy to see the slight, clever man. They had been close friends when she was growing up and she found herself enjoying the presence of a man who made her commanding husband uneasy.
Baelysh smiled and nodded a quick bow to the woman.
“You are too gracious, Lady Catelyn,” he replied, his voice oozing gracious charm.
Ned gestured to the innkeeper to bring another goblet and jug of ale to the table. Baelysh smiled, but did not taste any of the liquid or food.
“And what brings you so far away from Winterfell?” Little Finger asked, looking at Catelyn, observing her undiminished beauty and experiencing surprisingly warm feelings in his heart.
“It’s a custom,” Ned answered, perhaps a bit too loudly. “House Stark always shows honor to the villages of the North by visiting them as the season turns and listening to their concerns.”
Little Finger nodded, then his quick lips twisted into a mischievous smirk. “That is most commendable, Lord Stark,” he replied. “But hopefully you can take some time to enjoy the quaint customs as well. I’ve heard of one in this village that I must admit, I find interesting.”
There was a brief, awkward pause. Catelyn looked down, but her pale cheeks reddened a bit and she felt her heart quicken. At the end of the harvest, the custom was to open up the basement of the inn and allow any who felt the need to challenge another to an open fight. Many grievances were settled in that pit lit by smoky pyres and Lady Stark was slightly embarrassed to admit that she loved to watch the rough, unskilled grappling of the villagers.
Ned smiled, taking a long drink from his goblet. This was the sort of thing he understood! The simple impulses of the men and women of The North.
“Aye, we shall be there. House Stark has a booth to… enhance… our watching of the fights,” he explained.
LittleFinger smiled in return, lifting the goblet to his lips, but refusing to taste what he viewed as the vile local brew. The life of a peasant: dirty, foul, and missing all the pleasures of luxury was a reoccurring nightmare for the man from a minor, poor house.
“Well, I do not have a booth, but I plan on taking some time to enjoy the fight tonight,” he replied, looking Ned straight in the eye for the first time. “I have heard rumors that it will be something… special.”
Despite the friendly tone of his voice, Ned felt that Little Finger’s smile was cold, almost cruel.
Arya rolled her shoulders and raised her gloved fists. Her sweet chocolate nipples were almost painfully stiff now and she felt a thrill of fear from the knowledge that they would be targets begging to be punished. Firm, high breasts—tender 34 C’s—were almost unusually large for her petite frame. They gently jostled against each other as she moved, drawing the attention of the villagers as they took their seats. A chill had snuck into the afternoon air, but the number of bodies and the large pyres of logs that crackled and fed greedy fires at each corner of the pit warmed this basement room. The smoky taint to the air was almost comforting, and the smell of sweat was inviting to the young woman. But her sharp eyes noticed stains on the unforgiving hay bales that surrounded her. The dirt floor was hard and would show no mercy to any body slammed down to it. The loose trousers that she wore came down to her calves. She had removed her soft leather boots, so bare skin began to be covered with the reddish dust that swirled up from that surface as she moved. The trousers hinted at the quivering ripple of her curving ass and thighs toned from long journeys on foot and the harsh training of her “dancing” instructor.
Ned’s right hand slipped along his thigh as he watched her move. The hood she wore did not hide those wide set, grey eyes that always gave her a look of childlike innocence, even when she was doing something she knew was wrong. They gave her girlish face an almost elvish look. Her lips were small, but plump, given to quick little quirks of expression. Those two features gave her an almost inhuman look, like some child of the wood. Those almost unnatural looks seemed to carry over into how she moved. There was a quickness to her, something that was almost bewildering to the eye. The instructor from Braavos used the term feral when he described she “danced.” Ned’s lips twisted as he caught himself using the code word they had invented for the training that the sword master provided. He agreed that there had always been something about Arya that was different, something that he loved in her that he did not love in his other children. His brow furrowed as he watched her. She never acted like a lady at court, but he did not expect to see her do this!
“Glad to see the dancing instructor from Braavos’ efforts are going to good use,” Catelyn hissed to her husband.
“If you had spent as much time with her as you do with Sansa, this would not have happened,” Ned hissed back. “She never felt like you wanted her to be part of the court.”
“She knew from the beginning she could never be part of the court, and I can’t believe that you still do not know why,” Catelyn replied, even more venom in her voice.
Ned turned to his wife, a bewildered look on his face. Catelyn’s defiant expression told volumes and as he looked back to the pit, his heart sank. There was no mistaking the face of the young blonde who was now entering the pit. Her body was fuller than Catelyn’s, and the way that her hips moved brought back images of the serving wench that he met so many years ago. But her eyes, her cheekbones, her lips. She was nearly a mirror of Sansa. Ned leaned back and blew out a long, slow breath, his shoulders sagging. Arya was too different. His wife had cheated on him he now realized and produced Arya at roughly the same time he was cheating on her and produced this blonde woman. As he watched the two of them circle each other, the realization of what was about to happen came home to him.
“We must stop this,” he gasped. Yet, as he said this, he heard the lack of conviction in his voice. Watching them circle each other awakened and appetite that he did not know he possessed. He felt a stirring—an erection slowly beginning that made him shift in his seat.
“Should we?” Catelyn asked, emotion making her voice unusually husky. “Do you really want to stop this?”
Ned looked again at his wife, shocked to see the hungry look in her eyes. Her chest rose and fell and he could sense her arousal.
“My daughter versus yours,” she whispered, heat consuming her normally reserved voice. “Let us finally bring this out and settle it once and for all.”
Ned’s eyes widened for a moment, then his jaw set and he nodded to his wife. The secret he never knew but always sensed was finally revealed. Arya had never been like their other children. She did not truly look like anything he could have bred. The timing of the pregnancy was always a bit strange. He had been away for most of the normal time it would have taken. Catelyn simply assured him that there had been one time when they were together, but he never truly remembered it.
“The daughter of my cock,” Ned whispered to his wife, moving closer to her.
“Fighting the daughter of my pussy,” she replied.
Sitting alone on the bench just in front of the Noble box, Little Finger strained to hear. Ned and Catelyn were speaking to each other, but he could not make out their words. He watched Arya and Ygraine eye each other, but it was without emotion. They removed their blouses, yet he was immune to the ripple of excitement that moved through the crowd as they viewed their now half naked bodies. He could tell that both women recognized what the other was. That would have ordinarily stirred his twisted nature, but there was a larger goal here. The expected explosion between Catelyn and Ned had not yet occurred. Was his plan going awry? He sat on the rough plank of the bench. The secret pleasure he tried to deny himself began to grow. He was helpless now. His cunning could no longer effect anything. He vowed to help Cersea’s naked ambition. He crafted a plan to tear apart House Stark. Now everything was in motion and the fact that he was now helpless as he watched turned him on more than the two young women about to fight.
Ygraine fought against her instinct to rush the darker girl as she entered the pit. Larger 36D breasts bounced impatiently as she moved, coral colored nipples jutting out like deadly weapons as her eyes narrowed and she watched Arya move. The blonde was a touch taller, and her body was slightly thicker. Her bunched up dress—tied off just below her hips— did not hide her slightly wider hips and her pale skin already began to gleam in the fire light from a thin sheen of sweat. She did not have the animal-like quickness and grace of Arya, but she moved smoothly and with a confident power that made it clear that she was no stranger to a setting like this. Pouting lips were slightly parted as she breathed deeply, preparing her body for the energy that it would need. Catelyn found herself mesmerized by the steady rising and falling of the blonde girl’s larger boobs. She instinctively licked her lips as she studied the girl’s movements. She felt a twinge of jealousy. This young woman moved with the easy, open confidence of the true slut, Catelyn decided. The type of woman who used her body to take care of herself in a world where everyone would try to use her. Catelyn felt a sudden dampness in her sex. She had spent years preparing herself to hate this girl, this scandal. But—just as she felt toward Jon Snow—she also felt that attraction that the hate seemed to feed. Acknowledging that attraction only made the sense of humiliation stronger, but part of her wanted to give into the desire.
Arya flashed forward, her feet barely stirring up the red dust. Her left fist moved with the blurring speed of a cobra toward the blonde girl’s face. Ygraine lurched awkwardly to her right, left arm swiping up too wildly as she tried to defend herself. The darker girl’s speed was greater than she anticipated, and her heart lurched as she realized that she was unprepared. Arya’s fist only moved forward a couple inches. She quickly pulled it back and took a twisting step to her left, knees and hips dipping down as her elbow pulled back to her body and then drove her fist back up under the other girl’s arm as her body uncoiled like a spring. She felt the shock of the blow flow back up her arm as her fist slammed into the pale flesh just under Ygraine’s ribs with a meaty smack. The fist sunk in deep and Arya felt a wave of excitement as she exulted at the pleasure of striking first.
The force of the blow tore through Ygraine’s body. Pain ran up her left side with the speed of wildfire moving through brush and engulfed her brain, making it impossible to think. All the strength flowed out of her toned legs. She sagged against her foe. It was not through any plan, but her left arm had begun to slash back down to try and protect when she realized that Arya’s first punch had been a feint. Bent elbow clashed along Arya’s forehead right above her eye as the brunette continued rising up from her blow. Ygraine’s arm continued down limply after the jolting collision shot currents of disabling pain along her arm from the impact on her elbow. Her breasts briefly mashed against Arya’ as Ygraine’s right arm instinctively wrapped around the brunette’s shoulder and back as she struggled to keep her feet under her. A rattling gasp escaped from the blonde’s lips as all the air was driven from her body.
Both Ned and Catelyn groaned as this initial blow struck. They leaned back against the rough back of the bench, knees spreading out. Without thought, Catelyn’s hand pushed past Ned’s, roughly kneading his growing bulge.
“You cheating bastard, my daughter strikes first,” Catelyn panted in his ear as she leaned toward him. Her teeth served as the exclamation point to her sentence by biting his earlobe until she tasted blood.
HIs large hand gripped the front of Catelyn’s dress, roughly jerking it up into a pile on her lap until it could create enough of an opening for his hand to knife between her spread legs and punch against the cotton leggings covering her damp sex. His wife threw her head back and yowled out a heated mixture of pleasure and pain.
A brilliant flash of lights exploded behind Arya’s eye as Ygraine’s elbow struck. All the muscles in her body failed for a moment and it was as if she was outside herself, witnessing her body slump against her half naked foe. Her face smeared over the blonde’s bare shoulder, her cheek and lips slowly sliding down toward the thick pillow of her foe’s breast as Ygraine’s left arm tightened around her back.
The taller blonde girl groaned as desperate attempts to get air back into her lungs came and went in ragged succession. She spread her bare feet on the hard dirt floor as the additional weight of Arya’s body pressed against her. Feeling some strength returning, Ygraine grabbed at the brunette’s side, twisting her hips as the other woman lost more and more balance. She bent her knees and manage to get Arya’s left foot up off the ground. Straightening up, Ygraine’s arm pulled the other girl forward until she was able to toss the brunette over her hip and send her down hard to the unforgiving ground.
Ned’s punch pinned Catelyn’s body to the back of the bench. Spreading his fingers, he teased his way past the split in her leggings and found her swelling folds. Turning his palm up as he finally forced his middle finger into her slit and flicked his thick thumb along her swelling sex horn.
“Watch while my daughter dashes your little whore down to the ground like a bitch in heat,” His voice rasped as his lips sought Catelyn’s and drowned her possible reply with a hot kiss.
Arya crashed down hard on her hip and right thigh, then her side sent a puff of red dirt up from the floor. Off balance, Ygraine had to put her left hand down on the hard dirt to keep from falling down on top of her enemy. For a moment, both girls were frozen. Arya then curled her legs up so that her heels touched her butt as she twisted around and planted both hands behind her to give her balance. As Ygraine straightened back up, Arya aimed her right heel toward the inside of the blonde’s left knee. The blow struck just inside the kneecap and painfully extended her leg. Bellowing in pain, Ygraine grabbed at her knee and crumpled down on her ass.
Catelyn’s bit Ned’s tongue, pushing him back until the back of his head struck the wall behind their bench. Her right hand slapped hard down on his bulge, bringing a loud grunt of pain from him. Then her fingers deftly worked the drawstring to his trousers, opening them until his thick, meaty cock sprang out into her hand. She leaned up until her cheek rested against his and they both stared down into the pit.
“Do you see how the daughter of my pussy strikes down the cheap spawn of your cheating cock,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. The she spat down on the purple head of his swollen rod and began to violently stroke him.
Lunging forward while she still had the advantage, Arya’s bare chest banged into Ygraine’s shoulder, sliding up as she pushed the other girl up into a slumped sitting position. The brunette’s left arm slipped around the back of her head like an attacking snake. Arya pulled the blonde’s face into her cleavage, and laid backwards as her legs unfurled from under her and wrapped around the taut waist of her foe. Laying backwards, Arya’s wiry body stretched her slightly taller foe as her legs pulsed with merciless strength against ribs and she felt the nose and lips of the other woman compress against the valley of her plump breasts. The blonde’s hot breath against her skin made Arya bite her lower lip as she tried to stifle the sudden swell of emotions that flowed through her as the half naked woman struggled against her own bare skin. Even concentrating on the hatred she felt for this woman just increased the molten cauldron of passion forming in her mind.
Ygraine, panicked for a moment as her eyes were nearly blinded by Arya’s smothering hold, moaned in pain as she felt the crushing pressure applied to her ribs. Tongue lolling out as she struggled to breathe against the fleshy trap, she tasted her enemy and gasped in a confused mixture of emotions as she experienced the soft, sweet skin of Arya’s right breast. Her hands, blindly seeking any sort of hold so that she could push her face free and breathe, found the the stiff chocolate treasures that were Arya’s nipples. Another attempted gasp against the warm, sweaty prison of the brunette’s smothering cleavage made her angrily grip and twist at these sensitive knobs. She heard the angry shout from her foe, and the constricting power of the toned thighs wrapped around her ribs nearly broke some of the flexible bones. Ygraine tried to scream in pain, but her open mouth issued no sound and the desperate attempt to suck in air only brought a plump slab of Arya’s tit into her mouth. Almost gagging, Ygraine bit down on the bare flesh as she blindly threw a punch up toward where she guessed Arya’s face to be. There was a bellow of rage and pain, and two sets of claws ripped into her scalp as her head was roughly shoved down hard to the unforgiving dirt.
Little Finger strained to tilt his head and listen to the Noble Box above him. There were muffled grunts and exchanges of heated words. The long time brothel owner was well trained in picking out the sounds of fights born of jealousy and rage, but did not hear those sounds now. He watched the action in the pit unfurling before him with clinical detachment. The two rolling bodies meant nothing to him. The sounds, the words, the muffled grunts of bodies moving in the concealed box above him was the fruit of his plan and the only thing that stirred his emotions. He allowed his normal relentless self control to lose some of its grip on him as he leaned back against the wooden wall of the box and allowed himself to touch his own swelling bulge. The sense of anticipation and fear of failure now that his plan was in action awoke the only arousal left to the slim, clever man.
Ygraine tasted blood in her mouth after her head rammed into the dark dirt. A hard foot slammed into her chest and sent her flopping away from her foe. Fingers desperately scrabbled against the hard surface and she pushed herself up, shaking her head to try and clear it as her blue eyes flashed across the pit, trying to find her enemy before she struck again. As she staggered up to her feet she noticed that the knot tied to hold her dress up around his round hips had come undone. The loose garment tangled under her feet, making it impossible to stand. Nimble fingers flashed down to the laces around her waist and she quickly untied and stepped out of the skirt, kicking it to the side as she stood naked in front of the roaring, drunken crowd.
Ned cupped the back of his wife’s head and forced her face down to his swollen cock. Catelyn’s hands splayed out and pressed against his legs, resisting his effort until she could swallow his rod on her own terms. He thrust his hips and titled back his head as he groaned in pleasure. Never had he treated his wife this way, and never would he have imagined that she would respond in the way she did. Her mouth and tongue did things to him that he never imagined before.
Arya cupped her injured breast, laying on her back and panting in pain. She rolled away from the other woman, getting first her knees, then her feet. She stumbled back a step before she truly regained her balance and located Ygraine. Her eyes roamed over blonde woman’s nude form and she felt a flutter in her stomach as she circled right. The other woman let her hands slide to her hips, cocking them to the right making her plumper ass jiggle a little to the roaring approval of the drunks sitting behind. Her eyebrow rose as she looked over Arya’s body, full lips twisting into a sneer of disdain. Responding to the challenge, Arya removed her mask with a flourish. The crowd jeered and her supple lips twisted into a playful smirk for just a second. Then her fingers quickly unlaced her trousers and she shimmied out of them, tossing them toward Ygraine. Tempted by the chance to catch her opponent at a disadvantage, Ygraine had started to move forward, but had to pause and catch the pants as they flapped through the air toward her face. She caught them deftly and tossed them over to where her skirt lie, returning Arya’s smirk and giving the darker girl a little shrug of her shoulders. The drunken mob, all standing now save for Little Finger, roared their approval and both women raised their covered fists and began a deadly dance around each other in the dirt covered pit.
Catelyn shoved herself away from Ned’s cock, leaving his stiff pole gleaming with her thick saliva. She yanked her dress up over her back, then gripped the top rail of the Noble’s Box, glaring over her shoulder at her husband with a savage hunger he had never seen in her before. Arching her back so that the her split leggings slid open and gave him a view of her tight, slim ass and plump, wet peach, she yelled. “Come on you fucking bastard! The daughter of my pussy challenges the daughter of your cock to fight!”
With a a bellow of lust and rage, Ned pushed himself up from the bench, grabbing the top of the loose leggings and jerking them so that the drawstring that bound them together above Catelyn’s hips snapped. He thrust them away so that they pooled at her feet and grabbed her hips. His cock penetrated her wet, swollen pussy and both groaned. “The daughter of my cock accepts your challenge!” He roared back as both of them began to thrust and grind into each other with a heated passion.
Now Ygraine was the one to feint a blow. Arya responded with her feet, rather than her arms, dancing lightly to the right, firm melons bouncing with a supple energy, dark nipples jostled together for a moment. Only when she was out of range did she raise her left forearm and fist to guard her jaw. Red dust barely swirled up around her ankles as she bent her knees and bobbed down. Quick feet flashed as she moved forward, knees rising and hips twisting again as she aimed a cruelly precise uppercut into the small gap between Ygraine’s fists that opened as she pulled her fist back. The blonde was not as clean with her attack or recovery. A greater swirl of red dust kicked up when Ygraine’s shapely feet skittered straight backward. Her larger tits bounced with more of a pronounced jostling of her stiff nipples as she regathered. Confidence ebbed as Ygraine realized even her attempt at a feint was countered before she could launch her real attack. Bee stung lips–with a slight smear of blood across them—pursed for a second. She was taller, but that advantage was lost against the darker girl’s disciplined attacks and defense. Arya moved too quickly and penetrated Ygraine’s efforts without paying a price. Peeling back her lips in a defiant sneer, the blonde launched herself at her foe with a yell, her supple legs and firm, round ass rippling from the effort as her voluptuous breasts heaved up and down. There was a jolt of pain as Arya’s right fist hooked around Ygraine’s elbow and smashed into her ribs, but the blonde ignored it. This was her only chance. Pale arms wrapped around Arya’s head and now the darker girl’s face was trapped between the larger girl’s cleavage. Struggling to hold her opponent, Arya braced her legs to hold both herself and the blonde and began a second punch. Ygraine’s right foot hooked around the brunette’s left left leg and her heel crashed down on the back of the brunette’s knee. With a yelp of pain, Arya’s balance crumbled like a collapsing building when the supports break. The blonde girl twisted her shoulders, pulling her opponent forward as she turned her flaring hips, riding her opponent down as she rammed Arya’s chest into the merciless red dirt. On her knees next to Arya, Ygraine quickly straddled the brunette’s back and her round ass bounced down hard onto Arya’s lower back with a meaty smack as her hands now cradled the darker girl’s chin. Balanced on her spread feet, the muscles along Ygraine’s arms rippled and stood out like corded knots as she leaned back, painfully cranking Arya’s head up to stare at the Noble’s box, her firm young boobs mashed and twisted into the hard dirt floor. With a scream of pain Arya saw her parents, locked in their own battle, staring down at her.
Ned roared his approval, grabbing Caatelyn’s hair and pulling back her head so that she was forced to look down at her daughter. “This is what happens when you challenge the blood of The White Wolf,” he shouted. Passion overwhelmed him and a choked scream was torn from his lips as a violent orgasm racked his body and his cock exploded wave after wave of cum into his wife’s pussy.
Little Finger moaned in an ecstasy of humiliation as the wooden panel that served as a modesty guard for the Noble’s Box bounced against the back of his head with every thrust of the heated coupling above him. A searing mental pain flowed through his body as he realized that his plan had completely failed. The heated passion he heard between Ned and Catelyn Stark would forge a stronger relationship between them. Stroking himself without even knowing it, the most painful memory of his life flashed through Little Finger’s mind. As a young man, living at Catelyn’s family castle, he had shyly shared his love of poetry with her. He remembered the sense of excitement and joy as he bound up the stairs toward her chambers one afternoon with a new volume of verse clutched to his chest. The joy in his heart at sharing this with her was shattered, never to be replaced, as he was stopped by her locked door. Inside he could hear the heated panting and moans as Catelyn discovered the passion of a secret rendezvous. Little Finger realized that it was a passion that would never leave her heart, and that he—a thin, sickly boy from a impoverished house—could never give to her. Leaning against the cold stone wall next to her door, he shamed himself by being seduced by the heated sounds of Catelyn’s passion and his own humiliation. And now, sitting alone below her, he repeated this shaming, coming in his own hand as he slumped against the modesty wall.
Ned fell backwards, his passion spent, but Catelyn twirled around like a sudden dust devil, her forearm slammed against his throat as she drove him back into his seat. Straddling him, her heated pussy swallowed his still hard cock and her head titled back as she rode him until her fingers gripped his throat and her chin titled back and she gave voice to her own violent orgasm. Her crazed glare made him fear for a moment when she finally looked him in the eyes. Her fingers twisted their way into his hair and she pulled his lips to hers. Breaking the kiss she hissed in his ear, “The White Wolf of the North has been tamed by me!”
Arya grunted, straining against the building pain. Her fingers splayed out and tried to dig into the hard packed floor. She struggled to find some way to escape, but all she found was fiery agony. Ygraine slipped her right arm along Arya’s jaw, bending her elbow around the brunette’s throat. Her long blonde hair spilled around them, like a curtain as her arm tightened and she choked her opponent. Blood stained lips hovered by Arya’s ear.
“Surrender,” she whispered.
“No,” Arya grunted.
“There is no shame surrendering to family.”
Arya struggled for a moment longer. Darkness swirled around the edge of her vision, slowly widening as if she was sliding under water. Her eyes glanced up, but she could no longer see her parents in the Noble’s Box. She could not hear the shouts and jeers from the drunken crowd. Ygraine was right, she decided. This was just family. Just the two of them. No shame was attached. Her right hand spread out and she tapped the dirt floor 3 times.
The next morning, Ned, Catelyn, Arya and Ygraine all sat at the largest table of the inn. The sweating innkeeper pushed his way through the morning crowd and slammed down tankards onto the stout plank table; the red wine still frothing from the spout. This was followed by platter after platter of food. None of the other patrons of the inn dared to look at their table, and no one dared to comment about who sat there or what happened the night before. Ned spotted Little Finger as he tried to slink down the stairs with his belongings and leave the inn. His voice boomed across the room.
“Lord Baelish, please join us for breakfast before you return to King’s Landing!”
For a moment the lean, cunning man stiffened, but a practiced, cold smile filled his face when he walked over to the table.
“Lord Stark, you honor me,” he murmured as he bowed and sat as far away from Catelyn as he could.
Ned smiled broadly as he gestured for another goblet and then overfilled it with wine from the pitcher to his right. The dark liquid splashed from the tankard as he slammed it down next to Little Finger, staining his yellowish cloak.
“We have much to celebrate,” Ned continued, his voice booming through the inn. “I have discovered another daughter. My family grows and prospers!”
Catelyn looked over at the young blonde woman. Her pale skin flushed at her father’s words. The crowd of peasants seated in the inn all stood and raised their glasses, shouting out wishes for health and long life for the Starks. The secret shame Ygraine carried through her entire life was shattered by this moment. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she realized how openly she was received. After wiping her blue eyes clear with the sleeve of her blouse, Ygraine met Catelyn’s stare. Both recognized the curious, the almost hungry gaze as they stared at each other for a moment. It contained the same heat Ygraine experienced with Arya the night before as they wrestled again in the soft hay of the barn while others slept.
Little Finger needed every ounce of control to keep his smile in place. He stared for a moment at the stain on his cloak, but did nothing to try and remedy it. Weakly, he lifted his goblet and nodded toward Ned.
“I shall report your joyous news when I return to King’s Landing,” he said. In spite of the smile, Ned noticed that his eyes were deadly cold. He did not know it at the time, but his face now held a prominent place in the twisting corridors of Little Finger’s mind.