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Three Pages of Lust

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Dave Allen

It was the closing act and I needed one last punch. Looking around at these posh looking Londoners, I thought I’d give them a good show. “So, one day I was walking home. Just ended a rugby match with my mates and feeling the need to take a short cut home, I decided to walk down one of those long dark alleyways. Well, two tall looking men came out from a corner, dressing all shabby with black ski masks on. And that’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

I could sense the audience leaning in, drawing into my story like so many have done before.

“The tallest one stood in front of me, intimidating me with his great height. And then he says, ‘We want to send a message to your da’ while he kept his hands tucked deep inside of the front of his coat like he was hiding something.”

“I’m not allowed to speak to you.” I let my face took on a fearful expression in front of the crowd. “You’re the IRA.”

“‘It’s not a speaking message!’ the other guy called out and grabbed a hold of my arm. He stretched it out to the fullest and suddenly… these great big metal plyers came into view.”

A small gasp escaped the women at the front, and that’s when I knew I had them for sure.

“And the tallest one clamped the plyers down on my hand. OWWW!” The crowd started to laugh at my sudden exclamation. “And to make matters worse, the one having an awful death grip on my hand says, ‘You’re not Brian Lebonais da’, are ya?”

“‘No!’ I screamed out in anger.”

“‘Well, get your dad to pass it on to Brain Lebonais dad,’ he answered back, and dropped my arm to the side before the pair of them sprinted away. And that, ladies and gentlemen…” I raised my hand up to reveal the stub of a finger on my right hand. “Is how I lost my finger.”

The crowed erupted in applause as I descended the ruddy coloured stairs. And that’s how you get a round of applause everyone.

One of my agents was waiting for me at the bar, I shook his hand merrily, knowing he had another impressive gig lined up for me. He handed me a cold pint of beer, a light lager that most of the Brits seemed to drink. Being an Irish man, I was grateful for anything.

“We have another gig lined up for you,” he began, and tottered on about putting me on television.

“Great,” I answered, a single word before the Englishman carried on again.

“How do you feel about changing your name?”

“Dave?” I asked, in which the elderly man laughed at me. “How many Dave’s are there with a last name beginning with the letter A?”

The man laughed at me again, clearly amused by my way of thinking.

“Dave Allen, how does that sound?” I questioned him with a puffed-up chest, as though I was on top of the world.

“I like it! It has a ring to it.”

“Tonight, on BBC1 the Dave Allen show. That’s got even more to a ring to it.”

My agent nodded his head to me, liking my ambition but giving me no response. He waved his hand at me, and exited the half empty room, leaving me to my full cup of pint and some deep musing.

“I liked it,” a voice spoke up behind me. I turned in my chair, placing my feet on the sturdy wood on the bar seat before I looked at the young girl in front of me. “It was really good.”

“Thanks,” I replied with slow blinks, caught off guard that a woman as beautiful as her should be speaking to me. She was tall, perhaps taller than myself with bright red hair that reminded me of an Irish woman. Her accent was undeniably British, posh, just like the rest of the audience I entertained for the night.

“You’ve been doing it long?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I scratched the side of my head as I deliberated an answer. “About a year.”

“Only a year?” she asked with disbelief.

“Er… yeah.”

She bit down on her lip funnily, while the hoods of her eyes squinted softly as though she was considering something. “I think you found the right career then.”

“Entertainer. Comedian. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I guess I kind of stumbled along and-”

“-did the IRA really cut off your finger?” she interjected.

“What?”

“Did they really confuse you with someone else?”

“Oh?” She smiled at me sheepishly, as she started to notice I was more nervous around her than on stage. I opened my mouth, and then abruptly closed it. “Well, it wasn’t the IRA?”

“Oh.”

“You see… the thing is… I’m kind of embarrassed to tell you the awful truth.”

She leaned against the bar countertop, resting her elbow on it the smooth surface as she leaned into my space. “Go on.”

“Well, one night I was at a bar. Similar to this one, except it was in Northern Ireland. It rained hard that evening, cold gust of winds making the windows outside shudder against the shambles of a wooden frame. I was with a girl… one that caught my eye that night.” She smiled then, her blue eyes lightening up with pure curiosity. “It just so happened that another bloke like her. Cheeky little bugger, always trying to steal a mate’s girl away. I wouldn’t stand for it, so I approached him, and he took a nasty swing at me. I dodged it, and then it turned into a nasty tumble.”

“Oh no.”

“I was pinned to the table. My left hand smashing into the side of his face, but then he had the upper hand for he placed his mouth over my right hand and-”

“- that is how you lost your finger,” she quickly cut in.

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“It’s the truth. I swear it on my life!”

“Sure.”

“On- my- life.”

“And I’m guessing you won the girl?”

“No, he was the victor.”

“So, you lost the fight, a finger and the girl.”

“Terrible tragedy.”

She rolled her eyes at me, and then moved out of my space.

“You agree with me,” I cunningly replied.

“I think you’re a liar.”

“Oh,” I said with my hand over my heart, as though she wounded me. “I thought I could entrust you with this secret.”

“And here I was feeling sorry for you.” She began to walk away, but I had no intention of letting her go just yet.

“There was never an Irish man that wanted someone to feel sorry for them.” She was heading back to her seat, where a group of ladies were waiting from her. Well, this is rubbish. She had her back to me, reaching on top of the table to retrieve her purse. Is she ignoring me now?

“Well, maybe one of these girls will like my story better,” I shot out, while her back was still to me.

“But that’s just it,” she argued back. The girl turned around, leaning herself against the top of the chair as she added, “They’re just stories.

“Stories with purpose.”

“What purpose?”

“It’s a way to stay stuff you to everyone! The nuns, the priests, the poverty and the posers. Everyone!”

“You have a lot of anger issues, don’t you?” The rest of the girls at the table laughed at her statement, clearly amused by this spectacle.

“An angry Irish man, I’m sure you’ve encountered more than a dozen before me.”

“No, you’re the first.”

“Well, that makes me special.”

“Mad,” she quipped, though there was a looking of teasing around her eyes.

“A mad Irish man. Maybe that’s just your cup of tea.”

The girls around the table giggled, but the girl in front of me looked less amused. “You were funnier on stage.”

“And you were nicer back there,” I pointed out, and pointed at my bar stool where my pint was still waiting for me. “So, how about I go back there, and we start again.” I winked at her slyly, and then returned to my seat. A mouthful of cold beer filled my mouth, and just when I set the glass down on the table, she stood in front of me. I stared at her hard, a tiny smile of satisfaction spread across my face.

“It’s Sansa,” she relayed in a softer tone of voice.

“Dave Allen.” I let my thumb gloss over the perspiration outside of my glass cup. “And I wasn’t telling you a lie, you know. That’s how I lost my finger.”

 

Allen Hynek

Ever so stealthily I locked the door behind me, taking in the only lights flickering in my rooms was from the thin streams of light through the two sets of drapes. My student stood in the center of the room, draped in a long white cloak with a fur draped around her neck. She was taking off her gloves while looking at me. I tilted my head downwards, trying to hide the smile that I should have been ashamed of. We were lucky the first two times, but sooner or later we might get caught.

“I’m right on time,” the young woman stated, after she let her eyes glance at the clock behind me.

“We have an hour.”

Her gloves were stuffed in her large purse, and then she turned away from me to head towards my desk. Her white cloaked draped off her shoulders, and she folded it neatly to lay over the front of my desk.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

She undid her hairband, brushing her fingers through her long auburn hair, which only accelerated my heart rate.

I should send her out now.

“Are you alright?” she asked of me, her eyes lingering over my immovable stature that remained in front of the door.

My wife will kill me.

“Allen?”

My son…

“Should we… do you want me to leave?”

“No, Sansa,” I found myself saying.

“I feel just as guilty as you,” she softly replied, and then a made a show to put on her coat again.

“It’s just you are so young,” I explained. “And I’m a married man.”

“And if that wasn’t the case, you would be with me,” she knowingly replied. “Maybe I should go.”

“Sansa, you deserve better than this.”

“There are only three more classes left and then the semester is over. I know after that we won’t… well…”

“I could see you again,” I suggested. “But…”

“Allen.” She dropped her coat down on the table and walked towards me. Her hand reached up to stroke the softness of my chin, letting her eyes linger over the brown and greys of my scruffy beard. “Allen,” she said in a more sweeter tone of voice, before she laid her lips on mine. The kiss was brief, and I let out a low sigh once her lips departed from mine. I hated that she had to lick her lips in front of me, eyes flashing all over my face to decipher its meaning. I hated when she smiled at me, noticing the flash of desire flickering across my sea blue eyes. “Allen,” she spoke in a sultry voice, and applied more pressure to her second kiss, which instantly made me drape the coat off her shoulders and let it crash to the floor.

No more words were spoken between us, our feet traveled across the carpeted floor of my office, and only stopped once we were in front of my couch. I let my hands travel to the bottom of her silky dress, pulling it upwards till it bunched up around her knees. “No stockings today,” I observed. “You must have been cold.” Once it was bunched up to her hips I saw that she was completely naked, and the wetness dripping down her thigh was the most delightful thing I had seen all day. I went mad after that, helping her undo the rest of her dress before I laid her flat upon the couch. “Sansa, you truly are wicked,” I said in a voice that was not my own, a voice of an adulterer- a man running on pure desires as I took in the waves of coppery hair down below. “Wicked, wicked girl.”

She curled her arms around the back of my neck, biting her lip at me as she watched me undo my belt. “I missed you Professor.”

“Allen.”

“No,” she answered me in a sultry voice. “I like ‘Professor’ better.” Her hands brushed my hair upwards from the back, lifting the brown locks in a devious fashion. “And I deserve to be punished.”

“Oh, god.”

My belt was undone, and I did my best to drag down my pants as fast as I could. “Sansa, you’re killing me.”

She merely laid on my couch like a goddess, watching me undress before her. My shirt was off next, and the customary fashion of folding it neatly was suddenly abandoned. Only when I was stark naked, did I climb over her, laying my entire body on the couch to give her some good kisses. She claimed my beard tickled her, and then naughtily suggested it should tickle me further below. “Sansa,” I wailed out with desperation, hating the fact that she was pushing her hands down on my shoulders to direct me between her thighs.

“You know the routine,” she slyly added, and I gave her a darkened look before I let my mouth hover over sex.

“Ummm,” I moaned into her, hungrily lapping it up with my tongue, while I let my fingers dig into her insides. She was losing control now, but it only grew worse when I sucked hard at it, till there was nothing left to find. “Sansa,” I echoed into her sex, before I raised a finger to knob it inside of her. I circled her opening at first, and then I found the right spot to make her screech. Sansa covered her mouth to blot out the rest of it, knowing the hallways were still full of educators and student’s alike. I found that perfect spot, and instantly her hips rocked in the air. She was grinding herself against my hand, and I used my left hand to pump at my hardened cock, needing to feel some fulfilment as well. Oh, but my wife never loved this. I silenced that thought by removing my hand, and waited for Sansa to scold me, before I laid my body over hers. “Hush, you,” I chided. “It will be my cock next, isn’t that what you always wanted.”

“Uh huh.”

“Then here’s your punishment,” I raptured, before let the tip of my cock tease her entrance. “This will teach you not to be so insolent in my lectures,” I teased, while I felt her hips trying to lift off the couch to reach for my hard erection. “Speaking out.”

“Professor,” she wailed.

“Aruging with me in front of the classroom.”

“Please.”

“Saying that I marked your papers wrong!” She silenced the last of my argument by placing her lips on mine, and that’s when I knew I was done for.

 

Petyr

Two days had passed since Sansa had told her clever lie, the lie that narrowingly helped me escape a public execution that would have led to me being thrown out the moon door. As she sat across the table from me, trying the cup of wine I had offered her for the first time, I noticed she no longer looked like a little girl but a woman.

“It’s bitter,” she remarked. The brass coloured cup continued to linger in front of her mouth, blocking my view as if it was done on purpose.

“So, says everyone on their first time.”

“But you like it,” she proposed, once she lowered the cup to the wooden table next to her empty plate of food.

“Maybe, I just pretend too.”

“Mother didn’t like it,” Lord Robin piped up. It was the first time he had spoken this afternoon, a sign that he may escape that deep level of grieving after all. His plate was untouched, however, and when I looked into his red eyes, they were surrounded by puffy eyelids to show just how much he had been crying. Robin fidgeted with the flap of his cloak, letting his milky white fingers rub across the soften material. He looked uncomfortable, and I had half a mind to send him back into his room. No, I must continue to win his favour.

“Would you like to try one, Robin?” I inquired in the smoothest of tones. The boy flatly denied it, claiming his mother would disapprove. His mother was far down on the stony rocks at the bottom of the Vale’s castle, it isn’t likely that she would object to one sip.

Sansa rested a hand on her cousin’s. “You will not eat?”

“I am not hungry.”

“Then would you like to go back to bed?”

“Yes,” he quickly replied. “Will you sleep with me tonight?”

“I will read to you,” she answered in an aimable tone of voice. “But it is not right for a boy your age to sleep with me.”

“You are my cousin.”

“I am,” she accented. “But I am a woman flowered and grown.” I noticed the darkness of her cheeks once she uttered it, the way her hand tightened around her cousin’s hand.

“To you she is your cousin,” I added in. “But to the outside world, Alayne is a bastard, and she may seduce and corrupt our young Lord.”

“Sansa would never do that,” he argued back, though I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was very tired. “Would you, Sansa?”

“No.”

“See Uncle Petyr!”

I gave Sansa a quick look, wishing she would have sided with me on this point. “Of course, Sansa is not capable of such a thing. She is too sweet- too inexperienced.” I smirked after that word, hoping it would leave an uncomfortable feeling for her. “But if word gets out-”

“- there will be no words!”

“You… trust everyone in this castle?”

“On my life, I do.”

Then it will be a very short one. I glanced in Sansa’s direction, and could tell she was thinking relatively the same thing.

“Sweet Robin,” the young woman cooed. “I will help you to bed.”

“And you will read to me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And stay with me?”

“For an hour or two,” she assured him, as she helped the sickly little boy out of his seat. “But since the death of…” she paused, noticing how white her fair cousin was getting. “…I have not had proper sleep either, I hope I may tonight.” She glanced her blue eyes in my direction, and I mistook its meaning. What was that look for? “We should wish Uncle Petyr goodnight.”

I bowed low to the young lordship, and he responded by running into my arms and giving me a tight hug. I patted his head, hoping that would be enough for him to untangle himself out of my arms. “Will you not walk with us?” he asked, and then took my hand to lead me forward. He was so much like his mother, always wanting me to be near. At least I won’t have to bed him, I thought, and couldn’t help but smile at the fact that my bed would be empty tonight. At long last…

“It seems the wine is taking its effect,” Sansa hushed close to my ear. I turned to her, absolutely puzzled by her statement. “Your smiling to yourself.”

“I was thinking good thoughts.”

“You would never know you were a man in mourning.” I gave her a look to quickly silence her, hoping the tired little boy didn’t hear her last statement.

“Uncle Petyr,” the boy called out, as he swung my hand wildly between us. “Take San- Alayne’s hand too.”

“Gladly,” I replied, and snatched at her hand only to give a chaste kiss on the tops of it. She blushed profusely, much like she did the day I kissed her out in the snow.

“Why did you kiss her hand?” a voice asked to the left of me. Robin looked at me questionably, trying to decipher its meaning.

“Because that is what a man does to a woman,” I lightly replied. The boy’s dark brown eyes glanced between the pair of us. “You may do it to Alayne too,” I suggested, hoping it would lighten the tense atmosphere around us. The boy isn’t jealous of us, surely.

“No,” Robin chirped. “I’m to marry Alayne, you can kiss her hand all you want.”

I shot a glance to Sansa in the corner of my eye, and saw she was just as displeased as I imagined her to be.

“Oh, here we are,” Sansa said with false merriment, as she took in the sight of her cousin’s chamber room door. “Robin, wish Uncle Petyr goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Uncle Petyr,” he exclaimed with another tight hug, nearly crushing me as he jabbed his chin into my abdomen. I patted his back softly and waited ever so patiently for him to set me free. “Will you not wish Sansa goodnight too?”

“Yes, I won’t see her for the rest of the evening,” I mused aloud. My eyes glanced all over her from top to bottom, noting how well fitted her dress of mourning looked on her. It gave colour to her pale cheeks and frosty blue eyes, that was as cold as the raging storm outside. Still, she was very beautiful. “Will my daughter not give me a goodnight kiss?”

She let go of my hand, smoothing it down the front of her dress before she leaned in. Her kiss was light on the side of my cheek, fleeting, gone the second her lips were laid upon my face. She was the first to flee into Lord Robin’s room. Ah, so telling stories doesn’t seem that bad after all.

I stayed outside the chamber room door for a few minutes, listening to her delicate-like voice that told stories she no longer believed in. Life is not a song, I reflected to myself, before I made my way back to my own chambers.


I had taken a bath, lathered myself in oils and was now sitting in my comfy bathrobe while reading some very important documents about the economic state of the Eyrie as a whole. I was chewing on some mint leaves when I heard the door knock, and the familiar voice of one of my maid’s on the other side of the door. I gave my ascension that she could come in, grateful that she had a container full of firewood to add to my dwindling fireplace. “It’s going to be a cold night,” was all she said, and since she was of so low status, I felt no need to respond to her.

She was gone after a few minutes, I took my papers over to the fireplace, hoping the heat would warm my cold limbs up as I stretched myself out on the chair. I was just sipping on a glass of mulled wine when a knocking of the door was heard for the second time tonight. I knew for a fact, that it wasn’t my servant. I lifted my dagger off the mantlepiece above my fireplace, and stalked my way towards the door. “Who is it?”

“Alayne.”

I opened the door slowly, peering into the darkness until her pale white face came into view. “You shouldn’t be out.”

“I have to talk to you.”

“Are you alone?” I whispered, since I was unsure of our current situation.

“Yes.”

I lowered the dagger, and she noticed the sheen of it under the dim firelight. “You can come in,” I murmured, and opened the door a bit wider before she slipped through. I stepped out into my entranceway, looking to the left and right before I stepped back into my room. “You know the rules.”

“I needed to talk to you.”

“Sansa, its unsafe for you to be about at night.”

“It was the only time we can speak alone,” she insisted, and with that she covered up her night gown more to show it was more than the cold that hit here. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“Okay, what is that you want?”

“You think the Lord’s of the Vale believed us?”

“If they don’t, then my heavy purse and Arbour Gold should keep their tongue at bay. What benefit is there in conducting such treachery now? Lysa is dead, and now all the power lies in their hands-”

“-and yours.”

“Yes, mine as well,” I assented. “And yours, Sansa.”

She looked to be in a sulky mood, maybe second guessing everything after all. I went around her and stood before the fire, laying my dagger down in a dark corner so she wouldn’t have a sight of it again. The cup of wine was raised to my lips and I drank it deeply while eyeing her. It was only a matter of time till she revealed the true matter to me. “Must I marry Robin?”

“No.”

“He is but a child, but he is in love with me already. He requested another kiss from me, when I was leaving.”

“Do you complain when I kiss you?”

“You never asked for it on the lips.”

“But sweet Robin did?”

“Yes,” she grudgingly replied. Sansa positioned herself on the other side of the fire, stringing her fingers through her long hair idly. She appeared to be stressed, or was it worry, it was so hard to tell what played in the back of her mind. Sansa wore a mask, though it wasn’t as heavily cemented as mine. “He’s a terrible kisser,” she said out of the blue.

I laughed at that remark and couldn’t help but place one foot forward to be nearer to her. “Is he? You should have felt Lysa’s! I’m starting to think its an Arryn’s trait.”

“You…” she stopped running her fingers through her hair and looked up at me guiltily. “You’ve been the best person I kissed so far.”

“You’re young. There will be others.”

“Yes, but yours was so…”

I blinked at her profusely and had no choice but to set the cup of wine down to give her my full attention.

“Sudden.”

“Yes, it was,” I agreed with her, and found my finger rubbing the bottom of my goatee. “Wasn’t it?”

“Unexpected,” she surmised, and then made her best efforts to look away from me.

“And you’re still thinking about it,” I deliberated aloud. “That kiss.”

“Why did you do it?”

“The same reason Lord Robin does. Because I can.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then you tell me why?”

“Because I look like my mother,” she said with spitefulness. Her hands dropped down to the sides with a certain level of defeat. She really is bothered by that fact, I realized, and then took another careful step forward to be in her shade.

Fire crackled in the quiet room, a wave of heat brushed against the sides of my legs. Sansa fidgeted with the ties to her night gown, suddenly aware of our uncustomary way of dress. “You know there is difference between a kiss and a kiss.

“What do you mean?”

“There are different kinds of kisses.”

“How?” she asked in all her nativity.

“Well, some people like to use their tongue… maybe even their teeth.” She grimaced at the thought of it, a thing that made me clearly amused. “And then, there are different places to kiss.”

“The cheek and mouth.”

“No, even more than that.”

She blinked suddenly, her cheek brightening under my hardened glare. “Some men like to kiss a woman’s breast.” I halted after that statement, letting my eyes linger over the certain subject matter; Sansa made sure to tighten her night gown in front of me. “And then there are others?”

“All over the body,” she boredly replied.

“Yes, you can say that.”

“You were thinking something else.”

“It would not be proper to speak of it, not with your young age.”

“I am a woman flowered.”

“So, you keep saying,” I relayed with disinterest, and then took a small step away. I let my arm lean over the mantle, my fingers just teasing the ends of her hair that was illuminated by the brilliant firelight.

“Where?” she suddenly asked. “Where were you thinking?”

I was thinking?”

“You will not tell me because you think I will be embarrassed.”

“You forget that I’m a brothel keeper, Sansa, I shouldn’t share such secrets with you.”

“Did you watch them do it?”

“Yes,” I said in a low tenor. “I had to make sure they were performing well.” I scratched the side of my face as I remarked, “My customers needed to be well pleased.”

She looked embarrassed for my sake and lowered her head in quiet contemplation. “I know so little of these things.”

“You are the Lady of Winterfell, I should hope so.” To my surprise, Sansa came closer, letting herself linger in the center of the fire where she would take the full blast of heat. “You don’t agree with me?”

“How will I be able to please my husband if I don’t know anything?”

“Tyrion?”

“No.”

“Robin.”

“No, not Robin.”

“Then who, may I ask?”

“I don’t know,” she softly replied, though her eyes remained fixated on mine. “You haven’t picked one out for me yet?”

“See, you know me well.”

She chose not to reply, but daringly stared into my eyes for a lot longer than she should. “Where would you have… kissed them?

“Them?”

“A girl, if you had a chance.”

I smirked at her, amused that she was continually broaching the subject. “Shall I show you?” Sansa backed away quickly, going back to her side of the fireside. “I won’t touch you.” I took a small step forward, while pushing myself off the mantel piece. Ever so slowly I bent down on one knee, and when she didn’t move the other. “I would kiss her…” I whispered in a low, raspy sort of voice. “Here.” My mouth hovered just over the intended area, her thick gown was the only thing standing in the way from her sex. I could almost smell it, and it was then I realized she was probably wet for me. I darted my eyes up knowingly, she caught the meaning in my eyes and then quickly backed away.

“I should go,” she uttered out, and declined a goodnight kiss from me most fervently before she briskly walked out the door. I had to contain my laughter, as I watched her silhouette slip through the shadows down the hall. She’ll come back to my rooms soon enough, I mused, and hoped I’d give her something to think about tonight. After all, who knows what tomorrow will bring…