Eowyn: The Cage - Ch. 12b

[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.]

*

She remained still. Waiting. Shivering and trembling in fear, yet powerfully turned on by what she'd already done and what was about to happen.

For a long while, though, what happened was nothing, and her tension grew. Finally, Dûrthéod spoke.

"It might be interesting to let you decide the nature of your punishment. So tell me, slut: what do you think should I do to you?"

A parade of enticingly dark images flickered through her mind, but when she spoke it was with hesitation rather than confidence.

"You could...you could spank me?"

"I've already done that. And you like it too much for it to be a punishment."

Her voice quieted to a mere whisper. "You still haven't taken me...."

"I fear I don't fully comprehend such formality. Tell me again."

"You...you haven't had...sex with me."

"I'm afraid I still don't understand."

"I want you to...."

He forced his hand between her legs, fingers rapidly sawing in and out of her unresisting pussy while she yelped in surprise. "Say it again. Like you mean it this time."

"I want...uhhh...I want...oh...ohhhh...."

"Keep trying, whore. Tell me what you want."

"For you to...to...to f...f...fuck me." she stuttered, nearly in the throes of orgasm.

His fingers worked her for a few more moments, then retreated and pinched her clitoris hard, immediately arresting the onset of her climax. "What's that you said?"

"Ouch!" she yelped. "Please...please, just...just fuck me. Fuck me!"

He tugged on her distended clit so hard that her body swung toward his. "Say it again. Make sure everyone hears you this time."

Her pleas burst forth like water though a dam weakened by a raging summer storm. "Just fuck me! Use my wet hole. Please, please, please...I need it. I need a cock in me. Someone. Anyone!" Lust triumphing over humiliation, she pumped her hips in invitation, burning with shame at the subjugation of being forced to beg in such a filthy, uninhibited way, but knowing she'd finally used the words he wanted to hear.

Murmurs sounded all around; rumblings of surprise, of lust, of cold amusement that she was reduced to begging.

"I'd never have believed it, Dûrthéod. I'm still not sure I do."

She stiffened. I don't recognize that voice! Quailing, flushed with embarrassment and shaking with the sudden wish to hide, she tightened her thighs around Dûrthéod's still-embedded fingers, trying without success to obscure her sex. "Who else is here?"

With a noisy wet slurp, Dûrthéod withdrew his fingers. She felt a change in the air and heard the rustling of movement in every direction; it was obvious their company had grown. She wondered who they were. And what they'll do to me. Is their mere presence my punishment, or is it something they're going to do?

She didn't have to wonder long, for she heard more rustling, the clink of metal, the abrasion of cloth sliding against cloth, and the thud of vestments falling to the ground. They're stripping. That means....

"No, please no," she whispered, genuinely afraid. Not of the sexual demands they were likely to make of her, nor even of whatever punishment Dûrthéod had in mind, but of the increasingly public nature of her debasement. Are these my own people come to bear witness to my shame? Will they participate in it? Is that my punishment, to be revealed as dissolute and sex-crazed as a common harlot? To lose any hope of respect?

Dûrthéod remained behind her, his tone even more threatening than usual. "Your suggestion, while appealing, lacks originality. Of course I'm going to fuck you, slut. But I have a more amusing game in mind. A particularly interesting form of torture."

Torture! she shuddered, quailing.

Hands reached for her from every direction, touching her all over, rubbing, groping, squeezing, and probing. Save for her sex, no part of her body went unmolested. At first she struggled, though it was pointless in her half-trussed state. Then she gave up, letting them toy with her flesh as they would. To her shame, her arousal was building, her squirming increasingly reflective of need rather than resistance. Still, her pussy remained unviolated. She wondered if this was the "torture" Dûrthéod had in mind, for the contact was driving her into a frenzy, and though she teetered on the edge of climax it remained frustratingly out of reach.

"Please," she again whispered through gritted teeth.

"Please, what?"

Her flesh was afire. "Please...I need...I...."

"You were less shy a few minutes ago. Everyone's already heard you beg me to fuck you. Tell us what you 'need' now."

Evidence of her excitement flowed in rivulets down her trembling thighs, and her heartbeat pulsed in tandem with each throb of her sex. "I...I have to come. Please, someone make me come. Please!" With a sob of desperation, she began rolling her hips, seeking penetration, seeking even the slightest contact. Just one brush against my clit. Just one. That's all I need.

"Well, let's see what we can do about that." Hands gripped her ankles, lifting her legs high and wide, displaying her drenched cunt to all. She'd never felt so exposed. Overwhelmed by conflicting emotions — shame, arousal, subjugation, anticipation, fear — she tensed, waiting for the next stage of Dûrthéod's plan.

Aside from the hands that held her open, all other contact ceased, and there was only the sound of her own breathing to break the silence. A slow trickle of lubrication continued to drip from her sex. She writhed, irresolute, desperate for the consummation of her pleasure yet sure that whatever was to come was ungoverned by her own desires. "Please!" she hissed.

A hot, hard pillar pressed into her cunt. Inhaling sharply at the suddenness of the penetration, she squeezed her channel around the invading shaft, knowing without question that this cock didn't belong to any of the Rangers with whom she was already carnally acquainted. Someone new, then. Is the whole camp going to take turns fucking me? The thought sent a forbidden thrill racing through her limbs. Shouldn't I be horrified rather than aroused? Or is it my actual destiny to be the Whore of Dunharrow? It thrust deep into her core, paused, withdrew until almost unsheathed, paused again, and then started to pump.

"Yes!" she cried, throwing her head back in ecstasy. Just a few more seconds....

But it was already gone.

"No! Wait, please, I...."

Another thrust. From a different source this time, thicker and knobbier than the last. A few slow penetrations pushed her back to the edge, and then....

"No, you can't do this...please, just a little more. Please...."

A third prod entered her sex, rigid and insistent. It was short in comparison to the others, and she strained against it, seeking deeper contact. Her gasps increased in volume....

"Please!" she shrieked in protest as it withdrew, leaving her quivering with frustration. A fourth cock furiously pounded her wet hole for a few moments, its sudden abandonment causing her to whine and beg for release.

When a fifth unfamiliar shaft plunged into her overheated cunt, her frustration and desperation were so great that orgasm seemed less and less achievable despite the ongoing stimulation. "Somebody make me come. Please. I can't take it anymore. I'll do anything you want. Anything!" Her words disintegrated into an incoherent babble as her well-used sex was repeatedly teased, penetrated, and abandoned by unnumbered strangers.

Dûrthéod's commanding voice cut through her erotic haze. "If you say so."

More hands joined those that held her in position, this time not to restrain but to again fondle, squeeze, and molest. Something wide and rough pushed between her swollen labia. Dûrthéod. Finally. When he withdrew after a single stroke, she cried out at the ordeal they were putting her through. And then he slammed back into her. Hard.

Éowyn screamed.

Dûrthéod thrashed her hole, utterly violating her pussy with relentless, savage fury. The wet soundtrack to their frenzied fucking was drowned out by her rhythmic wails, the raw violence of his thrusts scarcely imaginable. And in the midst of their furious coupling, the climax so long-denied finally arrived. With a bloodcurdling cry she exploded, her channel gripping his pistoning cock so hard that his next outstroke dragged her entire body along with it. Conscious thought slipped away, her awareness narrowing to her sex and the spear that impaled it. Shaking with seizures, her orgasm went on and on, reaching towards eternity even as his own movements grew erratic.

His heart racing at her total surrender to his dark lust for dominance and conquest, Dûrthéod roared as he emptied his balls, pumping a tremendous quantity of semen deep inside her channel, stuffing her with cream until it seeped past his rutting stem. He let her ride out the lingering aftershocks of her orgasm, his cock still fully buried in her ravaged cunt.

When he finally pulled himself free gouts of cream followed, splashing wetly to the ground. Though she remained largely beyond reason, she idly wondered if he was going to let the rest of them fuck her to completion. Her pussy was on fire, and not just from the friction of all the cocks it had taken. I want more. I need more.

Dûrthéod didn't give it to her, though her legs remained splayed open, her sex dripping ejaculate and clutching around an imaginary cock.

"She looks like she needs cooling off."

A sudden jerk, a snapping sound, and all of a sudden her arms were free and her legs unsupported. She dropped to a kneeling position, gasping for breath. Immediately, a barrage of ejaculate laced her face. A few streams passed between her open lips, but most painted her flesh in streaks and splotches. From several directions, lines of thick semen crisscrossed her cheeks and forehead, hot lashes of cum coating her mouth, her nose, her hair, even her ears. Though her utter subjugation seemed overwhelming, when she tilted her head back it was to cry out in orgasm. Redirected streams of ejaculate flew into her open mouth, the salty cream flowing down her throat. She swallowed what she could until the humiliating shower of their issue slowed to a few drops, most of which were squeezed directly onto her outstretched tongue.

Dûrthéod cackled. "Now that is a work of art." Laughter filled the room, adding to her debasement. Kneeling, blindfolded, naked, covered with their issue, thoroughly used, and knowing that every single person who looked on had buried their cock in her greedy cunt, she remained in complete submission to their whims, awaiting whatever might come next.

Dûrthéod spoke again, the dangerous authority in his voice restored. "Thank you for your help." He paused, and despite the blindfold she could feel a dangerous grin spread across his face. "She seemed to handle that without too much difficulty. How many more are waiting outside? Twenty or so? Let's get them in here all at once."

Twenty? Impossible! I can't....

"No!" she shrieked in protest, trying but failing to struggle to her feet, instead tumbling backward. Someone caught her head a moment before it struck the ground. "No!" Her mind swirled, and consciousness fled. It's too much. Too much....

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

The low thrum of arousal throbbing between her legs was the first thing Éowyn noticed as she drifted back to awareness. Her body ached with as much need as fatigue. Memories of what had brought her to her current state came flooding back, with Dûrthéod's final threat right on their heels. Her eyes snapped open in panic.

She was neither blindfolded nor bound. Instead, she reclined on a cot while several of the Rangers dutifully washed her body with soft, warm cloths. That it was Brethil dabbing her face, eyes full of concern, was no surprise, yet she was shocked to espy Dûrthéod gently swabbing her inner thighs and regarding her with an uncharacteristically sympathetic expression.

"I was worried about you. You could have asked me to stop, you know."

"I...." The memory of her shameful pleading for him to do anything but stop was all too vivid. "Did they...?"

"There were only five, they're gone, and there were never any others. Though," he added with a wry grin, "if you hadn't passed out, I suppose I could've made arrangements. But everything was rather hastily planned while you were distracted by the twins over there." Argonil and Arabold leaned against the table, smiling. To her embarrassment, she was herself distracted by the fact that they remained fully erect, and the buzz in her loins intensified.

"Nonetheless, I must congratulate you. You took everything I had — the teasing, yes but also what I fear was an especially brutal pounding, even for me — far more eagerly than I guessed you might." She blushed at the earnestness of the compliment. "In all my travels I've never met a woman with such unbound sexual avarice. Were matters otherwise we could pass many delicious days and nights together, my beautiful slut. The things I could show you...that I could do to you...that I could make you do to me...."

Trying without success to sink into the covers and hide her reddening face, Éowyn permitted herself a weak smile. "Speaking of insatiable...."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

I can't believe how brazen I'm being. "I never got to taste you."

Dûrthéod's dangerous smile returned. Dropping the cloth, he pushed two fingers into her pussy. She winced at the abruptness of the penetration, obediently opening her mouth as he brought fingers dripping with semen to her lips.

"Be my guest."

She suckled his essence until his fingers were clean. Three times he fed her the contents of her abused cunt, and three times she eagerly slurped and swallowed, accepting without question her inexplicable lust for his delicious seed.

Cleansed and refreshed, she sat up, fixing each of them with a sultry stare.

"Surely we're not done, Rangers of the North?"

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

Working together, they drove her back into a sexual frenzy. Mostly in pairs...one buried in her reenergized cunt and another in her slurping mouth... in positions both familiar and bizarre. Relentlessly pounding her seemingly insatiable sex — now fully acclimated to the size of their tools — they brought her to orgasm after orgasm, feeding her rivers of ejaculate both direct from the source and extracted from the swamp of her cunt. As their bacchanal went on and on she began to wonder just how endless their sexual stamina really was.

Eventually, she found herself atop the table with the elevating bolster back in place. She was fellating Brethil's mighty spear, trying to coax forth yet another explosion, but momentarily unoccupied at the other end. When thin fingers simultaneously probed her pussy and her anus, she knew Malegil was behind her. When those fingers each acquired a twin, she moaned with excitement. When a tongue joined the fingers at her rear entrance and another pair of hands spread her taut cheeks wide, she panted with anticipation.

Is it time? Am I ready for this?

And then he stopped. Her orifices were again unoccupied, and though her buttocks were still pried open even his tongue moved away,. When Malegil spoke it was in a half-whisper of barely restrained lust. "I'm not Dûrthéod," he said, ignoring a derisive snort from somewhere to her left, "and I don't require you to beg. But I do want your permission."

Éowyn pulled her lips from Brethil's shaft and turned her head. Argonil and Arabold were the ones holding her cheeks open. Dûrthéod stood close at hand, eagerly awaiting her answer.

Full of confidence and in complete control of her sexuality, her answer was matter-of-fact. "I've been waiting for this all night. Take me however and wherever you wish. My body is yours. All of it."

The promise and portent in her words were their own decadent thrill, for ever since Wormtongue forcibly introduced her to this forbidden act she'd been increasingly — and, after her rendezvous with the siblings and with Gréor, not-so-secretly — obsessed with it. The irony is that had I come to my sexual awakening in a more conventional way, I might never have known. For, despite a somewhat sheltered existence regarding erotic matters, I understand that not everyone shares my interest in this particular activity. Worse than that, some consider it a perversion. But by denying that manipulative snake other types of sexual access, he instead unleashed a craving that can no longer be quenched by a steady diet of convention.

The lingering taste in her mouth added a depraved coda to her musing. Though I do appear to be maintaining a steady diet of something else these days. She felt a depraved sense of satiety at her other obsession. And tonight has been quite the feast. One that I hope hasn't yet come to an end.

While the other Rangers' eyes widened at the boldness of her invitation, Malegil's turned smoky. With a look of intense concentration he mounted the table, accepting a flask of oil from Arabold and drizzling it into the sweat-slicked seam between her buttocks. As it ran downward to traverse her anus, he smeared it around the tight opening. Massaging another stream or oil all over his sinuous cock, he pressed a third quantity directly through her rosebud, pushing inward with his finger. Éowyn remained motionless, holding on to Brethil's cock for support but no longer stroking it, all her attention focused on her imminent and long-awaited anal impalement.

Malegil pressed against her rear channel, his eyes fixed on hers. "Look at me," he commanded. "Don't look away or close your eyes. I want to savor every moment of your reaction." He pushed forward.

After so much preparation it took fairly little effort for him to snap through her anal ring. Her face momentarily contorted with a mild jolt of pain; even though he was the narrowest of all of them, his was still the largest cock she'd taken in this way. But she did not fail his request, and bit her lip as he claimed her final hole. Slowly, inch by inch, he fed his long phallus into her orifice, not stopping until his entire length was fully buried, his spearhead lodged deeper than anything or anyone had yet penetrated. She'd taken all of him in a single stroke, and while a measure of discomfort lingered, she already felt the first stirrings of pleasure.

Into each others' eyes they stared. He, the conqueror; she, the conquered...yet in that exchange of looks their roles reversed, and the heat of her darkest orifice conquered Malegil's lust, consuming his restraint. Grasping her hips, he pulled away until no more than his tip rested within her. And then he began to fuck her ass. Painstaking and deliberate at first, sliding gingerly in and out of her clutching hole...then, when Éowyn started to moan, increasing both pace and force, her vocalizations scaling upward in turn.

Brethil, ignored for the moment, was content to idly push his penis back and forth through her curled hand and run his fingers through her tangled golden locks, awaiting the opportunity he knew would come.

Malegil's strokes never wavered in their ever-escalating rhythm, and the smooth efficiency of his assfucking soon brought Éowyn to her peak. There was no single moment in which she knew it was imminent, only a point at which she became aware that it had already begun. Her moans turned into a sensuous exhalation of pure ecstasy punctuated by the slap of his body against her widely-spread cheeks. As her climax rolled on he reached his own point of no return. Without breaking the cadence of his thrusts he emptied himself in her steaming depths, filling her colon with his milky essence.