Eowyn: The Cage - Ch. 19b

Caution lost, fear momentarily forgotten, she applied herself to her task with greater vigor than before, and when it was done she felt renewed. Not just physically, either, for a nearly forgotten seed of hope blossomed.

She looked around. I'm still alone. Pulling herself from the water, she sat on the edge and, steeling herself for the worst, began a careful examination of her body's many traumas. To her surprise, it bore fewer scars than she feared, and despite her fear none of them seemed so horrible or deep that they were likely to be permanent. Angry red marks crisscrossed her breasts and her abdomen, but her nipples — while a swollen, angry red — seemed intact, despite the pointed abuse they'd taken. Her ass remained heavily bruised, but was healing more quickly than she'd hoped. Only the abrasions around her neck, the result of a near-constant struggle against her restraining collar, seemed to be getting worse.

Internally, she almost felt healed. Her ass was still tender, but her resilient sex bore no remnant of its painful stretching save that her labia now swelled outward, opening her channel as if she was in a permanent state of arousal.

She applied oils to as much of her body as she could reach, soothing away her remaining aches, while she pondered what to do next. There was nothing in sight that might reasonably serve as a weapon, unless she could somehow manage to drown her captors one by one. That seems unlikely. The towels are too small to reach around a neck, and the bottles are too small to cause more than mild annoyance. Maybe the oil within could be set aflame? If I could somehow liberate a torch...but no, the ones I've seen thus far are encaged or too high for me to reach without aid. Nor does it seem likely I could wrest one from my captors. Perhaps if I dragged one of the tables against a wall, then....

On and on her thoughts rolled, desperately seeking a viable plan. But the unfortunate truth was that her chances remained somewhere between unlikely and nonexistent, and that her most reliable weapon remained her body...the very instrument they were methodically attempting to break. Even if she could overpower someone and thus attempt to force the actions of others, she doubted that it would gain her freedom. Intuitively, she guessed that no individual life here was valued highly enough to serve as a hostage. If I could gain control over the source of that terrible Voice, though....

With the briefest flash of extrasensory insight, a hidden sense warned that her environment had changed during her reverie and that she was no longer alone. Into the mists she peered, but it was impossible to fully penetrate the humid shroud. Nonetheless, she could feel a presence. She braced herself against a sudden thrill of fear, tensing for a headlong flight...though to where she couldn't imagine.

"I hope your ablutions were restorative."

Deep and seductive, his voice smoldered like smoke rising from the earth; full of confidence and strength yet somehow elusive. In another setting she might have found its masculine swagger intensely arousing. Here, though....

"You cannot see me, I know." There was a swirl, a splash, and the fog parted. Dimly...through veils more vaporous than substantial, as if his body was materializing rather than emerging...she perceived a form immersed to the neck in what was now a shared bath.

His skin was of same hue as his voice. Not the deepest nightshade of the remote South, but coppered by ancestry and the relentless rays of the sun. Waves of long, curly black hair were gathered in ornate golden rings. Similar rings pierced his ears at many points, bearing glittering rubies that sparkled even through the murky haze. His pupils were the blackest night, his jaw carved stone, his lips full and hard.

Reflexively, Éowyn attempted to cover herself.

"Hide if you wish, but there is little point. You have not seen me, but I have seen you."

"How? Who are you?" She wondered at her accusatory boldness in the face of someone who could be her enemy.

"How? I have been here far longer than you, and my eyes see when and where others might not. Nor are all doors closed at all times, no matter what goes on behind them." She suppressed a shudder. "As for who I am...."

Displacing a vast wave of water he rose to his feet. He was half-submerged but still towered above the surface of the bath, for he was an enormous man, rippling with muscle and sinew. From his nipples hung smaller versions of the golden rings that adorned his head, and his shoulders, arms, and chest were tattooed with intricate designs in black, gold, and red. She searched for recognizable patterns or shapes but found both strangely elusive, as if the markings kept shifting as she studied them. Though she was beset with tension, Éowyn found she couldn't stop staring at him.

"...I was once called Khamûl, though that name belongs to the past. It has been a very long time since any have used it."

She remained silent.

He gestured with a massive hand. "I note that you were unable to apply oil everywhere, and so there remain parts of your back that could benefit from its soothing balm. Would you like me to finish for you?"

She shrank into herself, covering her breasts and sex even more tightly. "No!"

With an almost imperceptible shrug, he answered, "as you wish. Though if you are done, I will take that oil for my own purposes." With two great strides he plunged through the intervening water and took a bottle from the shelf. Shocked to motionlessness by his rapid approach, she marveled at the the astonishing physical presence of his passage. He retreated a bit, though he now stood much closer than when he first emerged, and began oiling his bulging muscles. But his attention never left her, and Éowyn felt profoundly uncomfortable under his penetrating regard.

"Do you need something to eat? Food is often forgotten here, especially for...." He left the designation unfinished. "Well, I am quite sure you have not been fed. Open that basket." He gestured with his head, the rings in his hair clinking and glittering. In her relief at being able to cleanse her body, her fruitless plotting, and her surprise at finding herself accompanied, she'd somehow forgotten her gnawing hunger and thirst. But she remained weak with both. Cautiously, she sidled around the circumference of the pool, keeping her body as hidden as possible...but she realized it was impossible to cover herself and eat at the same time. She considered slipping back into the bath, but the hope of flight while immersed was greatly reduced, and she knew better than to trust this strange man, despite his unexplained generosity and undeniable physical appeal.

She lowered herself to a tightly knotted sitting position, and with a wary glance at Khamûl — who continued to stare, implacable, directly at her — removed the arm that covered her breasts, peering into the basket. There was a hard, dense traveler's bread. There was also meat...less cooked than she preferred, but her starvation permitted no fussiness...coated in unfamiliar spices. The flesh was unknown, but it was good, and she devoured it with neither remorse nor delicacy, eating as one who might not have another chance. Spheres of honey-encrusted grains provided a sort of dessert. There was also water, cool and refreshing, from a large ewer. She drank, greedily and quickly, and had nearly finished when she remembered that he was still watching her.

"Go ahead. I have already consumed all I require."

Taking a final draught and wiping her mouth, she returned his steady stare. "Thank you."

"If you truly wish to thank me...." He turned, exposing a heavily decorated back twice as broad as a normal man's. "You can oil the parts I cannot reach."

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't move.

"Do not worry. The middle of my back is unlikely to cause you harm." Looking over his shoulder, he held out the oil.

Cautious yet strangely compelled to do his bidding, she continued to shroud her sex with her hand, but left her breasts exposed as she approached.

Why am I doing this? This could be dangerous. I have no reason to trust this man. I don't even know who he is, save for a name that means nothing to me. I should be thinking only of escape. But....

She took the bottle. It was if her body acted in disconnect from wisdom or self-preservation.

I should at least take this opportunity to learn more about him. If he's an enemy, perhaps he has a weakness. It's unlikely I can overpower him, but there might be something else I can use. A shroud seemed to fall over her resistance at this thought, and she found herself enraptured by the bulging musculature of his back. And if he's not an enemy....

"Bend down."

He again turned his head, one eyebrow raised and questioning.

"I will do this with one hand or I will not do it at all."

"As you wish. Though again I remind you that I have already seen your body. It is a truly glorious sight, despite what has transpired."

"How dare you!"

"If you desire revenge you may compliment me in turn."

Éowyn gaped at his forwardness. His audacity. Yet she needed more out of this encounter than idle words. I still don't trust him, nor have any idea who he really is, but I do owe him for the food. And if there's any chance that he could be an ally, I must win him to my side, and quickly.

With sudden decision she tipped the bottle over his spine, set it aside, and began rubbing oil into his back. His skin was firm to the touch, his frame a geography of hyper-masculinity, his blood an inferno raging just beneath his flesh. Despite herself she found her hand lingering, spreading the oil farther and deeper than was truly necessary. She might have continued, lost in a moment of human contact that (for a change) wasn't about violation or torture, but suddenly he turned to face her. The intensity in his eyes was difficult to meet, but she made her best attempt.

"So you've seen me before today?" she inquired, tremulous.

"Yes. Your straits were...more dire."

With an edge, she demanded, "so you're one of my many tormenters?"

"I have suffered much more than you, and for far longer. It is true I do not bear your marks. But true bondage is a matter of mind and will. Eventually the body becomes irrelevant."

Her faint spark of hope kindled. So he's a prisoner as well.

"Couldn't you have done anything to relieve my suffering?"

"I am doing as much as I can right now. Perhaps more than I should. I wonder at my reasons."

She blinked, searching his eyes and wondering herself.

"My offer to further your healing remains open."

Her mind was filled with turmoil. She wanted to trust this man — at the very least, she wished for anything that would help soothe her tortured body — but to let a stranger of unknown intent touch her in such an intimate way....

Why shouldn't I seize this chance? How much worse could things really get for me?

With a nervous glance, she turned and presented her back to him. There was a grunt, and then the press of his massive hand against her flesh. He was more forceful than she expected, though not so hard that it caused her additional pain. Despite the soothing coolness of the oil she was aflame from his very first touch, and something beyond mere physical contact passed between them. Something....

Abruptly, she pulled away, tense for reasons she couldn't quite identify. "Thank you. That's enough."

He shrugged. "As you wish." Placing the bottle on the nearest bench, he washed his hands in the still-steaming water, then turned and lifted himself from the pool. Éowyn found herself staring at the flex of his buttocks, which were no less muscled than the rest of him. Thus it was that, when he reached his full height and turned, she was staring directly at his midsection.

Her mouth gaped open. Her breath caught. The hand at her side clenched, while the one between her legs tightened around her already swelling sex.

Even at half-mast, his manhood rose from his body like a limb. And a mighty limb it was, akin to a towering oak in the most ancient of forests. It was huge. Bigger than the Halbarad of her dreams. Bigger, even, than Aragorn. And it wasn't even fully erect. Long, thick, powerful...it was less an organ than a bludgeon.

Riveted by its commanding presence, she couldn't drag her eyes away. Her nipples tightened, her skin flushed, and her juices flowed. She was utterly powerless to resist its demanding masculinity, and it took a supreme effort of will to stop herself from pushing several fingers into her wet sex and masturbating at the mere sight of it. I've more often been damaged by than attracted to overly large cocks, whether they be real, fake, or imagined. What strange compulsion befalls me now?

His bemused voice broke her reverie. "I repeat: if you still desire revenge for my bold appraisal you may compliment me in turn."

She stuttered, incapable of unlocking her eyes from his phallus. "I...no, but I...."

"Do not concern yourself. Even if you cannot find the words, I am moved by your attention."

And indeed he was, for he was slowly hardening to his full length. Éowyn feared she might lose control of her bodily functions, for the throb of desire that raced through her body and coalesced in her sex threatened to destabilize her. Yet she couldn't move. Not, that is, until Khamûl himself ordered it.

"Draw near while we are still alone, especially if you wish to speak of matters that should not be overheard."

Hypnotized, she circled the pool until she was standing just barely beyond his reach.

"Look at me."

His words finally broke her spell, though the deep flush of her arousal remained. She managed a weak smile.

"Apparently, I can't stop doing so."

"It is my curse."

"Curse?"

"How many do you think can bear its size without great suffering?"

He was now fully erect, and she was having trouble breathing. He's right. It's impossibly large. There's no way I could....

She caught herself.

I? I meant anyone. Not me....

"The answer is almost no one, at least willingly. Though that is a role into which I have often been compelled during my time here." She barely heard him. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her sex wept with desire. "For myself, I crave the rarest of creatures: a willing, eager, and capable partner. I have never found one."

Éowyn forced herself to return her attention to his face. It smoldered with a desire as naked as his body, and she nearly buckled under the force of it.

I must gain control of myself. He might be the key to my escape. If I can seduce him....

That she was seeking excuses to act on her escalating lust was obvious, but she dismissed the worry as irrelevant. In the end, it's all the same if I get what I want. And to be touched without violence, even for a few moments....

"Khamûl, I...." Looking into his eyes with as much earnestness as she could manage, she removed the hand that covered her sex and widened her legs, revealing the liquid desire that streamed down her thighs. His cock throbbed in response, seeming to grow even larger. "I shouldn't trust you. I have no real reason to. But," she lowered her gaze, placing her fingers on his chest, "I no longer wish to hide myself from you, either." Her hand slipped lower. "And...." Biting her lip, she dropped her hand to the base of his enormous rod. "I admit that I can't help myself, curse or not." Gently, she ran her fingers along his unfathomable length. "Is this to your liking?"

He drew a hissing breath. "If this is your desire, I will not stop you."

Determined to please him, she started stroking his cock. It was like grasping a firebrand. But one hand wasn't enough, and so she encircled him with the other, applying a gentle pressure as she slowly worshipped his mighty staff. Each traverse seemed to take forever. With effort, she raised her eyes to judge the effect she was having on him. His stare burned into and through her.

"Hand me the oil."

"What?" She was confused by his request but compliantly reached for the bottle, passing it to him and returning to her languorous stroking.

"I have helped relieve your pain, but there is more that I can do to you." Covering his palms with oil, he began rubbing it into her skin, massaging as much as soothing. The enormity of his hands encompassed great stretches of her body at a single pass; caressing her upper arms meant that his thumbs brushed her rigid nipples, oiling the outside of her hips meant that his fingers tunneled through the crack of her ass as they moved downward, spreading oil around her stomach meant that....

With a gasp she shuddered in ecstasy, gripping his rod more tightly. An enormous fingertip was poised at each of her entrances. Not penetrating — not yet — but teasing and circling. She hadn't realized just how close to climax she was just from the feeling of his shaft sliding through her palms. The pace of her own strokes quickened. His hips undulated, thrusting his cock between hands slippery with sweat, oil, and his own preliminary fluids. But even as her mind begged for surrender to sexual decadence, her purpose reasserted itself. Pleasure is not my only goal. I must gain something else before I'm lost.

"Will you...." She gasped as his finger probed the soaked entrance to her cunt. "Will you help...AHHHH!...help me, Khamûl?"

Between low grunts, he countered, "help you how?"

"I...ohhhhh....I have to escape. Yes, yes, right there! Ohhhhh, just like that. Will...ughh...will you help me?"

Abruptly, violently, he wrenched himself from her clutches. She was on the precipice of an explosive orgasm, and so (it seemed) was he. Her pussy and anus throbbed with stimulation, and her thighs were drenched with the same fluids that glistened on his finger. His cock leaked pearls of pre-ejaculate, and even more clung to her palms.

"You have no idea what you ask." With shocking speed he turned and exited the room. Panting with unfulfilled desire, she stared after him in disbelief. What happened? I was so close. We both were!

Her sex raged, demanding she bring herself to the orgasm it had been denied. But she remained obsessed by Khamûl and his majestic cock. Where did he go? Maybe I can find him before it's too late. She left the room and strode incautiously through the hall, walking straight into the dungeon with little heed for her omnipresent danger.

It was empty. Khamûl wasn't there. Offhandedly, she noted that in her absence the floor had been scrubbed of the previous night's effluvia, and that benches, tables, and other devices had been rearranged or (in some cases) replaced. That her next violation was being prepared while she dallied in the bath should have filled her with fright, but she was unable to break free of the lurid haze of arousal.

She hurried back to the pool and was finally shocked back to reality: neither food, water, cloth, nor oil remained. I've only been gone for a minute or two. How could someone spirit everything away without me passing or hearing them in the hallway?

Whirling, fear accelerating her heartbeat, she crept back into the hall, this time with far more stealth and caution. The door to the dungeon was now closed, though she hadn't heard a sound over the pounding of her heart, and she was certain that behind it lay more terrors of mind and flesh. Do I choose one of the other passageways or the horrible darkness? Deciding that the black hallway was beyond her strength, she reached for one of the doors.

All at once many arms grabbed her, pinning her to the wall. A thick leather blindfold dropped over her eyes and she was dragged, struggling and crying, back into the dungeon. Even as she writhed, she cursed herself.