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Practice Makes Perfect

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It is the year Robb marries Jeyne Westerling, and, after both have carried off by the guests of the feast for the bedding, Sansa and Jeyne Poole retire to Sansa's chambers.

"What do you think it is like, being bedded?" Jeyne asks as they slip beneath the blankets, both in thin summer night gowns. Sansa can see her best friend's dark hair spread across the white pillowcase, and she moves closer to her, liking the way her red hair mixes with the darker strands.

"My mother says it's something beautiful and sacred," Sansa offers, "but she didn't say much more than that."

"What I saw Theon doing the kitchen girl didn't look beautiful and sacred," Jeyne giggles, her breath warm against Sansa's face. "It looked like he was stabbing her with his cock."

"Jeyne!" she hisses, scandalized by the casual way her friend uses such a vulgar word while also flushing with amusement at her brazenness.

The steward's daughter giggles. "He stabbed his cock into her cunt, and she moaned like a whore."

Sansa finds herself clenching her thighs together at the word "cunt," the guttural sounding word making tension coil in her stomach in a way she's never felt before. "You shouldn't say that."

"Why not? It's what it's called, isn't it? We both have one." Jeyne leans in closer, her voice dropping into a whisper so soft, Sansa can barely hear. "Have you ever touched yours?"

Sansa's eyes grow wide as she shakes her head. "Have you?"

Jeyne nods, biting the corner of her lip the way Arya does sometimes when she is nervous. "Sometimes I get all tense, and there's this spot there that...Gods, Sansa, it makes my insides go crazy and it's better than anything."


"Truly. One night I was rubbing the place and my nipples got hard as stones, and when I touched them, it made cunt all wet."

"Wet?" Sansa echoes. "Why is it wet?"

"So a man can put his cock in you."

"Have you let a man do that?"

"Of course not." A light blush fills Jeyne's cheeks. "But I put my fingers inside me just to see what it feels like. It was hot and soft, and it's no wonder men like fucking so much, if that's what it feels like."

Sansa is quiet for a long beat, trying to process what Jeyne has confessed; she presses her legs together again, trying to ignore the tension Jeyne referenced, before finally venturing, "It isn't ladylike to do such things."

"But no one knows if you do it. You're the only person I've told, and I would never tell anyone if you did it." Jeyne finds Sansa's hand, squeezes it tightly. "After all, you are like my sister."

"Could you - Could you show me?"

Jeyne smiles before closing what little distance exists between them. One hand settles on Sansa's hip as she props herself up with other, and Sansa does not hesitate to turn her face up for a kiss. This is familiar; they have been doing this for years, practicing kissing for their future husbands; Jeyne insists there is no sin in it since they are both girls and it is only dishonorable to share kisses with boys. Sansa loves to be kissed, has spent entire afternoons with her lips pressed against Jeyne's, their tongues dancing; their mouths have become bruised and swollen some afternoons when their kisses are hungry, and Sansa loves when Jeyne kisses her throat, licks the thin skin and draws blunt teeth over the tendon there. Sansa likes it best when Jeyne lies atop her, their breasts pressed tightly together, the weight of her friend's body solid and comforting; she knows Jeyne likes it best when they kiss in the hot springs and Sansa sucks on her lower lip, but Sansa gets nervous kissing Jeyne in the open like that.

Jeyne moves atop her now, kissing her slow and deep in the way which makes Sansa shiver; Sansa buries her hands in Jeyne's hair, holding her close, and she sucks air noisily through her nose when Jeyne cups her breast through her nightgown. Though they have been kissing for years, it is only recently Jeyne has taken to touching her and vice versa; Sansa's breasts are incredibly sensitive even through the layers of cloth she usually wears, and Jeyne always smiles when she makes noise because of it. Since they have started touching each other, Jeyne always takes Sansa's hands and puts them on her breasts, urging her to squeeze and massage; once, Jeyne had even unlaced her gown and Sansa touched her bare skin, fascinated by the soft brown nipples which topped her small breasts, and, if she tries, Sansa can still hear the breathless excitement in Jeyne's voice as she pleaded, “Will you kiss them, Sansa? Please kiss them. I'll kiss yours as well.” She had just summoned the courage to kiss the upper curve when Septa Mordane began to call for them, and Jeyne quickly had to fix her gown so they wouldn't be caught.

Jeyne's hands are not tentative tonight; as Sansa sucks her tongue, Jeyne cups, squeezes, and runs her thumbs over Sansa's erect nipples. Sansa bites her lip to keep from moaning when Jeyne's mouth slides down her throat, her hands still working on her breasts. When Jeyne's dark eyes flick up to look at her, Sansa feels something hot and unfamiliar burn through her veins.

“I love your teats,” Jeyne confesses, her voice huskier than usual, and Sansa blushes even as she holds Jeyne to her. “Sometimes I spend whole days wishing to kiss them, especially when you wear your purple gown. Do you remember that day in the glass gardens when I touched you under your gown?”

Sansa nods instantly. They had been hunting for flowers for a bouquet to give her lady mother for her name day when Jeyne came up behind her and kissed the sensitive spot behind Sansa's ear, the one which never fails to make Sansa's heart expand and her skin come alive with sensation. Jeyne had only kissed her neck that day, holding Sansa tightly against her body with one hand splayed on her stomach, and, as Sansa craned her head backward, hoping Jeyne would capture her mouth, Jeyne's long, slim fingers slipped into the low neckline of Sansa's purple gown, her fingers teasing the nipple she found. Sansa bit her tongue bloody to keep from making noise as Jeyne rolled the pads of her fingers over her erect nipple, and Sansa could hardly believe anything could feel so good as that.

“That was the first night I touched myself.”

Sansa tugs Jeyne back up to her, kissing her passionately, and she can feel Jeyne smile against her mouth. After a moment, Jeyne breaks away again, and Sansa sees her face is as flushed as Sansa believes her own to be.

“We should take off our gowns,” Jeyne suggests, and Sansa does not know why her stomach flips nervously; she has seen Jeyne without her clothes a hundred times. But still she blushes ferociously as Jeyne sheds her nightgown, revealing the small, firm breasts Sansa remembers nearly kissing and a pair of smallclothes so sheer, Sansa can see the black hair which covers her mound through the material. Jeyne waits expectantly, and Sansa slowly removes her nightgown, fighting the urge to cover her breasts as Jeyne looks upon her, a smile tugging at her lips.

Sansa shivers as Jeyne follows the outer curve of her breast with a light touch. She feels her nipples harden even further as Jeyne skims her nails around her breast, stroking in towards the nipple without actually touching it.

“I wish my teats were soft likes yours,” Jeyne comments, walking on her knees so they are closer. “And everyone knows men like ladies with bigger teats.”

“Yours are nice,” she argues lamely, her own hand rising to touch Jeyne tentatively. “I wish men didn't stare at mine so much.”

Jeyne rises on her knees, putting her breasts level with Sansa's mouth. Sansa feels Jeyne's nails scratch lightly through her hair as she requests, “Will you kiss them now, Sansa? Please?”

Jeyne's skin is slightly salty from sweat as Sansa presses wet kisses around Jeyne's breasts. Her friend shivers as Sansa works between both breasts, alternating where she places her kisses, and Sansa does not know why she feels the urge to suck a purple bloom near Jeyne's right nipple. As she lifts her mouth, Sansa glances up to see Jeyne's head tilted back in pleasure; Sansa feels a rush of triumph at making her friend feel so good, and, as Jeyne arches her back, silently asking for more, Sansa does not hesitate to lick at Jeyne's nipple.

“Oh!” Jeyne gasps, and, for a moment, Sansa is afraid she has done something wrong. “Do that again. Please.”

In the morning, Sansa fears she will be deeply embarrassed at her actions, but she likes the feel of Jeyne's nipple on her tongue; she curls her tongue around it, flicking it with the point of her tongue before switching to the other breast, and Jeyne whimpers above her, whispers her name, urges her from breast to breast with fingers tangled in Sansa's auburn locks. Sansa is shocked when she suddenly finds herself on her back, Jeyne kneeling above her, and she laughs when she sees feathers from her pillow float into the air.

Jeyne attacks her breasts with zeal, massaging one while she kisses and suckles the other; Sansa gasps and pants, biting her thumb to keep from moaning as the heat of Jeyne's mouth closes around her nipple. Sansa holds her tightly against her chest, her hips jerking as Jeyne tugs with blunt teeth, and Jeyne finally lifts her head, pupils blown from pleasure.

“You feel it, don't you? You feel the ache.”

Sansa nods, her cunt – and gods, she can't even believe she's thinking such a word – well and truly aching. Her legs are splayed, and, when Jeyne's fingertips brush her inner thigh, Sansa's legs seem to spread even wider of their own volition.

Jeyne tugs at the knot which holds up Sansa's smallclothes, undoing the laces with nimble fingers; she hooks her thumbs into the material, urging them down Sansa's body, and Sansa knows she should not be doing this, that this is likely more than just practicing for some future husband. But everything feels so good, and Sansa wants to feel the pleasure Jeyne promised.

“You have to take yours off too,” Sansa declares, and Jeyne simply shrugs, wiggling out of her smallclothes as if this is commonplace, as if they have done this a thousand times. Jeyne kneels between her spread legs, her hands gently urging Sansa's legs apart; Sansa bends her knees, framing Jeyne between her legs, and she shakes as Jeyne touches the russet hair on her mound.

“You have a pretty cunt,” Jeyne informs her as if she is complimenting a gown. “It's pink, you know.”

“It is?”

She nods, her fingers slipping up and down the outer folds, teasing but not fully touching. When Sansa feels Jeyne open her with gentle fingers, she twists her face away, too embarrassed to watch but not embarrassed enough to stop her. “And you're wet. It makes it all shiny. See?”

Sansa bites back a moan as Jeyne swipes a finger up the center of her, holding out her fingertips for Sansa to investigate. In the moonlight which filters in through the windows, she can make out her wetness on Jeyne's fingers, the wetness Jeyne's kisses have inspired. Sansa eyes it curiously, touching her fingertips to Jeyne's, trying to discern the texture of her arousal.

“Here.” Jeyne takes Sansa's hand, folding down all but her forefinger and bringing it between her legs. Sansa jolts at the feel of slick flesh but lets Jeyne lead her hand up and down. Sansa cries out as her finger trips over a nub near the top of her sex, and Jeyne chuckles. “That's the good place. Rub it.”

Her hand trembling slightly, Sansa obeys, pressing her forefinger to the bud and beginning to stroke on and around it. Jeyne strokes her inner thighs, watching as she does so, and Sansa feels even more heat unfurl in the pit of her stomach under the weight of Jeyne's gaze; her eyes droop shut as the pleasure begins to intensify, her fingers rubbing firmer and faster, and Sansa suddenly gasps as Jeyne slides one, long finger inside of her.

“This is where his cock goes,” Jeyne pants, stroking in and out of her with agonizing slowness as Sansa keeps rubbing that spot which makes her shake. “Doesn't it feel nice?”

Her body beginning to tense, breathing becoming sharp and staccato, Sansa grits through clenched teeth, “So nice.”

“I heard Theon say some men even kiss their ladies' cunts,” Jeyne continues, brushing her lips against Sansa's bent knee, resting her face against it. “They kiss and lick and push their tongues inside. Would you like me to do that, Sansa? Do you want me to put my tongue in your cunt?”

Oh!” Sansa cries out, her inner muscles spasming excitedly around Jeyne's fingers at the mere suggestion, her own hand falling away from where she throbbed so keenly as Jeyne lowered herself onto her belly. Jeyne holds her cunt open with her thumbs, and Sansa feels she may pass out from nervous anticipation.

“You look like the prettiest flower I've ever seen,” Jeyne declares as she presses soft kisses to her mound. “You'll do this for me, too, won't you? Promise me you'll kiss my cunt.”

Sansa can feel her wetness slipping from her body to dampen her thighs. “I promise. Oh, Jeyne, I promise, please - “

She grabs a pillow to muffle her cries as Jeyne begins to kiss her cunt as if it is her mouth, her tongue gliding from her opening to her nub and back again. Sansa can barely hold still, so overcome from sensation as Jeyne nibbles on her lips, sucks her nub, pushes her tongue as deep inside as she can reach before starting the process all over again. Her hand falls to Jeyne's head, grasping at her hair in a desperate bid to keep her mouth sealed over her nub, and Jeyne moans against her flesh, making Sansa moan in return. As Jeyne finally wraps her lips around the flashpoint of Sansa's pleasure, sucking with increasing pleasure as she tongue lashes the bud, the ache in Sansa's body finally bursts. Ecstasy like Sansa has never known rushes through her body, and she knows she is chanting nonsense mixed with Jeyne's name but cannot seem to stop it.

When Sansa returns to her body, Jeyne is kneeling beside her, her lips still shining with Sansa's juices; Sansa can taste herself when Jeyne kisses her, but she does not pull away, lazily returning the kiss before Jeyne lies down beside her, body thrumming with eagerness.

“Touch me, Sansa. I need it so badly.”

Shakily rising to her knees, Sansa slips between Jeyne's legs, which she spreads without embarrassment; Sansa can see the wetness on Jeyne's lower lips, but she does not touch her right away. Instead she leans over, kissing her breasts, laving her nipples with her tongue while her fingers rub circles on Jeyne's belly. Now that she is not balancing on the edge of climax, Sansa's nervousness is returning, and she does not want to make Jeyne unhappy.

Jeyne takes her hand, leads it down to her mound; Sansa sifts her fingers through the dark hair, traces the shape of her, and Jeyne cants her hips upward in a desperate bid for friction.

“You do not need to tease. I'm ready. I need it. Please, Sansa.”

Jeyne moans as Sansa touches the place she has discovered brings her such pleasure, keeping her touch soft until Jeyne asks for more. Sansa kisses her breast as she works her fingers against her, sipping Jeyne's stiff nipple into her mouth as she speeds up the pace of her touch. Remembering how it felt when Jeyne put fingers inside of her, Sansa glides through Jeyne's wetness, easing two fingers through the delicate tissue. Inside, Jeyne is softer than silk and Sansa discovers she likes the feel of her here, likes the noise Jeyne makes as she crooks her fingers and tongues her nipples.

“I want your tongue on me,” Jeyne chokes out, voice so thick with want it makes Sansa's stomach clench with desire. “Kiss me there. You promised. I want your mouth on my cunt. Please, please, you promised.”

“Shh, I know. I know.” Shimmying down Jeyne's body, Sansa truly looks at Jeyne's cunt. It is as pink as Jeyne said it was, flush with blood and slick with wetness. The scent of her reminds Sansa of the sea, and, beneath the salt, she detects a trace of lavender oil, the perfume Jeyne favors.

She kisses with closed lips at first, uncertain if she will like the taste of Jeyne's most private place. Jeyne tangles her fingers in Sansa's hair, holding her tightly against her, and Sansa tentatively licks at Jeyne's nub, feeling a flare of pride as Jeyne's breath catches and releases in pleasure. Grasping hold of Jeyne's thighs, Sansa begins to lap at her cunt, getting used to the taste of Jeyne's arousal, and she is surprised to find how much she likes this: likes the feel of Jeyne trembling beneath her tongue, likes the taste of Jeyne in her mouth, likes the way Jeyne moans her name with the filthy, vile words which would horrify her septa and lady mother.

As Sansa buries her tongue as deep into Jeyne as she can, she hopes Jeyne will want to do this again.

Jeyne peaks with a shout, clasping Sansa's face to her cunt as she thrusts her hips up; Sansa keeps her tongue inside until Jeyne's pleasure fades and only then climbs up her body, pressing her mouth against Jeyne's, letting her lick at the juices still on her lips. Sansa gasps as Jeyne grasps hold of her ass, and it is only then Sansa realizes her cunt is resting against Jeyne's.

Rolling her hips, urging Sansa to do the same with a firm grip, she groans, “Fuck me, Sansa.”

Sansa catches her rhythm easily, grinding her cunt against Jeyne's; Jeyne peaks again after only a moment, sinking her teeth into Sansa's lower lip as she moans. It takes a moment of adjustment for Sansa to find a position which provides enough friction, and she is shameless in her quest to peak a second time, twisting her nipple between two fingers as she thrusts her cunt against Jeyne's. She collapses against Jeyne after shuddering in pleasure, and Jeyne coos soothingly, carding fingers through her hair and pressing kisses to her face.

“See?” Jeyne says after a moment. “Wasn't that nice?”

Sansa has only the strength to nod.

“And we can do this whenever we want. It will be our special secret.”

Sansa nods again. Finally finding her voice, she rasps, “We should put your gowns back on before we sleep.”

Jeyne fetches the nightgowns, though not their soiled smallclothes, and Sansa shivers at the brush of fabric against her still sensitized skin. She warms as Jeyne wraps herself around her, molding herself tightly against her back, their hands entangling to rest against Sansa's stomach.

“You are my best friend,” Jeyne murmurs against her ear before drifting off to sleep.

As Sansa succumbs to exhaustion, she thinks she is lucky to have a friend as good as Jeyne.