owyn Book 1 The CageChapter 9 Him
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Éowyn, Book 1: The CageChapter 6: Undressed free porn video
[ Setting the scene: the events of this chapter take place before the arrival of Gandalf, Aragorn, and Gimli. Béma is the Rohirric name for the Vala Oromë.]
In a burst of frustrated energy, he flew at Éowyn, whipping her around and flinging her onto the bed.
She did not resist.
He’d excited her, he’d given her the orgasm she so desperately needed and so many more, all the while playing her body like master might play a finely tuned instrument.
But he was still Wormtongue, still her enemy, and couldn’t be allowed to have all that he wanted, nor to have anything at all on his own twisted terms. She’d permitted herself certain degradations, she’d accepted the consuming nature of her inexorable lusts, and she might tease him up to and then beyond his tolerance, but she would not submit to him in full. While she wasn’t yet done with this encounter — or, at least, she didn’t want to be done — while kneeling before him and hearing him beg she finally understood another of his uncomfortable truths: she possessed untapped sexual power. She knew the glorious danger of it, but henceforth she would own it. And despite her shame and humiliation, despite her reluctance to acknowledge it, despite his loathsome character and appearance, he had given her that power. Or, more precisely, revealed that which was already within her.
And now she would use that power.
Lying on the bed where he’d flung her, torso angled upward by her elbows, legs bent and slightly spread, hair a wild and sweaty tangle, breasts rising and falling as her lungs took in air, she regarded him with a mysterious, speculative expression. From across the room he attempted to match her mood, his momentary rage giving way to renewed lust as he scanned her exquisite form.
She closed her eyes. Thinking. Straining. Agonizing. And then resolving. I know what I want. Though I deny it a thousand times, though I curse the urge and its source, though I still hate him with every drop of blood in my veins, my body speaks otherwise. May I someday forgive myself for this descent into madness...
She turned over, raising her hindquarters and widening her legs. On all fours, ass elevated to his gaze, she resembled a golden-maned filly, wild and waiting to be tamed. She cocked her head, giving him a sideways glance through the curtain of her hair, then settled onto her elbows.
Waiting...
With a strangled cry he rushed towards her, covering the distance between them in an instant. His steely manhood probed between her swollen lips.
She slid forward, reaching between her thighs to grip his cock, arresting its forward progress, then sank towards the bed and released him.
This angle is more difficult, but I can manage it. He lowered himself and tried again.
She drew even closer to the coverlet, legs tucked beneath her.
He finally understood.
Wormtongue stroked his fingertips over the globes of her ass, then pulled her flanks upward. She was taller than him, and much of that height was in her legs, but she came partway back to her original position.
Her cunt was, as always, an unending source of lubrication, and he drew it forth to coat his cock with her clinging wetness while she writhed in pleasure at his probing. Deeper he searched with two fingers for more cream that, once collected, he slathered over the spasming ring of her anus. Again he pushed deep inside her pussy, drawing forth gouts of fresh nectar, which he abruptly forced through her gripping sphincter and into her tight channel. That she may have felt reluctance or even pain at the sudden intrusion mattered little to him.
It didn’t matter to her, either, for she felt no more hesitation. This is what I want.
Nestling the head of his rod between her breathtaking cheeks, quivering in anticipation, he tensed, then drove forward with all his strength. In an instant, her ass was skewered to his root. Her agonized cry of pain and pleasure melded was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
The last vestiges of her resistance mounted a final, desperate rebellion.
I can’t truly want this, she thought to herself as he impaled her. No one could.He’s forced me into this act before, and now he’s doing it again. This is what he wants, not me. I’m under one of his bewitchments. It’s out of my control. It must be. I would never choose this.
There’s naught here but horror and wrongness. It must be an act of calculated desperation on my part, biding time until I have a chance get what I truly want. Submitting to his foul lusts long enough to disarm him, and then ... and then...
I needn’t submit to this degradation. I shouldn’t. I won’t. I could leave at any time. I will. I’ll leave. I’ll leave right now...
... and yet ... and yet ... ohhhh, Béma forgive me, I do want this. What evil befalls me? How can I possibly enjoy this? What sickness festers within, that I should find pleasure in such perversity?
At first, he neither punished nor pummeled her ass, he merely took it in full with long, steady strokes. Nor could she deny her pleasure at the possession any longer, though the sharp ache of his initial entry lingered, and her soft cries filled the room. Juices flowed unhindered from her pussy, and her breasts ached with inattention. But all she knew ... all she could feel ... in the moment was his relentless penetration of her anal canal. Shame threatened to overwhelm her, but she put it aside and rocked back against his impaling phallus, slapping her taut cheeks against his thighs, each impact waving away the fading memory of pain.
His thrusts increased in speed and aggression, and her hips slowly angled down and forward under his increasingly powerful rectal assault. Soon she was no longer on her knees, but flat on the bed. Legs splayed, her anus submitted with more resistance but no less eagerness to the cyclic drilling of his cock, abrading an even tighter channel than before. She trembled, gasping with improbable pleasure. At the end of a particularly forceful thrust into her colon, he paused for a moment, reveling in triumph, and the brief respite allowed her sensations to coalesce and then shatter as an orgasm consumed her.
He didn’t let up again. Pumping, penetrating, thrusting, taking. Her ass became the means by which he would have his satisfaction, with her participation or in her despite, and as she understood this in full clarity she writhed through another climax. Still he continued, driving her into the bed, forcing helpless cries of submission from her drooling mouth. He pinned her, spiking her in place with each hammering thrust, until all she could do was yowl in ecstasy.
Her mind clouded, drifting back into the comforting fantasy of the night before. Anything to flee who I’m actually with. This time, however, her body responded to her endless line of anal assailants. Time and again she came to orgasm as they rutted away in her ass; at least one per partner, and often many more. Every thrust became an opportunity for release. But just as she was falling into a rhythm she was forcefully poled back into consciousness. Wormtongue was gripping her hips with claw-like fingers, yanking her onto his rod in search of ever-deeper penetration, as if he felt a desperate need to spit her straight through to the coverlet.
It was the most amazing thing she’d ever felt.
Riding the crest of yet another round of her seemingly endless anal contractions, he felt his legs start to cramp. Nearly crazed, he slipped from her ass with an obscene pop, panting from the raw physicality of their rutting. She reared backward, futilely grasping for his suddenly absent cock, desperate to have it back inside her. He pulled her from the bed, dragging her with great effort and little kindness to a nearby table. Under the urgent direction of his hands, she compliantly bent over its surface, and from behind he immediately reentered her rear passage, rooting her with long, smooth strokes.
With the greater freedom afforded by his standing position, he could penetrate her ever more aggressively, and the urge to do so quickly overcame his desire to prolong the insane pleasure. He grabbed the sides of her ass, harshly squeezing them into handles for his use, then doubled the pace of his pistoning. Faster. Harder. And faster still. Savaging her rectum like an animal. Slaking his uncontrollable need by ravaging and ruining her anus. He sawed her, he impaled her, he violated her, but more than anything he relentlessly and unceasingly fucked her as if she was no more than a hole designed to accept — to need — his cock.
And she took it. In truth she reveled in it, shrieking like a beast facing imminent slaughter.
It should have been over in seconds, given the intensity of their coupling. But for both of them, an elevated, almost unconscious state of pure ecstasy was reached, staving off the end of pleasure, and for what may have been mere minutes or an impossible hour, suffused with a heretofore incomprehensible energy that was still just barely enough to match hers, he pounded her as if to destroy and reshape her anal canal with hundreds upon hundreds of brutal penetrations.
Her cries became a constant wail, a ululating delirium, and judging by the unending contractions around his cock she was being rendered insensible by an eternal chain of orgasms. Not once, however, did she attempt to dislodge him; rather, she reached behind to spread her undulating cheeks wider, silently begging for a deeper and more unforgiving impalement than even his most furious hammering could provide. Overcome by his utter dominance of her body, by the need to violate her more profoundly than before, he violently slapped and spanked her upthrust ass until his climax became inevitable. With a triumphant roar that shook the walls, he pumped what felt like gallons of his seed deep in her bowels. Over and over he ejaculated while she screamed in ecstatic pleasure and pain.
As he withdrew in shuddering exhaustion, dizzily staggering backward, a thick gout of semen erupted from her anus. Rivulets of cum began oozing out, running down her legs or splashing to the floor with an obscene noise. And it kept coming, as if he’d emptied several months’ worth of thick cream into the depths of her ass.
Consumed by manic pumping and orgasms concurrently triumphant and inexorable, they’d never noticed the lake in which they’d been rutting. What flowed from her ass was minor compared to the limitless swamp of her cunt, for while he was overstuffing her colon with his issue, she’d produced at least twice that amount of her own juices, streaming down her legs and winding across the uneven floor. Even now her pussy convulsed with aftershocks, churning out more of her seemingly endless lubrication.
She desperately hoped he wouldn’t try to take her vaginally, for at the moment she not only lacked the will to resist, but (as before) was on the verge of begging him for it. She was all too painfully aware that the only thing saving her from losing her actual virginity to this monster might be his temporary exhaustion. The thought shook her to the core, and while her mind tried to summon up resolution born of disgust, to seize her increasingly tenuous grip on the necessity to take control of her sexual power, her will drifted far away on a tide of pleasure, immune to reason.
I am utterly lost.
As he stood, unsteady and futilely grasping for something to keep him on his feet, she began to shake. Is she having another orgasm? Or... He moved closer, but stopped when he heard her wracking sobs. There was no mistaking her distress. His instinct was to press his advantage, to mockingly boast of his victory, but instead he summoned a simulacrum of sympathy.
“Lady Éowyn...”
She flung out a palm, attempting to quiet him. “Speak not to me, for I am unworthy. Even of one as low as you.”
Still the same acid tongue. Yet her body betrays her.
“Éowyn, my pet, you are...”
“ ... ruined,” she finished for him, shuddering at his description of her as his pet. “Destroyed. Obliterated. I’m nothing. You’ve rendered me nonexistent. No,” she contradicted herself amidst her increasingly uncontrollable weeping, “I’ve ruined myself. I’m dirty. Unclean. I will never be fully human again.”
She paused, her weeping coming with a horribly rhythmic rise and fall that mimicked the cycle of her orgasms, its notes a symphony of despair rather than ecstasy.
“I am trampled beneath the filthy tread of the lowest wretches, though the scorn they feel for me would be far less than that which I feel for myself.” Another pause. “I need ... I need...” her voice firmed as her crying abated. “I need to be punished. I need it. Who will drive this demon from me? Mind, spirit, and body. I must be cleansed.”
Cleansed? Punished? She can’t possibly mean...
She spread her arms across the table and laid her upper body across its surface. Her breasts flattened as they pressed against the wood, but the focus of his attention returned to her magnificently exposed ass. Sperm continued to seep from her ravaged hole, and against all physical possibility he found himself getting aroused again.
“I must be punished. Drive this evil from me. Cleanse me. Punish me. Cleanse me. Punish me.” This mantra she repeated, her drone becoming a whisper, until he could neither endure in silence nor resist her pleas.
Well, my fair Éowyn, if it’s punishment you desire...
He reached into a drawer.
She felt him gently caressing her ass. This is no punishment, she thought, tensing. But I know he won’t stop there.
A stinging slap. And another. This is what I expected. What I needed. She twitched at the ringing blows, but made no sound.
He stopped. Without warning, he plunged fingers into her yearning sex. Two, then three. Violently stretching her channel without regard to her pleasure (or her pain), he pummeled her with a dozen rapid thrusts until she groaned.
He pulled out. More strikes. Harder, this time. Moving around the globes of her ass, reddening her all over.
His fingers penetrated her again, a wet slapping nose echoing from the walls as he pounded her abused hole.
More spanking. Even harder, now. Covering every bit of exposed flesh with sting and a darkening flush.
Three fingers in her cunt. Angry hands laying into her cheeks. A thumb in her rectum. Cheeks. Cunt. Buttocks. Ass. On and on, as both her pain and her brief, furious bursts of ecstasy mounted. He was trying to bring her to the point of greatest humiliation just as she toppled over into orgasm, for he knew that if he could indelibly associate the two in her mind — if he could connect pain and pleasure as two inextricable aspects of the same act — she would more easily submit to all the cruel ways he intended to defile her body.
And then, without warning, a blinding wave of pain sliced through her universe. She shrieked in surprise and pure, unadulterated agony.
He’d whipped her.
As he plunged the fingers and thumb of one hand into her orifices, building her towards a climax that was all to easy to draw from her, he readied his modified riding crop with the other. It was longer and more flexible than a standard crop, with short leather tails at the end, yet still much shorter than a full-length whip. Its elegance was that it retained the control of the former without sacrificing the stinging violence of the latter. He’d occasionally used it to torture a confession — no matter how untrue — from a recalcitrant foe, and he could wield it with skill. But tonight, he had a different sort of torture in mind.
I don’t want to hurt her. Well, he admitted to himself, that’s not precisely true. I’ve often relished the thought of her submitting to the whip ... or perhaps, one day, even coming to beg for it. Still, I’ll have to be careful. I know how much force can be employed before a mark becomes permanent, and while I no longer doubt my claim on her sexual needs, I don’t know quite how she’ll react to this. Nor will I have any reasonable defense were the evidence of what I’m about to do made visible to someone else’s notice. I’m taking a chance. If she flees, naked and with the sign of the lash on her flesh, it would be embarrassing for her but ruinous for me. Yet I cannot help but believe her to be serious about this “punishment” for which she begs. And I also deem an unquenchable arousal stays her urge towards flight. She’s helpless to resist my every sexual whim, and after this is over I will have her again.
Determined (and powerfully turned on), he raised his hand, and with a flick of his wrist delivered a stinging blow to her ass. Her instantaneous cry of shock was his immediate reward.
She jerked her head around to face him, her eyes wide and glistening with tears, but she broke neither her position nor her tight grip on the table. Her breath came in heaves, and she stared at him for a long time, her glance darting to the leather dangling from his hand.
Taking a deep breath and holding it, she turned back to face the wall, silently inviting him to continue.
He continued to wait. I want to hear it from her lips.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?”
There was a long silence before she could answer. “Do it.”
“Do what?”
Her next breath was a shuddering inhalation, and her tears pooled on the table.
“Whip me. Punish me. Purify me. Please.“ Desperation clung to her words.
With an evil smile, he complied.
She felt the whip. Even for a warrior used to the cuts and bruises of the training room, it was an agony. Over and over again his crop bit into her suffering flesh. She grimly resolved to not cry out again, but in a way it was her weakness that actually held her tongue. For she knew she deserved this. She wanted to be scourged of blemish and sin, and would accept whatever was necessary until she was rid of the all-consuming, soul-destroying lust that made her endure — even crave — the attentions of a monster. A thoroughly corrupted foe for whom, despite all their frenetic coupling, she still felt nothing but bitter contempt.
Meanwhile, her body reeled under his savage assault. Sharp reports echoed through the room. She’d never experienced anything so humiliating, and could barely withstand the thought of it continuing. Yet when she at last found her voice, it told a different tale.
“Harder,” she croaked.
The truth is, I’m not enjoying this as much as I should.
In his most twisted fantasies he’d often imagined Éowyn tied to a post, his whip brutally striping her bare buttocks over some minor contradiction while she begged him to accept her apology in the orifice of his choosing. Or having one of his servants tame her from behind while she fellated him, each stroke forcing her throat to take the full length of his cock, then rewarding his companion by letting him use her mouth while he fucked her. But he’d never conceived of anything like this happening so soon, nor for her to beg for the lash rather than its end. He was no longer sure where this was all headed, and his lack of surety was disquieting.
Even as his enthusiasm waned, he realized that her ass was already a thick forest of welts. Any more and he’d run the risk of drawing blood. He gave her a few halfhearted strikes across her back, her lower thighs, her calves, but his heart wasn’t truly in it. Her silence was uncanny, yet he could feel her unresolved frustration rising to match his.
He stopped.
After a long pause, the stripes covering her ass darkened and swelling, she slowly raised herself from the table and turned to face him. The look in her eyes was unfathomable; certainly neither affection nor submission, but far from loathing or haughty dismissal, either.
She leaned against the table’s edge and spread her legs, steadying her trembling body. Her inner thighs were soaked with a fresh sheen of effluence.
Even he was stunned at the sight. Is this actually turning her on? I intended to obscure the border between pleasure and pain, but is she actually capable of being aroused solely by the latter? Oh, the delicious possibilities if so...
She’d been staring at him, her visage confrontational and as yet unbroken, but now she refocused her attention on a point just above his head, thrusting her chest forward in pride and defiance.
Reenergized, he raised the whip.
Her breasts took the next, more cautious strike. They shook under the impact, nipples swelling from a combination of unfathomable arousal and cold fear. She shuddered and bent nearly double, but did not cry out. As she straightened, resuming her previous position, he applied another half-speed blow. She yelped and let her chin fall, clutching her breasts in pain; one of the trailing lashes had roughly abraded her tender nipple.
Then, summoning a reserve of strength, she stood tall. Challenging. Unbowed.
He struck again, this time with force. The tip of one of the leather cords curled tight around the same nipple, violently twisting the sensitive flesh before he wrenched it away. Reeling, she fell to her knees, desperate for every choking breath.
For a long while she struggled to recover. Then, on legs less steady than before, she rose again. She was no longer staring at a specific point in space, but instead unfocused and preternaturally calm, drifting into a detached inner world even as she presented herself for more punishment.
What exactly is she after? What is it that she seeks from me?
He tentatively laced her stomach, and she barely twitched in response. Then he moved up the front of her thighs, and her breath quickened. He paused, searching her face for clues.
Ahhhh... !
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