Fucking through Winterfell

Sansa dismissed Jory as she reassembled her heavy linen dress. The redheaded young lady was left with an itch to scratch as she stepped out into the cold winds of Winterfell's outer layers. Perhaps she could have a few guardsmen in the tower, or better yet, Theon. He was always up for a tumble.

Sansa giggled as she thought of her Lord Father's reaction to her "hobbies." He surely wouldn't approve of an unmarried woman having lost her maidenhood before marriage, especially in a way as spectacular as Sansa's. She shivered as she thought of that night with Jeyne and the troubadors in the hot springs. She could barely walk straight for a week.

Sansa passed into the godswood, a good place to rub one off even if you couldn't find a man. She slipped a hand towards her core, massaging herself through the rough cloth of her gown. Sansa settled against the white trunk of a weirwood as she hiked up her skirts once more, imagining strong northmen, supple dornish women, and rough ironborn fucking her in any imaginable position.

She quickly climaxed, shuddering against the rough bark of the tree, as in her dreams an ironborn raider took her for a saltwife.

A noise alerted her to someone else entering the godswood. Now was the time for her to finally get laid.