The Rose and the Frost
As the new, happier Ika began to fellate her future husband, Doemia watched in shock. Just minutes ago she’d first realized the innocence of her young friend, but now…the way that she was pleasuring the strange man, it was as though Ika had been doing it for years.
She knew she should say something. No, more than that—she should leave. But for some reason, the young woman found herself totally unable to control her actions. She wanted to get help, but all she could do was watch her redheaded friend.
A not-insignificant part of her wished that she was kneeling in front of the man instead. Or…as well.
Doemia had never been afraid to use her body for her own gain, but most of her trysts with men had been for pleasure. She loved the soft-yet-hard feeling of a man’s member inside her mouth…or, better yet, his mouth on her thatch. It wasn’t hard to imagine the minstrel kneeling in front of her, using his tongue to pleasure her, and then mounting her until her legs wrapped around him and her toes began to involuntarily curl…
As she’d slipped into a sexual daydream, spurred on by the sight of her innocent companion giving the most enthusiastic head that Doemia could imagine, she hadn’t noticed the strange man’s flute returning to his mouth.
Even as his erection was devotedly serviced by the last remaining Frost, the minstrel was capable of producing the most enchanting music that the Rose girl had ever heard. It wasn’t hard to get lost in it—unlike his last tune, this wasn’t a number of sorrow and pain. The notes wove a tale of nobility, of privilege.
A life without want. A childhood of learning, of education. The development of ambition, of cunning. The lessons learned from endless ancestors, time spent exploring the world.
Doemia’s eyes widened as she realized that the song was of her life. The notes emitted from the young man’s flute told the story of her birth, her childhood. It told of everything that shaped her, events which had made her who she was. It was a song of her experience and dreams, and it brought her up to that very afternoon, expertly manipulating the young Frost girl in the garden.
Her eyes were unwillingly drawn to the back of Ika’s head. It stopped bobbing, briefly—Doemia had hoped that the young woman was so focused on her matrimonial duties that she hadn’t been taking in her lover’s music, but it was clear that she’d heard every note, and understood exactly the tale it had told.
After a pause, Ika’s efforts continued. The eyes of the strange minstrel gleamed slightly, and Doemia began to blush.
The song continued—much like the earlier piece, it replayed parts of the melody just heard, again and again, softer and softer each time. The weeks and hours spent learning of the world: gone. The years at Thorn Castle faded away, gaps left in their place. Before long, everything that Doemia was—everything that Doemia had been—was erased, a peaceful absence left in its place.
The last few notes were soft but specific—without words, they said “Doemia”, and soon they too were gone, and nothing but the faintest of echoes remained.
The woman without a name stood there, smiling softly. She knew that she was beautiful—that had been left with her—and she had vague memories of pleasing men, much like her friend was doing now, but when she tried to remember details of the encounters…there was nothing there.
She was a woman without a name, without a history. She was nothing and nobody, a fact which didn’t bother her in the slightest.
The handsome man standing in front of her took a breath, and to her delight, he began playing on his instrument once more. It was a simple tune, but simple was all the woman knew, and so she allowed herself to follow along with it. It told of a handmaiden, the daughter of a commoner. As a child, she’d been gifted to House Frost, and for as long as she could remember, she’d been in the service of Ika Frost.
As children they had played together, but it had always been clear that she was the servant, and Ika her master. It had never offended or upset her; it was just the way things were. After play, it was her duty to clean up their playthings. She was never permitted to speak up or speak out, and so she’d lived the quiet life of obedience.
When the girls hit their blood, their relationship had subtly shifted. Ika continued to order her about, as she always had, but the servant woman had started to increasingly enjoy her obedience. Late at night, when all her work was done, she would touch herself, imagining Ika. She never knew what these strange feelings meant, and had no intention of acting on them, but a kind word from her mistress was enough to fill her with a warm glow for days.
The young servant girl had a recurring fantasy: Ika would order her into the room, and then order to her strip. She’d tremblingly obey, a flush spreading across her pale skin as she exposed herself. Then the Frost girl would lay back and order the young woman to remove her clothing as well.
She’d nod, too excited to speak, and slowly, carefully, unwrap her mistress.
And then, when her mistress was completely naked, she’d pull her servant girl towards her. She’d pull her close, their lips would meet, and Ika would whisper “touch me”.
“Touch me like you touch yourself.”
The young servant girl blushed.
Her own fantasies, though she’d had them for as long as she could remember, continued to embarrass her. She knew that it wasn’t proper of her role, to fantasize about her mistress like this. Her life was one of service, not of pleasure. It was not her place to imagine Ika naked, or to ever think that she was worthy of being touched by the young Frost girl.
Worse, she normally contained these thoughts for when she was alone, touching herself. She’d imagine that it was Ika’s hand between her legs instead of her own, gently touching, probing, caressing.
She’d imagine that Ika would spread her legs, and allow her servant to do the same to her.
She didn’t even have a name. Why did she think that the future Lady of Winterfell would ever allow her to pleasure her in such a way, let alone return her affection?
It was foolish. It was sinful. It was wrong.
And here she was, thinking these wicked thoughts in front of her Lady. In front of her Lady, and her future Lord.
The melody shifted, and so did the servant girl’s fantasies. She remembered the day that she’d met Ika’s husband-to-be. She couldn’t have imagined a more perfect beau; he was a divinely attractive creature, and kind. So kind. He’d smiled at her, where most noblemen didn’t even acknowledge her presence.
He’d smiled at her, and that smile had soon entered her fantasies.
The young servant girl had memories, somehow, of what happened when a man and a woman made love. She knew that it could be messy, and when she was alone, she’d imagined that they would allow her to clean it up. She pictured the two of them married. She’d imagine her new Lord, after finishing inside his bride, calling her into the room.
“Time for clean-up,” Ika would say, smiling down at her kindly as she entered, naked. She was always naked in her fantasies; it helped remind her of her place. If her Lord and Lady were naked, so should she be.
She’d enter, naked, and they would point. Between her Lord’s legs, his hardness would be coated in a combination of their juices. As their servant, it was her role to clean it up, and she’d get to work, licking fervently.
Sometimes she’d fantasize that her efforts cleaning would be enough for his erection to sustain, but sometimes she’d be more realistic. If he had just finished, he would be softening.
Then came her favorite part. He’d point between Ika’s legs, and it would be her job to clean there, as well. She’d use her long tongue to reach deep within her Lady’s crevices, trying to capture each and every drop of mess. Her Master’s seed would slide down her tongue, down her throat, and she’d swallow it happily, knowing that she was doing her job, and doing it well.
But, best of all, her efforts would serve to excite Ika. Her Lady would moan and pant, her eyes would flutter. The young servant girl would use her fingers to scoop out the Master’s seed, and this would cause Ika to react even more strongly.
Then, just as she was about to draw back, having cleaned up everything that could be cleaned, her Master would grab her head, and hold it there. She would obey, of course, and continue to run her tongue up and down her Lady’s lower lips, shivers running up her spine.
Ika would grab her hair, her fingers intermingling with her husband’s. She’d press her fragrant rose up against her servant’s head, and buck up once, twice, three times. Then, as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut, she’d collapse back onto the bed.
“Thank you,” she’d say warmly, and the pair of them would smile down at her.
The servant girl would finish herself, picturing those smiles. But of course, she couldn’t finish herself now, not in the garden. Not in front of her Lady, and her future Lord.
The stranger put down the flute, and smiled at her. That smile.
He wasn’t mad. It was as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, what she wanted to do. It was as if he owned her, more than Ika ever had.
He owned her, and she knew exactly what he wanted.
Slowly, cautiously, more than a little nervously, the servant girl moved one hand to her breast. Her Master nodded, a small, subtle nod. He nodded, and she obeyed. As she knew she always would.
He didn’t need to say anything; she knew exactly what he wanted. Without making a sound, she began fondling her breast, enjoying the feel of the expensive silk fabric against her skin.
Her other hand moved between her legs. Again, he nodded, and again, she obeyed. Silently, she rubbed the small nub above her opening. She knew how much pleasure it would bring, and she was not disappointed.
For the next few minutes, the three of them continued their pleasure in the small, secluded area. Ika’s mouth and tongue were hard at work, pleasuring the only man she would ever love. Her servant was getting closer and closer to finishing as she touched herself, watching her Lady fellate her Lord.
The stranger, meanwhile, was just smiling, watching as Ika took his hardness as deep into her throat as she could. Occasionally he would glance over at the young, nameless servant girl. Whenever he did, her body would shake, and she would whimper with joy.
Finally, he could feel himself getting close. He grasped Ika’s carefully-arranged hair, and looked over at the servant girl. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just nodded, and she knew that he was about to finish, and wished her to match her own climax to his.
Ika’s heart quickened as she felt her future husband’s throbbing. Pulling her head back, she took just the head of his erection into her mouth, and looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. She couldn’t wait to taste him, to show him what a good girl she was, what a good wife she was going to be.
As he unloaded into her mouth, she tried to simultaneously enjoy the taste and swallow his seed as quickly as he produced it. She failed at the latter of her two tasks, and fell backwards, choking slightly. To her delight, her lover didn’t seem upset—he grabbed his member and aimed the rest of his offering onto her face, with some of it dribbling down to her dress.
The betrothed pair stood, smiling at each other, and the future Lord of Frost’s Keep raised one eyebrow, and gestured to the servant girl.
Ika turned to see her faithful lifelong companion was bucking her hips, a look of intense pleasure on her face. Ika didn’t think she’d ever seen her look so beautiful.
A sudden whim overcame her, and she grinned as she opened her mouth.
“Servant girl,” she said, faux-haughtily. The servant girl’s climax immediately finished, and she opened her eyes, her face glowing with a combination of fear and obedience.
“Servant girl,” she repeated. “Your Mistress is messy.
“…come and clean her up.”
Ika didn’t think that all the artists in the land combined could capture even a tenth of the joy that visibly filled the servant girl’s entire body. She leapt to her feet, crossed to Ika, and fell to her knees. Her long, pink tongue came out, and cautiously began dabbing at the stringy white substance that had landed on one of her Mistress’s cheeks.
The laugh of joy emboldened the young servant girl, and soon her caution disappeared, and she began kissing and sucking at the stranger’s seed. She hesitated slightly as she reached Ika’s mouth, but when her Lady’s own tongue came out to play, this reluctance too disappeared, and soon the young ladies were kissing as passionately as though they had sniffed of the flower of the Western god’s tree.
The minstrel watched for several minutes, before clearing his throat. The two excited girls turned at the sound, and he gestured for them to come and sit as his feet.
He looked between them, smiling, before reaching down to point out a droplet of his seed on Ika’s cheek. Without hesitation, the servant girl scooped it up and swallowed it.
“My love,” Ika said nervously, “I have an idea. You know that I have struggled to think of a suitable gift for our union, but what if…what if…”
The stranger raised one eyebrow, and Ika’s words came out on top of one another in a heap.
The minstrel smiled, a smile which told the two young women all they needed to know. He clapped his hands, and the two women joined him, smiling and laughing in celebration.
Ika was the first to notice that the minstrel’s erection—which had faded only briefly—was beginning to return. Her eyes dancing with mischief, she reached up and held it.
“You are going to serve faithfully, are you not?” she said, staring into her young servant’s eyes.
“Of course, ma’am,” the servant replied breathlessly.
“You are going to obey with everything you have?”
“And everything I am.”
“You are going to be devoted to our pleasure?”
“Well,” Ika said gently, “I think I know where you can start.”
The stranger, Ika, and the young servant girl all simultaneously groaned with pleasure as she wrapped her lips around his hardness.