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25 Jun 2012
The Sansa of old would have been aghast and embarrassed and hesitant. She would have squirmed in discomfort at witnessing the spectacle of Jon and Val before her, sprawled carelessly on their shared bed, Jon’s face buried between Val’s thighs, the wet sounds of his mouth and tongue almost as loud as his appreciative moans, as Val’s whimpers and cries. The Sansa of old would have fled. The Sansa of now wants to push Jon aside and try her own hand, or her own tongue, more accurately, a thought that makes Sansa’s face flame even as it sets heat coiling in her belly. But still, old habits are stubborn to die, and old inhibitions are hard to overcome. Thus the wine.
- Part 4 of The Threesome in the North