Eowyn The Cage Ch 12C

[

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.]

For Éowyn, the next few moments passed in a sort of delirium. The brothers pulled free of their respective orifices, momentarily leaving her alone on the table. Her mewling protestations at the loss went unanswered. Fingers dripping with semen were brought to her lips — she realized she no longer cared from where it was sourced — and she greedily sucked them clean until they appeared no more.

As if refreshed by needed sustenance her fog cleared, and she slowly became aware of her vulnerable position and the unexpected arrival of a new observer. Yet she didn't feel strong enough to move, nor was she certain she even wanted to. Full of uncertainty, wondering if she retained the ability to face yet another change in circumstance, she turned her head and opened her eyes.

Halbarad!

Chief of all the Rangers but one, he was a mighty tower of a man; nearly as weathered as Aragorn, bearing some of the same mysterious depths of wisdom and insight, yet lacking the undefinable aura of otherworldliness that clung to his superior. And there was another difference: Aragorn's eyes, as keen as they were, opened upon seemingly infinite wells of compassion, while Halbarad studied her with a hard, unreadable expression. Éowyn instinctually thought to cover herself, but realized it was pointless.

He's not only seen everything, he's seen well

beyond

everything.

Tempted to writhe sinuously for his benefit, inviting him to join the others in ravaging her body, she instead paused to wonder.

I don't know how this will go. Will he take me in turn? Will he bring news of my dissolution to Aragorn? Will he upbraid the men who've brought me such pleasure, or will he commend them?

She didn't know. And so she waited, returning his gaze as steadily as she could manage, though she felt more foolish and exposed with every passing minute. His patience seemed proportionately endless.

His stare trailed along her naked form, assessing her like a stoic tactician, and though he showed no emotion as his eyes roved her body she felt exposed far beyond the mere fact of her nudity. When his eyes finally returned to meet hers she felt he was asking her a question, even though he made no sound. But whatever his query she didn't understand it, and so she remained silent, consumed by uncertainty. Finally, he spoke.

"On the morrow we shall face the greatest test of our lives, and we should need all the stamina we can muster for this task. And so I ask you, Lady Éowyn: for what reason do you delay the necessary rest of my charges?"

Her lips quivered, but no words followed. For no answer could expand upon that which he'd already seen.

Gravely, he nodded, the faintest of frowns turning down the corners of his mouth. "If you've no answer, then I must take thought for the squandered wellbeing of my men. I cannot let this disruption pass without consequence." His voice was deep, commanding, and entirely impossible to ignore. She found herself mesmerized, even though she feared what he was about to say.

Brethil broke his peace. "Halbarad, we...."

Silencing him with a sharp glance, Halbarad returned his attention to Éowyn. "Rarely do I need to resort to the base cruelties of discipline, for my fellow Rangers rarely stray from their appointed paths. Yet if it needs be applied, care must be taken to ensure that its focus is as precise as possible. The cause of our current difficulty is obvious, and I believe a suitable corrective will help ensure that proper lessons regarding

im

proper behavior are carried forward into the future." Still dazed by the overwhelming pleasure she'd thus far endured, she was puzzling over his words when he cleared his throat and spoke to the room.

"Prepare her."

Before she could respond, a host of warm, wet cloths passed over her sweat-slicked skin. Soothing oils followed, with special focus around and inside her raw sex and anus.

This isn't so bad.

Helped to her feet, she was offered draughts of cool water and the revitalizing warmth of a rustic red wine. And then, still acting as one, they bent her unresisting body over the table. Arlepheg took hold of her hands, gently but firmly imprisoning them between his own strong palms, while others pressed into her back, holding her down. A fleeting urge to struggle passed through her mind, but she rejected it out of hand, hoping that new and exciting horizons of eroticism were on their way.

If I can just get through what I suspect is coming....

"Spread her legs."

Every nerve afire and alive, her blood raced as she complied before they even touched her, opening herself at his demand and exposing herself in full. Not for a moment did she consider resisting, nor even consider that she might wish to.

It no longer matters if I want this or not. I have no choice. I must obey. Nay, I

want

to obey.

Two thick, calloused fingers pressed into her volcanic depths, and she whimpered at the sudden intrusion, for the two fingers alone were nearly the size of Brethil's prodigious phallus. Though she remained as wet as ever, she was instantly aware what digits of such size portended, and even more lubrication poured forth in response to her impalement.

But then they were withdrawn, and the silence that followed was unnerving. She wiggled her buttocks, begging for any form of contact or penetration, eager to be taken by Halbarad...or anyone...and resume her reckless pursuit of sexual abandon.

She heard a swish. Another. A third. And then, with a mighty whip-crack, the sharp report of leather against flesh and a high-pitched shriek of pain and protest. It wasn't until heat began spreading across her buttocks that she realized she'd been both the target of the strike and the source of the cry.

Another whip-slap, and this time the sting pierced deep into her tender flesh. She yelped, struggling against her imprisonment, but the Rangers held her fast. "Why?" she cried out, bewildered at this sudden change in circumstance.

"Are you not the reason for our current disorder? Who else did you think would suffer the consequences?"

"But...." Her answer was cut off by a hard blow right across the midpoint of her cheeks. Tears formed as the belt started to rain down with rhythm and purpose.

This isn't what I wanted at all. How could I fall from such heights to such degradation, and so quickly? At least Dûrthéod offered pleasure amidst the pain.

At that very moment, however, she felt a hand sliding up her thighs from beneath the table, manipulating her exposed clit and probing her dripping sex. The sudden burst of sensation competed for attention with the slashing agony in her ass, but soon they worked in studied counterpoint; a one-two cadence of pain and pleasure as Halbarad's belt snapped against her bruised flesh and someone else's fingers plunged into her sodden channel.

She was openly crying now, sobbing as pain spread through her body, as humiliation subdued her will, yet clinging to the desperate lifeline of stimulation between her thighs. The pleasure built in parallel with the rhythm of her abuse, and soon her gasps in reaction to each new belt-strike were as much from arousal as from the throb in her increasingly tender ass. A thumb moved across her clitoris, furiously abrading the swollen outcropping, and with a strangled cry she came...right at the very moment Halbarad's leather fell for the final time.

Did I really just come, despite the pain and embarrassment? Or...or did I come

because

of it? It wouldn't even be the first time I've done so, just the most painful. How twisted must my sexuality be, that even such treatment cannot be separated from my pleasure? The perversions in which I've participated this very night seem to have no end, and yet I seem to revel in all of them.

The probing fingers left her sex, immediately replaced by the larger digits she knew belonged to the formidable Halbarad. She again yelped at the demanding penetration, even as his other hand reached beneath her to cup her breast. The fingers inside her weren't moving, so she tentatively pumped her hips, slowly impaling herself with his fingers, twisting her upper body back and forth to abrade her sensitive against his hard palm.

"Please, Halbarad. I need...I need another finger," she hissed between grunts.

Whatever possessed me to ask such a thing? His fingers are huge! Or do I act on instinct, knowing that by doing so he prepares the way?

To her surprise he instantly complied, and she groaned as he stretched her hole beyond anything she'd yet experienced.

I only imagine how big his....

The very moment she began picturing his manhood she came again, bucking against his impaling fingers, trembling in climax, heedless of her wanton spectacle, concentrating only on her pleasure. And right on its heels arrived a second release. She moaned into the table, suddenly beset by a new yearning: to do fealty to the one who'd comprehensively mastered her body.

Twisting away from the hands that restrained her, she turned and fell to her knees, reaching for the stays of his breeches, all her attention focused on what swelled beneath them. But even as she reached inside, she reared back in shock.

No, it can't be. Not again.

Curious and desperately hungry for the sight of it, she clawed at the stays around his waist, undoing the final ties and tugging the well-worn leather down his muscular thighs and gaping at the incomprehensible object before her. Even limp, he was gigantic.

I wonder if he's as big as...?

Dûrthéod cleared his throat. "There's only one among us that's larger, and...."

"Silence." Dûrthéod immediately obeyed, and a thrill ran through Éowyn at the thought that so dominant a man could be so easily controlled in turn. Utterly captivated by the size of the organ dangling before her, she reached out to delicately stroke his length with her fingertips. Even clothed he radiated heat, power, and masculinity...but for her, all three qualities were represented by his cock. She was beyond turned on at the though of being possessed by such a weapon, and her finger turned into an enveloping hand. It was soon joined by the other — for both were necessary to encompass his breadth — and she stroked him in wonder and awe, circling the thick crown and caressing him all the way to the base, then varying the motion by moving her hands in different directions. Even lifting his shaft high enough to caress his elephantine balls was a struggle, albeit a welcome one.

For a long while she was content to keep massaging him, even though he neither moved or responded in any visible way. She increased both pressure and speed, and at long last he began to harden. It was a slow, majestic elevation, akin to a siege tower raised against an impossibly high battlement, and the physical effort required to pleasure him grew in proportion to his rigidity.

When at last she'd brought him to full erection, she stopped, stunned. For the second time in a single day, she was stupefied by the size of a man's phallus...though as with Aragorn, she could scarcely imagine what she could do with such a column.

But I'm not now as I was then, and my endless reaming by so many prodigious cocks has to count for something.

She tried to pull his enormous rod closer to her mouth, but there was no displacing his bulk. Looking up, reverently stroking his shaft, her words were a surprisingly earnest entreaty to a man who'd so thoroughly striped her buttocks only minutes earlier.

"Please, Halbarad."

His eyes seemed to darken, yet he still didn't move. She felt the press of his unspoken demand, and suddenly she knew her role.

"Please, I want it. I need your cock in my mouth. I want to on my knees, giving you pleasure." Her heat rose as she begged. "Please.

Please!

" Her stroking grew frenetic.

What more can I do? What more can I say?

He took only a small step forward and she opened her lips, his mighty staff finally in reach of her eager mouth. Though she knew it wouldn't be easy, she was more determined than ever.

Light flicks of the tongue...long strokes from root to tip...wetting his balls with her saliva...wrapping her lips around one side, then the other...suckling the crown...stroking with both hands while her tongue explored to the dark mysteries below and behind his heavy scrotum; she applied every technique that she possessed — most of which she'd only learned in the last few hours — to bring him as much pleasure as she could. And then, tightly gripping his thick root with both hands, she drew his enormous crown between her lips and sucked him inward.

The strain and stretch were incredible. She felt as if something might tear...as if something

was

tearing...though lust and delirium overcame her fear of pain or consequence. All of a sudden he was inside her mouth, filling her as only one had before.

Once her resistance was breached matters proceeded with shocking rapidity, and only moments later his thick glans sealed the entrance to her throat. It had been almost laughably easy by comparison to her earlier struggle with Aragorn, yet she was sure that this was as far as she could take him; as was true with his captain, she was ultimately able to fellate less than half his length.

It will have to do.

Prevented by his impossible circumference from doing anything more than gingerly moving her head back and forth, she still pulled away at times to relax her jaw, employing her tongue to greater effect whenever she did so. Though she worked him to the best of her ability, he remained silent, and she was unsure if she was bringing him sufficient pleasure or not...until, with the faintest suggestion of a grunt he gripped the back of her head, holding it in place. At long last he moved of his own accord, pushing his cock deep into her wet mouth, repeatedly nudging against the constricted membranes of her throat. Though her eyes watered each time he did so, she sucked as hard as she could, tongue squirming against his hardness as it slid in and out.

Inward he thrust, over and over, as if trying to force deeper entry solely via the sheer size of his enormous prod. Struggling to keep him inside her mouth without biting down, straining against the upsurge of pressure in her gullet, her increasingly desperate attempts to dislodge him were utterly unsuccessful. Her hands still encircled the lower half of his penis, frenetically stroking, trying to draw forth his climax before she passed out. Yet he continued to probe deeper, either unaware of or indifferent to her discomfort, demanding even more thorough passage.

The soft tissues of her throat numbed, and her already difficult struggle for breath grew more perilous. She gagged on his length, stomach churning. Still, he held her locked against his towering phallus, pulling her distended throat onto his cock, and her once-eager fellatio was forgotten; all she wanted to do was finish him before he finished her. Suddenly her drenched cunt exploded in orgasm, triggered solely by his brutal act of dominance, and all psychological resistance to his probing fell away, taking a great portion of her physical resistance with it. Her throat relaxed, and though she was no less stretched or discomfited, she fully embraced her total submission to his will, allowing him to force his shaft even deeper into her straining throat. She'd now taken well over half his rod, and as her conscious mind dissociated itself from her physical form, she idly wondered just how far he'd go, and whether or not she'd pass out before he came.

Instead, violently yanking his cock from her throat, leaving just the head lodged within her oral cavern, he grunted — once — and exploded.

A torrent of semen flowed across her tongue. In less than a second her mouth was utterly filled, and for all her panicked gulping there was no way she could take all of it at the rate it was being produced. As she struggled to swallow his cock pushed forward, sending geysers of ejaculate directly into her ravaged throat. Swallowing became a desperate act of survival, and she shivered through the throes of another climax as she wildly sucked down his fountain of seed.

Long he came, and long she drank. Though she knew it couldn't actually be so, it felt like a trebling of the quantity she'd already consumed...yet it still left her greedy for more. Her need for oxygen forgotten, she drifted into languor and insensibility, focused only on his copious tribute, struggling with her last breaths to consume his iron-tinged offering despite the resentful ache in her throat.

At last, his cock abandoned her mouth and she collapsed in a fit of coughing, lungs reawakened by heaving convulsions as they desperately took in air. Tears of struggle flowed down her cheeks.

When a vague sense of equilibrium was at last restored, she opened her shining eyes and looked up at him. His expression was as stern as ever, yet there was fierce desire as well, and her insides quaked as she wondered how he might next make use of her pliant flesh. For he was clearly

not

finished with her.

"Make her ready."

Efficiently, he divested himself of the rest of his rough vestments while the others took hold of her unresisting limbs.

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

Arms pinned above her head, legs spread wide and levered upward, swollen cunt stretched open by her position but eagerly awaiting its fate, she tingled with lust at the complete passivity of her role.

He's reducing me to a sexual object without will. He's going to have his way with me whether I wish it or not — though I most certainly

do

wish it — and there's nothing at all I can do to stop him. I'm helpless to resist. But then, isn't it really my

own

lust I'm incapable of resisting? For if it no longer matters what I want, no longer matters what caution or restraint wisdom might counsel, no longer matters what consequences might arise, then isn't sex all I'm truly meant for? Maybe Wormtongue was right after all: sex

is

my power. So far, it's been the only reliable way to escape the cage of my everyday existence. If that's so, then I will gladly spend this body in furious ecstasy and dissolution until I achieve the ultimate release.

Éowyn found the idea of surrender to sexuality oddly calming, and despite the burning in her loins there was peace in her heart.

Here, at last, is a purpose otherwise denied me.

Rough hands groped her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples and stretching them upward with great force until her back rose from the table and she groaned with arousal and pain.

A hot exhalation enveloped her sex. She'd been bracing herself for what she was sure would be an agonizing penetration; instead it was Halbarad's thick tongue that first plunged inside her. She climaxed immediately...without buildup, without preparation, without warning...and another followed directly on its heels. She yearned to grip his head and pull him deeper into her weeping folds, but her hands remained restrained, and so she could only submit to his aggressively thrusting tongue as she came again, and again, and

again

. He was relentless, and her screams of pleasure filled the makeshift tent.

Finally, having given her what felt like dozens of orgasms coalescing into one, he stood, his majestic shaft pointed directly between her legs.

He hasn't even broken a sweat,

she noted with surprise. She was a liquid-spattered mess...covered in perspiration, thighs and buttocks slick with her free-flowing juices, tears of ecstasy glistening on her cheeks, streaks of semen-whitened saliva trailing from the corners of her mouth.