[
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.