Eowyn The Cage Ch 12A

[

Setting the scene:

the events of this chapter take place at Dunharrow. Aragorn, who Éowyn has unsuccessfully tried to seduce, and the rest of his Rangers will depart for the Paths of the Dead in the morning.]

Sweat.

Heat.

Need.

Panting with lust, she nevertheless forced herself to remain still. She needed to think.

Her encounter with Aragorn ended terribly, it was true, but as she fled blindly through the night she was surprised by the swift onset of numbness, both to her feelings and to her surroundings. She no longer remembered entering her own lodgings, nor — given that she was still naked — how she slipped past her guard without incident.

Perhaps he was too shocked to react. Well, add another humiliation to my ever-longer tally.

Lying in bed, unwilling to confront the reality that Aragorn not only didn't return her love, but in fact rejected her entire, her focus instead shifted to her baffling failure to just seduce him. In a way, she was no longer thinking about him, but instead about herself and her own needs. She burned with unquenched desire of an extremity she'd never before felt. Her legs fell open as she probed her incredibly sensitive sex. It was drenched.

I need to be fucked

, she realized.

Hard, for hours, and without limits.

Just how she knew she wasn't equal to her own desires eluded her understanding, but somehow she

knew

that self-pleasure wouldn't suffice. Not this night. She required a partner.

Someone to pound me into forgetfulness. Someone to fill and stretch and ruin me until I can remember neither pain, nor loss, nor even my own name.

Never before had she confronted her lusts so directly, but there was no time to wonder at the change. Her need was too immediate.

She considered her options.

Théo and Elfi? No, and for all the same reasons as before. Gréor? Surely not, for that memory not only bears its own regret, but it can't be recaptured without repeating the same mistake. The young trainees? Insufficient to my needs, even in tandem, and once again I'd have to resort to manipulation to cover my tracks. So: who, then? A new partner? There are some among the Rohirrim that I've long desired and who would surely be full-willing — the handsome Marshal Elfhelm, for example — but they aren't here yet. Still, there has to be

someone

in this camp worth bedding. Someone who suffers under the same grinding urge to couple without consequence, even if Aragorn....

With a jolt of clarity and a surge of anticipation, the obvious solution presented itself. Hastily pulling a thin nightdress over her naked body, she sprinted from her quarters.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

From a shadowed corner, Elladan spoke mind-to-mind.

Have we done the right thing?

Elrohir, still recovering from the effort he'd expended to initiate the rite, answered weakly from his own dark hiding place.

We shall see. But I think so. Still, it might not go easy with her, this evening. Or so she may perceive.

Elladan smiled.

I suspect she will scarcely mind. And she is in no

physical

danger.

He paused.

How do you think she will find the clarity she requires, in the aftermath?

Elrohir looked down at her perspiring form. Her legs twitched as if she was running in her sleep.

She will not find it right away. Whatever her imagination conjures, understanding will only come through consideration, and time for quiet thought is short. For all of us. It may be many days before she is able to confront what we have wrought. Still, she will never again be quite the same, now or in the future. In this all my hopes and fears rest.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

Éowyn burst into the tent, and all conversation stopped.

I didn't expect so many! Still....

The possibilities raced through her like fire. She could practically

feel

them moving inside her, and nearly collapsed from arousal at the thought.

I may be overwhelmed, but I will experience pleasure unlike any I've ever known.

They were in various stages of undress; men in efficient preparation for sleep, travel, and battle, acknowledging neither ceremony nor modesty. Her own raiment clung to her sweaty form, revealing her slender curves to all. The chill night air elevated her nipples to iron points that threatened to burst through her nightdress.

They looked at her with a mixture of surprise, inquisition, suspicion, and candid appraisal. She countered with an open invitation.

"Rangers of the North...is there aught I can do to ease your rest?"

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

There were words, but she didn't remember them.

There were warnings, but she didn't heed them.

For a brief time she stood alone. Listening. Speaking. Both. Neither. The greater part of her was indifferent to what was said, or why, or its purpose, knowing only that it delayed the inevitable. Time, for her, began the moment demanding lips first crashed into hers.

With a passion akin to desperation she returned the kiss.

This is Argonil? Arabold?

They were twins, indistinguishable to her eyes.

Not that it matters.

Tongues danced, bodies adhered. Her fire enflamed his, and she felt his tumescence rising as he pressed against her.

Someone else approached her from behind.

This is the other: Arabold? Or Argonil? It still matters not.

Whoever it was, he was everywhere; squeezing her ass, clutching at her sensitive breasts, chewing on her neck, pressing his rigid prod into her taut cheeks. She was already losing herself, letting go of any hope of control or direction, willing them by her acquiescence to have her in any and every way they pleased.

They gathered to raise and discard her wisp of a raiment. Bared before a room full of horny and unpredictable strangers, she felt no fear. Only desire. They devoured her form, their appraisal thrilling her pride, their intentions boiling the air. The very thought of what was to come weakened her knees and set her sex aflame.

Am I really going to do this?

Her body answered for her.

The man before her —

Arabold,

she decided — clasped a turgid nipple between his lips, teasing it with his tongue while pinching and tugging at the other. Argonil reached for her sex and deftly abraded her clit. Higher and higher they built her, yet as she neared her peak they stepped away. Panting, sweating with need, she swayed forward, then back, searching for contact.

Four surrounded her. Brethil, with his handsome face and gentle strokes. Arlepheg, his fat tongue tasting her flesh. Dûrthéod, gripping her jaw in his strong hand and forcing her to look directly into his eyes while his companions pleasured her. Someone gently massaged her breasts, a tongue probed between her legs, and two insistent fingers forced their way into her open mouth. She gasped, suckling as they pressed deep, clutching the hand that held them there, unsure if she was trying to remove them or hold them in place. Malegil's long fingers caressed her buttocks, prying open her cheeks to circle her sensitive anus with his agile tongue. The fingers that occupied her mouth were wrenched away and buried in her sex, thrusting forcefully, while Arlepheg joined Brethil in tending to her breasts. She cried out in pleasure, approaching climax as they moved around her body.

Once again she was abandoned before reaching it. She panted with unfulfilled arousal, silently begging for completion.

Malegil's wet finger pressed through her sphincter, carefully working itself in and out as she moaned. For a moment the rest were content to stare, and she wondered at her complete lack of embarrassment over being anally probed in front of an audience. Perhaps it was the surety that such a display could, for her, only end one way that filled her with sufficient anticipation to obliterate any remaining shred of modesty. Dûrthéod roughly gripped her hair and pulled her mouth to his wiry chest. She licked and kissed her way around his flesh, flickering her tongue across his nipples, until he wrenched her back to his lips for a penetrating kiss. Argonil and Arabold paid homage to her tits, cradling them with their hands and then pinching her nipples so hard that she groaned on the border of pleasure and pain.

As if orchestrated by a silent conductor, all save Dûrthéod moved aside. With a fierce look in his eyes, he clutched her buttocks with one hand and pulled her wet pussy onto his plunging fingers, sliding another into her rosebud to pin her in position. Her head fell backward as she came, crying out nonsensical syllables, liquid arousal flowing over his invading digits. All the way through her orgasm he penetrated her holes, and it wasn't until her breathing slowed that he moved away.

Éowyn's pliant body was lifted and laid upon a table draped with a hide blanket. Brethil settled between her legs, pushing her thighs open and making tender, delicate love to her sex. One by one, mouths claimed her breasts, her lips, her stomach, her neck, her ears, her flanks, even her hands, but her focus was on the magic being woven between her nether lips. She was rising skyward again, but he backed away, leaving her whimpering at yet another arrested climax.

Arlepheg replaced Brethil, and the contrast in styles was immense. Where Brethil feathered, Arlepheg abraded and pummeled. Still, the contrast was exhilarating, and her cunt exploded in rapture. The rest of her body followed, pumping against the fat tongue worming deep inside her. As he brought her to the very brink, her channel tightening with the imminent arrival of her orgasm, he too moved away.

Writing, she begged them to continue. "Please, please, finish me."

Argonil's tongue dipped inside her next, just for a moment. Then Arabold's. Then Argonil's. Over and over they traded her pussy between them, and in fits and starts she again built to her long-awaited peak. But they didn't let her reach it.

Malegil leaned forward, laving her pussy with long, artistic strokes. His tongue ducked to her anus, swirling around the entrance and thrusting within, then moved back to her blood-engorged opening, pushing his tongue inside while a finger worked into her ass. She yelped in ecstasy, but even more loudly when he too abandoned her. She was whimpering now, pleading without coherent words for the release they were denying her.

With a dangerous grin Dûrthéod forced his face into her sex, withholding nothing. Moments later, he pulled a screaming orgasm from her overstimulated body, and she nearly heaved herself off the table with the force of it.

Two men imprisoned her ankles, stretching her legs as wide as they would go, leaving her cunt obscenely open to any who would feast on it. And feast they did, over and over, one after another, tongues and fingers working around, along, and into her liquid folds. She quickly lost count of the number of orgasms she was allowed, but the tally fell far short of those she was teasingly, maddeningly denied. Eventually it was her who locked her arms around her legs, presenting her sodden hole for their consumption, her head pounding against the table with each ecstatic peak and the extended frustration that preceded it.

After a while they rolled her to her stomach, elevating her pelvis with a makeshift bolster and parting her knees so she was as exposed as before. A greedy tongue penetrated her dripping sex, driving her onward without pause, for now there was no longer any question of denial. Now it was a test of stamina, a quest to see just how many times they could make her come before she couldn't take any more.

They might be in for a surprise, there.

With the exception of the twins, whose techniques were essentially indistinguishable, their styles were deliciously different, and while each paid homage to her cunt the others explored the rest of her body. No longer was Malegil the only one to focus on her ass; many different hands spread her cheeks while a procession of tongues and fingers probed her rear entrance. That she so greatly enjoyed being penetrated from behind was still a mystery to her; that she was so wantonly submitting to such perversion while on display in a room full of men turned her on beyond imagination. Her anticipation built as her rear channel was lubricated and stretched for what she hoped would be heretofore unprecedented pleasure.

I guess I'll soon find out just how much I

really

crave anal sex.

Adrift on what seemed an endless ocean of release, she was suddenly and sharply brought back to earth by the crack of a palm against her upturned buttocks. The slap of skin on skin reverberated for a moment before more hands joined in, striking her with measured force, spanking her for pleasure rather than punishment. Several fingers continued working in and out of her anus, and she cried out in delighted submission as her rear end was thoroughly violated.

More fingers returned to her pussy, matching those in her ass thrust for thrust, and she pumped against the dual intrusion, moaning in helpless ecstasy, while Brethil levered her head upward for an intense kiss. Hands mauled her now-exposed tits, squeezing her nipples until she whimpered, yet she reveled in the way her body was being played like a rough instrument. Her loudest cry yet was lost inside Brethil's mouth as she convulsed in climax, her orgasmic fluids soaking the bolster.

Everyone backed away and she collapsed onto the table, quivering with aftershocks. Eventually, feeling uncharacteristically bereft, she looked up at the men who surrounded her. Lust burned in their eyes, but they remained motionless...save for Arlepheg, who was busily sampling the juices clinging to his glistening fingers.

With as sinuous a motion as she could manage, she swung her legs from the table and approached Brethil. Stroking his muscular chest, she placed gentle kisses all over his exposed flesh, then slowly lowered herself to her knees and unfastened his breeches, staring up at him with open sensuality. His hard cock sprang free, smooth, wide...and immense.

But still smaller than Aragorn. Perhaps after all that wasted effort I can now achieve what might otherwise have been impossible.

She wrapped her hand around as much of his circumference as she could manage and stood, kissing him as passionately he'd kissed her earlier, confidently stroking his rod as her other hand fell to join the first, completing her envelopment of his mighty phallus.

After a time, she released her grip and turned to Malegil, licking her way down his sweat-slicked chest and freeing his shaft. He was

extremely

long — ten, perhaps even eleven inches — but as narrow as a garden snake, and as she traced her fingers up and down his erection, she wondered just how deeply such a tool could penetrate any of her holes.

Well, I look forward to finding out.

Arlepheg's penis was of average size...save for its unusually swollen head, which dwarfed the rest like a flesh-toned mace. She teased and circled his glans while their tongues danced.

Befitting his aggressive personality, Dûrthéod's spear swelled to an angry purple, its surface rippled with strange ridges and discontinuities. The moment she freed him he clamped her hand around the shaft and pumped at his own pace, capturing her tongue between his teeth and mauling her sensitive breasts with claw-like fingers.

Arabold and Argonil she revealed in sequence, yet it seemed only right to touch them in tandem. Long, thick, and as hard as statuary, their mighty cocks were surpassed in size only by Brethil's, and she felt her pussy tremble in anticipation as she stroked.

When this is over, I will be well and thoroughly stretched. Everywhere. For I don't intend to deny them any part of me, no matter how painful the journey.

Having brought her companions to a matching state of nudity and arousal, she bit her lip in indecision.

Who will make the next move? Do I wish to take, or to be taken? Perhaps both?

No one moved, and erotic tension thickened the air.

At before it was Brethil who took the first step, enveloping her within his powerful arms, freely running his hands all over her body, squeezing and fondling her flesh, gnawing on the tendons that striated the softer flesh of her neck, then capturing her mouth with a kiss that arched her body backward with its inexorable passion. His eyes stared a question deep into hers, and she quivered at its intensity.

No, not a question...a demand.

She whimpered in response, half-closing her eyes. He nodded almost imperceptibly, his query answered. Hands resting heavily upon her shoulders, he guided her to her knees.

The others surrounded her, radiating heat and unsated lust; the very same out of control ardor that threatened to overwhelm her, to send her fleeing back into the night or plunging her into hours of incomprehensible decadence.

Even an experienced courtesan — or harlot — might quail in fear at these odds, no matter how handsome the pay. And yet here I am, willing, eager...and free.

Six hard cocks pointed directly at her, straining towards release. She surveyed the thick forest of masculinity, taking two at a time into her hands, stroking and exploring. Moving around the circle, she caressed their shafts, teased their low-hanging testicles, reveling in the iron-textured flesh that slipped so easily through her eager fingers.

Her mouth grew as wet as her drooling cunt. She wanted to feel them on her tongue, in her mouth, opening her throat. Most of all, she thirsted for their seed. She yearned for so much, but there were so many options it was hard to know where to begin.

It was the pearl-hued cream oozing from Brethil's enormous rod that decided the matter.

Starting with the largest first? I must be a masochist.

Leaning forward, grasping the base of his cock with one hand and cupping his pendulous scrotum with the other, she lovingly kissed the tip, transferring the tiny drop of whiteness to her lips and curling her tongue upward to taste his essence. Shifting her grip to his glans, she lifted his weighty tumescence and applied one long, sensuous lick along the full length of his spear. When she reached the head, she fluttered her tongue against it until he shuddered, then abruptly jammed several inches into her mouth. Opening wide enough to envelop his circumference was no easy task, and her lips felt as if they might tear asunder, but her long trial with Aragorn had — in some fashion — prepared her for the difficulty and the discomfort. Gingerly, she began fellating him, pumping the base of his shaft with her hand while her tongue danced around the head.

For a time Brethil was content with shallow penetration, and even when he started oscillating his hips in response it was no more than n involuntary motion. As his arousal built, however, the length of his strokes increased, their rhythm faltering as she struggled to accept his size. Grasping her head — firmly, though not unkindly — he applied resistance whenever she reflexively reared away, and eventually his insistence trumped her reluctance. As he moved inward her tongue became less active, and she was gradually reduced to a pliant and willing receptacle for his thrusts. Her tension decreased, and as she relaxed her jaw he finally reached the entrance to her throat.

Overwhelmed by a surge in the instinct to reject and expel, her body convulsed and her throat clenched, nails scratching against his thighs. Threading his fingers through her hair, he held her in place, patiently denying her increasingly frenzied attempts to pull away. But when her eyes widened to panicked circles and her squirming grew desperate, he reluctantly released her head. Abandoning his saliva-covered cock with a loud slurping noise, a drooping thread still connecting the head with her lips, she gasped and heaved for breath, or at least equilibrium. Yet through it all she never stopped lusting for his cock...and just a few moments later, reenergized and determined, she wrapped her hands around his buttocks, opened her jaw to its widest, and pulled him as deep as she could with one smooth motion, stopping when his thick glans again compressed the soft tissues of her throat.