Éowyn, Book 2: The Key
Chapter 5: Substitution

Copyright© 2018 by Barahir

Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 5: Substitution - Pursued by erotic curiosity into darkness and ruin, defiled in the aftermath of an unfathomable trial, will Éowyn’s uncontrollable desires encage her forever? Is mastering those desires the key to unlocking her future, or is love her true path to freedom? 4th place, 2018 Clitorides, Best BDSM Story.

Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Mult   Coercion   Consensual   Magic   Reluctant   Romantic   Heterosexual   Fiction   Fan Fiction   High Fantasy   Sharing   BDSM   Light Bond   Rough   Spanking   Group Sex   Anal Sex   Analingus   Cream Pie   Double Penetration   Exhibitionism   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Sex Toys   Squirting   Voyeurism   Public Sex   Royalty  

[ Setting the scene: Éowyn and Faramir have become frequent companions during their convalescences in the Houses of Healing.]

20 March 3019 (Third Age), Minas Tirith

Breathless, Éowyn collapsed onto the bed. She barely had the energy to remove her clothes, and her rapidly mending arm — now passing time in and out of a sling as circumstances allowed — ached.

Strange that I apparently have limitless energy for sex, but walking around the courtyard for a few minutes brings me to the brink of exhaustion. Though I suppose, given my ongoing state of dissolution, it’s not so strange after all. Sex seems to be the only way I can salve the rest of my wounds these days. Or at least ignore them.

But her lack of air wasn’t solely due to fatigue from her first solo perambulation since being called back from her netherworld of despair.

By Eorl the Young, Faramir’s a beautiful stallion of a man.

Her initial encounters with the Steward of Gondor filled her with unanswerable questions. Foremost in her mind at the moment was why she hadn’t immediately propositioned him (as her loins angrily demanded). Yet she’d somehow sensed that it would be the wrong choice and, despite the difficulty, held both her tongue and her more insistent organs.

He’s so different from his late brother. Boromir intrigued me on a purely physical level, though I wasn’t yet prepared to do anything about it. Alas! I wonder: if I’d followed through on that urge, how would I view his younger sibling now? Would I consider bedding one after having the other? There was a nagging tug on her memories at the thought of having sex with brothers, but despite a few moments’ puzzling no greater clarity arrived, and so she pressed on. Faramir seems in every aspect older and wiser than his brother, despite having fewer years. He makes me feel like a young girl, blushing shyly in anticipation of her first kiss. Though that’s far from all he makes me feel...

She was horny again, and noted with considerable dismay that the urge seemed to gain strength whenever she was otherwise weak. Her body hurt all over, fear and doubt haunted her mind, and her speech with Faramir left her feeling vulnerable in ways to which she was unaccustomed. Nonetheless her arousal burned unchecked.

What to do about it, though? More tedious self-pleasure? Despite the unsatisfying emotional coda to her most recent encounter with Elfhelm, sex was a welcome, even necessary, respite from her restless, tortured fantasies. Predictably, the Marshal had avoided her since their last assignation. I very nearly made it through yesterday without masturbating. And when I finally gave in the accompanying images were refreshingly tame. Well ... tame by my recent standards, anyway.

Unfortunately, her dreams continued their procession through dark realms. Relentless penetration, ever-escalating pain ... both continued, but more and more often her imaginary abusers were either people she knew and trusted (like Elfhelm) or — more horribly — the recently deceased bearing disfigured faces. Boromir and Théodred were among those cruelly haunting her fantasies of late, and while the depravity itself sickened her as much as ever, the faces worn by her tormentors were more than she could bear.

Nor had her yearning for Aragorn abated. The way he ruled her thoughts in and out of dreams was no longer a matter of hope, but rather of unending failure and despair. She felt as if she’d come full circle, and despite all her experiences and efforts was once again trapped within a shrinking cage. But this time she knew it to be entirely of her own construction.

She saw everything so clearly now: the choices she’d made, the people she’d used. I even sought to make use of Wormtongue, once. How foolish was I? Though he poisoned me with truth wreathed in evil, in the end I was a willing participant in my defilement. And in the end I only “saved” myself by mastering his tricks. What did that effort cost me? Who was I when I manipulated those young men at Dunharrow? When I seduced Gréor? When I escalated matters between brother and sister until everything became perilous? When I let faceless wild men take me as they would, without regard for safety or consequence? And how many times have I already availed myself of...

She wrapped her hand around her forehead. It was damp with sweat.

... Elfhelm. I’m going to have to do something about Elfhelm, for I’m using him as well. There may not be deceit involved — I’ve tried to be as honest as possible — but it’s obvious he harbors feelings I don’t.

Yet the flame in her loins burned on.

Who else will share my bed if I send him away? Still ... I know we can’t go on like this. It’s not right, nor is it fair to him. I have to be clear and I have to be direct. If he’s not willing to continue on my terms — casual lovers, but no more than that — I have to end it. I have to.

Already she felt a small lightening of her burdens.

Perhaps eliminating the darkness in my actions will help bring an end to the darkness within.

Even as this new hope sprouted, she feared it would soon wither and die.

Yet I remain without hope for myself. I can’t have the man I love, I don’t love the man I have, and as for Faramir ... I’m entirely unworthy of such a one.

The walls of her cage pressed inward.


21 March 3019 (Third Age), Minas Tirith

Faramir continued to fill her thoughts as she passed down the hallway to her chamber. His plain interest he no longer attempted to hide, but its expression remained nobly restrained, even courtly. Yet she knew that he awaited reciprocity.

I wish I could. I certainly want to. But I can’t.

A well-worn litany of reasons against — personal insufficiencies, failures both moral and physical — rushed into her mind and she stumbled, just barely catching herself on a nearby windowsill before she tumbled to the floor.

No. I mustn’t hope. For me there will be no happy ending. I might have done better to ride East with the Captains after all. Even injured, even hobbled, I might at least have found honor and peace in death. Here I have only the mockery of hope, the illusion of choice, the shackles that forever bind me to my failures.

Her days were as shadowed as her nights, though the Enemy’s murk had fled the heavens the very day of their victory on the field below. The tortured sexuality of her dreams still hadn’t abated, but was instead — at least at times — viewed through a veil or at a remove. Brutish, perverse things still befell Éowyn enslaved, but a separate and self-aware Éowyn watched them happen with varying levels of horror and arousal. In a way, it reminds me of Aragorn raising me from my trauma. I’m no longer completely lost in my nightmare, though I still feel everything that happens, but despite my freedom I’m forced to watch it unfold and thus to carry it with me into the waking hours.

She paused at her door. It was ajar.

A visitor?

She straightened, taking a deep breath as she opened the door. Could it be Faramir? We took our leave in the garden, but perhaps...

It was Elfhelm, his stare fixed on a point somewhere behind her. Until he spoke it wasn’t even clear that he saw her at all.

“Lady Éowyn, I wish to apologize...”


Taking his hand in hers, she tried to summon as much comfort and warmth as she could. Their long, tightly wound conversation had been full of unspoken truths and artfully disguised motivations, and she was eager to bring it to an end. “Elfhelm, you needn’t feign nobility for either of our sakes. I didn’t lie when I told you that I’ve derived great pleasure from our coupling. But I pray thee: don’t speak falsely — even to yourself — regarding your feelings.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. All you’ve said or heretofore left unsaid are truths I’ve known yet wouldn’t allow myself to accept. If you won’t love me, then you won’t ... but while I put my own feelings aside, I would still be honored to share the bed of so exquisite a Lady.”

 
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