Eowyn: The Cage - Ch. 10

On the precipice of a climax from her own hand, she made use of the distraction and tried again. Every muscle except those trying to envelop his massive rod clenched, she pressed downward...slowly, carefully, but with as much force as she could muster. For a moment, there was naught but terrible resistance. And then he started to penetrate her.

Her mouth opened for a scream she dared not release. More than any injury from sword or spear, more than tumbling from a rearing horse onto a pile of unforgiving rocks, the introduction of Aragorn's cock into her overstretched cunt was the most sustained expression of pain she'd ever experienced. But it was also pain-as-pleasure, like Gréor's spanking or the bitter sting of Wormtongue's whip, and that was what allowed her to endure it. That, and the promise of eventual triumph. Though it's less than an inch within me, and though it might be all night before I can take him all the way inside, I have to believe my body can accept his enormity. And this isn't about me. Even if every moment is an agony, I will offer my body to him...as long and as often as he wishes. My own pleasure will come, eventually.

She pushed. Twisted. Screwed herself downward. She gained another inch, then two. I feel like I'm birthing a calf. Whimpering with pain and lust, she tried moving back and forth, attempting to find stimulation where there was only agony. At first, she could barely withstand the pressure, and tears flowed down her cheeks and splashed onto his chest. But with slow, patient effort, she gradually brought numbness, and even a mild form of pleasure, to her spasming pussy.

She threw her head back in relief as her juices seeped around his manhood. It wasn't an orgasm — she was too overwhelmed to abandon herself to release — but even the slightest escalation of arousal brought her natural lubrication to full flow. Violently, she thrust downward, taking even more of him despite the searing torment. She achieved a measure of purchase, but her sharp hiss of pain deafened her to the sudden quickening of his breath.

A hand weakly gripped her thigh, and immediately her attention was wrenched away from the point of their union. His voice slowly rumbled to life, slurred and barely coherent.

"Ar...Evens...no, but...but, you're...who...who are you?"

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

"Don't move. Ohhhhh...please don't move. Ever."

Aragorn struggled to speak through heaving breaths. "Even if I wanted to — which I don't — I'm not sure I could."

"I mean it." She squirmed, the motion causing his enormous cock to squelch through the ocean of ejaculate he'd repeatedly poured into her thoroughly violated sex. It was an incredibly filthy sound, and they both reveled in it. "I've grown used to this feeling, and would not have it end."

A sigh. "Beloved...."

"Don't you dare say it! Not while you're still inside me."

He kissed her brow, his mighty phallus throbbing deep inside her channel. "As you wish."

"Besides, I'm not finished with you." As if to demonstrate her point, she sensually rolled her hips against his. Though his eagerness for another bout matched hers, he groaned in mock protest.

"As has ever been true, your stamina surpasses mine. You're going to have to continue without me."

She stopped, lips tightened by a frown of displeasure. "Indeed, I will."

"Evenstar, I only mean...."

"I know what you mean." She sighed. "You're leaving, and you're not coming back."

"Of course I'm coming back."

"Oh? When is that? Next week? Next month?"

"My love...."

"Many years from now. That's when you're coming back. Not for years."

"You don't know that. I don't know that. But there are deeds I must do, journeys I must undertake, and lessons I must learn ere I can attain the fullness of my manhood and be sufficiently prepared to win my greatest desire. One with whom you might be familiar. Every day — nay, every hour — apart will be an unimaginable sadness, but...."

She sniffed. "It's of little consequence, of course. I'm immortal, am I not? I can wait forever. You, on the other hand...."

"Beloved Evenstar, why do you speak thus?"

"Do not spare me the bitterness of this cup, Estel. I must drink from it as often as I would drink from you, for I will be forced to grow accustomed to the one as long I am denied the other."

Wrapping her in a comforting embrace, he attempted to stem the rising tide of her despair with humor. "How can you turn even the most tragic prose into an erotic promise?"

"I possess many gifts. Speaking of which," she said, sliding her gripping channel back and forth along his shaft, "I have a solution to my problem."

"Which is?"

"Leave 'the fullness of your manhood' here, with me. Then you can go away for as long as you wish. I probably won't even notice that you're gone. It's already a superior conversationalist."

"It doesn't speak."

"As I said."

"Would that I could," he chuckled, "for I shall have little use for it elsewhere, save in lonely and wasteful self-reverence."

He felt her tense, and her sex clutched him even more tightly than before. But she remained silent. Eventually, he broke their conversational impasse.

"You certainly know I would not break your trust."

Leaning away so she could look him in the eyes, she gave him a curious stare, as if trying to assess the relevance of his promise. "I have never considered that you might."

"Then what troubles you?"

Her response was surprisingly forceful, earnest, and challenging. "Though the long years be but a trifle to my kindred — at least for those of us not heartlessly abandoned by their lovers — they pass swiftly and without return for yours. I would not deny you the fullest measure of them."

"That is why I must go, my love."

"You mistake my meaning."

He stopped short, studying her face. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Her lips narrowed. "You understand perfectly well. You just don't wish to."

With furrowed brow and an edge in his voice, he dispensed with pretense and answered honestly. "Arwen who owns my heart to and beyond the end of time, why would you even suggest such a thing?"

"Let me speak plainly, since I can already hear you mustering what are certain to be hours of noble protest. I do not mean to encourage leaping between the thighs of every trollop who passes your way. But you will be away a long time, and not all of that will be spent racing from one conflict to another in the company of sweaty men. You will have suitors both brazen and subtle, and even you are not so naïve or noble to deny that there will be those who catch your eye. I retain the utmost trust in your love and your judgment. I know your heart belongs to me. However, I also know this: if you choose to deny yourself in any and all circumstances, it is not because I have demanded it of you. Sex is not love. Nor will I hold you aught but blameless, whatever may occur, save that you turn away from our love in the end."

Gaping and bewildered, he studied her eyes for some test or trick of meaning. Realizing that neither was forthcoming, a slow-kindled jealousy began to burn. "If you will forgive me for asking, is your sudden generosity in this matter truly about me, or does it reveal the previously unspoken intentions of the one who offers such advice?"

Though he girded himself for an angry retort, he was surprised to see her soften in response. It was with a strangely tragic wistfulness that she reproved him. "You speak as you might when you were known to me only as Estel; youthful in body, and even more so in mind. Let the older, wiser man named Aragorn hear me more clearly: have I not had thousands of years to explore any partner or act I could possibly desire? I have chosen to love you."

Though this wasn't the first time that, in the heat of debate, she'd felt it necessary to remind him that she'd been having sex for well over two millennia before their meeting, it was never a revelation he could bear with equanimity, for the sheer number of couplings such a life might entail was beyond his ability to face. The first time she'd done it, he'd wandered the glades of Rivendell in a humiliated daze, sure that every passing Elf had already sampled her beauty, wondering what he could possibly do to compare. He'd eventually concluded that such an attitude was akin to insanity, and slowly learned to rise above his instinct by focusing on their love and their future. Still, the assertion always made him feel like a scolded child. As a result, despite his determination to the contrary he found himself unable to resist one last petulant riposte.

"So you're insisting that a few short years in which to sow the remainder of my previously unsown oats will counterbalance the uncountable multitudes who've already shared your bed?"

To his consternation, she smiled. "Of course. Though since you only have a handful of years by comparison, you had best work quickly if you wish to surpass my profligate tally. Where you'll find the energy to pass your days leading men into battle and your nights driving women into throes of ecstasy, I can't imagine. You can barely satisfy my needs."

"The sense of priorities that accompanies my well-aged wisdom suggests that I should then eschew war for more pleasurable struggles."

"Indeed! But note: by your reasoning, you have now argued yourself out of the very purpose of your departure, and logic dictates that you should stay here and attend to my unfulfilled demands for 'pleasurable struggles.'"

"It must be your extremely advanced age that lends you such insight, for I find your conclusion unassailable, if self-serving."

"The elderly have earned the right to be selfish. Now," she announced, rolling him onto his back, "if we are quite done with your foolishness, I have more immediate needs. You have not yet departed, and the only sensible way to spend the balance of our time together is entwined thus. You will make love to me, without pause, until the moment of your departure." She was already grinding up and down on his newly energized rod.

"But I'm not leaving for two more weeks."

"Well, then, you will have to do without sleep." She moaned as her cunt started to hum with pleasure. "If you find yourself flagging and in need of fresh inspiration, feel free to close your eyes and fantasize that I'm one of the hundreds of desperate women who will be throwing themselves at you while you're away. But promise me this: when you're with them, think of me."

"Devil-tongued minx!" He slammed upward, impaling her to the hilt, and she shrieked with delight. Entirely occupied by their frenzied coupling, he forgot that she hadn't quite answered his probing question.

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

She spoke more wisely than I, for the test has been greater than I could have imagined.

This thought lingered in Aragorn's mind as he lost himself in another of what had, over the years, become a distractingly endless series of imagined nocturnal assignations. For a long while most of them featured his beloved, and while most still did, "most" was farther from "all" than it had once been. It was a balance that shifted back and forth depending on his environment and the opportunities at hand.

Since Edoras, however — even during the largely sleepless exhaustion of Helm's Deep and its aftermath — his rare moments of rest had been filled with erotic fantasies revolving around just one woman. He was in the midst of one now. And it didn't involve Arwen.

What strange compulsion does Éowyn weave, that I cannot wrest my dreams from her visage?

Long years wandering the farthest reaches of Middle-earth had, as Arwen had predicted, been filled with temptation. Most he resisted with ease and without remorse. Even his occasional transgressions had largely been exceedingly minor; a few lustful kisses, the briefest foreplay with neither conclusion nor fulfillment. Save only a couple of times, when the loneliness became too much to bear and the appeal too great to withstand. Though what I told her so long ago remains true: no matter how willing or eager, none have been able to manage my size, and not for lack of trying. Not since my beloved. Still, women often approached him, sometimes quite brazenly. He'd lost count of how many times he'd discovered someone waiting naked in his bed, and even though he usually dismissed them, the voyeuristic thrill often sustained him through his private exertions when the memory of Arwen wouldn't serve. For all the temptation, though, he had rarely taken advantage, and never pursued.

But now, his fantasies were vastly more tactile than any within memory; he could practically feel Éowyn's body as it entwined with his. Defensive retreat to Arwen's memory remained unaccountably elusive. And so, he abandoned himself to the union, feeling his arousal accelerate as they explored each others' flesh. Despite the brevity of our few passing encounters, there's no denying that I was immediately and intensely compelled by her, though for no obvious reason beyond her tremendous beauty. Perhaps I'm drawn to the reserves of strength and spirit with which she very clearly struggles, given her position. And perhaps it's that her interest is even more plain. Still, she's so young, even by mortal standards. And yet...for some reason, I've known from the moment our eyes met that she would be a spectacular and formidable lover. How could I possibly guess something that? And why would I? He considered what this portended. Were I to bed her, it would be more than just sex. Though I don't know how, I'm sure of this. Could I break my vows for her, after passing the test for so very many years? But no: there's no time. Soon I will be gone, she will stay, and our dalliance will forever remain safe within the confines of my mind.

His dream rolled on, and their coupling grew ever more intense, ever more real. He was on the verge of consciousness, and yet the press and envelopment of Éowyn's supple body didn't diminish. I've awakened to the evidence of nocturnal pleasure before. I'm close now. But that isn't an outcome I wish to deal with at the moment. A corner of his being began to resist his building arousal, and yet it rolled on.

This feels too real. My body yearns to abandon itself to eroticism in a way it hasn't since I left Rivendell, and yet there's some manner of looming wrongness that I cannot identify and against which I struggle in vain. My will has rarely been so weak. It's if I've been restrained...but instead of my body it's my mind that's in shackles. I must free myself of this vision.

Summoning up the strength of his lineage and the reserves of his own indomitable will, he struggled against a torpor of body and spirit unlike any he'd ever felt. He'd experienced the haunting despair of close proximity to great evil, the fatigue of deeds beyond physical measure, and the paralyzing inertia of mourning. This was different. This was the seductive entropy of surrender to desire. Whispered entreaties begged him to give in, to accept, to obey the demands of his body over all logic or reason.

Desperate for an anchor, he focused on the only sensation he recognized: the building sexual pleasure he was experiencing at Éowyn's touch. Exerting a terrible effort, he ripped her image from his mind and tried to replace it with that of his beloved. Though she was faded and indistinct, she appeared nonetheless, beckoning to him from within a billowing mist. With every bit of his failing strength he grasped her hand, and all at once he felt released. As if rushing up through suffocating waters, clinging like a drowning man to anything that might save him, he burst to the surface.

One by one, his senses slowly returned to his control, sluggish and incomplete. He realized that the eroticism of his dream was no illusion. He was powerfully aroused, and a luxurious heat gripped his manhood.

Arwen is here? How can she be here?

Fighting through his impenetrable fog, he tried to cry out, but he could manage no more than a slurred rumble of confusion.

"Ar...Evens...no, but...but, you're...who...who are you?"

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

"Shhhh," she whispered, feigning comfort despite the tearing chaos between her thighs. "Let me make love to you." Undulating her hips, she felt dizzy at the combination of effort, pain, and tooth-grinding arousal that arose from their union. Kissing him with furious passion, whimpering with desire, she opened her eyes, eager to see her ardor reflected in his expression.

Whatever was written on his face, it was not love.

For Aragorn, the struggle continued to be mighty. The long-denied company of a woman, the very real attraction he felt for Éowyn, a riotous and nearly complete stimulation that threatened to overwhelm his determination: all worked against any physical manifestation of resistance. Further, an inexplicable instinct continued to assure him that she would be an extraordinary lover, one well worth the betrayal of all he held sacred. Arwen will forgive you, whispered an indistinct voice, and he yearned to agree. She told you so. Take this woman now, and depart on the morrow; satisfied and without regret. But it was the mention of his beloved's name that finally brought the damaged vestiges of his will to the fore. This would be no mere assignation. Even though she might forgive me, could I? Or would I bear the guilt of this failure forever? And what of Éowyn? What damage will this do to her?

With as violent a thrust as he could manage despite the weakness in his limbs, he flung her to the side. The wet slurp of his cock exiting her cunt was immediately followed by a soft thud as she tumbled from the bed and onto the floor. Bewildered at the sudden rejection, she rose, searching for an answer. Aragorn rubbed his temples, straining against a lingering inability to focus.

"What...what has happened? Why are you here, Lady Éowyn? How did we come to be...?" The implications of what they'd been doing made it difficult for him to say the words.

Crawling back onto the bed, she reached for his slippery tumescence. "I was making love to you. It hasn't been easy, given your unconquerable size, but...."

He rolled away and attempted to stand, but his legs were unsteady and he was forced to grip a nearby table for support. Éowyn remained mesmerized by the mighty thrust of his manhood as it pointed, ramrod straight, right at her.

Turning to her back, she spread her legs and stroked her sodden pussy in invitation, peeling her wet lips asunder. "Aragorn, come back to bed. Take me. Make love to me. Use my body. Drive your mighty shaft into me until I scream with ecstasy. Consummate our love."

Our love? His brow furrowed as he attempted to comprehend her ribald invitation. "No, but...Lady Éowyn, you...I can't...." He stumbled backward, conviction slowly returning to his voice. "Don't! Stop this!"

I don't understand. Wasn't I bringing him pleasure? Doesn't he desire my body? Despite herself, she found her gaze compelled by his oily shaft. I must have him back inside me soon, lest all my agonizing progress be rendered pointless.

"I want your beautiful cock. I need it." She glided from the bed, falling to her knees before him, leaning forward to tongue his glans.

Hard fingers gripped her head, holding her at bay. They were not kind. "Why are you doing this, Lady Éowyn?" There was more surety and force in his words than before, with a steely anger held in reserve.