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A Pinch of Salt

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Sansa's skin is still so white, still looks so pure and untouched, Margaery thinks as she glides her crimson-varnished fingers up those thighs teasingly, making the other girl gasp as she lies back in Margaery's soft pillows. Perhaps unwittingly, her legs twitch a little further open. “Marg,” she whispers, her full, pink lips trembling, and Margaery leans down, pressing a brief, near-chaste kiss to her friends neck before she makes her way down, dragging her chin over the skirt bunched around Sansa's waist, the girl's knickers long since thrown across the room.

Sansa stares at her and moans before she even has the chance to do anything, just at the promise of it, the sight of Margaery's friendly face perched between her legs. Margaery bites her lip herself, enjoying the sight of Sansa's sweet cunt, the neat auburn curls around it wet with excitement. She knows Sansa must want her to get on with it already, and she will, soon she swears, but she doesn't have it in her not to tease a little longer. She turns her head and presses her lips to Sansa's inner thigh, sucking softly, only enough to leave the faintest of marks – she can only imagine how Sansa would blush and tremble if she left more.

It makes Sansa gasp again, arching off the bed in enthusiasm. “Oh, please,” she whines, cheeks red with embarrassment, and Margaery can't help but grin at the state of her.

“Of course sweetheart,” she says, poking her head up again to look her friend in the eye, and give her a lewd wink. “Anything for you.”

Sansa chuckles slightly at that, and her smile is so very pretty; Margaery darts back down and drags her tongue across Sansa's wet folds in one quick, fast motion. “Ah!”

Margaery hums, pleased at the response, and then sets to work properly, her mouth working Sansa open slowly but firmly, like she's learned Sansa loves. The taste of salt is overpowering, and Margaery's own slit throbs between her legs.

It's a funny path that's led them here. From the first day she saw Sansa, the wide-eyed first year in her Romantic Literature class, and never did you see such an ingenue off the stage, she wasn't sure if she wanted to take the girl under her wing or take her hard and fast and make her scream. Both, really. Luckily, Sansa was very ready to make friends, stunned and charmed that someone like Margaery, an older student already wordly and sophisticated, would take an interest in her. That only made her more interesting.

Sansa moans when Margaery delves her tongue inside, and her fingers make their way through Margaery's carefully styled curls – shyly though, holding on with the loosest of grips, as if she's not sure she's allowed. Margaery moans and keens to the touch, encouraging her.

It did not take long until Sansa confessed that she was still quite inexperienced in life – in those matters above all else. She went red as a pomegranate as she explained, that she didn't mind being a virgin, really, she was only eighteen and given what her taste in men could be like she ought to be sure before she did anything she would regret, but sometimes she couldn't help but want...

And Margaery, experienced, helpful Margaery, of course offered her some relief. It would have to mean anything. Fun between friends. Girls do it all the time, especially at uni.

Margaery sighs as she removes her tongue from Sansa's folds, instead licking upwards, circling Sansa's clit – which makes Sansa cry out before she covers her mouth with her hand, thrusting up toward Margaery desperately. Sometimes Margaery thinks she ought to feel guilty, that she's taking advantage of this girl barely out of high school, horny and eager and yet with no idea what she actually wants.

But, Margaery reasons, someone has to be first, and she's never pushed Sansa into anything. When this first started, she was totally resigned to it being no more than a few kisses, to help Sansa get some experience before she met someone who caught her eye – no matter how much Margaery wanted more. It was Sansa who took it further, who shyly pushed a hand under Margaery's blouse, who took Margaery's hands and put them on her rear, who pushed herself against Margaery's thigh and moaned so filthily that really, what else could she have done?

Sansa is moaning again now, writhing as Margaery sucks her clit mercilessly, smiling at just how very sensitive Sansa is. She strokes Sansa's thighs with both hands, soothing her, before she pushes a finger inside and earns a squeal, a muffled “fuck!” that makes Margaery moan, makes her try and push herself down against the bed to relieve the ache between her legs. It's not like Sansa to swear.

She's a good girl, Sansa, raised on Disney princesses and Barbie, and Margaery knows that she dreams of a husband and kids and a white picket fence, all that. What exactly she feels about the fact she's sleeping with another girl is something that's never really come up. Margaery's resigned to the fact that she may well be Sansa's one lesbian experimentation before she devotes the rest of her life to the less fair sex, but gives her a strange twisting feeling in her gut that she doesn't want to think about too much.

She looks up and sees Sansa's eyes closed in bliss as Margaery curls a finger inside her, and thinks worth it.

Margaery groans as she flickers her tongue back and forth, teasing Sansa's entrance before returning to her clit, her other hand gripping the girl's hip, trying to keep her still as she starts to buck, tracing circles on the skin like she's trying to leave a message. Suddenly, Sansa's hand yanks her hair, hard. “Marg!” she cries and Margaery can only moan as she's forced down deep against Sansa's cunt, her nose buried in those auburn curls, she can barely breathe, but she drinks it all it as Sansa starts to come against her, tasting salt and sweet and sour and she takes it, she laps it up and she begs for more.

It leaves her dizzy, and while Sansa lets her go as she sinks into the sheets, recovering, it takes Margaery a second or two to get her wits about her. It's not until she looks up again, and sees Sansa, her blue eyes cracking open, tired and grinning. Margaery grins back. It should be simple, this.

She means to make some smart remark as Sansa surfaces from her orgasm, but before she can, Sansa grabs her by the hand and pulls her down. “Come here, you.” Margaery practically yelps as she collapses onto Sansa's body, but Sansa just laughs at that, and that makes Margaery laugh too, her lips still wet as Sansa leans up and gives her a proper kiss.

It's a strange taste, the salt of Sansa's cunt meeting the sugar of her strawberry lip balm, but Margaery relishes it, she always does. The kiss is clumsy, naïve, but all the better for it. Sansa's hand makes it's way inside Margaery's jeans, and she thinks oh thank fuck.

“You're so wet, Marg,” Sansa whispers in her ear, so innocent she could be talking about the weather. Margaery, despite everything, finds herself blushing. When Sansa's hand just traces along her slit, Margaery bucks toward her and moans like she's never been touched before.

For the first time, she wonders whether she really knows what she's doing.