Eowyn: The Cage - Ch. 19a

"Here, we will have to start at the beginning. Her breasts have been insufficiently abused. They must learn to accept more pain."

A rough hand traced down her sweat-slicked belly, sliding between her widespread thighs and into the soft hair at their junction.

"This will be removed."

A finger probed her entrance. She struggled to avoid its touch, but inward progress was impossible in her clenched, dry state.

"For now we will use oil. In the future she will learn to be prepared for us at all times, lest her difficulty be greater." The finger departed and returned slippery with the aforementioned oil. It slid past her labia and into her tight channel with ease despite its surprising size; it was, all by itself, one of the largest things she'd ever taken inside her. All her twisting and swinging served only to help the thick digit move in, out, and side-to-side.

A second finger slipped in alongside the first, and the stretch in her unprepared womanhood was palpable. I can't even imagine what fingers of this size portend for...no, I mustn't think about that!

But it was too late. The first of her own lubrication had already appeared, no matter how unbidden, and though she issued a low moan of despair at her body's betrayal it only hastened her downfall. A third finger forced its way inside, stretching her more widely than any man save Aragorn ever had. The pressure and discomfort were unbearable.

"This hole has been opened, but not enough. Prepare the necessary tools. We will start using them as soon as my examination is complete."

Mechanically, almost carelessly, his fingers began working in and out of her cunt. She wept at the degradation, yet her traitorous flesh responded to the stimulation in the only way it knew. Every stroke roughly abraded her clitoris, and her squirming resistance was soon indistinguishable from a horribly involuntary undulation. I have to keep fighting. I can't be aroused by this horror.

From behind, another well-lubricated finger pressed into her ass, and even though she'd expected it she moaned at the escalation of her humiliation. In front, knobbed fingers kept stretching and excavating her damp sex, while the exploration of her anus proceeded to a second finger. Helpless to resist the effect of the relentless thrusting, her breath came in gasps as she bobbed back and forth between her dual impalements.

When a third finger snapped through the protesting ring of her sphincter her yowl of pain was instantaneous. Even her aborted attempt to seduce Aragorn hadn't involved her ass, and only in her hallucinatory Dunharrow dream had she accepted a presence of such girth...especially with something of similar size occupying her pussy. The violation was excruciating, the pain vivid and all too real, but the ever-louder throb of involuntary arousal was worse than either. She fought against it with all her strength, but it wasn't enough. The force and depth of the thrusts increased as the Voice offered a clinical assessment.

"I would never have guessed she would be such an experienced anal whore. We can skip the usual preparation and assume its immediate availability for our use." Tears flowed at the demeaning words and yet another promise of violations to come, but even as her will tried to deny his threat her body defied her. Just as it had when Wormtongue first claimed her ass, or with Gréor, anord again on the very eve of her final battle, the thought of being taken in this most forbidden of ways caused some twisted sexual urge to cast its terrible spell over her body. She could not...would not...understand it, yet the escalating fire in her loins was unmistakable. She was being relentlessly driven to climax, and no matter how unwanted or nonconsensual, no matter how violent and evil their intent, she no longer retained sufficient will to arrest it.

The Voice murmured directly into her ear while his fingers brutally plundered her holes; his tone was smooth, mocking, and cruel despite the ever-increasing force of his thrusts. "How many have there been, slut? How many men have spread your ass open and fucked you like this" — she cried out in pain and horrible pleasure — "while you writhed and begged like an animal?" His penetrations, front and back, were coming fast and furious, and her juices flowed over his fingers and down her legs. The only noises in the room were the wet slap of her orifices being ravaged and her increasingly desperate grunts and wails.

Even at this moment of despair,I grieve that I don't actually know the answer to his question. Two that I would name, and three that I could, but then....

Lost to delirium, to raw sensation, to the spectacle of being taken against her will by and in front of unknown strangers, she teetered on the precipice of a frenzied orgasm. Suddenly, both her holes were abandoned, and a hail of blows fell on her heavily bruised ass.

She screamed in protest. "No! Please...not again! Please! I just need to...I need...." Though she knew her hesitation was futile, she couldn't bring herself to beg for release.

"What do you need, slut?" All six fingers punched back into her orifices, front and back, and resumed their relentless pummeling. She cried out in ecstasy. Almost...almost....

Again her grasping channels were left void. Wet evidence of her arousal flowed down her thighs and dripped onto the floor. This time their cruelty fell not upon her ass but her unprepared breasts, which were harshly squeezed and twisted by many hands. Their savagery clawed into her pleasure, slashing and remolding it into something unrecognizable. Something tortured.

Roughly taken once again, she howled in frustration at the cycle of buildup and denial. Her holes were stretched and rent. Her breasts were on fire, her ass ached, but her orgasm was closer than ever. If I can just....

Without warning, the impaling fingers were ripped from her cunt and driven directly into her open mouth. Her mind screamed resistance, but her tongue was already working around the invasion, cleansing the digits of her juices, drinking the heady musk of her arousal. Round and round the torturous dance went...building her near a peak, then stopping to counterbalance pleasure with pain, decadence, or simple denial. I'm desperate to come, she realized. Right now, I'd do anything.

Fueled by her surrender, the final barrier was razed and she screamed out her release. The frenzied finger-fucking of her ass continued, but the occupation of her cunt gave way to an absolutely brutal slap administered right on her swollen labia. The volume of her scream tripled in intensity, and pain flowed over the pleasure like lava.

Before she could climb down from her summits of agony and ecstasy her sodden pussy was reoccupied, this time by different fingers. They were neither as big nor as furious in their impalement, but she came again anyway. This time, it was her nipples that suffered the orgasmic counterpoint, stretched so hard she worried they might be torn from her body.

On and on it went...new fingers, familiar fingers...in pairs, in triplicate, even sometimes in quartets, relentlessly pounding her aching holes, bringing her to one climax after another, each time adding a grace note of torturous agony at the very moment she reached a new peak.

After a time, she realized that she'd been dangling untouched for several minutes, trembling with aftershocks. The sticky residue of her orgasmic fluids trailed down her legs, and even through her hood she could smell the lurid perfume of her arousal, but inside the hood her cheeks were stained with tears. Never — not after the most brutal training session, not even after her final orgiastic capitulation to Wormtongue — had her body felt this damaged and abused. She hung limply from her restraints, her breath slowing.

The Voice hissed in her ear, subtle cruelty giving way to acid. "Did I give you permission to come, whore?"

Éowyn couldn't even shake her head, so unexpected was the question. Permission?

"I did not. And so you will be punished more severely."

That wasn't punishment? She lacked the energy to fight or even answer, though fresh tears flowed from her reddened eyes. Her captors undid her wrist restraints, unchained her ankles, and carried her unresisting body to a nearby table, bending her face to its surface and securing her collar with a stout rope. Her knees were pulled forward and themselves restrained. There was a cold, unyielding pressure against her swollen labia that grew more and more painful as the ropes were tightened, and she idly wondered what new brutality they had in mind, even as her uncontrollable weeping soaked the hood that blinded her.

A swishing sound broke the silence. What it was she couldn't tell, but its destination she perceived all too clearly, for her much-abused buttocks were high in the air. Her sobs intensified.

The first lash striped across the sensitive skin of her previously untouched back, and she shivered in response. Is some sort of belt or strap? The spanking had been horrible, especially given its duration, but this was something else entirely. This could cut. This could rend flesh.

Another, crisscrossing the first.

A third, lower down. She could feel the blood-throb of swelling in the aftermath of every blow. Éowyn dimly recalled a childhood friend whose cruel father's preferred solution to transgressions both major and minor was his belt. She wondered what happened to that friend; she'd disappeared one night, never to return. I've seen what a belt can do. There will be more than bruises by which to remember this time.

The fourth fell on her upturned ass, and her reaction was immediate and vocal, for the purpose of her predicament was, at last, clear. The remnants of her copious lubrication flowed over the chilly prod at the entrance to her sex, and though she'd have thought it impossible, her reflexive jerks away from the pain of the belt pushed her already obscenely stretched lips down, outward, and around its impossible circumference. Not even an inch had been gained thus far, but it was more than enough to make the eventual outcome clear: this monstrous fake phallus was intended to occupy and widen her already brutalized cunt. The lashing, while an agonizing punishment all by itself, would also be the instrument by which this was accomplished.

Éowyn allowed herself a few more moments of terrified sobbing, then tried to steel herself against her misery. She prayed that her mind might detach and fly away from her terrible reality. But the steady cruelty of the leather allowed no relief. Over and over it striped her cheeks, moving down her thighs and then back to her most vulnerable curves. With each blow she sank a little farther down the immense stone cock, then shuddered backward in response to that agony...just in time to receive the next strike.

The beating continued, her pain melting into numbness. And then, to her soul-wracking shame, a new feeling emerged: desperately unwanted pleasure, for in effect she was slowly fucking her overstretched cunt along the pitiless immensity of the stone pillar. Sanity fled, and like some dumb, rutting beast she rhythmically thrust against it in a desperate attempt to salve her misery, willing herself to the succor of an orgasm...even one earned through suffering. But it was not to be. The pain — at both ends — was too intense.

After what might have been minutes or hours, the lashing finally ceased. Her sex clenched its enormous invader in an iron grip, but she lacked the energy to move. Chains dragged across her torn-up back securely fastened her to the table, guaranteeing that she couldn't expel the object even if she wanted to.

And now there was another pressure, this time against her sore anus. Oil eased the intruder's entry. At first it slid inward without difficulty, but soon it grew even wider than the fingers that had probed her. Given the already overwhelming presence inside her sex, the stretching was unbearable. Pitilessly, her tormenters pushed, twisted, and forced it into her ravaged rear until, with an obscene popping noise, it lodged in her anal canal. She presumed it was some sort of bulb-shaped device, one now held in place by her quickly tightening outer ring. The tearing pain in her anus immediately subsided, though it was replaced by a vise-like compression of her inner tissues.

She wanted to cry out in protest, but she couldn't. Not that it would do any good. She could only accept. Any sense of self-will had been extracted by finger and lash, by cruel word and crueler treatment, by violation and unwanted submission to pleasure. Even now she yearned for the salve of release, but she had no way to achieve one on her own, for she couldn't move.

The metal fixture in her mouth was finally removed, and she drooled through dry and cracking lips, struggling to swallow without choking.

"Your punishment will resume shortly. Rest if you can."

She heard the slam of a heavy door, a rough lock sliding home, and than...nothing. Unconsciousness took her and she knew peace.

For the moment.