1 Upside Down

WARNINGS!!! Okay, this fic is a very DARK fic, it deals in themes of (Captivity, Anal sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Gang Rape, Pegging, Spanking, and Bondage!) Very not nice things to happen to the not so poor Ramsay Bolton… sorry man, I have no pity and no regrets! XD

Chapter One

Upside Down

The taste of copper was his first recognition of waking. Ramsay gasped pulling sustenance from the cold air with a heavy chest as the pain cascaded through him and awareness finally took hold. He could tell at least one of his ribs had been broken, and other than severe aching, a few cuts and bruises, and a massive headache, Ramsay was no worse for wear surprisingly. If he had taken that bastard prisoner, by now the man would have less appendages, flayed off skin, and most assuredly would have been screaming for clemency (which there would be none.)

Ramsay wasn't quite sure when he'd lost consciousness; it was sometime after that traitor knight's watchmen, had sank his fists vigorously into him. He sputtered lifting his head shakily to take in his surroundings. Ramsay's eyes were encrusted with blood one fiercely blinking while the other was squeezed shut with swelling. The room was dark, but even with lack of sight, he knew well where he was; it was his play room. He'd trained Reek to obey here, he'd taught many to obey here.

Oddly he was tied to his cross backwards he realized as he tugged at the restraints holding his wrists. He was fastened well, so well his hands were losing circulation. He flexed his fingers a few times to feel the tingling wash of pins and needles. His feet had been secured in the same fashion he comprehended dully as his head slumped forward once more, and his world faded into darkness.

It was many hours before he awoke again to the stinging sensation of something damp being pressed against his swollen eye. He jerked his head up suddenly, and Sansa took a step back. This man had driven a spike of fear so deep within her that even with him tied as he was, she reflexively flinched with over caution.

The balk was very slight, but Ramsay saw it and a smug smile breeched his split lips, "My dearest wife. I see you've come to tend to me. As a good woman should," Ramsay spoke with assuredness although it came out in a rasp from long hours of unconsciousness.

Sansa stood stiffly, no readable expression on her face as she took a step forward placing herself in front of him once more. She dabbed water from a small bowl in her hand and squeezed out the excess water as she returned to the task of cleaning off his face that she'd been performing before he'd awoken.

His lip twitched and his smile faltered a moment as his mind whirred unable to understand why she would go through the trouble of washing his face, "What's the point? You and I both know I won't be alive much longer… unless… unless you just can't stay away from me… or should I say my cock? Is that it? Did I give it to you so right and proper you just had to get another taste before they do away with me?" Ramsay hacked violently, but his grin remained, and his eyes stared madness back at her.

Sansa's eyes moved up to stare at him coldly, "I was never interested in anything you thought you could offer me. I'm more interested now in taking from you."

He glared now, his grin turned into a snarl as he spat, "What are you going to take? This house? My life? It was forfeit once your bastard brother took the keep back. That's of no doing of yours though my dear; you've taken nothing."

The corner of her lip turned up in a barely veiled smirk, "True. I did not take back this keep with my own hand, and I will not be the one to take your life, but mark my words Ramsay, before you die, I will take everything you are."

Ramsay lunged his face forward in an attempt to intimidate her. Rage poured over him to see the way she was looking at him; he wanted to pluck her eyes out for having the nerve!

Sansa only scoffed, "You want so badly to be in control, of yourself, your fate, anything really, but you're not are you? You never were, and that burns you. Even as that may be; I'm going to prove to you that you do have so much I can still take from you, and it will be by my command or my hand that it's taken. You'll beg for death by the time we're done."

Ramsay leaned back chuckling softly, "You? Sweet, sweet Sansa?" His mood shifted mercurially to a firm seriousness, "You're making a mistake. Untie me; right now, and all will be forgiven."

Sansa's brow furrowed studying the confident look he gave her as if he truly believed that she would bow to him once more, after everything. The audacity of the man was truly stunning. She stiffened lifting her chin regally, "lean forward; unless you want your face to remain covered in your own spittle and blood."

Ramsay's shark smile returned as he slumped back down, "As you wish, wife. Who am I to deny Lady Bolton her inclination to care for her husband? I suppose it is only right that a lord look presentable after all."

She didn't have to clean him up to do what she'd planned to do to him, but he liked games, and now she planned to play one with him. Cruelty was always best served with an ounce of kindness and false hope.

Ramsay groaned relaxing under the ministrations Sansa afforded him as she moved the rag across his wounded face swollen in several places. He stared lazily at her only closing his one good eye as she swiped the cloth across it. Otherwise, he just watched her silently almost seemingly bored.

She stared back as she worked trying not to grimace, and once done, she backed away to give him a full look over. His one good eye followed her as the smirk returned to his face. She smirked back although it wasn't for the reasons he would ever imagine. Hers was because she was taking joy in the fact that she looked forward to the moment his smugness would fade and never return.

"Well? Do I meet inspection?" He snorted incredulously still trying to stare her down.

She turned away and walked a few steps to a small table holding a large searing knife. She wrapped her hand around its handle and watched his body go rigid through her peripheral. When she turned back to face him, Ramsay had put on a brave face straining to keep his grin in place, but she could tell it was forced.

He let out a nervous laugh, "What? Are you going to cut me now? Wouldn't that just defeat the purpose of you wiping off all the blood?"

Sansa said nothing as she took resolute step after resolute step towards him all the while her expression remaining stony. Her flesh was writhing in goosebumps though; she was terrified, but she would not let him see that side of her ever again. He'd taken enough from her, it was time he knew what it felt like to be a victim. She stated evenly, "I have no intention of cutting you or maiming you in any way. In fact, nothing I do to you will leave any lasting physical damage. I'm not like you Ramsay; I have limits, but you'll still break all the same.

His laugh stuttered out a little more loudly in obvious disbelief, "You … you think that a small slip of a girl like yourself can break me? Without injuring me? Either you take me for a weakling, or you're far out of your league girl. I tend to vote on the latter!"

She didn't give him the satisfaction of a response as she kept moving up to stand directly behind him.

Ramsay's jaw tightened as he swallowed hard, and his heart beat took on an erratic hammering in his chest. He braced himself to feel the cold steel cutting into him, after all, he'd lied plenty to those he'd tortured, and it would be no surprise to him if she was using pretty words to get his guard down.

Sansa paused for a long moment letting him simmer in his own anticipation before she moved into action once more. Ramsay tensed as he felt his shirt raise, but it wasn't his flesh that she cut into. The knife instead tore through his leathers and undershirt. His tattered clothing now hung limply leaving the middle of his back exposed.

Sansa traced the knife lightly up his spine, and Ramsay's body couldn't help but to release a small tremble as he twisted his head back to try and watch what she would do next. She saw fear in his eyes, and the sight of it filled her with a flush of heat. She liked that look on his face. Sansa made quick work cutting each sleeve off now leaving Ramsay topless.

"I knew it. You do want me!" Ramsay stated gleefully as he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to remove some of the constant ache that had settled in his joints, "Oh Sansa, you're a twisted little cunt aren't you? You should have let me know beforehand; we could have had so much fun together."

Sansa responded by taking the knife to the right leg of his pants and shearing it off in one rugged swipe. She repeated the action with the other leg and pulled the shreds of what was left away from Ramsay. He clenched as she did so his ragged breathing more prominent now as she'd ripped his clothes from him and left him completely bare to her. She could tell this bothered him, and she allowed herself a small satisfied smile, "I still plan for us to have fun together, my dear husband."

Ramsay was straining to look at her from the angle he was capable of turning to see her. He was no longer smiling recognizing fully that whatever she had planned for him, it wasn't going to be what he had originally expected of her. All the playfulness left his tone as he addressed her now, "You're a lady Sansa! What… whatever you're thinking, I beg you to reconsider your course of action! Whatever you do now, you can't take back!"

"Oh, I know quite well what I'm capable of doing Ramsay, but you don't. You will though," she stated simply as she moved over to the small table once more bending down to pick up a bucket. The water sloshed about as she brought it back over to where she previously stood. She said nothing more as she pulled a scrub brush from the bucket and began roughly scrubbing him down.

The shock of the cold water had Ramsay's back arch as he growled out, "Have you gone mad?!" Sansa ignored him continuing to scrub away raking his skin harshly with a horsehair bristled brush meant for scouring floors. He was confused by her behavior, and his body strained violently now even though it hurt to do so.

Sansa worked him over fully cleaning every exposed inch and enjoying very much the way he jerked about while she took extra care to insure his privates were cleaned. He was doing his best not to make a sound, but the ragged breathing, as well as the tensing and rippling of his body revealed his discomfort. He relaxed a little when she dropped the brush back into bucket and moved to grab a towel to dry him off.

"Do you plan to play dress up next?" He cocked his head to the side giving her a poised smile. These Starks were an odd bunch, and he was starting to wonder if this whole affair was an elaborate means to present him in front of some farce of a trial. This wasn't king's landing, and they weren't the types of nobles to play such charades, but it might be a show of power to do so and show themselves to be civil even in the face of war to those that had taken up arms with the Starks to retake Winterfell.

Sansa leveled a look of seriousness on him, "No; you won't be needing any clothes anytime soon." She didn't give him a chance to query further as she turned and exited the dungeon.

Ramsay watched her go, his body involuntarily shivering in the chill of the dank room. Once she'd gone, he pulled violently on the ropes that bound him exhausting himself to the point of panting by the time she'd returned. In her hand, she carried a basket that she walked back over to the table and set down. Ramsay craned his neck to see its contents, but she was standing in front of the opening as her hand moved around inside of it keeping its contents a mystery.

The first item withdrawn from the basket was a thick piece of leather tapered at the end into a handle. Sansa pulled it out hefting it experimentally before turning back to Ramsay, who stared daggers at her.

Was that a… strap? Seriously? Ramsay was almost offended but otherwise relieved it wasn't something worse. This girl was a fool and an amateur. He smirked at her, "Is that all you could come up with? I suppose you always were rather dull," he hoped to anger her into reacting harshly and wearing herself out or to sap her confidence from her, and make her back out altogether. He hadn't affected her though he knew as she strode towards him with the implement, head held high, and expression determined.

Sansa took a deep breath steeling herself before she reared back and brought the strap down across Ramsay's backside harshly.

It'd been a very long time since he had felt this particular sting, and his breath caught in a harsh gasp as the weight of the instrument brought home a presence that radiated a resonating bite that Ramsay had not expected to cling to his flesh. He was so used to being the one delivering pain; he'd never received pain in such a capacity as torture. It certainly wasn't much fun on the receiving end; there was a certain clarity about being held helpless to just accept what was given that left the one on the reciprocating side unable to concentrate on anything else. Her chosen means of delivering pain may not leave devastating physical damage, but it made every nerve ending alive and ready to ignite acutely.

Sansa continued to lay heavy handed lash after lash decorating his pale flesh with angry red welts.

It wasn't until she'd started to move over already inflamed flesh did Ramsay start to lose his composure as he snarled out an inarticulate growl of rage yanking on his restraints, "You pathetic little twat! What do you think this is going to do to me other than make me very angry!" Ramsay hissed dangerously as he flexed his fingers and balled his fists once more. The truth was, this was starting to really hurt, and he didn't know how much longer he'd hold out before she started to actually get under his skin.

She answered his angry retort by squaring up and hitting him harder with continuous even strokes. She'd never done anything to this extreme, but she had helped her mother growing up by spanking her younger siblings to keep them in line (of course never this severe, but it did give her the technique.) The strap had been no stranger in the Stark keep, and when she'd decided she'd wanted to have a chance to punish Ramsay herself, this was the first thing her mind went to. It may have been laughable to Ramsay when they started, but she could see that she was slowly wearing down the exterior he'd put in place, and once she'd broken him this way, she'd move to the next stage and break him further. She wasn't a sadist at heart, but being his wife for a time, Ramsay had taught her enough.

By the third round, Ramsay was visibly clenching in anticipation, growling out, and twitching with every connection of the strap trying to just keep his anger at the forefront of his mind hoping she'd eventually grow weary, "Are you done yet?! This is ridiculous!" He shouted through clenched teeth. His anger was starting to slip as the realization that she was pacing herself sank in. How long exactly did she expect to keep this up?

"Is it? And no, I've got plans to keep this up for quite some time. In fact, you're going to apologize profusely to me and ask me for my forgiveness before I'll stop," Sansa stated flatly.

Ramsay forced a laugh, "That's never going to happen! You'll beat me unconscious before I give you an apology whore!"

"Suit yourself," Sansa quipped changing hands and starting in on him again with solid unerring strikes that she continued to lay down in succession in the same areas she'd hit multiple times.

Ramsay's flesh was turning a dark hue of deep red that would pass into shades of purple as the skin began to bruise over. As a last ditch effort to keep his dignity, he railed every expletive he could think of at her and bucked viciously doing his best to shake the base of the cross he was strapped to, but it was solid and would not budge. His body collapsed finally in exhaustion once he'd spent all of his energy, but she never wavered. The ceaseless burn that continued to get more sensitive wore away at his resolve, and he shouted with as much animosity as he could muster, "Enough! Sansa, enough already!"

If he'd expected her to stop due to his command, he was to be sorely mistaken; she did however reiterate calmly, "I told you what you need to do Ramsay, apologize and plead for my forgiveness."

He wasn't sure if it was the pain or the unruffled response she gave him, but a panic had begun to crop in Ramsay as he realized it was clear that he wasn't going to win this battle with her. He was going to end up eating his words and doing just what she told him, and the thought of giving that much to her was killing him.

It had begun as a slow trickle of grunts and occasional yelps when they'd first started, but by the time Sansa had reached the fifth round on already very tender flesh, Ramsay was bleating drawn out screams of pain. He didn't want to play her game anymore as he snarled with the last of his contempt, "Alright! Alright! You win! Sansa stop already! I'm sorry! Forgive me!"

It was Sansa's turn to laugh, "That wasn't sincere at all. You're going to have to do better."

Ramsay couldn't believe his ears, he'd debased himself enough just to let the words pass through his lips, he'd be damned if he gave her anymore lip service as he raged, "You want an I'm sorry? For what! Driving an arrow into your brother's back perhaps? Well my dear wife, I'm REALLY not sorry! I WISH I'd had more time with him to cut little pieces off the whelp and force feed them down his throat until he CHOKED to death!"

Sansa gasped, and Ramsay laid his head back and let out a victorious laugh stilted and weak as it was, it did his heart good to hear that exclamation come from her. It was a small win to know he'd caused her pain even in this state. He'd stunned her momentarily, and if she was the simpering girl he'd come to know in the bedroom, he expected that she would lose her conviction, run off crying with hurt feelings, and finally abandon this silly crusade.

She did not, instead, Sansa took the strap in both hands and swung it full force into Ramsay in swift intermittent slaps that echoed off the walls with their severity.

Ramsay's eyes bugged in surprise at the impact as he let out a piercing scream of agony. The pain ricocheted through him at such a velocity his mind could barely comprehend where one swat began and another one ended. He was already severely pained, and the rate that she was hitting him left no room to prepare for the punishment she unleashed on him now.

It only took moments before Ramsay had had all he could take and called out desperately, "I… I didn't mean that! I was only angry! I… I'm sorry! Lady Sansa! Please! I'm sorry! Forgive me! Forgive me!" He twisted and bucked, but she showed no signs of relenting. He'd struck a chord in her, and she didn't care that he screamed bloody murder now. All Sansa saw was Rickon's face, and as tears streamed down her own face, she took her anguish out on Ramsay viciously until she heard his voice crack through high pitched shrieks, "Mercy! Please!"

"Mercy?" She hissed angrily carrying the word with another lash, "You* give* no* mercy!" She yelled bitterly annunciating every word with a stinging swat.

Ramsay had passed his threshold for pain a while ago and now sobbed miserably, "Sansa! Please! Please show mercy! You're a good woman! Please stop!" It was true, she was better than him, and he could only hope that she would take the high road and give him a reprieve from the excruciating taxation she took from him now. Ramsay's limbs shook as he shuttered in both pain and humiliation; she'd stated she would break him, he hadn't believed it was possible, but she had indeed broken him, and he loathed himself to have let her drag him this low. His body sagged in thankfulness when he heard the implement hit the floor with a thud.

Sansa hadn't had the strength to hold the strap any longer, but she'd accomplished the first part of her goal to make that twisted prick fold. It was music to hear his soft pitiful cries now. He wasn't nearly as tough as he'd thought he was Sansa thought contentedly. He'd actually crumpled far faster than she'd expected, but she supposed only the truly weak of character would do the sick things to people that Ramsay did to begin with.

Having fully regained her own composure now, she wiped at her eyes and sniffed before she strode over in front of him glimpsing his tear stained face before he ducked his head in shame not wanting her to see his tears. Her mouth formed a firm line, "Look at me." He didn't, he couldn't bring himself to as his body continued to quake with his attempts to control himself, "I said look at me Ramsay. If you do not, I'm going to return for my strap to continue wearing out your hide."

This was enough to get his attention and know she was quite serious. The thought of returning to her strapping him was enough encouragement for him to comply, and he shakily darted his one good eye up to look at her plaintively. Never had a woman brought him so low, not even a man had, but for him it was worse with it having been the weaker sex to have done so. Ramsay was a picture of misery with his lip quivering at the loss of pride he felt. It was a far contrast to the arrogance he'd always exuded in front of her; it was satisfying to behold, and he could see his wretchedness pleased her. He felt sick as he averted his gaze as soon as he'd acquiesced to her demand. His face lowered scrunching up in barely contained grief before finding he couldn't hold back the tears that flooded forth like a broken damn now as he hiccupped in air feeling wholly sorry for himself to have let himself reach such a state at her hands. It was more humiliating to cry now in front of her after having held so much power over Sansa for so long. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be!

Sansa nodded pleased with the results. This monster had made her cry so many times delighting in her torment, to see him cracked and vulnerable before her gave her gratification. She wasn't finished though, he had much farther to fall before she'd let him rest.