Reckoning

Chapter Thirty-Six

Reckoning

It didn't take long to traverse the hallways and return to Sansa's bed chambers, in fact the space of time seemed all too quick and dreadfully slow in dichotomy. Every step Ramsay took felt leaden with the weight of what awaited him; he had pushed away the fact that this punishment was due to come with everything else that had passed between the two. Ramsay had dimly hoped that maybe Sansa had managed to misplace her promise in the activity that they had shared and the impromptu events that had surprised them both into being called to join Jon for dinner. Those hopes had been dashed the moment Sansa had humiliated him with her open statements to Jon; she'd addressed his punishments so directly that being present in the wave of their exposure had humbled Ramsay into muteness.

Sansa hadn't outwardly stated Ramsay had been spanked by Jon, but she had mentioned the markings across his buttocks (as if anyone, servant or guard, in the room could have missed that bit of news and not formulated exactly what Sansa was referring to.) Even if her statement was remarkably missed by those mingling in the room, Ramsay wasn't a fool, he knew rumors had likely done laps around the estate by now to the point that the whole of Wintertown (if not much of the North) was likely privy to his personal sufferings and the details therein regarding the Starks as his new keepers. Jon's own embarrassment only added to Ramsay's mortification of the scene unfolding before him; it was akin to being mounted on a runaway horse bound to buck you to the ground where you were unable to do more than wait with dread for the inevitable to play out.

The whole of Sansa's statement left no doubt that Ramsay was going to be punished by her and that the two were leaving dinner to do just that. This further loss of face left meeting anyone's gaze no matter their station too much for Ramsay to bear witness to. Leaving the study, the overwhelming groundswell of this disgrace poured through his being as Ramsay moved in a daze lurching forward with eyes drawn to the floor bulging in lingering shock; he felt as if he'd been punched in the gut, winded in the attempt to regain his composure. His face bore the hue of red so flush he was almost purple as Ramsay's mind ticked over the damning answers Sansa had elicited out of Jon.

She was angry, and it was not the brewing 'spill out over time' irritation that Ramsay had come to see as a trigger to be wary of but a tempest fury pronounced by her footfalls that snapped with the preciseness of her squared heels clapping down onto the cold limestone floor. The sharp resonance echoed the only sound Ramsay's ears absorbed. Each step Sansa took now served to shrivel Ramsay's insides further. Was he really this afraid of a spanking? Yes and no. The pain was exacting and something to be reckoned with, but it was bearable; what bothered Ramsay most now was the emotional tax having to endure this form of discipline levied upon him. Coupled with the pain was humiliation, and much worse, a looming disappointment. This letdown stung deeper than any physical wound, and where he'd known this bite discontent well with his own father; Ramsay had come to expect to frustrate the man and saw the bar as always being set too high to attain true approval to begin with. That wasn't the case with Sansa though; she hadn't asked much of Ramsay when she'd left on her journey other than for him to 'be good' for her brother, Jon. Recounting the past two weeks as they marched back to the bedroom, Ramsay knew that he'd failed this simple request miserably, and it was eating at him terribly.

It disheartened Ramsay to the core, and where before he had mentally worked out this scenario several times over as to how he could justify his actions to Sansa and why what had happened was just a misshapen circumstance of the situation he was presented with; thinking on what he planned to say now brought to light how very hollow his excuses really were. If anything, Ramsay grasped trying to downplay his misdeeds before Sansa would do him no favors (either for his soon to be sore flesh or Sansa's opinion of him.) This realization served to somber Ramsay's mood further feeling ensnared to his own culpability of the actions he'd taken and the further repercussions they now prompted he endure.

One of the guards slipped wordlessly around to open the door for Sansa as they made it to her chambers, and it was only after passing through the threshold into the room did Sansa halt her pace and finally turn to regard Ramsay. Sansa stood tall and unmoving, and her gaze upon Ramsay was expressionless, but Ramsay could still feel the fire that burned in her stare upon him. It was weighty enough to capture Ramsay's attention as his eyes locked with hers to reflect both his dread and uncertainty. He slowly maneuvered into the chamber to stand timidly before her with arms locked at his sides and back rigid (a stance that Ramsay defaulted to when he was feeling apprehensive.) Roose had preferred to see Ramsay this way while reprimanding him over the surly slouch that came about in later years when Ramsay had grown entitled and embittered with his assuredness as an only heir.

Once Ramsay had become stationary, he lowered his head as the guilt swelled within him, and he was unable to meet Sansa's silent accusation. He'd been less than honest with her when she'd questioned him about what had happened in her absence. Ramsay was kicking himself inwardly now wishing he'd just given Sansa the full story then. Being forthcoming would have avoided the strain of Sansa having to be told by Jon or her asking about the matter at dinner of all places (not that Ramsay hadn't wholly expected that she would want to follow up with Jon in the coming days regardless of what he had relayed to her.) Ramsay realized with a sinking heart that this was another short-sighted expectation on his part to assume that Sansa would not have delved that deeply or that Jon would not have freely given every account that now landed Ramsay in further hot water.

"Please; leave us," Sansa announced crisply to the guard although her eyes never left Ramsay's bowed head. The soldiers silently obeyed leaving the space to resonate with a loud clang as the heavy door sealed the two away in privacy. The finality of it sent Ramsay's heart into his throat as a creeping prickling sensation crawled across his every nerve ending. His Adam's apple bobbed suddenly feeling constricted as Ramsay brought his wary sights up to take in the full of Sansa's mien. Her lips were not frowning as hard as he'd imagined, but the corners were turned down just enough to note that she was still rather displeased with him. His own expression had Sansa sigh tiredly; Ramsay reflected nervousness for what they both knew was to come next, but there was something more he was showing Sansa found far more noteworthy, guilt. It was an odd look to grace Ramsay's features, but one that it was far time he showed. It meant that Ramsay understood on some level that he deserved what he was about to get.

Sansa's shoulders lost their ridged poise as she held out a hand to Ramsay, "I suppose we both know it's time to finally address your misbehavior while I was away. Come." Ramsay blinked his mouth feeling dry as if he'd just swallowed sand to hear Sansa declare to him that it was in fact to be now that he would face the promised pain from hours ago. The narrowing of time for this event from about to happen into the realm of present moment blossomed a surge of heat to flood over Ramsay's skin from head to toe. There was a protest on his lips, but Ramsay numbly found himself reacting to her offered hand by extending his own for Sansa to firmly clasp. Where her hand clutching around his had felt like the warming sun on a winter's day to pull him along in unison with her; Sansa's grip linking them now felt like a foreboding snare trapping Ramsay and compelling him to comply with her forward momentum as her assured stride led them back entirely too swiftly over to the bed.

The covers were drawn down invitingly, and the pillows were fluffed. Ramsay hadn't noticed until now that in their absence, the fire had been well stoked, the drapes drawn tight, and the bath drained and scrubbed down. The room appeared quite homey with candle and firelight emitting a subtle welcoming glow. The odd combination of these sights and recognitions accompanied with Sansa's gentle touch steering him towards his foreseeable chastisement left Ramsay's synapses firing as his mind reeled to the mix of all that he was taking in and feeling. As if sensing his growing confusion, Sansa paused glancing over her shoulder at Ramsay taking in his anxious wonderment. She gave him a gentle smile, "I'm not angry at you, Ramsay. Even if I do not know the totality of what brought you and Jon into conflict, I get it."

Ramsay's eyes widened following her line of admitted logic; he was more than pleased with Sansa's admission that she wasn't in fact angry with him, and given a window to debate his stance on the matter, Ramsay opened his mouth to speak on his behalf; if Sansa understood this much then perhaps he could expound upon her statement and convince her the rest of this was unnecessary. Sansa didn't give Ramsay the opportunity to elaborate on her statement though bringing her finger to softly press into the depression of his upper lip, "But, this fact does not excuse you of accountability, Ramsay. You are still responsible for your choices, and I know that Jon of all people is not an intolerant man. You must have greatly upset him to have had him find the need to discipline you not only once but twice!"

Ramsay frowned deeply at Sansa's comments, but he did not contest them. She was right, he had nettled Jon in the beginning and been so harried by the culminating factors of his own aggravations that he'd allowed a fury to ripen within him and unreasonably explode his escalating frustrations. Of course, at the time, Ramsay had not felt he was in any way wrong for these ill sentiments. Jon had intimidated him and made him feel unworthy because the man had been so bloody righteous. Jon was everything Ramsay had never been able to attain as a fellow bastard, and it had stung Ramsay's heart and his pride to feel humbled in Jon's presence, a persisting reminder of his own failures. Having many nights to reflect upon his actions since those first few days supplemented with Jon's consistent attempts to remain fair with him, Ramsay had grown to see the truth that it had not been Jon causing him grief over the apex of his own insecurities manifesting into a need to lash out. That eye-opener was more bitter to swallow than Ramsay's initial misgivings, but with Jon's understanding, this too Ramsay had been able to move on from and ultimately accept and forgive.

Sansa took Ramsay's lack of refute as agreement and proceeded to pull up her dress exposing the lower half of her shapely legs. She then stepped neatly out of the fine slippers she wore before backing herself up and onto the bed far enough to give Ramsay room to climb up upon the bed with her. Sansa's eyes traversed over Ramsay's form observing that his attention rested on her now exposed thighs. Since she had let loose his hand, Ramsay had taken to fidgeting with the tapered ends of his dress shirt which caused Sansa's lip to twitch reactively upward. It was a cute nervous tick that Sansa found made her moisten; seeing Ramsay so worked up and reflexively timorous wearing the very outfit she'd recognized prior as a visible scar to her losses at Ramsay's hands was equally empowering. It reminded her why she'd had him wear his wedding attire for this very moment to begin with.

Lunging forward, Sansa yanked on Ramsay's hip causing him to stumble forward and slam flush against the mattress. In reaction, Ramsay let out a soft grunt of surprise holding his hands tentatively up to both balance himself and as a defensive response to Sansa's aggressive handling. Ramsay watched mesmerized as Sansa's hands roughly yanked his top up enough to get at the ties holding his pants in place. He offered lightly, "I… I can do that. You don't…" Sansa interjected bluntly, "You're right; I don't," she stopped then, her gaze piercing into Ramsay as a barely hidden smile worked at the corners of her lips and a sadistic glow radiated about her. She let the silence linger a moment before finishing her statement with a seductive growl, "But, I want to be the one to bare you, and so I will."

Ramsay was transfixed by her behavior and her words, and as odd as it was to feel at this moment, he was somewhat heady and aroused to be so subjected to her rule. There was something alluring to letting go of the control he normally clung to just acquiesce to Sansa possessing and doing as she willed to him with or without his consent. The added fear of what Sansa blatantly told Ramsay that she planned to do to him, (that he knew she would soon cause him pain) created an outpour of adrenaline that culminated to send his mind spinning into a place Ramsay was unfamiliar with, but with assurance in her care for him, Ramsay still felt safe. Sansa was going to hurt him, but it was not in any sort of cruel display of power like Ramsay had always hurt others. She was correcting him because she wanted Ramsay to be better; she expected this of him because for some reason that even he did not fathom, Sansa believed Ramsay had it in him to be held to a higher standard.

The contradiction of such an opposed mental state was not lost upon Ramsay as he wordlessly took in Sansa's deft fingers roughly yanking at the ties that held his britches firmly to his waist divesting him of his pants in two fluid tugs. Her hands working to expose his crotch (even if this was not what she was aiming to get at) had Ramsay physically responding. He swelled stiffly, and his member bobbed forward when Sansa unraveled the cloth wrap uncovering his front to her. Ramsay's mouth parted with desire staring at Sansa with a growing carnal need, but as his senses came back to him, his face flushed at his obvious show of excitement at such an awkward timing. The shameful thought that immediately occurred to Ramsay was that Sansa would think he wanted her to do this to him, and even though that was not the case, the prospect of it happening had Ramsay unable to unjumble what he really wanted and how even in such an instance as this, he couldn't help but yearn to have Sansa touching him and showing him her undivided attention.

Sansa did not reach out and fondle him as Ramsay had inwardly hoped (he in no way expected that she would, but it would have been a welcomed surprise.) Sansa's lips afforded him a smirk letting Ramsay know that she was at least amused by his plight and not offended by it. This did nothing to deflate his erection as Sansa grasped ahold of Ramsay's elbow to tenderly yet firmly guide him to clumsily climb onto the bed with her. As Ramsay did so, his pants lowered further bunching at his knees to bind his legs in an awkward tangle.

Every movement Ramsay made where Sansa drew him inexorably forward served to spike the adrenaline he was already intoxicated by. Sansa had Ramsay positioned on his knees squarely in front of her now, and the way she sat on her own legs brought them eye level with each other. The humor had left her face as Sansa addressed Ramsay sincerely, "I did not ask Jon what you had done to deserve the punishments he levied upon you, but I expect for you to tell me now as I spank you full sore. I don't think that I have need to express that any omission to obscure the severity of what you did will be seen as any less than a lie, and if I unearth any untruths after we've finished here, we will return to rehash your dishonesty with a far harsher lashing. That said, I do not assume you were to lie to me, but I wanted to be clear before we've started exactly what you can expect should you have entertained the notion to be less than honest with me as you were when first we discussed this matter."

Ramsay could do nothing but nod numbly as he took in every word Sansa avowed with perfect clarity that he did not wish to repeat this experience with the terms of 'harsher' attached to it. Her speech had helped to curb Ramsay's initial excitement with the mention of his previous omissions flaring a wave of guilt to pass through him, but even so, Sansa's naked legs and what lay between them was enough to keep him at half-mast. Ramsay couldn't forget the heat he'd felt having been laid across her lap the last time she'd taken him to task, and when his hardon had pressed into the crevice of that heat, he'd also been made aware of her slickness. The thought of Sansa wanting to do this to him for both reasons of behavior modification as well as sexual gratification brought on a whole new range of perplexity to the dynamic of this situation. It caused Ramsay to feel an awkward emotional upheaval of simultaneous trepidation and arousal that he was helpless to do anything with other than to be guided by Sansa's command.

Sansa smiled inwardly; his expression was adorable. Ramsay was so raptly attentive, and her seriousness with him had his brow crinkling with apprehension and the frown he'd been wearing pursing to jut his lower lip out in a barely contained pout. The contrast of the expression on his face coupled with his dress washed away the ill sentiments the clothing had once represented. Sansa was seeing Ramsay again, not as he had been but as he was to her now, her Ramsay, and this acknowledgement brought about a centered peace within her. Sansa couldn't delay any longer for both of their sakes, so she moved into action spreading her legs and jutting one knee forward between Ramsay's legs.

Ramsay looked down slightly startled at the odd positioning well-aware of his testicles being drawn up and over her knee to rest high on her thigh as Sansa maneuvered her body to pull Ramsay closer. She used her knee to lock his legs in place by his gathered britches pooled between his knees leaving their bodies intertwined with Ramsay straddling Sansa's thigh. Ramsay could feel the heat of Sansa's sex pressing against his knee; she was incredibly wet. His eyes fluttered taking in a shuttered breath as their growing proximity served to build upon the already palpable sexual tension circulating between them. He would have kissed her then for his want, but Sansa surprised Ramsay by continuing to pull on his elbow yanking him forward, so that his body was shifted over her knee sliding off her right side. His chest lay placed atop the bed while his ass was perched centered across the whole of her upper leg. Ramsay's hardon only stiffened against the taut corded muscle of her lovely thigh rocking in a slight side to side motion to feel himself crushed into the velvety softness of her feminine form as their hip bones collided.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ramsay couldn't see Sansa's face like this; only her back was visible to him. This unnerved him for some unknown reason causing Ramsay to shift about uncomfortably. Sensing Ramsay's reticence now, Sansa's arm drew his hip to her possessively as her fingers sank tightly into his thigh to effectively immobilize him onto her lap. Having been steadied and stilled, Ramsay found himself reflexively lifting his legs to see he could only move them up, but he could not bend at the knees ensuring that even though he was not chained, Sansa wasn't going to allow him to interfere with her hand's work once she'd gotten started. Ramsay swallowed past the forming lump in his throat as a rash of goosebumps swept over his naked flesh becoming acutely aware of his nakedness and the vulnerability he now presented to be at her mercy in this way.

Sansa was admiring the view watching Ramsay's reactions and enjoying the way his bottom involuntarily clenched and squirmed without her yet having laid into him. She was about to now though, and his anticipation to have her do so only enlivened the pulse building in her own sex imagining how Ramsay's body would soon be jerking about to her ministrations. This sadistic streak should make her feel guilty Sansa reasoned, this was for Ramsay's benefit after all not for her to get off to, but she couldn't help the excitement she felt in seeing his shapely rear end presented to her ready to be punished. It generated an equal sexual reaction to take control of him this way; Ramsay was hers, and Sansa took satisfaction in all aspects of what she did with and to him. This was still for his own good, so what was so wrong if she also secretly enjoyed putting Ramsay in his place?

Her hand struck him then, and Ramsay's body tensed upon her thigh rippling in reaction as he drew in a tight gasp. Again her palm met his milky white flesh, and Sansa marveled at how quickly her hand left a reddening impression. The sight spurred her on, and she picked up the pace coming down in rapid succession moistening to the display of how only after twenty some odd slaps to his posterior, Ramsay's ass was bouncing with a kneejerk immediacy followed by a slight tremor that left his cheeks to wobble and tighten in expectation of the next blow. He had begun to grunt and writhe to the swats Sansa delivered, and she could no longer feel Ramsay's penis bulging against her. He was malleable enough to have been brought past the pretenses of their mutual sexual desires, and it was then Sansa decided to begin questioning Ramsay, "We both know why we are here, Ramsay, but I want you to tell me now in exact detail what was the reasoning for each offense that brought my brother to find need to discipline you in my stead."

Ramsay had been ready to answer this question before they had begun (although admitting to what he had done and reliving the reasoning it had happened in the first place was a punishment in its own right) but as Sansa landed smack after stinging smack to his backside, Ramsay had become lost to the pain Sansa was delivering and for her to begin interrogating him now discombobulated his thoughts. Even with only her hand, Sansa was dispensing much heavier strikes than Ramsay remembered her capable of (it didn't help that although mostly healed, the muscles beneath the skin were skill a bit tender from Jon's thrashing a little over a week prior.) Sansa intended to get the point she meant to make across to him of that Ramsay was certain, and the added awkward arrangement with the way she had him settled across her lap somehow made him feel even more exposed with not only his ass bared to her but his legs parted leaving more of him open for her to peruse. Ramsay was unsure whether or not this particular exposure was intentional on Sansa's part, but it left him feeling uniquely shamed to have her view him this way.

When Ramsay did not answer her query right away, Sansa's hand gave no mercy slapping harder across one cheek several times before rotating to the other sometimes catching the inner sensitive skin bared from having his legs separated which Sansa noticed elicited a more animated jolt and a muffled squeak of pain from Ramsay much as concentrating on the lower half of his bottom and thighs produced more twists and grunts; she was learning his body well and playing it like an instrument. Sansa realized with a bit of personal pride that she was becoming quite efficient at pulling what she wanted from him as Ramsay began to quickly divulge the information she sought after only a few more well-placed swats brought about by her renewed efforts, "It… I… I hadn't made progress on the list! Jon wanted me to… he expected more, and I didn't deliver it in the time frame he asked!" Ramsay's back was arched hurrying to spit out the details and feeling it wasn't fast enough because Sansa's palm still steadily swatted him throughout.

Sansa nodded having to tighten her grip on Ramsay as his body became more fidgety the further she tenderized areas of his ass that had become rather sensitive to her continued application. Ramsay had been about to blurt out the second half of his confession when Sansa inquired further, "Why not, Ramsay? What was preventing you from doing not only what Jon asked but what I required of you?" This was an unexpected additive that Ramsay had not been anticipating especially since Sansa hadn't even started the questioning until he'd been worn into the spanking. This realization had Ramsay's mind beginning to rattle taking note of his already rather sore and burning posterior; if Sansa wanted to make a conversation out of this punishment, it could become quite excruciatingly lengthy. Ramsay tried to reason as his panic rose, "I… I'm having trouble thinking straight with you hitting me like this! Can't we take a break!"

"No," Sansa answered simply keeping the same tempo, "I find this helps keep you honest with not just me but yourself. Now, answer the question, Ramsay." Ramsay fought back a growl of anger to be denied a reprieve hating that he was being so firmly driven by a simple spanking to expel to her his wrongdoings, but he found himself shifting mentally to concentrate his scattered thoughts on answering Sansa's query if only to have the incessant stinging sensation cease. He knew the answer, and even though Sansa's hand was driving it from him, Ramsay still found it very difficult to put into words. Sansa heard the warble in Ramsay's voice even though she could tell that he was straining to remain impassive, "It wasn't that I didn't want to do it! It… it was just…." He trailed off as the mix of emotional pain coalesced with his physical state before he muttered sullenly, "I… I didn't know what I could offer anyone that they would want from me."

Sansa did stop after this admission looking back to see Ramsay had grown rigid with fingers balled within the sheets although it wasn't from the pain she had delivered but over what he had told her. Ramsay did not look back at her still seemingly trapped in his own thoughts and how they made him feel. Sansa regarded him for a long moment before sighing, "Something tells me there's more to it than that, Ramsay. Jon would have worked with you had you expressed you were having trouble."

This was true leading up to he and Jon's next altercation, and the thought of delving into that incident had Ramsay visibly cringe. Thinking it was likely best to include that concession now while Sansa wasn't currently hitting him, Ramsay continued, "He did. I wasn't overly forthcoming until after the fact we'd… discussed the matter. I was still angry, and I should have put a lid on it, but one thing led to another, and Jon and I…" Ramsay paused as a sheen of sweat dotted his forehead and he contemplated the best way to articulate what came next to paint himself in the best possible light regarding the circumstances. It was of course impossible not to spike Sansa's ire over what he was about to say Ramsay well knew, and his bottom clenched and quivered as he tentatively peered over his shoulder with a guilty expression. Sansa's eyes were boring into him, it was apparent that she also was expecting to hear something she knew was not something she wanted to hear. Ramsay's brow raised in a pleading fashion silently asking for mercy as he began relaying the that which he knew would culminate into Sansa resuming peppering his backside, "We had a bit of a disagreement…" before Ramsay could continue, Sansa interjected, "A bit? I'm sensing that you've sugar coating Ramsay, remember my earlier promise," she stated sharply.

Ramsay could feel how tender he was now more than ever, and Sansa's abruptness with him tainted with a growing agitation had Ramsay rocking nervously on her thigh as he blurted out, "Alright, it …it was more than a disagreement! Jon and I were working on the list, he didn't like some of the suggestions I made, and I didn't like his, so he'd planned to dismiss me like some commoner, so I… I took offense, and there was a small tussle over it!" That was all that Sansa apparently needed to hear to resume violently thrashing Ramsay's ass. He had expected as much, but knowing it was coming didn't help prepare him for the renewed burn that seemed to ignite more fiercely upon impact of Sansa's fervent slaps.

She was hitting him much harder and faster than before eliciting a whimper of dismay from Ramsay feeling not only her anger but her strong disappointment. He had been worse than she'd expected, and Sansa growled as her hand delivered the fury she felt, "You attacked Jon?! Do you have a death wish? Jon could have put you to the noose for such an act, and there would have been nothing I could have done to save you! Get up!" She yanked on Ramsay's arm, and he quickly rose with alarm reaching back to tenderly touch the radiating heat on his welted as as he stared worriedly at Sansa eyes moving back and forth across her face as a stricken terror began to build in Ramsay's gut. He had really upset her, more than he'd thought he could, but apparently this particular offense struck a deeper chord that flared a wrath to erupt within Sansa. "I'm… I'm sorry," Ramsay stuttered immediately apologetic and wanting more than anything to make this right.

"Not sorry enough," Sansa stated coolly having not let go of the tight hold she had on Ramsay's elbow as she leaned forward rummaging around in the nightstand and pulling out a flat headed hairbrush. Ramsay's eyes widened in alarm putting two and two together rather quickly as he protested, "But… but you gave your word that you would only use your hand!"

Sansa's lips were pursed crossly as she glared at Ramsay making him quail inwardly for having brought her word into question at all. She answered sharply, "I did. That punishment has been delivered, but this," she held up the brush shaking it menacingly as she spoke, "This is for having to punish you a second time for the same offense!" Ramsay's face contorted in confusion, "Second offense?! But Jon and I never…" he trailed off realizing now what Sansa was getting at. This was the second time he'd gotten into a fight that could have gotten himself executed. He hadn't cared at the time when he'd let his anger overwhelm him, but understanding dawned within him now what had upset Sansa so much wasn't the fact that he'd attacked her brother (not that she didn't carry a furry for that all on its own) but this was an offense that could that have put his head on the chopping block. It was his carelessness with his own life that had made her this furious, and it was a message she'd delivered to him the last time she'd spanked him.

Ramsay's mouth worked to speak, but between the fear of her threat to be applied on his already very swollen ass and the emotional overload caused by his comprehension of just how much he'd let Sansa down, he was at a loss to do more than softly reply, "I'm sorry… I …I didn't mean to…" Sansa's lips were pursed taking in how Ramsay was visibly wilting before here, but her fury was too stoked to take pity on him as she clipped, "You never mean to, but yet here we are. I must not have left enough of an impression on you the first time, but mark my words that I will surely imprint a deterrent that outweighs my obvious concerns for your safety where you seem to care so little yourself."

Tears welled in Ramsay's eyes as he gulped feeling the bile rise up his throat. He wanted to tell Sansa that she was wrong, she had emphasized quite well her feelings on the matter, but Ramsay knew it would do him no good. Sansa was right; he was reckless, stubbornly belligerent, and impulsive, and if he didn't get a handle on the way he reacted with people, there may come a point that Sansa would not be able to protect him. Ramsay had spent his life dodging one threat or another due to his status as a noble's bastard. He'd put too much stock in the fact that he'd been able to react as he saw fit and often not with caution much of the time; he'd been lucky not to have offended the wrong person along the way. Roose had not cared enough to curb that behavior in him and in some ways encouraged it to make Ramsay more intimidating, but Sansa did care, and Ramsay knew she did. The fact she was so angry with him because she cared caused the tears that stood in Ramsay's eyes now to spill down his face as Sansa directed him back over her knee.

Sansa adjusted Ramsay's bottom with quick jerky movements back into place, so that she could begin punishing him again, and she did not ask any further questions as she brought the brush down with such velocity that Ramsay screamed out in shock to the sting it elicited. Ramsay didn't stop calling out once Sansa started bouncing about and twisting so violently the Sansa could barely contain him. The pain ricocheted into Ramsay with a preciseness the strap lacked, and it left a unique bite in its wake that had Ramsay meeting his threshold after only a dozen applications, "Sansa! Lady Sansa please! I care! I do care! I'm sorry! It won't happen again!" Ramsay's voice broke as he screamed out against Sansa's relentless barrage. She wasn't stopping, and Ramsay knew why; his words meant nothing because his actions had spoken louder, and now true to her word, her actions would supersede his own.

The ache of unworthiness coursed through Ramsay as the hairbrush acted as a catalyst to his guilt, and he let go a wail of sorrowful desperation. The tears flowed freely then as Sansa pummeled his ass resolutely. He deserved this, and this thought brought about a choked sob as Ramsay finally gave voice to the silent tears he shed clearly crying and no longer physically fighting Sansa although his body still jerked reactively to her ministrations. Sansa had wanted to drop the brush when she'd first heard Ramsay call out to her and even more so when she heard his stifled sniffles, but when Ramsay had abandoned all pretenses to hide his hurt and wept openly, she could stand it no more and tossed the brush up onto the dresser as if holding it burned her.

Sansa frowned taking in the damage she'd done to his ass knowing that it was going to take quite a few days for Ramsay to sit comfortably. She hated to see Ramsay this distressed, but she had to make sure that he knew that his safety mattered, and she needed to make it matter to him. Sansa released her grip on Ramsay's hip running her hand gently over his scorched flesh. Ramsay shivered trembling and preparing for a further bout of pain, but Sansa only caressed him before stating gently, "It's over Ramsay, please tell me I've gotten through to you now." Ramsay wiped at his face turning to peer over his shoulder at her as he stated earnestly, "Yes, lady Sansa! I swear it!"

Reaching down, Sansa helped to lift Ramsay up to sit once more on her thigh. Being placed to sit elicited a hiss from Ramsay who immediately moved to rise from the uncomfortable position, but Sansa drew an arm around his waist pulling him back onto her knee, so that they were once more face to face. Ramsay reluctantly accepted the pain this brought only because he needed Sansa to comfort him now. She spoke softly as her eyes reflected regret, "I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't want to do this to you, but you left me no choice, Ramsay."

Ramsay looked down as he whimpered, "I'm a fool. I know. Please forgive my heedless actions. I never meant to make you worry for me so." Sansa lifted his chin to stare into his watery blue eyes before gently kissing the tears from his cheeks as she worked to hold back her own tears. Her stomach felt sick from the prospect of how often Ramsay seemed to put himself in harm's way, and she swallowed her own fears annunciating as seriously as she could muster, "Promise me Ramsay, please. I… I don't want anything to happen to you." Ramsay trembled to hear her words as he warbled, "I… I promise." His vulnerability painted the entirety of his being, and his ego felt bruised beyond repair, but Ramsay did feel loved, and at this moment, it was all Ramsay cared about. Sansa wrapped her arms around him, and Ramsay immediately reciprocated her hold relishing the closeness she afforded him and wishing that he could just stop crying, but these tears were not of misery but joy from the way Sansa gripped him. She exuded in her embrace how afraid he had made her and that her wrath was born of concern for losing him not over the act of him fighting with Jon. It was another reassurance that Sansa needed him as he needed her, and that was all Ramsay had ever really wanted.