Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/218486.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Petyr_Baelish/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Petyr_Baelish, Sansa_Stark, Joffrey_Baratheon
  Additional Tags:
      Community:_kink_bingo, Caning, Dubious_Consent, Angst, Older_Man/Younger
      Woman
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-07-03 Words: 2002
****** Spare Me Nothing ******
by QDS
Summary
     Arithmetic was never Sansa's strength, so Joffrey instructs Lord
     Baelish to help her – and punish her for wrong answers accordingly.
Notes
     Spoilers for the entirety of Game of Thrones – set after the series
     conclusion. Written for 2011-12
     [[community profile] ]
kink_bingo. Prompt: caning.
After her father's execution, after she cried all her tears away, a numbness
fell over Sansa. While at the forefront of her mind was her brother's progress
with his great army down Westeros, him coming to rescue her, that was not able
to lift her spirits. Instead, it gave her a inner core of steel that stiffened
her body, made it rigid. The extremities of her skin became hard where they had
once been soft.
It protected her from the inside out, at least. Despite the Hound's entreaties,
Sansa would not hold her tongue to Joffrey. The blows were bruising, but each
strike was a victory against Joffrey's pride. And, in Sansa's more self-
reflecting moments, against hers too. Her childish denial of Joffrey's cruelty,
to herself above all, made her wish she had spoken up on the King's Road, taken
her sister's side, rather than deflect and dodge. But regrets came too late,
and so she took the blows, and tasted the copper of blood in her mouth.
Then the Queen had an idea that Sansa should take arithmetic lessons. She
managed to convince Joffrey that Sansa might have some use as opposed to merely
being the vessel for their children to come. Sansa had never been good at sums,
had despised doing them when still at Winterfell. When she heard of this plan,
though, she felt nothing but vague indifference. It would, at the very least,
keep her apart from Joffrey for some of the day.
Joffrey marched her personally to Lord Baelish's chamber. She was glad Maester
Pycelle, who mistrusted her most particularly out all the council, hadn't been
chosen as her tutor. Yet Lord Baelish's eyes followed her around the court, in
a way should couldn't quite describe. Not mistrust, but a strange inspecting
interest, full of cunning. She shot dark looks back at him, but that only
seemed to make him more amused. It was strange, for he had at least shown some
interest in seeing she was not branded a traitor too. Yet she would not trusted
him. She could trust no one at King's Landing. It was safer that way.
Joffrey brought with him a long smooth stick, one she'd never seen him carry
before. She noticed it was fashioned a little at each end, so it was a little
blunt, not pointy. Perhaps he'd found a new dog to beat for the fun of it.
The Master of the Coin bowed, and said he hoped he would be able to impart his
knowledge onto his Grace's betrothed as best as possible.
"Be sure you do," Joffrey had said, and held out the stick to Lord Baelish.
"And be sure her errors do not go unpunished."
Sansa then understood the reason for the stick. Or rather, the cane. Lord
Baelish frowned, unsure, while Sansa glared at Joffrey under hooded eyes.
Joffrey smirked, and explained.
"Think of yourself as a school master, and my Lady Sansa as your pupil. If she
makes mistakes in her calculations, and I do believe there will be many, for
she once assured me she had no mind for numbers, then you shall punish her with
the tools that school masters use."
Lord Baelish didn't look at Sansa, only at Joffrey, his new king. Sansa hoped
he would argue, just a little, made some gesture to try and stop what Joffrey
was requesting, but Lord Baelish nodded.
"I will do as you ask, your Grace."
Joffrey left Sansa with another cruel smirk, alone with Lord Baelish. Lord
Baelish put the cane on his desk, and held out his hand, inviting Sansa to sit.
"I think we should start with some basic addition."
With some trepidation in her chest, Sansa sat down. Lord Baelish joined her.
What he thought of this situation, of Joffrey's request, she could not tell.
But as she sat and listened to his instruction, she realised it mattered not.
It wouldn't be long before she made an error, and unless he wished to find his
head on a pike, Lord Baelish would take the cane to her. By the time Lord
Baelish had set up both his and her papers and quills for work, she had
accepted Joffrey's dictate as inevitable.
So his patience with her was frustrating. To the point that, when she came to
an especially difficult calculation, she mumbled an incorrect answer, knowing
full well that it was wrong. Lord Baelish sighed, but she looked at him with
sullen eyes, and waited for him to act.
"Oh dear, Sansa," he said. His lay his fingers on the stick. "I'm afraid – "
"I know, Lord Baelish. I know."
They rose together, Lord Baelish taking the cane in his hand as he did so. Lord
Baelish made an open-handed gesture over his desk. "Bend over here. Make sure
your...behind is raised enough. I think...five will be sufficient."
Sansa did so. She reached across the desk, and gripped the other edge to steady
herself. Her feet were a little off the ground
"Is this right, Lord Baelish?"
"That is fine." Then a pause. "I do not wish to do this, Sansa."
She said, "There are many things in life I did not wish for, Lord Baelish."
Still, though, she glanced over her shoulder, and gave him a slight, grateful
look. For the first time since she met him, he gave her a smile that was both
kind and sad. Then he raised the cane, and struck her behind.
Sansa barely felt the first strike. It was more a gentle tap on the material of
her dress, like she'd accidentally brushed past something while walking. The
same with the second strike. And the third. When the fourth and the fifth came,
Sansa's was gripping the desk, but not from pain, but from a niggling
irritation. It was as if Lord Baelish had mocked her with the blows. She heard
the swish through the air, felt the blow land, but there was no pain, no sting.
Only more numbness.
When she stood, Lord Baelish looked pleased, but Sansa slumped into her chair,
glaring at him. Lord Baelish looked puzzled, and she wondered how much that was
feigned, an act. Lord Baelish, she knew, was far more alert to the world than
he pretended to be.
"Punishment is meant to hurt, Sansa," he said. "I'm sorry – "
"It did not hurt, my Lord. Not at all."
He looked at her, expression unreadable, before the side of his mouth quirked
up.
"I must say, you sound almost disappointed."
His eyes stripped her of her clothes, and Sansa's body, for the first time in a
long while, flushed with hot blood. She swallowed. Lord Baelish stroked his
beard, still grinning. Feeling so naked now, Sansa tried to cover herself
again.
"I think...next time, you should not hold back, my Lord. I believe his Grace
will wish to...see the marks."
Lord Baelish smoothed the front of his tunic, and nodded, his eyes, grey green
like thundering clouds. "I understand. Next time, then, you should lift your
skirts."
Sansa could picture all too well her doing so, and a sudden heat pooled at the
spot between her legs. "Yes, my Lord," she said.
Still standing, he pointed to the next calculation, and asked for her answer.
It was one she knew. She responded correctly. The next one, and the next, were
also easy. And still she responded correctly. The next one was again simple.
But now, Sansa gave him a number that was two more than the answer.
Their eyes met. Lord Baelish didn't look at all surprised at her answer.
Instead, he smiled. Sansa glowered at him, and she stood, hiking up her skirts,
and lay herself over the desk. She gripped the other side, so tightly that her
knuckles turned white.
Lord Baelish held the cane against her buttocks, the stick smooth yet a little
warm.
"Are you ready?" His voice was soft, full of dark promise.
Sansa looked over her shoulder, and saw he was deeply interested in her behind.
She grinned to herself, and said yes.
She didn't feel the first strike initially. Only after the cane left her did
the sting begin to murmur over her cheeks. Sansa made no sound, but let the
sensation creep up her body. She had no time to fully feel it, though, for it
was soon followed by the second. That sting made her twitch. The end of her
skin began to prickle, all over her body, though the pain on the flesh of her
buttocks made them tingle.
Sansa exhaled. Lord Baelish did too.
The third strike swished through the air, and when it landed, Sansa cried out.
It struck exactly where the first two had. It stung, then throbbed...and her
whole body began to sing with pain.
"My Lord..."
"Shall I stop, Sansa?" His voice was husky.
She shook her head, biting her lip, and waited.
The fourth strike whipped her, and Sansa moaned. She almost let go of the desk,
could have fainted from the pain and now, the sudden shock of pleasure that was
pulsing between her legs. Only her buttocks and legs were exposed to Lord
Baelish, but over his desk, it was as she were completely bare. To feel her
body tingle, her skin, her flesh, right into her chest and stomach, after weeks
of feeling nothing, the pain shuddering all over her was more than a relief. It
was release.
Then, to her great surprise, she felt a small, solid point against the nub
between her legs. Sansa gulped, and knew that Lord Baelish had pressed the end
of the cane there. He pushed it again, a little harder, and Sansa mewled. The
place between her legs became very, very wet, but she didn't care. Lord Baelish
began to roll the point against it, round and round, over and over, each time
making that place clench and flutter.
When Lord Baelish withdrew the point, she sighed. He put a steadying hand on
her back. She hadn't realised she'd been wriggling until he did so.
He stroked his palm down her back, and said, "The last one, Sansa."
She nodded, and shut her eyes. "I'm ready, Lord Baelish."
She sensed him raising his arm. He was pausing, she knew, quite deliberately
too. Sansa let her breath out through gritted teeth, gripped harder to the
desk.
Finally, the strike came, swift, and hard, on her throbbing cheeks.
Sansa screamed. She pressed her whole body against the desk, tried to grip it
with her thighs, as her body rocked with pain that was pleasure, pleasure that
was pain. Her feet left the ground, her wetness was dripped down her thighs.
She clung to the desk, Lord Baelish keeping her steady with just one palm as
she writhed, twitched, and gasped. She heard him saying 'yes, yes, yes', his
voice only furthering the shock of feeling washing all over her.
Soon, though, her breathing became steady again, although her buttocks and her
nub continued to pulse. If it had been her choice, she would have lain there
and gone to sleep, relieved and exhausted, but Lord Baelish eased her skirts
down again, lifted her by the waist, and made her stand upright.
Sansa met his eyes. They were bright, feverish. His mouth was parted a little,
and as she watched him regain his composure, his control, she wondered what
would have to happen for him to lose that.
The thought almost aroused her again.
"Do you feel suitably punished now, Sansa?"
"Yes, my Lord. Yes."
"Good. That's very good. Now, let's see if you can get through this lesson
without any more mistakes."
Sansa winced as she sat, the lashes now settling to a dull throb. Lord Baelish
grinned with wicked cunning. She tried to glare at him again, but found her
lips curling up to match his mouth.
The marks would please Joffrey, she was sure, but he was not the only would who
would enjoy them.
–
End
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