Breaking the Septa

Winterfell’s days moved to the rhythm of stone and smoke. Guards drilled in the yard, servants hurried through the halls, hammers rang from the smithy. You blended into it as though you had always been there. The ward blurred memory, dulled questions. You hauled water, chopped wood, carried sacks from wagons without being asked. Men clapped your shoulder, stewards nodded, no one asked who you were. You belonged.

Catelyn moved through it all with composure. She took reports from the stewards, met smallfolk with petitions, walked the walls with her maid in tow. She played her role as lady, proud and calm. You saw the weight she carried, but she did not stumble. And always, she saw you. A glance in the yard as you trained. A nod when you helped a servant struggling with a load. A softer look than before, faint but there. Her trust had grown, though she said nothing aloud.

Mordane was the counterweight. She followed her lady like a shadow, lips tight, eyes sharp. She scolded the maid for trifles, raised her voice when you passed, snapped at guards who laughed too freely with you. She wanted a wall between you and her lady, but the cracks in her stone widened each day. Her words grew brittle. Her eyes lingered longer than they should. The heat beneath her frown betrayed her.

It came to a head one night. The hall had emptied after supper, the hearth fires burned low, and the keep lay hushed. You walked the corridor that led to the solar, your steps quiet on stone. She stepped from a side passage ahead of you, her cloak tight around her shoulders, her face pale with resolve. She stopped, barring your way though there was room to pass.

“You are too close to her,” she said, voice low but strained. “Every glance, every word, you worm into her thoughts. She is young, she is newly wed, she is far from her kin. You will not use her loneliness for your ends.”

You tilted your head, watching her steady herself with righteous anger. “And what do you think my ends are, Septa?”

“You would have her stray from her vows,” she snapped, though her voice trembled. “You would stain her honor, drag her into sin. I will not allow it.”

You took a slow step forward. She stiffened but did not move aside. “And yet you watch me more closely than she does. You think I do not see your eyes on me in the yard? At table? Even now you cannot hold my gaze without faltering.”

Her breath hitched, eyes flashing. “I watch you because you are danger.”

“You watch me because you cannot stop,” you answered, your voice low, steady. “You pray against me because you feel me in your blood and hate yourself for it. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Her lips parted, no words forming. Her eyes darted, her face flushed red. She spun, cloak whipping, and hurried away down the corridor. But her steps were too fast, too uneven. She fled rattled, not righteous.

After that, the changes showed sharper. She lingered at the edges of the yard longer, eyes fixed on the clash of steel, cheeks colored though her frown never left. At meals, her voice rose shrill when Catelyn addressed you with civility. She scolded her maid until the girl wept. The more she prayed alone, the more brittle she became in public. She could not steady herself.

You waited. You watched. The moment would come. And when it came, you pressed.

It was three nights later. The hall was dark, only torches guttering in their sconces. You had lingered near the solar, waiting. She came late, walking alone, her cloak drawn tight. Her steps faltered when she saw you, and she stopped too quickly.

“You again,” she whispered, half accusation, half breath. “Always too near.”

“Or perhaps you are,” you answered.

Her jaw clenched. “This ends. Tonight.” She stepped closer, her face taut with anger. “I will not see her led astray. I will not see you poison her vows.”

“And you?” You did not move, only let your voice drop lower. “What of your vows?”

Her eyes widened. “I have given mine to the Seven.”

“Then why are you here, alone, trembling in the dark?” you asked. “Why do your eyes linger when you scowl? Why do your prayers falter when you think of me? You feel it, Septa. And you hate it. But it is there.”

Her lips quivered. She shook her head hard. “No.”

You stepped close, so close she had to tilt her chin to keep her eyes on yours. “Say it again,” you murmured. “Say you feel nothing, and I’ll walk away.”

Her breath came fast, chest rising under her cloak. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her silence was answer enough.

You reached, fingers brushing her arm. She flinched but she did not pull away. You slid your hand down to hers, warm skin beneath wool, and she trembled. Her eyes burned with fury and shame, but not rejection.

When you leaned down, she did not turn her face. Her breath shuddered against your mouth before your lips took hers. The kiss was clumsy at first, her lips stiff, her body frozen. But the tremor in her hands betrayed her. When you deepened it, when your tongue pressed gently past her lips, she yielded with a soft, broken sound. The septa kissed you back.

The dam broke. She clutched at your cloak as though to tear it, her lips frantic, her breath harsh. You pressed her against the cold stone, your mouth on her throat, her gasp echoing too loud in the corridor. She bit her lip, eyes wide, terrified of her own voice. You silenced her with another kiss.

Your hands slipped beneath her cloak, finding the curve of her waist, the heat of her body hidden beneath gray wool. She shuddered, her piety crumbling with every touch. When you cupped her breast through rough cloth, she whimpered, pressing closer instead of pulling away. Her fingers gripped your arms, nails biting through fabric, holding you to her as if she could not let go.

You found an empty chamber, dark and quiet, and pulled her inside. The door thudded shut behind you. Torchlight leaked faint through the cracks, but the chamber itself was dark, shadow wrapping the two of you. She stood trembling before you, her lips red from kissing, her hair fallen from its pins. Her chest rose and fell like she had run a mile.

“You should leave,” she whispered again, voice cracked, eyes shining with fear. “You should..”

“You want me to stay,” you cut her off, stepping close until her back touched the wall.

Her lips parted in protest, but no words came. Her breath warmed your cheek. Her body betrayed her, swaying toward you.

You caught her chin in your hand and kissed her again, harder this time. She gasped against your mouth, her hands pressing flat to your chest, then clenching into fists against your cloak. When you pulled back, her eyes were wide and wet, her lips trembling.

“Say no,” you whispered, your mouth brushing hers. “Say no, and I’ll walk out.”

Her silence was answer enough.

You claimed her lips again, pushing her back against the wall. Her body stiffened once, then melted, her arms sliding up around your shoulders. You pressed your tongue into her mouth, and she moaned despite herself, a ****, shameful sound.

Your hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips, tugging her cloak open. Beneath the gray wool, her septa’s robes hung loose, tied with a simple cord. You tugged the knot and the robe gaped, baring her chemise. Her breath stuttered as your hand slipped beneath the linen, finding the warm curve of her breast. Her nipple hardened instantly under your thumb, and she shuddered, biting her lip to **** back another moan.

“Gods…” she breathed, eyes squeezed shut. “This is.. wrong...”

“Feels right,” you growled, rolling her nipple between your fingers until her knees buckled. “Your body knows it.”

Her answer was a gasp, her hands clawing at your shoulders as you dragged the chemise up over her breasts. They spilled free into the cool air, pale and trembling, nipples tight and begging for your mouth. You bent, took one between your lips, and sucked hard. She cried out, slapping a hand over her mouth too late to stifle it. Her other hand buried in your hair, dragging you closer.

“Please...” she whimpered, not to stop, never to stop, but in terror at how badly she wanted it. “Please... oh, gods”

You bit gently, tugging her nipple between your teeth, and she bucked against you, grinding her hips forward. You slid your other hand down, under her robes, under her skirts, finding the heat between her thighs. Her cunt was already wet, soaking through her smallclothes. When your fingers pressed against her slit, she sobbed into her hand, ashamed and ****.

“Wet already,” you murmured against her breast. “All that praying, and this is what you were praying against.”

Her whole body shook as you pushed her smallclothes aside and slid two fingers between her folds. She was slick and hot, her clit swollen, her cunt clenching greedily around your touch. She grabbed your wrist as though to push you away, but instead dragged your hand harder against her, grinding herself shamelessly against your fingers.

“Ah... ahhh... Seven forgive me,” she moaned, her voice breaking. “I can’t”

“You don’t want forgiveness,” you growled, fucking her with your fingers until her thighs trembled. “You want cock. Say it.”

Her eyes snapped open, wild with lust and shame. She shook her head, tears spilling, but her hips betrayed her, fucking herself on your hand.

“Say it,” you ordered, pressing harder on her clit.

Her voice cracked, ragged and broken. “I want it... I want your cock... please...”

You spun her, bent her over the pallet, her hands braced against the wood. Her ass pushed back against you, her robes bunched around her waist, her chemise tangled above her breasts. You yanked her smallclothes down, baring her soaked cunt, glistening in the faint light. She sobbed in humiliation, but when your cock pressed against her slit, she arched back to meet it.

The first thrust tore a cry from her throat, raw and ****. She bit her knuckle to muffle it, but you drove into her deep, splitting her open on your cock. She was tight, clenching hard, the wet heat of her cunt gripping you greedily.

“Gods... oh gods... it’s too much...” she whimpered, but she pushed back all the same, her ass slamming against your hips, her cunt sucking you in deeper.

You fucked her hard, each thrust rocking her forward against the pallet. Her tits swung free beneath her, her cries muffled into her hand. You grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her to cry out loud.

“Look at you,” you snarled in her ear. “Septa. Pious. Preaching. Now you’re nothing but a whore begging for cock.”

Her cunt clenched hard around you at the words, and she screamed, shuddering as she came. Her whole body shook, juices spilling down her thighs, soaking your cock. She sobbed openly now, each thrust driving another broken cry from her lips.

“Say it,” you growled, slamming into her. “Say what you are.”

“I’m... ahhh... I’m a whore!” she screamed, her voice cracking with pleasure. “I’m your whore!”

You drove her down into the pallet, fucking her through her climax, using her until she was nothing but a sobbing, gasping ruin beneath you. Her cunt milked your cock desperately, her body betraying every vow she had ever spoken.

When you spilled inside her, she screamed again, a ragged, wordless sound, her nails tearing at the wood as your seed filled her. She collapsed forward, panting, trembling, her face pressed into the bedding.

When you pulled free, cum leaked from her ruined cunt, dripping down her thighs. She lay there whimpering, too broken to move, her robes tangled, her body bared and used. Her eyes found yours once, wet with tears and lust both. She whispered one last broken word “More...” before she collapsed fully, her body shuddering with aftershocks.

The septa was yours.

[System Update]

Lady Catelyn: Trust: 80 | Affection: 80

Septa Mordane: Temptation: 100 | Piety: 0 (Broken)

Suspicion (Household): Stable