
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6638374.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Brandon_Stark/Sansa_Stark, Benjen_Stark/Sansa_Stark, Sansa_Stark/Edmure
      Tully, Sansa_Stark/Rhaegar_Targaryen
  Character:
      Sansa_Stark, Brandon_Stark, Benjen_Stark, Edmure_Tully, Rhaegar_Targaryen
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon
      Divergence, Uncle/Niece_Incest, Age_Difference, Older_Man/Younger_Woman,
      Multiple_Partners, Underage_Sex
  Collections:
      The_Prince_Project
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-24 Words: 1635
****** Pussy Control ******
by honey_wheeler
Summary
     This is in tribute to Prince, in honor of his song of the same title.
     Please heed the tags above for warnings.
     *
     They're all so predictable. They'd be horrified to hear it; they
     fancy themselves different, special, not like those other perverted
     old men who lust after young girls. But they're not different or
     special. They're all the same. The details are different -- Rhaegar
     likes sheer panties that cost twice her tiny babysitting paychecks,
     Benjen likes plain cotton, Edmure goes for pink and ruffles, and
     Brandon likes it when she doesn't wear any panties at all -- but the
     process is the same. "I don't normally do this," they all say, "but
     you're such an old soul." "Boys your age, they don't know what to do
     with a sensitive, sensual girl like you." "You've cast a spell on me,
     Sansa, I can't control myself."
     It's complete bullshit, but she never calls them on it. She never
     does anything that would keep her from getting what she wants, which
     is to be well and thoroughly turned out by men who know what they're
     doing.
They're all so predictable. They'd be horrified to hear it; they fancy
themselves different, special, not like those other perverted old men who lust
after young girls. But they're not different or special. They're all the same.
The details are different -- Rhaegar likes sheer panties that cost twice her
tiny babysitting paychecks, Benjen likes plain cotton, Edmure goes for pink and
ruffles, and Brandon likes it when she doesn't wear any panties at all -- but
the process is the same. "I don't normally do this," they all say (and Sansa
hopes it's true, at least with their other nieces; Arya's far too young and she
has a suspicion Rhaenys's preferences don't lie with men), "but you're such an
old soul." "Boys your age, they don't know what to do with a sensitive, sensual
girl like you." "You've cast a spell on me, Sansa, I can't control myself."
It's complete bullshit, but she never calls them on it. She never does anything
that would keep her from getting what she wants, which is to be well and
thoroughly turned out by men who know what they're doing.
Brandon was the first. From the moment she first started developing tits, she
could feel his eyes on her, somehow seeming like they were leering
respectfully. As she'd gotten older, he'd only looked at her more intensely,
but he'd never made a move to do anything about it, which is maybe what made
her brave enough to do it herself. Sansa had been horny and curious, at the
limits of what she could feel with her own hand and under the bathtub faucet
and too scared to find a place to buy a vibrator in case it got back to her
parents, and he'd been the handiest man who wasn't in her immediate family. It
hadn't been very difficult. She only had to sneak into his room while the whole
family was on a ski holiday. He was awake when she stole through his door,
leaning against his headboard with a book in his hands, and all he'd done was
watch her over his glasses as she stood for a moment, letting him see her in
her prettiest nightie. If he'd spoken, she might have made up some excuse, but
he didn't, and all she had to do was crawl into his bed and look up at him with
pleading eyes and he took care of the rest. Deep down, she'd known she was
supposed to feel sick and wrong for letting her blood uncle kiss her and touch
her and suck her nipples deep into his mouth while fingering her to the best
orgasm she'd had so far in her life, but all she felt was good.
Her uncles may have been full of it but they were all completely right on one
thing; boys her age did not know what to do with her, but men their age
certainly did.
She'd been doing much the same with Uncle Benjen -- kissing, groping, handjobs
and humping -- by the time Uncle Brandon first fucked her. Looking back, she
thinks each one noticed the other lusting after her, but each thought they were
the only one getting her; neither knew she was messing around with both of
them. She thinks that's what tipped Brandon from fooling around to fucking,
something he'd always avoided before. He made a big production out of it: hotel
room, candles, flowers, champagne (which he thought she'd never had before; she
didn't tell him her parents had never once locked the liquor cabinet). He'd
said all sorts of things about ushering in her womanhood and how losing her
virginity should be a spiritual experience and other nonsense. Sansa put up
with it. Anything to get his cock inside her and finally find out what it was
all about.
He'd spoiled her, really. Her uncles are all fun and really bloody good at
getting her off, but none of them fuck as amazingly as Uncle Brandon does, and
it's always a tiny bit of a disappointment doing it with the rest of them. He'd
fucked her all night that first time, then again in the morning, and even if
she felt strange and sore and raw, it was in a good way, a way she wanted more
of. A way that was hers and no one else's, not her mother's or her father's,
not Jeyne's, not Arya's, not anyone’s. Just hers.
Brandon likes the risk. He likes fucking her in her father's house, in her own
bedroom, with her mother downstairs getting supper ready and her little
brothers playing down the hall. He likes pulling her into bathrooms when
they're all out together as a family, fucking her quick against a stall door or
flipping the lock and eating her out on the counter. Sansa loves it. She's
never had an orgasm as good as the ones she has when she's afraid her father
will walk in and see her fucking his brother so enthusiastically she has to re-
do her hair after. If she were seeing Bran's therapist, they'd probably talk
about how this is Sansa's way of rebelling, of not being the perfect daughter,
the pretty pink princess who does everything right, the virginal and pure
little girl her father always wants her to be. Her way of fighting against the
narrow life path proscribed for her where she marries early to a nice young man
of good standing and has three kids and then a headache for twenty years.
She'd just shrug at that, though. And be glad she's not seeing a therapist.
She sees Benjen the least. He's always off at that boarding school of his,
educating young men about the virtues of civic duty and calisthenics, or
whatever it is he teaches. Sansa has a feeling he messes around with some of
those boys too, or at least wants to. He's always trying to get her to let him
put it in her arse, which she doesn't mind sometimes, but it's hardly something
she looks forward to. It’s well enough that he's gone ten months of the year
and never stays at the house with them when he's back. That way the visits to
his flat in the afternoon stay fun, where she lets him fuck her over the back
of his sofa and then get her off in the shower before she has to go.
Edmure’s a bit of a puzzle. She’s still surprised he even went for it when she
came on to him, honestly, and the worry that he’ll have some sort of moral
panic and confess everything to her mother is a little too acute to be
enjoyable. But there’s something about his guilty intensity that makes it worth
it, especially since he seems to compensate for his guilt by making sure she
has about a billion orgasms every time. When he’s not going down on her for at
least an hour, he’s using his store of toys, which are many and varied. It’s
probably cliché that the guy most wracked with guilt is also the perviest and
most creative. Sansa’s had vibrators used on her, dildos, beads, ben wa balls
(God, having those in while he goes down on her is bloody brilliant), even a
flogger once, just for fun. Mostly he does pretty vanilla things with them, but
Sansa can tell there are darker urges lurking beneath his guilt that she’s not
quite ready for. If she ever will be, which is in doubt. Somehow she thinks
that would make things tip from good for her to good for him, and that’s not
what any of this is about.
Things get ironic with Rhaegar. The only uncle not related to her by blood, he
seems to be the only one who wishes he were. He’s always Uncle Rhaegar to her,
nothing else, though she suspects he’d love to ask her to call him Daddy if he
thought she’d be receptive to that (she wouldn’t be; the very thought makes her
shudder). He likes play: skimpy outfits, silly pretend situations, overblown
romantic gestures. Sometimes he sings to her, which both embarrasses her and
touches a place in her heart that she’d locked away when she was still a girl.
He can also go all night, making her come so many times that she has to stop
him when it hurts, and even then he’ll still jack himself off next to her,
talking into her ear about what a sweet, pretty, dirty girl she is and how much
he loves to make her come. If he’s anything like that with Auntie Ly, Sansa
understands why she married him. That’s the one thought that does make her feel
guilty, finally, in a way that none of the rest of it does. She shoves it down.
If it weren’t her, it’d be another girl, after all. And it probably already is.
God knows how many of them a prominent, successful man like Rhaegar Targaryen
has on the side. All the more reason for Sansa to get everything she wants from
him, from all of them, and give only what she cares to.
Sometimes she daydreams about them, imagining things that would probably be
overwhelming or even awful in real life, but work perfectly in fantasy: Brandon
and Benjen taking her together, one in her cunt and one in her bum; Edmure
tying her up and having her any way he pleases to; all four of them working
together to please her, mouths everywhere, at her own mouth, at her tits,
between her legs.
Sometimes she fantasizes about falling in love and doing all these things with
a boy her own age, but only sometimes. Certain things are for later. Contrary
to how it seems, Sansa’s not in any hurry to grow up.
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