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The mob was howling for bread.
Her protector, Ser Mandon Moore, had never hesitated to obey Joffrey’s orders to beat her, but Sansa sorely missed him now. The knight had disappeared with Joffrey, abandoning her to the mercy of the starving crowd.
“I’ve no bread,” Sansa pleaded, desperate for them to understand. “I’ve no bread to give you!” She cried out suddenly, high and pained, as a small rock soared through the air and cut a thin gash on the crown of her auburn head. The crowd began to pelt the girl with rotten produce and eggs in earnest after the first projectile.
Sansa’s grip on her mare’s reins was deathly tight as the alarmed animal turned wildly in an arc, tail thrashing, but that did little to save her when hands and arms began to grab at her. Sansa had earlier heard the mob screaming her brother’s name, “King Robb”, among scattered cries of “King Stannis” and “King Renly”. But there was no protection that could be afforded to her now by the virtue of being Robb’s lady sister.
Twisting, the girl fell from her horse, only managing to avoid the dirty, clutching hands below. By a stroke of miracle that wouldn’t be repeated, Sansa was on her feet and running. Even in the chaos, she could feel the hot breath and ominous footfalls of pursuers close on her heels.
The streets were filthy. The air stank of fear and gore. She did not look directly at the sight of it as she ran past, but in the peripheral of her field of vision, Sansa thought that she saw Ser Preston Greenfield hacking at an onslaught of men.
Rounding a corner, she ran into a deserted alleyway, her feet skidding on the uneven ground. Her stomach lurched violently as she realised that she had come to a dead end, trapped between the walls of a butcher’s shop and a nondescript building. Pivoting hard on her heels, she found herself staring back at five, dirty and haggard men. Most of her original harassers had abandoned the pursuit, but Sansa could not think of how she could evade five men in such a tight spot.
There was little time to exchange words or pleas when the men lunged forward violently, seizing her harshly. The hairnet of moonstones - a gift from Joffrey - was torn unceremoniously from her head, pulling with it some strands of hair. Joffrey would have the Kingsguard beat her again when he discovered that she had lost his gift.
The sound of tearing fabric jerked her back to the dire reality of her situation. Her breasts spilled out of her bodice, her nipples pebbling as her sensitive flesh met the cold air.
“Whore,” a man with lank straw-coloured hair growled. Dirty fingers reached out, twisting and pinching at her rosy nipples until Sansa cried out, shrill and fearful. “Like that?” Jeering, dirty faces loomed over her as she was forced onto her back, her head hitting the ground a little too hard.
“This is Lady Sansa Stark.” One of the men sneered to his companions. She was still King Joffrey’s betrothed, never mind her brother’s rebellion. “Think he’s had her yet?”
Still dazed, she cringed as they flipped up the skirts of her dress. When one of the mob had first thrown the filth at Joffrey’s head, sparking the violence, some particles had fallen onto the hem of her clothes. Sansa stopped concerning herself with that however, as the man with the lank hair slipped between her legs. She was too frightened to do very much to fight back.
From her chestnut mare, Sansa had witnessed the crowd pulling the High Septon off his litter and proceeding to tear his thick limbs apart from his fat body. She had heard his squeals and prayers screamed in vain. She had also seen Joffrey’s own men - knights on horseback and gold cloaks on the ground - slicing, spearing, and cutting away at the crowd. But even that had not cowed the starving, desperate mob, and there was very little that Sansa could do, unarmed and weak.
The man with the lank hair seemed to be the natural leader among. Two of his friends wordlessly took her legs and held them apart for his convenience. Only the smallclothes covered her hidden flesh from their view now, and those didn’t last very long either.
Sansa shuddered as the man between her legs licked his lips loudly and shamelessly, thoroughly disgusted and unable to compose her face back into the neutral mask she always wore at Joffrey’s court. “Ah,” she cried out as two dry fingers entered her crudely.
He was parting his index and middle fingers like shears, trying to open her lower lips. “Dry.” The man wrenched his fingers out of her roughly. He spat on his fingers before thrusting them back into her, pumping in and out fast, without regard for Sansa’s comfort. “She’s a tight fit.”
Another man, pimply-faced and not much older than Robb by the looks of him, reached out to cup her cold, left breast, thumb and forefinger teasing her nipple idly. All the men were watching the man between her legs intently, waiting for their own turn with her.
“You can make as much noise as you want.” He leered at Sansa, continuing to pump his dirty fingers in her, curling them in a way that suddenly sent sparks in her lower stomach.
“Hurry up,” another man groaned impatiently. Sansa’s eyes only touched him for a second before she averted her face, horrified. He had removed his cock - ugly and bulging - from his breeches and was stroking himself to life, a fearsome sight in his palms.
Grunting, the first man lowered his face and began lapping at Sansa’s cunt. She could not help the noise of surprise that left her lips. It was not an entirely unpleasant sensation in itself, that warm, wet feeling. But Sansa was too frightened to take any real pleasure from his attentions. The man continued to lick at her fiercely, with all of the enthusiasm of the pups she and her siblings had once raised back in Winterfell. But this gesture was only perverse. His tongue slipped in her cunt in an up-and-down motion before returning to her clit and sucking with his lips. Sansa cried out again, overwhelmed by the intensity.
The lank-haired man gave no more warnings as he drew his wet face away from her even wetter cunt. Without fanfare, he pulled down his trousers, and pierced Sansa with his cock. She felt like she was being speared on his shaft, shocked by the feeling of fullness in her lower body. Sansa cried out, weepy. Through teary blue eyes, Sansa’s head lifted to watch in horror as his cock pummeled her cunt, pistoning in and out violently, chasing his own orgasm relentlessly.
She would never marry Joffrey now - could never marry Joffrey. The Queen Mother would never allow her golden son to wed a girl who had lost her maidenhead to countless lowborn men in a dirty alleyway. Sansa would not shed any tears for the loss of Joffrey. But she also could not imagine that any decent lord would have her either, now that she was ruined.
Despairing, she closed her eyes and laid her head down onto the filthy ground. Sansa resigned herself to her fate. The other men continued to molest her as the first man had his way with her, pinching and suckling on her breasts. She did not know if she would survive the assault, if the men might kill her when they had their fill of fun - as they had already killed other members of Joffrey’s court. How would she even find her way back to the Red Keep if she survived?
The man between her legs groaned, and Sansa was alarmed to discover that she could feel his cock twitching in her cunt, squirting his seed into her. “Will Good King Joffrey keep my bastard?” he barked a laugh, pulling his limp cock out from her and smearing the remainder of his load on the lips of her cunt.
Another man, black-bearded, came forward, and immediately sunk his cock into Sansa. He grunted loudly as he fucked into her, sweaty and stinking. There was no reprieve. They would all fuck her like this, on her back, and continue until they were sated.
More men filed into the alleyway, attracted by the sounds of sex, to wait for their own turn. Too many for Sansa to want to count. She shut her eyes again, the man’s wheezy breath warm in her ear.
When he came, he pulled out, his seed shooting all over her exposed breasts and ruined dress.
“That’s disgusting,” the man behind him complained. He was a particularly large man in build and he was the next to sample Sansa’s cunt. He finished the job of undressing Sansa, tearing her bodice and skirts and throwing her clothes aside.
Fully naked, Sansa was turned onto her stomach, forced onto her elbows and knees. Firm hands positioned her body so that her ass and cunt were lifted high into the air. Whatever he might have said earlier, this man had no real qualms with sloppy seconds. His thick cock slid into her cunt easily, lubcribated by the seed of the men who came before and her cunt’s own wetness.
There was something different about this new position - every time he pulled out and pushed back in, he struck a part in Sansa that sent new tingles down her spine. The first moan that slipped from her lips shocked Sansa and sent the men around her cheering, degrading her with calls of “whore”, “bitch”, and “slut”. A heavy hand slapped down onto her ass, prompting her to cry out in pain. But as he kept fucking her, hard and steady, Sansa realised that it felt good. Very good. Even better than those secretive nights when she had furtively touched herself in her bed, exploring her blossoming body with dreams of becoming Joffrey’s queen in her head.
Palms pressed hard on the dirty alleyway, Sansa subconsciously pushed her ass closer to her partner, moaning softly to herself as he continued to hit that sweet spot.
She was almost disappointed when he slipped out of her, warm come leaking out of her cunt and slipping down her thighs. But another, faceless man replaced him quickly enough and began pounding her even harder, forcing Sansa’s face into the dirt.
Her moaning grew louder than the jeers and taunts of the men witnessing her debauchery. “She likes being taken like a bitch.”
“Think she’s willing now?” Another man appeared in front of her, placing a thumb under her chin and tilting her face upwards, forcing her to make eye contact.
It was a lot easier to shut her eyes, to hide her face from the hateful, lusty eyes of the men raping her. Now Sansa felt dirtier than ever, exposing her own expressions to them.
“Bite and you won’t look so pretty with half your teeth knocked out,” the man warned. He jabbed his cock at her lips insistently, forcing the head through her partly opened mouth. “Suck like your life depends on it,” he sneered. “Because it does.”
The man fucking her suddenly slapped her ass, prompting Sansa to howl a muffled cry of pain around the cock in her mouth. But the man fucking her mouth swatted her head with the back of his hand. “Watch the teeth, bitch.”
Clumsy and without technique, Sansa hastened to obey, sucking his cock with only the use of her lips. She was too timid to engulf the shaft of his cock in her mouth. Impatient, he ruthlessly shoved her head down, moaning even as she gagged and sputtered for air.
It was a frightening experience - to suffocate on one man’s cock while another pummeled her so sweetly from behind. The man fucking her came, spurting his seed all over her back and ass. With only a few seconds of reprieve, another man took his place, fucking her with slow, hard thrusts.
“Gods, you are useless,” the man fucking her mouth groaned, even as he continued to choke her on his cock. His pubic hair tickled her face.
It continued on like this for some time. Men giving her their seed - on her skin, in her mouth, in her cunt. Even as she cried in pleasure, Sansa’s blue eyes brimmed with tears. There was no chance that her rape would not result in a bastard seed taking root. Despite the men’s taunts, she knew that Joffrey would sooner murder the infant in its cradle than deign to raise a Waters in his court. But more likely, Joffrey’s mother would force Sansa to drink moon tea. She longed for its salvation now. Sansa didn’t imagine that she could ever love such a child.
“Please.” She was still on her knees, which ached dully under the exertion of her numerous couplings. Sansa’s face was pressed against the dirt, her ragged moans muffled. Several more men had taken their turn with her. Most had tired of her by now, and from what little she could glean from the distant mutterings of the crowd, the City’s Watch was now enforcing a curfew to restore order.
“Harder, harder!” A particularly cruel man had taught her to say these words, to vocalise her pleasure. (And beaten her when she was silent.) The others had rewarded her with such sweet pleasures to reinforce her learnings: kissing her breasts, her cunt, and fingering and fucking her until she squirted her own liquid and saw colours behind her shut eyeslids.
But the man presentedly fucking her cunt didn’t seem particularly troubled by the prospect of being discovered by the City’s Watch. His fingers continued to play with her nipples leisurely, pinching and tweaking, while his other hand held firmly on her backside for balance. “I always heard you northern girls like being fucked like animals, down on all fo-”
Sansa whined, shocked herself by her disappointment at the abruptness of how his cock had left her. Her cunt twitched, clenching around nothing as she backed her ass towards him, searching for his cock. She froze, hearing a bloody gurgle behind her. Remaining in her prostrating position, Sansa slowly peered over her shoulder.
Most of the men who had raped her had already vacated the alleyway. The ones too slow to escape were killed immediately, laying dead and dying around Sansa as she was fucked hard. The only one foolish enough to remain, too distracted and heady with lust to realise the full danger, had kept pumping into her, desperate to fill her cunt with his seed. Now he was dangling from the Hound’s grasp, promptly killed by a blow to the heart.
Sansa’s face reddened under the sheen of men’s come. Suddenly her old life returned to her. She was not a slut made to be fucked and please strange men in a dirty alleyway. She was Sansa Stark, sister to the King in the North and the future queen of King Joffrey.
The Hound surveyed her critically. He looked worse for wear, covered in blood and gore. But she was the one who felt deeply impure, covered in the sexual release of countless inhabitants of King’s Landing. Sansa twisted into a sitting position, her skinny arms rising to cover her bruised breasts from his heavy gaze. She wondered how much the Hound had seen and heard, and knew that he must have heard her wanton warbling to be fucked harder and faster.
“They’re looking for you,” the Hound informed her finally. He stepped forward, unclasping his Kingsguard cloak from around his shoulders. The white woolen fabric was draped carefully around her, covering the full extent of Sansa’s raped body. “Can’t let your brother hear of what happened to you today,” he grunted, more to himself than to Sansa.
But no doubt, countless men throughout King’s Landing would boast of how they had tasted Sansa Stark before King Joffrey had ever had her. They might also boast that they had gotten her with child, or that she creamed on their cock and begged to be fucked harder and faster and whined like a bitch in heat.
“Quiet now,” the Hound instructed her.
Sansa was only too willing to oblige. As the knight-who-was-not-a-knight scooped her up into his arms, Sansa turned her face towards his armoured chest to hide herself from the world.
The Lannisters only thought about Ser Jaime, still held captive by her brother’s forces, but Sansa’s thoughts were of her family’s pain and shame when they would discover her rape.