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The click of the door lock is what wakes him up. Theon lifts his head, blinking in the dark. He's thirsty and the nasty taste in his dry mouth makes him frown. Footsteps approach him and Theon tries to recognize the shape in the dark. Is it tall and broad shouldered? Or more of a slim figure, carrying a whip? For a moment he hopes it's the latter. In vain. He knows who's come for him.
Yet he still dares hope, as the torch is lit, and the long shadow falls on the floor. If he looks long and hard enough at that shadow, if he somehow wills himself to make it be the one they call Damon... But no. It's been days, or weeks maybe, since Damon's last been to him.
Theon stares at the floor as the shadow comes closer.
"Ah, my pet, tsk-tsk-tsk. Is this how you greet me?" the shadow asks.
Theon lifts his head slowly, squinting. Maybe it's because it's the first thing he notices, confirming who the shadow is, but there's something so excruciatingly unsettling in those eyes, pale and cruel. Even in the warm reddish light of the torch they remain cold and lifeless.
"I am not your pet." The calmness in his own voice surprises him.
Ramsay smiles, so close that Theon can smell him. The cold breath from Ramsay's nostrils tickles Theon's skin, raising goosebumps.
"You... are a dog." Ramsay speaks slowly, and that gives some vague uncertainty to his words. For some ridiculous reason, Theon feels triumphant to witness this moment of hesitation Ramsay allows himself before continuing. "But I have made you my pet, and yet you... behave like an ungrateful bitch."
"Fuck you."
The vicious slap shouldn't really hurt him that much, but Theon is weak--hungry and exhausted. His head throbs and he feels the metal taste of blood on his tongue. Yet he still manages a smile, even as Ramsay grabs his jaw, fingers gripping his skin so hard. A few of his teeth are chipped from the previous beatings and now the insides of his cheeks are being pressed against those sharp edges, and Theon's eyes, against his will, fill with tears.
Ramsay whispers, "A disobedient dog gets kicked and beaten. But, shh, that's all right. I know why my bitch is snappy."
Theon blinks and one tear slides down his cheek, onto Ramsay's fingers. The cruel bastard smiles, leaning his head to the side, as he lets go of Theon's jaw, licking his tear stained finger.
"I know what my bitch needs," Ramsay proceeds to speak, untying Theon's wrists from the big wooden cross.
Theon's arms are so sore from being so unnaturally stretched, all the blood seems to have drained from them, and since they were the only thing supporting his weight, once Ramsay has untied his wrists, Theon falls limply ahead, and he would have hit the ground if Ramsay wasn't in his way to catch him. Still, Theon hates that touch.
Ramsay draws a chair nearer to the cross. He sits down, draping Theon across his lap. Theon's legs are still tied to the cross, spread wide open. Theon closes his eyes, cursing his life. He doesn't have the strength to resist, not even a mock attempt at fighting back, guarding his body against what's coming, too weak to even move.
Ramsay pats his ass a few times, a gesture almost affectionate. Comparing to what he used to do to Theon before, it sure is. But Theon finds himself strangely wishing for a beating, for hits and kicks and blows that leave him bloody and bruised. That seems more dignified than these almost amicable pats on his ass, gentle rubbing on his thighs. Theon seeths with frustration.
Ramsay tugs at the rags that used to be Theon's pants, pulling them down to his knees. Theon manages to surpass a sniffle. This degrades him enough to make him cry. And when Ramsay spreads his asscheeks, Theon truly wishes he was dead.
"Yes," Ramsay murmurs, "time to milk that vileness out of you, make you an obedient pet again."
He taps Theon's asshole with his finger, and Theon tenses.
"Shhh, my pet, let me in, I won't hurt you." Ramsay whispers, the tone of his voice full of mock affection.
Theon wishes Ramsay actually would hurt him, rape him even, rather than this. Ramsay did rape him though, and it hurt like hell every single time. But even that pain was better because as he was kneeling on the cold floor, ruthlessly fucked until he almost passed out from the pain, bleeding and torn, there was still some dignity left in him--it was obvious that he hated it. His body was abused and humbled, but it was still his body, faithful in its agony, and not a traitor it later became under Ramsay's fingers.
Ramsay pulls Theon's asscheeks wider now, rubbing his asshole harder, more determined.
"Relax, pet, let me in," Ramsay says, his tone so sweet it is sickening, as he pushes one finger inside. "See how gentle I am for my little bitch."
The first time Ramsay decided to fuck Theon in any other position other than on all fours, was the last time Ramsay has shown him real roughness. What happened then provoked this cruel tenderness that still hasn't stopped. It frustrated Theon to no end, and amused Ramsay just as much. Usually, Ramsay would slam into him from behind and pound him roughly while Theon bit his lips bloody, attempting not to scream in anguish. But once Ramsay decided he might enjoy watching Theon grimace in pain as he fucked him, and took him from the front, staring at Theon's face with his icy blue eyes.
When Ramsay's cock hit that spot inside him, Theon whimpered loudly, unexpectedly, and Ramsay kept on thrusting, just there. The wicked glee on Ramsay's face when he discovered Theon's seed all over their bellies frightened Theon almost as much as the skinner. He was terrified, wondering why Ramsay seemed so exultant. What horrible thing would he do to him? He was so scared, it took him a moment to register what Ramsay was watching.
Ramsay's gentle touch on his face surprised him, smiling at first, then roaring with laughter, as Theon shook, his whole body frustrated and ashamed.
After that time, Ramsay takes special care to always make sure Theon spends. It isn't always as easy as the first time he fucked Theon face to face, so soon Ramsay started taking Theon across his knees, searching for that pleasure spot with fingers, making Theon cry burning tears of humiliation as his body keeps on betraying him over and over again.
Ramsay takes perverse delight in forcing pleasure out of Theon, and Theon is disgusted with his own body's reactions as much as with Ramsay's probing fingers that cause them. He never felt so defeated as he does when he's pulled across Ramsay's knees, butt naked and spread, as Ramsay drills inside him, making him squirm and squirt and cry for losing that only control he thought he had left.
Now, Theon has started crying already, silent and miserable, hating himself maybe even more at this moment than his tormentor. And Ramsay is pushing, slowly and dedicatedly, so focused on making this last longer, making Theon's humiliating ordeal really sink in.
The first finger is inside, and for a few moments Ramsay doesn't move it at all, just keeps it still. Theon's sensitive entrance sharply pierced, tight around the finger's girth. Then Ramsay twists his finger a bit, making small circles, and the spreading sensation in Theon's ass is not painful at all, but it is so strongly unpleasant.
Ramsay takes the finger slowly out. "Good," he whispers in a long low tone, spreading Theon's asscheeks again.
Theon feels Ramsay shift, then spit startles him, landing in the very middle of his tender crease. Theon jerks involuntarily to that, but Ramsay quickly locks his body with a strong arm closed around Theon's waist. The next intrusion feels thicker, the sensation sharper, and Theon knows it is now two of Ramsay's fingers that are getting inside.
Theon grits his teeth. This hurts a little and he tries to focus on the pain, tries to block every other sensation, hoping pain will help prevent his body's betrayal. But the pain is too light, too weak and it lasts too short. In mere moments it's gone, despite Theon's mind desperately chasing it. He clenches his buttocks, but Ramsay only laughs, going deeper.
When Theon is loose enough, Ramsay's fingers become curious, curling, spreading him wider in slow circular motions. The stretch makes Theon grunt weakly. He hopes the pain comes again, no matter how slight, but it's a strange unwelcome pleasure instead, so hateful and humiliating, that appears when Ramsay touches that special spot inside him. Theon's buttocks clench all on their own, drawing more chuckles out of his tormentor.
Theon knows he can't fight it, he tried so many times. He then wishes for the next best thing--for his ordeal to be over as soon as possible. But Ramsay never rushes. Comfortable in a chair, with Theon draped over his knees, Ramsay takes his time, playing dedicatedly with Theon's asshole, patient in his cruelty.
Ramsay knows where to press, but he only teases. Soon, Theon can't control his body any more than he can control his tears. He squirms a bit, much to Ramsay's delight.
"Yes, pet, that's my good bitch," he praises. "Squirm for me. Show me how much you like it."
Theon sobs through his gritted teeth. He wishes to resist, to say something back, but it's all futile--he is defeated by his own body. That spot feels so good to be touched, and when Ramsay suddenly shifts his fingers, releasing the pressure, Theon's hips go after Ramsay all on their own, searching for more.
"Eager bitch," Ramsay taunts him. "You'd take my whole hand, wouldn't you?"
Theon tenses again. He knows Ramsay is vicious and sadistic. He surely wouldn't-- but maybe he would. Theon sure as hell would be unable to stop him. And maybe it'd be for the better, as that would for sure hurt so the damned pleasure wouldn't come. But no, Ramsay is content to just finger Theon. He does other things when he wishes to cause pain. What Ramsay's doing now has nothing to do with pain, but all to do with humiliation--showing Theon his place, forcing him to see that even that last ounce of his being he thought he still controlled now also belongs to Ramsay.
Theon's tears now fall freely and he can't help his sniffles.
"Shh, my pet," Ramsay rubs Theon's shoulder. "Shh, I know what you crave. You want to spend for me, leak your sweet juices. But you must learn patience. A good dog knows to wait."
Ramsay pushes his third finger in, twisting his wrist a little as he drills, and Theon, despite himself, moans out loud.
Ramsay laughs. "That's right, bitch. Moan for me, moan for your master."
Theon bites his lips, one hand gripping the chair leg and the other one squeezing the cloth on Ramsay's trousers. But to no avail. Ramsay again presses against that spot, slow and deliberate, and Theon at first only grunts, but the grunt then becomes a pitiful subdued wail as Ramsay's fingers rub relentlessly that most treacherous part of him.
If Ramsay continues like this, it will at least be over soon. But he stops, releasing the pressure again, pulling the fingers out, and Theon hates himself for the distress he feels over that loss. He stoically remains silent this time. But then Ramsay pulls his asscheeks again, exposing his little hole to cold air, spreading Theon open. That makes Theon so uncomfortable, which is ridiculous, as Ramsay has seen him inside out, he has done things to Theon that are degrading beyond belief, he has witnessed Theon's most miserable, most intimate, most horrible moments. Yet this sensation now humbles him. Theon seethes, trying to squirm away from Ramsay's grasp.
"If you could just see yourself," Ramsay speaks, sounding so pleased, so full of some frightening glee. "If you could only see yourself like I see you. You called yourself Ironborn," Ramsay stresses that word, almost shouting, "A reaper. A kraken."
He laughs, as Theon still squirms desperately, futilely. Ramsay's grip tightens, and he pulls Theon's asscheeks so utterly without mercy, Theon knows it's impossible, but he fears his flesh would be torn with Ramsay's bare hands.
"But all I see is a bitch," Ramsay spits his words with contempt. "You called yourself a prince once." Ramsay's wild laughter echoes around the cold stone room. "But you are no prince, you are a bitch. My bitch."
Theon sobs, his tears warm and wet, making him shiver.
"Balon Greyjoy's only living son and heir," Ramsay exclaims pompously, mocking. "What would your father say to see you now? Snivelling for your ass to be filled."
Theon closes his eyes, his body starting to shake with sobs. And suddenly, Ramsay lets go of his asscheeks, patting Theon's head with tenderness so sudden and unexpected.
"Shh, it's alright, pet. Your father's not here, you're safe here with me. Don't cry. I will give you what you need," Ramsay all but coos at him, slowly inserting his fingers inside again.
Theon doesn't even clench this time, he submits to this forced pleasure Ramsay's fingers bring, stripping Theon of all dignity he perceived he still might have had left. He lies limp over Ramsay's lap, while Ramsay's drills inside him, rubbing and pressing that thrice damned spot.
Ramsay still whispers some soothing words that sound so cruel and so dirty, because Theon doesn't want them, he doesn't need them, mocking his defeat, as this gentleness violates him while he writhes weekly, and moans, still crying.
The stretch now feels really good, the fingers pushing back and forth, and Theon can no longer resist the need to rub himself so shamelessly against Ramsay's thigh. Ramsay seems to welcome the small movements Theon's hips make. He chuckles almost affectionately, taking his fingers out completely, only to shove them back in with more force, hitting that place again. He does it a few times, pulling his fingers out and then invading Theon anew. Theon can feel his asshole is open, ready, waiting, and he whimpers more and more, as Ramsay increases the tempo, more vigorous in his task.
"Good bitch," he praises Theon, "yes, moan for me, come on. Let me hear you squeal and yelp for your master, like a good bitch."
And Theon hates himself, but he does moan, his asshole fingered relentlessly as he rubs his crotch on Ramsay's leg. Ramsay keeps on telling him he's a good bitch, his fingers going deep, hitting the target every single time, over and over again, until Theon wails, long and sorrowful, his body clenching in his release.
Ramsay still keeps his fingers deep inside Theon's ass, waiting for him to calm down. As Theon pants, self-loathing reaches its peak. He knows this was coerced from him, he knows he had no choice, there was nothing he could do, but he berates himself nonetheless, feeling less like a man than ever before.
When Ramsay yanks him up by the hair, lifting him up from his lap, Theon recoils to see those cold dead eyes, smiling menacingly at him.
"You soiled me, pet," Ramsay tells him.
Theon can see a white milky mess of his seed on Ramsay's trousers. His instinct makes him scared of what horrible punishment Ramsay will inflict on him. But that only lasts for a moment, before Theon consciously starts wishing, hoping for a punishment, a most painful, most horrible one--he hates himself that much at that moment, so cruelly faced with the evidence of his defeat.
But what Ramsay does is a punishment even worse than what Theon could possibly ever hope for. He dabs his finger in the goo of seed, then lifts it to Theon's face.
Theon looks at him, jaw clenched. Ramsay raises his eyebrows, smiling, as he pushes his finger to Theon's mouth. Theon won't open it at first, but weak and dazed as he is, he is no match for Ramsay's determination.
"Open, bitch, and if you bite, I'll milk you again, but in front the entire Dreadfort. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
Theon meekly opens his mouth, looking down, as Ramsay feeds him his own come, dabbing his finger in it over and over again, until Theon has licked it all.
When Ramsay ties him back to the cross, Theon is silent, staring ahead of him absent-mindedly. He thought he would continue crying, but he can't. He feels completely dry, as if all the tears he has had have also leaked out of him under Ramsay's fingers. But just before Ramsay leaves, he places the chair he sat on right in front of the cross, right in front of Theon. He also leaves the torch burning, its soft light flickering, and Theon closes his eyes, trying not to look, trying to fall asleep.
When he wakes up, hours later, the torch is still burning, and the chair is still there. Theon looks away, but he still can't stop himself from crying his eyes out.