Eowyn: The Cage - Ch. 09b

The absurdity of her position and the conflict of using and being used in turn combined in a whirlwind to bring on her climax. An explosion of fluid flowed across her lover's chin and ran down his chest. Though at first he wasn't sure what to do with the excess liquid, nor if he should be consuming it at all, as it ran across his tongue he found himself compelled by the subtle salinity and eagerly drank as much as he could...until she too yelped with overstimulation and released her hold on his neck, collapsing to the floor and quivering with aftershocks.

After a few restorative minutes, feeling rather than seeing them loom above with yet-unsatisfied rods, she put her feet beneath her, ready for more. Giving the younger of the two an encouraging smile, she lowered him to his knees, pulling his head into her swollen pussy and persuading him without words to continue servicing her. Which he did, eager to drive her to another peak.

Reaching around her body, his companion forcefully squeezed and pinched her nipples. Even though she'd just finished sucking him to completion, his ramrod-stiff prick poked against the taut flesh of her buttocks. Wicked inspiration struck, and she leaned back to whisper, "I want you to do something else. Something unusual. I promise the reward will be worth it. Kneel behind me." He immediately obeyed, intrigued but confused.

"Use your tongue on me."

"But he's...."

"Not there." She reached back, cupping her cheeks and spreading them ever so slightly. "Here."

For a tense moment, she wondered if he'd recoil. He didn't. Instead, he bent to his task with frenzied intensity, kissing and nipping at her tender buttocks, gradually moving inward, then applying himself with fearless vigor to an oral exploration of her anus, fluttering his tongue against it just as he had her clit, circling the entrance until it was nearly as wet as her cunt.

Meanwhile, Éowyn cast a curious glance at Gréor. He stared, unmoving and seemingly unmoved. She boldly squeezed and milked her nipples, licking her lips and sucking on a finger with the sultriest look she could conjure, but there remained no sign that he even acknowledged her teasing.

Let's raise the stakes.

"Push your tongue inside." The memory of Wormtongue's illusory namesake probing her rear entrance made her cunt flood with arousal, despite its source. Again her young lover complied without hesitation, forcing his tongue straight through her tight ring and into her ass. She groaned at the delicious wrongness, yet her pleasure was undeniable. I tried to believe this particular decadence was forced upon me; no more than a perverse accompaniment to my defilement. But Elfi's teasing reenergized a secret fantasy that, in the aftermath, I've had far too many times to ignore or deny. Here, too, is a truth I must now face: I want this. Sooner or later, I want one of them in my ass. One of them, or maybe even....

The same bizarre sexual vision she'd experienced only minutes ago teased her imagination once again. She still couldn't bring its choreography into focus, still couldn't grasp what it meant, but it somehow involved the three of them, moving in tandem....

She shunted the thought away as she cried out, shuddering with pleasure. Meanwhile, the majority of her attention remained locked on Gréor, her eyes glittering with challenge.

Nothing.

"Use your finger."

She hadn't been specific, so when both men pressed digits into their respective orifices she gasped at the unexpected dual penetration. Involuntarily, her hips thrust back and forth, sawing against their invading fingers, her orgasm clearly at hand. Her mysteriously elusive vision seemed to be on the verge of coalescing into form.

"More."

Two fingers in her squelching cunt she took with ease. Two fingers worming their way into her ass were a stretching she'd not experienced since Wormtongue's persistent assault, yet the discomfort was its own form of pleasure. She imagined herself a queen whose every sexual whim was satisfied by devoted supplicants, then a helpless damsel surrendering herself to erotic forces beyond her control, and the tension between the two buoyed her across a seemingly horizonless sea of indulgent, consequence-free sexuality.

All my choices are, at last, my own. Even the choice to give up control, if that's what I desire.

Manipulated and manhandled by a pair of virile young men, pinned fore and aft by the relentless thrust of fingers and tongues, she crashed into a powerful climax. Yet even as she groaned and wailed, her eyes never left Gréor. Sweat beaded his brow, and his body was rigid with tension, but otherwise....

She bade her young lovers stand and kissed them both. In unspoken simultaneity they bent to her breasts, and she felt the contrast of their styles as they licked, suckled, and nipped; one tender and considerate, the other aggressive and sloppy. Orchestrating a quartet of busy hands, she soon had one working her pussy, another plundering her ass, while both of her own stroked their rigid cocks. Then she sank to her knees, taking each into her mouth, bringing them close to one another and fluttering her tongue across the space between. Despite much effort and silent pleading, however, she couldn't get them to make contact with each other and thus fulfill her deviant fantasy of fellating both at the same time.

As before, the younger reached his orgasm first. Again his load was copious, and she marveled at his seemingly endless reserves while her mouth filled to overflowing. As she drank from his shaft, she held the other on the brink. Then, with a final swallow, she turned her head and sucked another prodigious ejaculation down her gullet, reveling in the decadence.

If only that loathsome pig Wormtongue hadn't forced me to do this, he might have been surprised at my willingness. Some friends used to speak ill of the taste, but I'm coming to crave it above all other nectars.

Though she continued to stroke, lick, and suckle, to her disappointment neither of the young men seemed to be responding to her ministrations as they had before. If anything, their erections were slowly deflating. They can't possibly be spent already, can they? Whence the storied stamina of the young? I'm not even close to done with them, nor do I wish them to be done with me.

Rolling the younger of the two to his back, she dropped to her hands and knees and diligently applied herself to the task of reenergizing his shaft. She stroked his organ, laved his testicles, sucked his entire scrotum into her mouth, worked every kind of tactile magic she could on and around his pole, but nothing stayed the gradual collapse of his manhood.

Desperate to regain control of the situation and sate her unmet desire, she demanded that the other position himself between her legs and rub his half-flaccid spear through the slippery folds of her labia. With more grim determination than enthusiasm he complied, grasping her upthrust hips and rubbing his semi-erect cock against her wet center.

This is most unsatisfying.

Despite all her efforts, all her most thorough manual and oral exertions, she was unable to revive the younger of the two. She'd hoped to explore the myriad possibilities of two — or perhaps even three — men long into the evening, a decadence she'd never have conceived of attempting without the protective mystical forgetfulness provided by Wormtongue's mind-altering powder. But now, to her dismay, she realized she'd been too greedy, too soon. And I foolishly discount how much effort they expended in non-sexual pursuits on this very training floor. Yet my need still burns, and even one will be better than none...that is, unless the eternally stoic Gréor can somehow be urged into participation. She turned her head, begging her lone active companion to satisfy her desires.

"Are you ready? Take me."

Indeed, the shaft between her legs was just rigid enough to attempt penetration. She was desperate to feel his hard spear thrusting into her soaked channel, impatient for her long-delayed impalement to finally begin in earnest.

He stared at her sodden gash, rapt, and his shaft surged with arousal at the thought of what — and who — he was about to do.

"Please, just fuck me. Fuck me now!"

He took hold of his incredibly sensitive rod, edging the head just inside her drenched entrance, and paused, overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment. He'd been with a few women who'd allowed certain liberties, but none had offered this. And yet here was the devastatingly beautiful Lady Éowyn on her hands and knees, pleading for him to fill her.

He could barely breathe. His balls swelled with anticipation.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward. Her slick channel offered no resistance, and her only response was a throaty groan. The silky, gripping heat of her passage was unfathomably stimulating.

Two inches. Three. Four. And then, far too soon, he felt it: the imminent earthquake in his loins. "No, no," he stammered, "Lady Éowyn, I'm sorry, but I...I...."

She whipped her head around, instantly realizing that the final chapter was already concluding. In an instant of decision, her next move was considered and made. I'm still safe from consequence, but since I didn't get what I want, he doesn't deserve to come inside me. It's time for both of us to accept defeat. Resignedly twisting around, she enveloped his cock with her well-used mouth, absentmindedly lapping at the tip while he dribbled a weak load onto her tongue. She swallowed once.

He was finished.

She looked from one to the other, disappointed and squirming with unfulfilled lust. I was so confident we would go on and on...but then, I've never before been the sexual aggressor and the more experienced participant. I'm out of my depth, and I've made a mess of things. Or in my case, not enough of a mess.

And yet....

She turned to Gréor, who remained motionless as a statue despite the droplets of sweat dotting his forehead. Suddenly, his gravelly voice rumbled to life. "If you two lads are of no further use to the Lady, perhaps you should leave."

Wearily, without another word, they dressed and staggered out the door. The older hung his head in shame, while the younger offered her a sheepish half-smile of gratitude. Éowyn watched them depart in sadness and regret.

Even after everything that happened, they won't remember a thing.

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

Éowyn drained a long restorative quaff from a flagon of water, then poured two portions of an intense herbal liqueur she'd stowed in her pack, offering one to Gréor. After the traditional silent toast to their fallen ancestors, they downed the burning liquid.

Affectionally resting her head on his shoulder and a hand on his thigh, she fought off the most immediate of her desires in search of a comfort for which she suddenly yearned. His presence was, for her, equal parts paternal and sexual, but in the absence of evidence that he returned the latter she attempted to resign herself to the former. If he was affected by her proximity (or her nudity) he showed no sign. They sat like that for a long while before she finally spoke.

"Do you really not desire me, Gréor?"

He chuckled, reaching across his body to tousle her sweat-slicked hair. "What do you think, my Lady?"

"I truly don't know. I believe I see it in your eyes, but..." she drifted off. "I've been offering myself to you from the beginning, yet here you sit, unmoved. Even now, with me naked and pressed against you, you don't advance."

With a snort of derision, he dragged her hand to the center of his straining breeches. Beneath them, he was as hard as a stone. He let her linger for a moment, he pushed her hand away.

"Is my Lady's question sufficiently answered?"

She tilted her head and looked at him, quizzically. He said nothing, staring at the far wall with a steady, unfathomable expression. Her hand snuck back to his erection, attempting to stroke him through the thick leather, but again he removed it to his thigh.

"A better question, my Lady, might be how you could possibly be interested in a decrepit old relic like me. You'll remember that my participation in the second half of the training session was limited to the dispensing of salt and sarcasm while propped against the wall. If I've any physical contribution left to make, it's not been apparent for some time now."

Nudging him in remonstrance, she countered, "seated you might be, and yet," she poked his manhood with a finger, "there you stand."

He smirked. "As you've recently learned, the object of your prodding often promises more than it delivers."

"True," she acknowledged, "but now I'm sure that you want me. For you could have departed at any time, yet here you remain."

"You seemed sufficiently occupied."

She raised an eyebrow at the odd emphasis. "You could have joined in."

"I don't much care for an audience." Her hand, drawn like a spider to its prey, again grasped his penis. For a few moments she resisted his efforts to dislodge it, but eventually he prevailed. "Nor am I in any sort of shape for your deranged acrobatics. Anyway, I was content to wait, since I knew they wouldn't give you what you wanted."

She felt strangely offended, as if her competency had been called into question. Though in truth, the jibe was all the more bothersome because it was correct. "I assure you that for all their fumbling and inexperience, my pleasure was more than 'sufficient.'"

He laughed. "Well, that's very impressive. You must be exhausted after all that sufficiency."

Angered, she tugged at his breeches. He offered token resistance, but now she was determined, finally exposing his rigid phallus in full. It was quite a bit larger than those of her limited experience, but more notable was that it looked less like flesh than rough-hewn stone. Did I expect it to be wrinkled or grey? Well, I suppose the hair is, but his shaft shows no signs of age or decay. Mesmerized by its commanding presence, she forgot whatever retort she'd been preparing, instead applying herself to a multi-fingered tactile study of its myriad bumps and ridges. Suddenly, she stopped.

"Oh, Gréor, I'm so sorry."

He sighed. "Don't pity me, my Lady. It took a very long while to heal, and maybe it's not the most handsome organ, but it works well enough. Anyway," he chuckled, "how do you think I guessed the warg was a she? In those days, not even murderous beasts could resist my mighty lance."

She didn't laugh. Instead, she delicately caressed the uneven surface, intent on discovering all its secrets. His cock throbbed as her caresses grew bolder, and now she enveloped it within her hand, stroking up and down, studying his responses. Other than an acceleration of breath, he remained impassive.

Glistening whiteness appeared at his tip, and she bent to capture the droplet with her tongue, swirling it around the head. Eventually her lips closed around him, her tongue playful as he rumbled with low groans.

Gréor's hand wrapped around the back of her head, insistent, and she yielded to the urging and sucked his cock deeper into her mouth. Its width was difficult for her to accommodate, and as the glans approached the entrance to her throat, she reflexively gagged. He immediately released his grip and she pulled away, coughing. But now she was determined, and with a deep preparatory breath took him back into her mouth, using her lips to stroke his length and her tongue to stimulate his rough discontinuities. One hand manipulated his weighty balls, tugging and rolling as she pleasured him to the fullest of her still-developing abilities. She bent lower, lapping at his wrinkled sac while she stroked him with a firm grip, then returned to envelop his rod, sucking enthusiastically.

Just as her jaw was starting to ache from the effort, he pushed her head away. "Lady Éowyn, your mouth has been put through enough trial today. Allow this graybeard to make the best use of his failing energy." With relative ease he pulled her upward so that she straddled his waist. But when she leaned in for a kiss, he turned his head aside.

"As I said, your mouth has done enough," he muttered. She reddened, wondering if the liqueur failed to mask the pungent aroma of all the semen she'd consumed. Instead, he dipped his head to her breasts, aggressively mauling both with lips and teeth. Though this was the second time today that her tits had been abused in this manner, the difference in his skill was immediately apparent, for now she reveled in the rough treatment, crying out in pleasure.

The tip of his cock nestled into the welcoming folds of her sex and she reared back, her expression playful but still smarting from his avoidance of her kiss. "Gréor! Should I fear for your health if we continue in this manner? I wouldn't want to be the cause of your premature demise, especially in such a compromising position.."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then he grimaced, and with surprising ease lifted her from the floor and dropped her, prone, across his lap. Before she could react or resist, he delivered a mighty slap to her upturned ass. She shrieked in protest, struggling to get away, but with only one strong arm he held her firmly in place. Again and again blows rang out, reddening her cheeks and stinging her to the core. Holding back nothing, he covered her ass in red handprints even as his turgid cock poked and prodded her stomach.

She came. Sharply, shockingly, and without warning. Undulating against him, gasping at the strangeness of an entirely unexpected orgasm. Even amidst her throes, she was baffled at her reaction. Do I feel guilty for what I've done, and thus deserving of punishment? Is there something about submitting to his corrective hand in particular that I find arousing? Or, against all reason or decency, do I just like being spanked? She recalled her reaction to Wormtongue's whipping, and even though she'd believed that experience singular, the similarity between the two brought a chill to her bones. Do I actually experience pleasure from pain? From humiliation? Maybe both?

Meanwhile, she had a more pressing curiosity. "How did you know?" she gasped, squirming to escape her realization as much as his imprisoning arm. "How could you know?"

Rather than answering, he again lifted and repositioned her so that she was back in her previous position, straddling his thighs. When he lowered her sex to his cock, she stopped resisting. He paused at the entrance, seeking permission in her eyes, and despite the confusion of the last few moments, she was unaccountably touched by the gesture. Especially as he could probably do absolutely anything to me at this point, and I'd eagerly acquiesce. She answered by reaching between her legs, holding him steady as she slid her slippery cunt onto his rod.

Stretched more fully than ever before, feeling her flesh widen as she took him deep inside, she descended with more patience than her ardor demanded. But she was far too horny to delay for long, and when their hips finally met and he was buried to the root, the combination of their position and his commanding masculinity left her feeling truly impaled; in the superior position, perhaps, yet in every other way under his complete control.

Instinct took over, and she moved. Gingerly at first, feeling her interior flesh tug and pull at his spear. Her rhythm built to longer, surer strokes, rising up and down at an eager tempo. Gasps fled her throat as she plunged herself harder and faster onto his cock, taking herself on his rigid pole, fucking herself into ecstasy. With an abandoned wail she collapsed onto his chest, her hips pounding against his as she exploded in orgasm. Liquid gushed and flowed from the point of their joining, and the wet slap of her thrusts echoed off the walls. Still she pumped, and still she came, and it took much of his strength to endure the rising force of her peak without sliding from the bench.