Eowyn: The Cage - Ch. 09b

Eventually, she regained her senses and slowed to a standstill. Her eyes shone as she clutched his face, whispering, "thank you, Gréor. Thank you. Thank you...."

He interrupted her litany. "It was my pleasure, Lady Éowyn."

"But it wasn't. Not yet." Her pussy gripped his manhood, which (so far) showed no signs of flagging. "How do you want me? I'll give you whatever you desire. Do you wish me on my knees? Do you want to mount me like the stallion you are? Shall I kneel and drink from your mighty staff? Or...or do you...." She stopped, strangely unable to complete the thought.

He snorted at the lugubriousness of her praise, shaking his head. "What I want and what you want are the same. Let us waste neither my rapidly diminishing time nor the inexorable decline of my potency." He lifted her again, and when he finally slipped from her steaming depths he pulled her more tightly against his chest and held her there, waiting. Emotions warred across her face, revealing the uncertain tumult within.

Does he sense my secret desire? But again, how can he know? Maybe I should instead ask how I can want what I guess he's offering? Despite her doubt, the first of her yearning didn't abate; instead, it grew into an almost unbearable craving. Is my desire that obvious, and if so when did it become so? Was it when I asked the young men to probe me in both holes? Was I even conscious of it then, or was I simply lost to orgiastic dissolution, seeking every new sensation, every new escalation? Yet how can I possibly beg him for this? How can I countenance such a slatternly request coming from my lips, even after all I've done?

The memory of her sordid final encounters with Wormtongue filled her mind, unbidden yet omnipresent. The first time he took me against my will because I wouldn't acquiesce to anything else. Never having considered such a coupling before, I was unwary and unprepared until the deed was already accomplished. Yet despite the shock and humiliation, I didn't try to stop or dislodge him, did I? The next day when I went to his quarters, it was I who made my preference clear. I bade him take me, then rode him to exhaustion, and still begged for more like some sort of desperate anal whore. No matter how much loathing I bear for him and his foul manipulation, I've been unable to forget the feeling. Though I've tried to put it from my mind, I've craved it ever since.

She closed her eyes, trying to ward off a shame she was afraid to confront. Even Elfi glimpsed this yearning. Had Théo shared her insight — and somehow found the stamina — would I have denied him, or perhaps even begged him? The burning in her nether hole intensified. This must be a perversity, yet Gréor doesn't hesitate to offer, so I presume he's done it before. Does he think less of me, knowing what I want? Or am I already low in his estimation, given what he's watched unfold?

Ah...but then he won't remember any of this, will he? No matter what he believes about me at the moment, the memory won't accompany him through the door. This was, for her, the final nudge over the cliff, freeing her to accept and indulge what she still worried was a depraved wish. Her pulse raced with anticipation. And mayhap, should all go well, his rod will drive the lingering residue of Wormtongue's legacy from the only hole I willingly gave him.

Reaching back, she positioned his well-lubricated tip at the entrance to her ass.

"Take me, Gréor."

He grunted. "Take you where, Lady Éowyn?"

Why does he make me say it? She strained downward, stretching her tight hole with his thick glans, pleading first with her eyes, then with her lips.

"Take me...take...oh, damn you, Gréor, take my ass. Take my ass! Take it!"

Clutching her cheeks and pulling them apart, he pressed upward against her resisting sphincter. It strained, but it held, and she cried out in frustration. And then, with a mighty thrust, he popped past her ring and slid several inches into her anal canal.

It hurt. Unlike with Wormtongue, preparation hadn't immediately preceded penetration. Both fingers and a tongue had probed her entrance, but that had been a while ago. She hissed with discomfort, throwing her head back, mouth open in a silent scream. It's too much. The intensity of the pressure set against her overwhelming need paralyzed her with indecision. She wanted the pain to end, but she also wanted what she knew was on the other side of it.

And so Gréor held her there, letting her grow accustomed to the width of his cock as he stroked her hair, her back, her breasts, her thighs. He moved his thumb to her drenched sex and massaged her swollen clit. When her breathing matched the rhythm of his stimulation and her gripping channel finally started to relax, he edged inward. Gently at first, then more forcefully, not pausing until he was fully rooted in her bowels. Her long groan intensified as he penetrated her depths, peaking when he came to a halt.

She no longer felt pain, though the uncomfortable sensation of immense, impossible fullness was far from the pleasure she remembered. Tentatively, she moved. The stretched feeling intensified, but the fullness slowly morphed into something manageable, something her body could learn to accept. Girding herself against the return of pain, she rose until he was barely lodged within her anus, then pressed downward again, her teeth chattering with effort.

He let her set the pace, his eyes piercing as they studied her reactions. Slowly...ever so slowly...she accelerated her thrusts, friction and the pleasure it catalyzed beginning to push aside the discomfort. As it receded, her surety that this was exactly what she craved increased. Eventually he started matching her movements, hips levering upward to meet hers, and they sped towards their mutual goal.

Éowyn wailed incoherent words, names, and noises as his cock repeatedly speared her ass, long and deep. As she worked herself into a frenzy, he punctuated her cries with blistering smacks to her clenching buttocks, and she cried out at each strike, unable to feel anything other than ecstasy in response to his abuse of her already reddened flesh. She straightened, holding onto his shoulders and driving hard onto his manhood, taking him deeper as she perfected the angle. She was drenched in sweat, lost in pleasure, focused only on the way he was pounding her increasingly pliant rectum. His staff repeatedly spread and stretched her innards, and her arousal was nearly at its peak.

Leaning forward, she aggressively claimed his mouth with her own. This time he neither hesitated nor turned away, but instead wrapped his arms around her, pinning her body to his, tongues warring. With a final, savage thrust he exploded in her ass. Burning semen rushed into her colon, hosing down her rectal canal as she writhed uncontrollably, screaming through her most triumphant orgasm of the evening. They rutted and ground against each other, her internal muscles clenching as if to pull every last drop of semen from his geysering cock. On and on it went, until with a noisy exhalation he collapsed against the wall and moved no more

It was long before she regained sufficient focus to note his condition. He's not moving at all. Her breath caught. Surely he's not...

In a panic, she checked for a pulse. It's there. What a relief! His spear still throbbed inside her ass, though as it shrank ejaculate oozed out of her hole and down its length, pooling on the bench beneath them. Unrooting herself with an obscene squelch, she stood, feeling a thick gout of semen flow from her distended anus and begin its slow journey down the inside of her thigh. For an old man he sure came a lot. I wonder how long it's been for him? Curious, putting aside any hesitation regarding the source, she reached down with an outstretched finger and brought a taste to her lips.

Meaty.

She returned to a position next to him on the bench, leaning her head on his shoulder and affectionally stroking his chest, until he finally rumbled back to consciousness. When he opened his eyes it was to frown at the mess coating his reddened phallus, then at the creamy trails of seed circling her thighs. She abandoned his chest and reached between his legs, recapturing his cock and tugging on it until it begin to re-harden.

"Will it take you long to recover, my stallion?"

Beset by fits of coughing, he removed himself from her grasp, and with considerable effort rose from his seat on the bench, grunting in pain as he bent down to lift and refasten his breeches. "Lady Éowyn, I don't know why you desire my death, nor why you wish to be the agent thereof." He finished struggling with the last of his buttons, the outline of his manhood straining against the leather. "But I'm not the man I once was. No man ever is, of course. In any case, on this day I can do no more."

Pouting a bit, she gestured at his crotch. "But...."

"...but it has a mind and will of its own, as is also forever true of men. Alas for the decadent folly of long-ago days, when will was enough to spur me to action, and the disappointing realism of age didn't rule in its stead." He looked down at her recumbent body as it sprawled on the bench, her gloriously naked form glistening with sweat, her legs wide in outrageous invitation, the junction between them a swamp of her juices and his thickening ejaculate. His appreciation was obvious, though he didn't speak it aloud. "Will you be OK?"

She grinned. "Why wouldn't I be? You were entirely sufficient."

With a bemused snort, he lumbered towards the door accompanied by his ever-present limp. "If you have similar 'lessons' planned for tomorrow, it's with much regret that I beg you to exclude me. I'm willing to help with the training, but whether or not my future allows interest in other forms of physical activity, at my age I require considerable time to recover."

He studied her dilated holes, shaking his head, then gave her a cockeyed half-smile.

"I'll give you this: you're one hell of a lay, my Lady."

Turning away from her indignant sputtering, he grasped the door handle. She bit back a retort and sighed, permitting herself a stab of regret that when he finally passed through the portal, he'd remember neither their encounter nor his promise.

"I apologize for bidding you a hasty goodnight, Lady Éowyn. But if I don't get back soon, my wife will start to worry."

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

Éowyn's satisfied languor caught in her throat as the door closed behind him.

His wife? His wife?!? A spark of indignation began to grow. And yet he....

Her memory reeled backwards even as her body could not, halting at the very moment she'd grasped the dangerous cylinder and made her fateful choice. Her words came rushing back, now laden with regret. It was me. I commanded them to act "freely and without fear of consequence."

She squeezed her eyes shut against the choking guilt.

This is all my fault.

Her warm sexual aftermath turned to cold isolation.

What have I done?