Sansa vs Myranda 3 by Nuxrivern

A Comment on Age

All characters in this story are 18 years or older, despite their ages in the original fiction.

How to Find More Nuxrivern

Contact them by email at Nu******@gm***.com

Or hire them to make your fantasy come alive at Fiverr

Despite the cold of winter, the crypt was cool around her. Despite the fact that everything finally seemed to work out in her favour, however, she felt alone. Nonetheless, Sansa had had no choice but to come here. It was either that, or being turned into a hostage, and her days of being a political tool for the enemy to make use of had, in her opinion, come to an end. She had no interest in being used by the Boltons for another second and had better things to do than to suffer through their torture. She just wasn’t sure whether she would deem hiding in the Winterfell crypt, the underground necropolis that had once been used as the burial ground of her ancestors, any more useful. 

Carrying a torch, she had made her way inside. Trying not to think about what the crypt was meant for, she let it serve as her hiding spot for the coming week or so. It was a necessary task, which she knew, despite the crypt’s traditional purpose, not one Stark buried here would blame her for. Yet, she stood still at the partially completed statue of her father, trying to remember him rather than mourn what had caused his death — she was making up for that now. Then, without looking at all those other reminders of death and trying her best to remain mostly unfazed, she walked on, focusing on the task at hand, rather than on the sudden whirlwind of emotion she could feel starting to swirl around in her stomach. 

She had only just arrived here, but her preparations had been going on for weeks now. She had chosen a spot in her crypt and she had carefully selected a collection of loyal servants to help her move wood, torches and food so she would be able to survive her for at least a week. Within that time, she desperately hoped that the rebels would reach Winterfell, and then her terrible lonesome retreat would surely be allowed to come to an end. It wasn’t so bad. Certainly no worse than what she had walked away from — what she was set on destroying. 

The only thing that had made it a nightmare for Sansa to escape was Myranda’s continuous appetite for revenge. It hadn’t left Sansa alone for even a second, and the kennel-girl seemed dead set on setting the humiliation Sansa had previously put her through right again. Instead of attempting to tear Sansa to shreds those times, however, she had tried to make her cum and cum and cum, fighting her with sex to achieve a fitting humiliation to set hers right. 

However, although Sansa had thought of purposely losing just so she would get the opportunity to escape to the crypt, she hadn’t managed to do that. There was something about the dog girl that made Sansa’s blood boil with so much overwhelming rage that it was impossible to fight her with rational thinking and, instead, she had fought back with her body instead and given it her all. No matter the rebellion, which was coming closer every day, there was not a chance in the world that she would ever let the bitch win. Not deliberately, at least. There was a lot she would sacrifice for this rebellion, and the inevitable downfall of the Boltons — she would even like to

say she would sacrifice everything just to achieve that — but her pride clung to her, unwilling to part with her. 

So they had fought. They had rubbed their recovering cunts together. They had screamed at one another, punched one another in the tis, in the cunts, bringing each other close to unconsciousness each and every time they would engage in such a fight. During one of their fights, Sansa had, through a burst of momentary insanity, even considered making herself sick just to get away from Myranda. However, covering her small, useless tits in the contents of her stomach — after which she imagined herself spitting something along the lines of: ‘there you go, you poor, poor piece of scum, eat the feast from my highborn stomach.’ — would have been humiliating not just for Myranda, but also for Sansa. After all, wouldn’t something like that have been the ultimate proof of her own declining mental state. It’d caused her to back off, to wipe her tits clean, and she had momentarily stopped rubbing Sansa’s painful, overstimulated clit. Then, Sansa had attacked her, and she had thrown her down on the floor, one knee on Myranda’s throat as her fingers worked the dog’s clit until she had been on the verge of passing out. Then, the bitch had attacked her with some violence, and the fight had continued with their cunts pressed together, tribbing each other to painful after painful completion until they had driven each other to an agony and exhaustion strong enough to make the lights go out for the both of them. 

It was never really clear who the winner of those fights was, but Sansa supposed that the loser would come forward by herself, just by wanting to set the humiliation right again. Sansa had won the last one, at least in her opinion, as the screaming that Myranda had filled Sansa’s ears with still droned through her skull. She really had been in a lot of pain and Sansa didn’t even remember just how many orgasms she had forced out of the bitch. The only thing that was certain was that there had been too many for her to handle; too many to allow them to pass her quietly. 

Nonetheless, just as always, they had passed out at around the same time, this time with their cunts still pressed together. They’d slept in a pool of their own fluid, which was in this instance a mixture of piss, wetness and a pinkish, barely there blood. Sansa had felt the aftermath of that fight just after waking up, as it was nearly impossible to wake up from such a fight in any other state than complete exhaustion. 

Myranda had still been asleep by that point, her naked body lying worn out on the bed. Sansa’s stomach had churned upon the realisation that, by the looks of it, it was now or never. If she was going to make an escape, it was going to have to be now, and thus she had left rather abruptly, only quickly having gathered her coat and making it out of the castle as fast as she possibly could.

Her heart had been racing, anxious for something to go wrong. Being used as a political tool meant that people tended to keep an eye on her, forcing her to make a careful escape. When she would come back, she supposed that everything would be different, and instead she would be at the top of everything, where no Bolton or — for crying out loud — Myranda could even attempt to tear her down. 

Out of all the hiding places she may have opted for, the Winterfell crypt was by far the most worthy hiding spot for the occasion. After all, nobody knew just how large it was so even if the enemy would eventually find out that this was her hiding place, there was no way anyone would ever be able to find her there. She had chosen her spot carefully, on occasion making it hard for even Sansa to know where she was. That made it ideal and, perhaps, the safest place she could be at the moment. 

But the crypt would, undoubtedly, turn her cold and isolated, as her days were to be spent only on the pondering of what might be happening up above. She had ways of receiving information, of course, but that didn’t mean she would be updated daily. It was only every once in a while that one of her loyal servants or handmaidens would hide their message at crypt’s entrance, and it would still be a while until she would receive the next. Nonetheless, she appreciated that those messages at the very least gave her something to do, and she prepared herself for a daily walk to that entrance just to see whether something had been left for her. 

Right now, the anxiety of her plan was already starting to dawn on her. She was sitting there in the dark, trying to save her torches for when it was really necessary, and she tried her best then to keep her mind where it needed to be, instead of each and every noise she became hyper aware of. It wasn’t that she was scared — over the years, it almost felt that she had grown desensitized to fear — but she was starting to grow wary of what was going on around her. She felt the air hit the skin underneath her skin as noises, either from above or from elsewhere in the crypt, began to make her skin crawl. Still, she remained where she was, her expression still and unchanged, as she allowed for the moment to pass. She must have been hallucinating, or blowing every single noise that she heard. If she simply focused on herself, instead of everything going on around her, then everything would— 

A sinister laugh disturbed her, creeping through her system like a nightmare. It didn’t make sense at first, making her jump up from where she was sitting, her heart jumping up to her throat. After all, if the presence of someone else meant that she had been caught, this really could mean something very terrible to not only herself, but also the rebellion. Her heart jumped up to her throat, but then her defences began kicking in. She would fight. She would fight for what she wanted and she wouldn’t allow anyone to meddle with it.

But then the laughter registered, and in her head, Sansa began visualising the woman this voice belonged to. She felt anger creeping up within her, which then replaced itself with an intense, severe annoyance. Why — no, how — had she been followed here?! She had been more careful than she had ever been before! 

“So this is how you thought you could get out?” Myranda’s voice sounded. “Did you finally get scared of everything I can do to you, make you feel? Where are you, you scared little whore?” 

It was then that Sansa felt taunted enough to get up on her feet. She knew she shouldn’t be doing it. She knew she simply had to keep quiet so that Myranda would fail to find her, but she couldn’t. Something prompted her to move, making her footsteps audible through the crypt. Still she said nothing, hoping that she would be able to catch the bitch in the dark. Following her footsteps, she tried to determine where she was, but that was much easier said than done. Their surroundings were pitch black, and the more she tried to focus on where Myranda was coming from, the more her eyes started to deceive her. Spots of light appeared in her vision, followed by shapes she wasn’t sure were actually there. 

“Ah, so you really are scared,” Myranda grinned. “You seemed scared, just sitting there by yourself waiting for your torch to go out. More scared than I have seen you in a very long time. What is it, couldn’t you handle it anymore? Did you want the fights to stop? Did you finally get so tired that you’re going to give the win to me and go into hiding?” 

It was the stupidity that had Sansa finally clear her throat. She huffed straight after. “You must be delusional,” she said, but she had to admit that she had trapped herself in quite a compromising situation. Admitting to being scared was not something she was about to do, but on the other hand, if she wasn’t scared, then what would be her reason for hiding down here? It wasn’t like she could simply tell or imply the truth. Nonetheless, fury kept her from doing what was smart. She would sooner die than give this cunt the satisfaction. “Don’t you remember what happened last night, worthless, invaluable little kennel-bitch? I knocked you out. I’ve knocked you out plenty over the past three weeks.” 

She supposed that even through the exhaustion of enduring fight after fight, orgasm after orgasm, she would have to distract the cunt with exactly that. Even if it would cost her a week of doing nothing but it, 

“Oh, look at you, you narcissistic fucking cunt. How about you get rid of your delusions by admitting that I’ve fucked you up way harder than you have me?” The confidence, once again, had her losing her grip on what was important, as the only thing that became important right then and there, was the fact that she wanted Myranda fucked up and humiliated, drowning in a pool of her own pathetic fluid.

All but looking forward to the prospect of spending her time in the crypt with Myranda, she sunk down and grabbed hold of one of the torches and everything she needed to light it. It was going to be easier to start this, after all, if the two would be able to see one another. Not that she wanted to, by any means, because at this point she had become so sick of her that she didn’t feel far removed from ending her altogether. 

As soon as the torch illuminated the space around them and Sansa saw her, she charged towards her. The anger she felt at being disturbed within her crypt fuelled her aggression. “Clothes off, then, bitch,” Sansa grunted. She held the torch out towards Myranda, who was forced to take a step backwards. “Or I’ll burn them off.” 

“Oh, you need weapons now? You can’t take me with your bare hands anymore?” Myranda looked less than threatened, making it more than clear that she wasn’t at all scared of Sansa. Besides that, she happily complied, grabbing a hold of the coat she was wearing and letting it slip to the floor. As she did that, she remained eye contact, her eyes spitting silent taunts at Sansa that made heated anger burn in the pit of her stomach. “And now you’re just standing there? Does that mean you suddenly like what you’re seeing?” 

The confidence had her half livid, which only seemed to amuse Myranda for now. Myranda, after all, already thought she had won the upper hand somehow by thinking that Sansa had merely come here out of fear or exhaustion, but Sansa wasn’t going to allow her to remain that way. She would show her that she was, in fact, not scared, and that perhaps this was the perfect place to end her. 

She put the torch down and did with her clothes what Myranda had done to her own. She tugged aggressively at the material, and then let them fall to the floor. The cool breeze of the crypt around her hit her skin, touching her body and reminding her once again that the place that had been meant to give her some peace to properly recharge for the rebellion, had been infiltrated by her loathed enemy. 

“I’ll make you scared,” Sansa taunted, after which she instantly closed the distance between them. As fury overwhelmed her entire being, she realised there was no time to waste. “I’ll make you regret coming here!” 

The first course of action was to get her to the ground, but whereas otherwise she simply would have tackled the bitch, tugged her hair or kicked her in an otherwise agonising way, the two were now so used to one another that those movements had become expected. Myranda, instead of allowing herself to be attacked by Sansa’s efforts, flung herself right back at her. 

It was a wrestle that they became entangled in, their bodies pressed firmly together. They tugged at each other to get the upper hand, almost as the one whose cunt would touch the ground first,

would suffer the first bout of inevitable humiliation. Neither one of them would be under the illusion that the other would, in fact, be humiliated by this, but it was the win they were after. For now, at least, as the lust for humiliation would follow only later. 

Being so used to one another, also meant that they had become equals in their fights. There was no one person who hit the ground first, as Sansa could feel her bare ass against the ground underneath her at the same time as she heard Myranda’s breath hitch upon the coldness against her cunt. Instead, it became about being the one on top, which Sansa — in her fury — achieved by crawling on top of Myranda and by getting her hand between her legs and against her clit. 

Surprisingly, the cunt wasn’t wet just yet, probably still slightly used up from the night before. “Ah, a bitch without the necessary lubricants. How are you going to continue in your affair like that, hm?” She snapped. “You’ll be too fucking broken ever to satisfy him again, clearly.” 

Myranda groaned, her nipples erect against Sansa’s skin. It was then, and she noticed that by sticking three fingers straight into her cunt, that the bitch started to produce some wetness. It motivated Sansa to fuck into her like that more firmly, her fingers curling deeply inside and 

pleasing her most sensitive spot. After she moaned, it had Myranda grunting and spurring back into action. Evidently, she wasn’t going to let herself be talked to like that. 

Soon enough, Myranda’s hand, although constricted by Sansa’s hold on her body, reached between Sansa’s legs all the same. In contrast to Myranda, Sansa was already — albeit annoyingly — wet. It was as though her pussy wasn’t capable of being in another state anymore, no matter how worn out it felt. The bitch’s fingers felt raw against her clit as she started to rub her there, the past few weeks of having done exactly this had evidently taken its toll. It’d made her clit, which was obviously meant to be sensitive and meant for pleasure, into a raw piece of flesh that ached to the touch. 

“And you’re a wet fucking cunt, then,” Myranda grunted back, her voice coming out in the form of a pathetic moan. “Beginning to like this at last then, hm? Well, then why don’t you behave like the whore you are and allow me to impale your saggy highborn pussy to shit, hm?” 

Despite that, and despite the pain that had already begun filling the crypt with an echoing orchestra of grunting, groaning and moaning, the touch didn’t fail to make her body tingle in ways she definitely didn’t want it to. 

“Stay consistent, bitch,” Sansa gasped, heat already rising within the pit of her stomach. She moaned, teeth gritting as she tried her best to make the inevitable pleasure subdue. It was too early, way too early, and she definitely couldn’t lose this. “Delude yourself into thinking I am either scared…” She moaned, the involuntary pleasure making it hard to speak. “…or aroused. If

you’re going to use both, it…” Another groan. “…only becomes clear that you know that I’m neither.” 

Myranda seemed utterly unfazed by Sansa’s logic, probably thinking differently about this as the bitch probably got turned on by her own fear all the time, and instead started to fuck Sansa on her fingers. Having learned how Sansa’s body works, the bitch knew exactly where to press her fingers and exactly how fast she needed to move them. It had Sansa tilting her head back slightly, teeth digging into her bottom lip as if to hold on to her pride that way. However, her body was already nearing its breaking point, the inevitable moans that escaped her throat only providing the bitch beneath her with more proof of it. It caused her body — nipples erect, pussy dripping wet — to fill itself with a rage to ensure that this wouldn’t happen to her first. This was her crypt, her plan, and there was no way that some pathetic, obsessed whore was going to take it from her. 

It made Sansa rub her all the faster, fingers wagging at Myranda’s sore clit. To speed up the process, she had scooped some of her own wetness over that used up piece of flesh, and made sure the bitch would slip over the edge soon enough. The determination to get her there momentarily ensured that she forgot about the involuntary pleasure coursing through her own body. All she felt in the stead of it was a fire that had her moving her fingers faster, drawing tortured groans from the back of the bitch’s throat. Her nipples were hard, causing Sansa to quickly wet her finger just to toy with one of them. It was a touch far too gentle for someone like Sansa, who would much rather rip the thing of her pathetic small tit than please it, but it’d get the job done. For now. 

Or so she thought, because as soon as Myranda threw herself upwards and aimed her mouth for her tit, sucking profusely at her own erect nipple, all of the pleasure suddenly pushed itself back to the forefront of her mind. She moaned, movements falling still, as she became hyper aware of 

the pleasure inflicted upon her pussy as well. It even caused her to, instead of toying with Myranda’s nipple, to pinch her nails into it. Hatred, after all, was much more easily outed in the form of the infliction of pain. She groaned, gasping, as her clit suddenly throbbed and she could feel herself abruptly starting to lose it. 

Fuck, she thought, as she could hear her own moaning echo through the crypt surrounding them. Now, granted, an orgasm had long since stopped feeling as pleasurable as it ought to — her cunt stimulated, raw, somewhat loose — but it still made her stomach tingle, her pussy throb, her muscles clench, her voice break out in a series of moans, her body weak… She hated it, she loathed it, therefore wagging her fingers even harder to get Myranda at least to that very same place. Just because she had lost now, didn’t mean she had to lose altogether.

However, she didn’t manage to unclench her fingernails from Myranda’s tit. They kept pinching, tugging, rather than pleasuring, her hatred making it impossible to want her enemy to feel anything remotely nice, even if that ‘niceness’ would only be there to inflict humiliation. 

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, the ache in Myranda’s tit didn’t get rid of any sort of pleasure. Instead, it had the crazy whore moan out louder, stimulated by the pain Sansa was causing her. On top of the way Sansa was stimulating her clit, wagging aggressively in a variety of shapes, it seemed to be enough to force Myranda over the edge all the same and a second later, Sansa could feel the bitch’s cunt throbbing against her finger tips. 

“How does that feel, huh?!” Myranda spat. Her voice was weak and laced with pleasure, but it was clear that she was trying to rub in her victory somehow. “Losing, yet again? Guess that’s why you were so afraid and ran.” 

“You tell me what’s more… humiliating,” Sansa countered, groaning. She continued the touches, rubbing her through the sensitivity hoping to inflict only more. Myranda was doing the same to her, after all, unwilling to give up. “Coming first, or coming from getting your tit pinched to shit.” 

Myranda’s moan turned into a grunt, fire blurring lacing her glare. She tried to get back from it by pushing herself up more, but Sansa remained where she was. She might be weak, her cunt, at Myranda’s hands, reaching a torturous point of burning and stinging, but she was determined to 

stay on top. Myranda’s rage was forceful, but so was her own, and she wasn’t going to be the first to reach the next one. There was no way. 

As she wagged Myranda’s clit to a raw excuse of sensitivity, she continued stimulating her nipples. Knowing that the cunt was stimulated by pain and that the mere fact of that humiliated her, she focused on that. She tugged at the useless, damaged bud of skin, continuously digging her nails in to give her more. It seemed to be doing something, as Myranda’s fight was forced to come to a halt, leaving her screaming from overstimulation right after. It caused her to stop moving her fingers inside of Sansa, which, much to Sansa’s benefit, gave her some time to recover from her orgasm. 

“Well?” Sansa taunted. “What’s more humiliating than a bitch that cums from her enemy’s torture?” 

It was clear that Myranda was coming again, her body trembling involuntarily. Sansa still refused to move her finger away and to stop rubbing, however, because she wanted to see the bitch cry before she would do that.

Not that Myranda was going to let her, though, because the words had enraged her once again. The aggression became visible in her movements this time as well, as she pulled out of Sansa’s hole and began spreading her wetness over her clit instead. It was then that the stimulation truly began. “I’ll fucking show you humilating, if your pussy isn’t worthless after everything I’ve put it through.” 

Sansa hated to admit this, but Myranda knew her body. She had learnt how to make her cum in a variety of ways, meaning that she had also figured out exactly how to wag at her clit. Pressure, release, pressure, left to right, right to left, pressure, release, and Sansa was crying out with it, her body quivering and trembling as she reached her next one. The worst thing, perhaps, was that the bitch wasn’t stopping after forcing her through it, causing her body to never catch a break from that tremble. Her own noises travelled through the crypt, and now it was her own grip on the bitch’s cunt that started to weaken. Her stomach was churning, pussy throbbing. Even her nipples ached now, as if she was, to some extent, getting strangely desperate to be touched in a way, quite like this, that wasn’t meant to tear her down. How long had that been? 

Didn’t matter. Wasn’t relevant. She just needed this fight to end in her favour. 

It was only when the worst of it had passed, and the agonising over-stimulation turned into a background ache, that Sansa really could focus on her end of the fight again, which consisted of nothing different from what it had been before. Only now, she applied more pressure, and cared even less about how much humiliating pleasure it would cause. She just wanted it to hurt. She just wanted it so hurt so much the cunt would beg for it to stop. 

The fire in Myranda’s eyes, staring straight back at her, showed that she had gotten a similar idea and, as the two ruined the most sensitive spots of each other’s bodies, they stared at each other with nothing but contempt and rage in their eyes. It was almost as they were daring each other to continue, as the one who would pull away first, and suffer through the inevitable humiliation paired with it, would be the one to lose. 

It lasted for what felt like hours, the light already having gone out. Like that, Sansa and Myranda were no longer able to see each other, and therefore they were unable to see the pain and torture on each other’s expressions, but the noises they each let out were more clear. At one point, after a continuous, burning amount of orgasms had passed, those noises turned into cries of pain and exhaustion, and Sansa could clearly feel the agonising result on her body. It hurt. Her clit, which had once been perfectly capable of receiving pleasure, was now so sensitive that each rub felt like Myranda was sticking a needle inside of it. Perhaps the only consolation was that Myranda, breathing heavily and screaming — crying — just as loudly as Sansa was, seemed to be in exactly the same predicament.

There were taunts on Sansa’s mind, but none of those ever made it out. She was too busy with her suffering, and trying to hold on to the determination to stay exactly where she was. She couldn’t lose. She couldn’t

It was then, cunt burning so severely that it felt like it was bleeding, that she realised that staying on top had become a disadvantage. Even if it was becoming clear that Myranda was in so much pain that, at this point, she probably wanted a way out just as much as Sansa did, there was no way that Myranda would be able to get her out of Sansa’s grip. Her body had weakened severely, burning with the large amount of orgasms she had suffered through, and now she couldn’t do much more than to lie there shaking, quivering, groaning and crying. The noises it caused her to make were pathetic at best, even if Sansa couldn’t say that her own were any better. 

It hurt. Her fingers had become numb as they wagged at Myranda’s clit, and she felt so sore that she wanted nothing more than to move herself away. Her body was just as weak as Myranda’s was, and it was almost impossible for her to hold herself up anymore. She was leaking her own juices, which flooded out of her pussy, down onto the bitch beneath her. She couldn’t see it, as the light had already gone out, but she could feel it. She was pouring it just as much as Myranda clearly was. 

“J-just…” Myranda tried to say something, but she got cut off by her very own pathetic whimpers. “G-give…” 

When she realised she couldn’t speak anymore, she lifted herself up with the last bit of her strength and, once again, wrapped her lips around Sansa’s nipple. Her teeth dug in, but surprisingly the touch was soft and subtle. It relieved Sansa for a moment, as she didn’t have the energy to deal with more pain, but then it became clear that this touch was more painful than any sting she could have received would have been. 

The touch felt pleasurous, which, on top of the already agonising pleasure, simply became too much to handle. She caught herself gasping and the next thing she knew she was coming again, wailing upon the pain it caused her. It was too much, way too much, and now that Myranda was sucking at her nipple, Sansa had no choice but to let herself fall backwards. 

Not knowing how to cope with this sudden defeat, she decided to simply ignore it and defend herself. “You pathetic bitch,” she said. Although she was out of breath, and weak, she crawled back in the direction of where the torches were. She needed some more light, of course, but most of all she needed to grant her pussy some time to recover. She had no idea what kind of state it was in visually, but it felt like hell, like she never wanted to use it again. She wondered how much longer it was going to take for her to choose the violent destruction of her cunt over whatever was inflicted upon it now. The pleasure was too much, and although she wanted out,

giving up now was not something she was going to do. “You wanted to get away, didn’t you? So you did… what…” she gasped again, out of breath, “use your mouth because… your fingers didn’t… manage to do it?” 

Myranda laughed, seemingly somewhat perplexed. “You’re… playing it that way?” She gasped. “Can’t the highbred fucking…” Another gasp. “Lady… Admit to her defeat? That’s even worse…” 

Sansa didn’t respond to that — not having the energy to — but she could feel her blood boiling again. It had her, albeit weakly, lift herself upon her feet in search of the torches and rapidly work on getting one on again. Her heart was pounding as she turned towards Myranda, lying there in a mess of her own fluid, pussy dripping and somewhat bleeding, as she stood there with weakness in her knees herself. She put it down in a holder against one of the walls, and stood there trying her best not to look as weak and exhausted as she felt. 

“You wanted me to get off of you,” she repeated. Her voice wasn’t at all stable, but this was evidently the best she could make it. “So you pulled a trick. It’s not delusional, it’s the blatant truth. You, weak, pathetic piece of kennel-trash, are delusional. Always have been, always will be.” 

Myranda lifted herself up on her elbows. The glare she threw her was so full of hatred that Sansa wasn’t sure how Myranda wasn’t lifting herself up altogether. “You think I can’t take you?” Myranda said, a perplexed laugh escaping her throat. “You think I haven’t been taking you and fucking destroyed you time and time again?” She laughed again, a little louder this time. Her voice was laced with some sort of craze, but more than that, Sansa knew that she was simply perplexed. Sansa’s heart rate surged once more. “Do you really need me to come and prove that what you are trying to make yourself believe is pathetic, lady, or are you going to admit to it yourself?” 

Sansa’s stomach churned. With neither one of them wanting to admit to their defeat, she knew there was only one way to settle it. And yeah, that settlement would come in the form of evidence, more torture to her pussy. But she had known that anyway, hadn’t she? Why else was she still standing there, holding onto the torch on the wall, stalling just to give her aching pussy some rest? “You didn’t destroy me,” Sansa spat with all the energy she had within her. “Someone like you will never be able to destroy someone like me.” 

“Come fucking prove it then.” The way Myranda didn’t seem scared or intimidated agitated her, yet again confirming that Myranda wasn’t going to step down for any reason. Sansa still had some sort of pride to hold onto, but Myranda… Well, it had become clear that no amount of pain

was going to be enough for her to give up the fight. Only passing out would get her to shut up or stop trying. 

Well, okay. It wasn’t like Sansa had thought there was another option in the first place. 

“You’ll regret it,” Sansa spat, meaning it. Although it was true that she had tried to somewhat delude herself before, she knew for a fact that there was no possible way she was going to let Myranda leave this crypt alive. “You’ll see.” 

“Great,” Myranda taunted. “I can’t wait to see what you think your useless cunt can do to me.” 

Sansa wasn’t sure what it was that she was feeling, but it had long stopped mattering. Her week of needed solitude had been interfered with, and now all she could think of doing was to cause destruction, permanent destruction, that would enhance the victory of the inevitable success of the rebellion. If she was going to have to put herself through torture just to achieve that, so be it. 

Her body lunged forward, getting back onto the ground. Instead of moving on top, or allowing Myranda to force herself off Sansa, she took the lead in positioning their bodies. Her right leg moved over Myranda’s left, and she forced her own left underneath Myranda’s right. Like that, it became possible to press their cunts together in the exact same way they had been doing for weeks now. The only difference, they now both knew, is that they weren’t going to get unlocked for the foreseeable future. The fight, once again, would be about endurance and, of course, Sansa had to make sure that Myranda wouldn’t get it into her ugly fucking head to leave the crypt to tell anyone that she was hiding in here. 

Yeah, the rebellion. She was doing this for the rebellion. 

She spread her lips apart and thrust herself against Myranda as if to urge her to do the same. “Get to it, bitch,” she grunted. “Hurry up.” 

“That eager to lose?” Myranda taunted again, after which she inevitably complied. 

We’ll see, she wanted to say, but by that point Myranda had already started to move her hips up and down, and everything that managed to come out was another series of tortured groans. The stinging was back again, and she responded to it by moving her hips with the same type of force 

and speed, even though it was impossible to control her own responses to that surge of overstimulation again. Her only comfort was perhaps that it was more than clear that neither one of them seemed to be particularly good at controlling their responses, and that neither one of them seemed to be having the upper hand at this stage. 

They went on like that for hours, orgasm and orgasm drawn out of them. They had each screamed a considerable amount, unable to throw any sort of taunt at one another. It hurt so

much that, after a while, Sansa could feel her cunt getting somewhat numb. The moans stopped then, and their fight turned into countless hours of rubbing their clits against one another, each orgasm a little harder to draw out than the last. 

It hadn’t taken long for everything to turn dark again. With that out of the way too, a torch roughly lasting twenty minutes, there was no way for either of them to maintain their grip on the time anymore. Everything was dark, and the way their pussies were slowly becoming more and more raw was the only way to determine that all of this had gone on for a very long time. Sansa, thoughts in a complete mess, wouldn’t be surprised if this had lasted for at least an entire night. 

At various points, the way Myranda thrust against her had slowed down a little. By that point, Sansa was starting to find it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open. She felt sick with pain, and her throat felt drier than she had ever felt it before. Despite how hot her body was, she could not stop shivering and, although her heart had been racing, it’d become impossible not to let herself drift off. Of course, she didn’t want to drift off, continuously attempting to rub her cunt against Myranda’s, but there had come a point of no denying that her body needed rest. 

Not that that rest would be particularly restful, but still. It needed it, as there was no way this fight would end any time soon. 

When she woke up, the space around them was light again, and she could feel something creeping up on her. “Wake up, bitch,” she heard, after which her eyes suddenly shot open. Next thing she knew, she was screaming out with the burn that the lit torch had left on her, scorching the layer of pubic hair right off her. 

Although she barely had any energy, she scurried backwards over the floor, shivering violently and smacking at her mound to get the flames to disappear. Opposite her stood Myranda, smirking at her with tired eyes. She laughed a little, but in it the exhaustion was more than clear. 

“Not a good idea to fall asleep,” she continued, approaching her again. “Cause now I’m gonna fucking destroy you like I promised.” 

Myranda slid over the floor on her knees, slamming the stick end of the torch in the direction of Sansa’s cunt. It had her choking on air, her legs involuntarily thrashing around her, which — much to her demise — only enabled Myranda to push it straight into her. She screamed out with it, letting herself fall backwards as she had no idea what else to do. She had been surprised with this. She was barely awake. What could she so quickly do against this? 

“You…” Sansa moaned. The flame radiated dangerous heat, but the burning end was now pointed in Myranda’s direction, “…crazy, stupid bitch.”

She sat up a little then. With the torch still inside of her, she tried to get the flame closer towards Myranda’s skin. To ensure that it would, she grabbed a fistful of the dog bitch’s hair and yanked her further between Sansa’s legs. It had Myranda gasping, then tugging aggressively at Sansa’s grip just to get herself away from the fire. In the end, it even had her so frantic that she, of her own accord, yanked the torch out of Sansa’s cunt and threw it to the side, away from the both of them. Then, anger took hold of her and she threw herself on top of Sansa, her hands clamping a hold of both Sansa’s tits. Her nails dug in, tugging. Sansa grunted with pain, moaning as the sting reached her again. She might not have been sure whether her pussy was still capable of feeling anything at all, but her tits were certainly still sensitive enough for the infliction of terrible, terrible pain. 

She should have fought back, but instead her mind was still on something else. Her mound was scalding, and there was absolutely no way she was going to be the only one with such a battle scar. 

She reached beside her, fingers outstretched. It gave Myranda all the freedom to knead her tits to a state of swelling, but Sansa didn’t care. She wanted the weapon. She wanted Myranda to feel just how badly Sansa wanted her to suffer. 

She screamed, but it wasn’t pain that had her making such noises. Instead it was the determination to get her fingers to touch that wooden, torturous stick. Despite the cunt on top of her, she leaned her body towards her a little, finally grabbing a hold of it and instantly punching it in between the bitch’s legs. The flame instantaneously hit her asshole, first making her clench her fingers around Sansa’s tits until they inevitably released and had her scurrying away. As she lay there screeching in agony, Sansa took the opportunity to gain the upper hand again. The pain had been enough to wake her up, making her survive on her next surge of adrenaline again. 

“You’re just… going to do it back?” Myranda whimpered, trying to save herself by implying that Sansa was somehow pathetic for this. “How… Original.” 

“Nice try,” was all Sansa said, before lowering the flame to the soft patch of hair that covered her mound. 

Instead of what Myranda had done, though, Sansa didn’t move the torch away and instead kept it pressed to her cunt for a few seconds too long. It had Myranda, despite her own agony, getting up from the floor, reaching out for the torch, and throwing it across the floor so that it was out of reach. 

As Myranda grabbed a hold of Sansa’s hair and started kneeing her between the legs to get her down to the floor. Sansa knew exactly what to do now, however, and grabbed her where it hurt: her useless, scorched pussy. The wail it forced out of Myranda’s throat was enough for Sansa to

momentarily forget about her own agony as, instead, she was washed over by a wave of victory. Myranda’s skin felt hot and burnt, which had — crazily enough — managed to create a layer of wetness between her legs. Had she had any energy to speak with, she would have said something, but now she had no choice but to receive a series of knees to the cunt that had her eventually sinking through her own knees, wailing. 

The kicks caused Sansa’s grip around Myranda’s labia to tighten at first, drawing out more groans and more noises. Sansa grinned weakly, the pain somewhat numbing her now, but then, when that knee was directed to her face instead, she was forced to let go as she eventually fell to the ground. 

The time between that hit and the moment she could feel Myranda’s slippery cunt on top of herself again seemed to last ages, during which she wondered exactly how long this had gone on for. The rebellion briefly crossed her mind, a vision of people approaching Winterfell to destroy what had destroyed her, but then Myranda’s hands put an abrupt end to that. 

They were back inside of her, forcing not three, but four fingers inside of her at once. It hurt much more than it felt good, her pussy rather raw from everything it had endured, but then Myranda’s mouth, having grabbed hold of one of Sansa’s unfortunately erect nipples, forced her walls to coax themselves with a somewhat humiliating layer of arousal. Despite the clear agony, it had Myranda grinning somewhat, her fury still visible in the dim light coming from the torch. It had Sansa become angrier and angrier, causing her to move her hand wherever she could reach. 

Both hands moved to Myranda’s ass cheeks, spreading apart as hard as she could. Then, her fingers slipped towards her hole, which she pressed against firmly with two of her fingers just to knock the air out of her for a bit. Myranda gasped, and a second later the two fingered each other vigorously again, filling the crypt with an obscene amount of noise once more. Whether it was pain or pleasure wasn’t even clear anymore, but they both knew that every single sensation was unwanted; unwelcome. 

Myranda, adamant to practically push her whole fist inside, began ramming at Sansa’s cunt with an aggression so severe that Sansa knew she had to do something before it’d go so far. Her pussy had endured enough, but the very last thing she wanted was for it to become unusable. She had to 

play it differently, then. Not with an equal amount of violence, but with another wave of humiliation. 

She yanked her fingers — three at this point — out of her asshole and brought them to the tit Myranda was now locked around. She shoved them inside of her nose, practically impaling her nostrils on her own stink, until she let go again.

“Find yourself as repulsive as…” she let out a whimper, then a deep breath, “I do?” To add fuel to the fire, Sansa located her lips even in the dim lighting, shoving them in her mouth until Myranda had no choice but to bite down on them. With the bitch’s hands still firmly in her cunt, Sansa found herself in a compromising predicament, screaming with pain from all angels. Now, she truly had no choice anymore but to, despite the bite, press them in further, until her fingers were practically all the way down her throat. “Fucking eat it!” she then screamed, determination still somehow stronger than the pain. 

Myranda’s body convulsed, weakening her slightly. Her muscles had clenched so severely to prevent herself from vomiting, that there was now a stream of piss leaking from her cunt. It had Sansa groaning, overwhelmed with anger at the pool she was now lying in. However, her move had weakened Myranda sufficiently enough to be able to push against her again, thrashing her limbs just to get her off. 

When Myranda did eventually roll off her body, her weakened body collapsed against the floor. Now that the torch had gone out again, she could only hear the gagging to confirm that she hadn’t actually been puking her guts out. If she wasn’t, though, then there was no doubt that she wasn’t pissing herself. Her body had gone through too much. Of course she was. 

Sansa took the opportunity, moving her starved body towards her enemy again. This time, the need to inflict pleasure had long since surpassed her, now wanting nothing more than to finally end her. 

She started the fight with a grunt, after which she grabbed a firm hold of Myranda’s piss-wet pussy. She tugged at her scorched skin and then, with her other hand, grabbed a hold of her hair to slam her head straight into the ground. However, she merely did this to daze her and therefore prevent her from spurring into action too quickly, because the real damage she wanted to inflict right now was on Myranda’s useless tits. She did this a few times, at which point her fingers had sought out to her clit again. This time, not to rub her to more completion, but to pinch it between her fingers. Then, she sunk down, her teeth firmly sinking into the small sack of slightly bruised flesh. Through gritted teeth, and through Myranda’s whimpering, groaning and involuntary sobbing, Sansa thought she would get rid of ‘slightly’, and make sure they would swell beyond reason. She wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less. 

She bit her a few more times, clearly hurting he bitch so much that she couldn’t even whimper anymore. However, she soon enough realised she might have celebrated too prematurely. It wasn’t that Myranda was recovering, of course, but the pain instilled something within her, like some sort of last burst of fight she let out, because soon her hand was on Sansa’s firmer breast again.

Here, Myranda pressed her palm against Sansa’s nipples, as her fingers dug deeply into her titbags. Despite not using her nails this time around, her grip was firm and determined, inflicting pain upon Sansa without any sort of hesitation. When the grip was firm enough, Myranda began to tug at them, pumping them repeatedly while never loosening the grip she held on her. It felt painful, of course, but at first the pain had been nothing but a dull background ache that was nothing compared to all the other pain she was still feeling. It was, in fact, only when the tugging persisted, and the grip became only firmer, that it truly started to grow unbearable. 

That made Sansa press closer to Myranda, not giving her as much space to tug, while she moved her mouth over Myranda’s nipple again to grab a bit of the breast underneath it. Grabbing a firm hold, jaw clenching, Sansa began to use the very same tugging method that Myranda had used on 

her. She also pinched Myranda’s clit more firmly between her two fingers, causing that piece of kennel-trash to moan with pain. Sansa didn’t focus on this, instead only paying attention to the best way to render Myranda’s tits useless forever. 

However, the more pain Myranda was feeling, the more fight seemed to be within her again. She kicked her legs, at first not hitting anything, but then managing to squirm enough to force Sansa to lift herself up on her knees a little. Myranda then seized the opportunity to knee her in the cunt again, which had Sansa gasping for air so much that her mouth let go. 

Another kick dazed her only more, making it possible for Myranda’s hand to push her firmly enough to get her off, her body falling besides Myranda’s on the cold ground. It didn’t seem to matter to Myranda that Sansa’s fingers were still pinching her clit, only leaving her to grunt but not making her stop doing what she was doing. 

Sansa had expected Myranda to get on top of her, but instead, as though her body needed some form of rest, she could feel the bitch spreading her legs apart and herself getting in between. It took merely a second for their cunts, now scorched and painful to touch again. 

“You’ve not cum… enough?” Sansa spat. “You fucking want more?” 

Without saying as much as a word, Myranda spread their lips apart and began to rub herself against Sansa once again. What seemed to be different this time around, was that Myranda still had it out for her tits. Sansa, through the dark, hadn’t even seen that Myranda had been sitting up, but now that she was using Sansa’s tits to yank her upwards, that was more than clear now. 

Like this, the wild tugging proceeded. One of Myranda’s hands was clamped around her titbag, while the other had clamped hold of her nipple. She tugged wildly, violently, as she began to ride her pussy against Sansa’s to inflict involuntary pleasure upon her once again.

Sansa was exhausted feeling her body being yanked around by the skin and tissue of her tits and, on the other side, her nipple, but still she couldn’t leave it with that. She had to do it back, because she really wasn’t going to allow this bitch to do to Sansa what Sansa wanted — needed — to do her. So, she forced her body to cooperate and mimicked the attack, fingers around her useless tits, digging firmly. She started yanking at them just as severely and with just as much exhausted aggression, ensuring that the space around them was, once again, filled with an equal amount of moaning and groaning from each of their mouths. 

With Myranda’s tits being much smaller than her own were, Sansa could already feel that the tissue underneath her skin was starting to swell. She could hear the evidence of that coming from Myranda’s mouth, which wailed and sobbed, and feel it in the way the bitch fought back again. She squeezed harder, tugged faster, and twisted her nipple between her fingertips. It forced Sansa to throw her head back, wincing and crying. It was a good thing the space around them was dark, as the very last thing she wanted Myranda to see were her tears of agony and exhaustion. 

But of course, if she tried not to focus on the severe torture her tits were being put through, she could feel the subtle hint of agony in her cunt as Myranda was riding against it. Pleasure had long since stopped being pleasure and now, especially with her mound having been scorched to shit, she no longer knew what the better thing to focus on was. 

Perhaps, however, the best thing to focus on was not what she was feeling, but what she could be inflicting. 

With a grunt, she yanked at the bitch’s tits. She squeezed harder, then twisted them in her grip, and continued to do so. Finally, she began rubbing her cunt back against Myranda’s, even if only to make sure the agony was equally distributed between the two of them. Then, her nails dug in, squeezing so firmly that they practically pierced through her skin. 

Of course, Myranda wasn’t going to leave it at that and twisted Sansa’s own tits in her grip all the same. Being firmer, and bigger, they were harder to grab a hold of, but Myranda clearly didn’t let that stop her. She moved her attention to Sansa’s nipples instead, which she grabbed a hold of before letting herself fall backwards a little. Like this, the two were holding each other up by the strength of each other’s tits, which, unfortunately for Sansa, meant that her nipples were now burning so severely that it felt as though they were minutes away from falling off all together. 

The worst part of it was the way Myranda twisted them in her grip, the friction making all of it feel sore and raw. They had already been put through too much over the past couple of weeks,

making this nearly unbearable. Even worse, her skin felt like it was starting to tear, Myranda’s twisting and tugging almost making it feel like she was milking her dry. 

Sansa, so exhausted she felt close to her breaking point, matched the movements. She twisted her nipples in the same type of way, while rocking her body back and forth in order to put more strain on them. By the way Myranda wailed out, and the way she could feel the skin starting to protest in her grip, Sansa was pleased enough to find out that it was working. 

But the pain, no matter how severe it was, caused for even more arousal. Sansa could feel her cunt getting wet, adding fluid to the way the two were riding each other to yet another completion. She tried her best not to, no matter how overstimulating all the pain felt, and by the way Myranda now groaned, Sansa could tell the bitch against her was doing the same. 

As a scream escaped Myranda’s lips, Sansa’s fingers felt slippery with fluid. She didn’t know whether it was blood or lymph, or a combination of both, but it did prompt her to go on with what she was doing. If anything, now that the gateway to permanent damage to Myranda’s tits had been opened, it gave her another burst of aggression to work with. She didn’t know how, but a sound bordering a moan and a grunt erupted from the back of her throat, making her movements more frantic. As she continued to rub her pussy against Myranda’s, desperate to weaken the bitch, she rocked her front back and forth if only to put more pressure on those tits. 

What she hadn’t reasoned — blinded by her own rage — was that those movements would also put more strain on her own tits, and soon enough that moan-grunt turned into a full blown scream as her own tits started leaking from the nipples. She didn’t know what it was she was pouring, the darkness unable to make her confirm it, but what she did know is that she needed this to end as soon as possible. 

Now it was just to hoping that her own, firmer tits, were stronger than Myranda’s small ones were. 

She squeezed out more liquid from Myranda’s tits, gripping firmer each time her damaged skin became slippier. It caused Myranda to do the same, loud noises erupting from her mouth. She muttered beginnings of words, which Sansa thought were either failed attempts at taunting Sansa, or the conversation Myranda was having with her own sanity, or lack thereof. 

The louder those strange grunts became, the harder Myranda started to tug and the more frantically she began moving her pussy against Sansa’s. The moaning became more intense after that, making it harder for Sansa to keep her orgasm from surfacing. Knowing she would have to fight back made that even harder, and she could feel her grip beginning to weaken.

Sansa adjusted her grip, now grabbing a hold of the titbag itself and twisting it in her grip again. On her legs, she could feel fluid dripping from above, blood undoubtedly squirting out now. Another groan from Myranda confirmed it, after which the cunt began to do the same to Sansa’s tits. 

Everything became more blurry then, making it almost hard for Sansa to see through it. On top of that, she could feel, despite the exhaustion, her orgasm beginning to surface again. That made it all the more difficult to keep her fingers, which were already starting to cramp up, tightly squished around Myranda’s tits, twisting and twisting. 

The pain was severe, but her clit seemed not to be stopped by that at all. No matter how raw, no matter how used up and no matter how slightly burnt, it was still capable of feeling pleasure, and a mere second she moaned out loudly, slipping over the edge. 

She almost imagined some laughter coming from Myranda’s mouth, but instead she heard a moan of an equal intensity, proving that Myranda was slipping over the edge just as much. They lost the strength in their fingers instantaneously, forcing the pair to fall down onto her backs, cunts still firmly pressed together. 

They didn’t move after that, laying there absolutely motionless. Sansa couldn’t speak for the cunt against her, but Sansa was throbbing, her vision blurring so much she felt sick in a variety of ways. She was exhausted and, now that she realised, severely underfed and dehydrated. How long had they been here? It felt like days — probably had been days — and in between neither one of them had had anything to eat or drink. On top of that, of course, their bodies had gone through severe trauma, their cunts pulsating against one another as their tits, or so it seemed, were beginning to bleed dry. 

Sansa’s heart pounded in her chest as she found it almost impossible not to allow her eyes to slip shut. Still, she focused on the way her body was beaten: her cunt burnt, her tits swollen so severely that she almost couldn’t feel them anymore in certain places and the rest of her, beaten in a variety of places, probably in between getting her pussy and tits beaten and squeezed to pulp. 

Her clit was raw and undoubtedly bleeding at this point from the intensity of all the friction it had been forced through, and the two lay against one another in a layer of their own involuntary arousal. It felt disgusting, making Sansa wonder, once again, how in the world she had managed to get herself in this situation. 

Her mouth felt dry, hurting her throat. Her body was shaking violently from the lack of nutrition, making her feel desperate for just… something. How long had it been? Something inside of her mind nagged at her, making her crawl over the floor and away from Myranda’s throbbing cunt.

She groaned, then swallowed, but each time she did that, her throat hurt a little worse. She tried to lift herself up on her feet, but she didn’t get much further than her arms and knees. Then, she tried to look around her and locate the supply of food and drink that had been provided for her, but of course it was too dark to see it. They had undoubtedly rolled away from where they had started, giving Sansa no way to know where they were now. 

Yet again, Myranda tried to speak, but no actual words made it out of her throat. She sounded just as weak and dehydrated as Sansa was and, although she had managed to crawl away from her a little, she soon enough could feel Myranda’s hand on her sore tit. She winced in anticipation for more agony, but Myranda’s hand didn’t squeeze this time around — her fingers lacked the strength. 

However, it was only a small yank that was needed for Sansa to fall to the floor again and then, lying on her side, she could feel her face being smothered by a pair of small, bloody tits. At the same time, she could feel a mouth on her own nipple, which felt irritating at first until the suction around her nipples began to feel like agony again. She could feel more and lymph being sucked out of her nipples, making her squirm. 

With the very last glimpse of sanity, Sansa tried to force herself to call Myranda a crazy bitch, but then thirst overwhelmed her whole body to the point she couldn’t think of anything besides doing the same. Sansa’s mouth sought for Myranda’s nipple, but it wasn’t to inflict more pain — that was just a bonus at this point — but because she needed the agony of her thirst to stop. It had become almost as excruciating as the pain coursing through the rest of her body; almost as painful as the suction around her nipples, sucking her dry. 

Myranda’s blood tasted like metal, but it wasn’t long until she tasted something else. She didn’t have enough mind to think about what it was, but it could not have been anything but a nasty streak of lymph. Myranda must have been tasting the same, making Sansa aware — somehow — of just how damaged both their bodies now were. She would’ve screamed, had it not been for the desperation she used to suck Myranda’s tits dry. 

However, of course this was no good alternative to water, and the pain it caused made Sansa’s head spin and her vision blur all the more. Her head was pounding and part of her felt sick to her stomach, making her gag so violently that she could feel she was on the brink of throwing up. In fact, she thought she would have done, had she had anything in her stomach in the first place. She could feel that Myranda felt the same, the sucking at her nipple now interrupted by violent gags from the back of her throat. 

It was those gags that had them wrapping their arms wrapping around one another, pressing each other as close as they possibly could in order to keep them where they were. It made it harder to

breathe, leaving the both of them, through their gagging, to gasp for air that wouldn’t completely fill their lungs. 

She gasped once more, a few times after which a pained, exhausted groan still left her lips. Then, almost at the same time, the two threw up everything they had just sucked out, covering their tits in a layer of thrown up lymph and blood as they were both smothered to what felt like death. 

It shouldn’t have come this far, she thought to herself, with only half a mind. She should have just distracted everyone from the rebellion she had been planning. She really shouldn’t have allowed the bitch to get her this swollen, beaten, sucked dry, smothered, and on the brink of… 

Finally, her eyes slipped shut, taking her pain — and the last glimmer of her painful, dreadful thoughts — away from her. 


When she woke up again, she was no longer in the crypt. Instead, the cool atmosphere she had been in there was replaced by a now unfamiliar warmth. However, her body was still as sore as she remembered, or perhaps worse now that her tits had gotten the time to start their swelling. It made inhaling and exhaling just a little bit more difficult, the pain overwhelming her and almost making her wish that she didn’t have to. 

She hadn’t yet opened her eyes, but she felt fearful. As though, when she would finally open them again, the fight would start again. It made her stomach twist nauseatingly, her body quivering as she tried her very best to hold on to the last traces of unconsciousness. Perhaps it would all be good if she would just keep lying here, without giving anyone the idea that she had woken up at all. 

However, there was some noise around her, and straight after that she became aware of the softness of a bed underneath her. It was different from what the cool crypt had felt like against her bare ass, which would now, perhaps, forever remind her of the unwelcome sensation of involuntary pleasure and agony. 

Her cunt throbbed in response to the memory, making her unable to keep a small wail from coming out. Her body was sore all over, the burn having left some scarring. She became aware, then, of everything that had been done to her, and momentarily seemed to forget everything that she had done in return. 

She saw a vision of Myranda right in front of her, making her clench her fists as if she was mentally preparing herself to continue what she had started, and to end it forever. 

“You’re awake. I can tell. There’s no need to pretend.”

The voice sounded familiar, making place for a whole other set of emotions. What was difficult about being in this state — beaten to pulp; mind hanging on by barely a thread — was that it had become increasingly harder to tell the difference between her illusions and reality. 

“It’s all okay, Sansa,” the voice continued. It sounded more real now; closer. “The House Bolton is no more. While you were in the Crypt — I wouldn’t be able to tell you how long for — we succeeded. All the major houses of the North are waiting to swear you fealty, but for that, I suppose, you would have to be conscious.” 

It took a while for those words to finally register. When they did, she opened her eyes and blinked them into focus. Over her, stood Petyr, somewhat of an amused look on his face. Sansa’s heart raced when she realised not only that she was now here with him, but also that there would be no sign of Myranda anywhere close. No matter the intense desire to end her she still felt, she wouldn’t be able to fight back in this state. It’d have to wait. It’d have to be later, when her body was healed just a little more. 

“You’re still just thinking about that kennel girl, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.” Petyr said. His smile grew a little bit wider. “There isn’t any need to give her much thought right now. She is making her own recovery in the dungeon, awaiting her sentencing.” 

Sansa wanted to say something, but the broken state she was in didn’t allow her to. The only thing she could do was to focus on her feelings, and the deep contrast of what was awaiting the both of them. While Sansa had won, Winterfell about to become hers as the major houses of the North were waiting for her to make a recovery, Myranda was down in the dungeon, waiting for death as she would have to come to terms with the knowledge that she had, in fact, lost. 

Now there would be no more debating of who had won the fight between them, because even though their strength and stamina had always been mostly equal, it was now clear that it was Sansa. 

Sansa, as the lady of Winterfell, had won everything


The End

Thank you for reading! For More GoT Tales, Click The Image Below!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

2 × four =

This Site is a Labor of Love, Set Up for the Benefit of the Fem Fight Community. No Money is Generated in Any Way From This Site or its Content.