⊰ anicelybandiedword: ⊱
“Father.” Sansa turned her face from him, eyes closing against the inoffensive whorls and knots of wood which comprised his desk. Strange how even now, a girl betrothed and forsworn to a maiden’s innocence, she granted the Lord a view more intimate than ever her husband would see. For when the shroud of Alayne Stone fell away, a grey husk swiftly and silently swept aside in revelation of glorious Stark victory, she would don fine silks embroidered with delicate pearls, inlaid with jewels and weighed down by heavily stitched patterns. Her stockings would come in a prism of colors, trimmed with ribbon and lace, just as her smallclothes would turn more delicate, a garment now meant to be seen and appreciated, rather than one of practicality alone. Harrold would never lay eyes upon his bride when plain. But Petyr… Petyr was instead privy to the utterly unfeigned reality of his daughter’s life, composed for no observer, reflecting only that distinct feminine care indulged for personal comfort rather than teasing exhibition.
Readily would he see how beneath simple garments muscles twitched, tensed to hear yet another request. If Baelish meant to humiliate then already he had met his mark; between ivory teeth a tongue worried and twisted, objections crushed beneath the fear of punishment far more severe. Despite tingling along her neck, shame painted in garish shades across her flesh, discovery stood impossible in this room. Alone, together. Yet ever hopeful, fingers now hooked in the slim waist of that final garment, she dared think he would object. No! Your lesson has been learned! Silence, save for rustling breath, reigned. Gaze resolutely shuttered, Sansa did as he bid, smallclothes slipping over the curve of her bottom. If she refused now the someone would know, they would know how far she had allowed Petyr to proceed! And what would they think of her then, doubled over at the waist, skirts shamefully lifted in what could only be deemed an invitation?
Further down they moved, until cool air alone caressed exposed skin. Knees pressed tightly together, thighs closed, what little modesty might remain still preserved. With her undergarments free Sansa released her hold, the silk fluttering with a sigh to crumple at her feet. She made no efforts to step free of them. “When you please, father.”