Chapter 28: Woman

[Caution: this chapter contains violent and semi/nonconsensual sex.]

... blackness...

... silence...

Face down on a cold stone table, Éowyn drifted upward through layers of sleep. No, that’s not true either. Willful denial of consciousness isn’t the same as rest. Registering without emotion the chill that penetrated to her bones, she realized she was shivering. That’s what woke me.

Her vision was obliterated by a thick black hood that reeked of sweat and fear. I was only moments from ending my torment. Will I ever have another opportunity? Or will I again fail under the spell of uncontrollable lust? A lust they won’t allow me to satiate.

Sighing at the pointlessness of bemoaning a situation over which she had no control, she stretched her limbs, trying to shed a galaxy of aches.

At least I’m no longer restrained. I wonder why?

She’d been tightly and comprehensively bound from the moment they dragged her back into the dungeon, a web of ropes and chains crisscrossing and pinning her limbs. Their purpose seemed less about the usual imprisonment than preventing any sort of contact that might allow her to achieve orgasm, but still leaving her so exposed that they could tease her to the very edge thereof. Thin wire threads wound around her nipples, keeping them erect as they rubbed back against the rough surface of the table. Once she was immobilized, a long metal hook with a thick sphere at the end of its curve was driven through her well-oiled sphincter, with the other end secured to a catch at the back of her hood. The straight bar of the device was short enough that her head was pulled up and away from the table, forcing her to arch her back in an extremely uncomfortable fashion, or relax and be the the force behind her anal impalement. It was a wicked predicament, for whenever her head collapsed in exhaustion (or fell forward in response to a more forceful stimulus) the bulb was pulled inward, causing her to jerk her head upward in shock, releasing the pressure and allowing the device to return to its previous position. In this way she became the instrument by which her ass was explored and stretched by the devilish contraption. In a different context it might have been just one more humiliation among many, but given the extremity of her arousal it was a significant contributor to the climax she still couldn’t reach.

The worst of her bindings were the two ropes that pulled apart her engorged labia so that her entrance was open and exposed, their rough fibers chafing as much as they stimulated. Her sodden portal and hyperextended clit were touched, stroked, and probed by an endless procession of fingers, repeatedly bringing her to the brink of orgasm but never letting her reach it. She cried, screamed, wailed, and cursed her way through a litany of pleas and profanities, but they were no use. Goaded beyond wisdom or reason, she begged them to do unimaginable things to her body with a debased explicitness she could scarcely believe came from her own mouth. Nor did she plead only for sexual acts; in her desperation she conceded that she would submit to anything — spanking, clamps, even the dreaded cane — if they’d just allow her an orgasm.

Mocking laughter, as constant as their infuriating stimulation-without-release, was all she received in return. On and on they kept her on the precipice of ecstasy while her overstimulated pussy poured forth a river of lubrication that spread across the table as she moaned and wept with frustration. It was, in its own way, a psychological abuse nearly equal to the more physical forms to which she’d already been subjected. I can’t bear it. I have to come. I’ll do anything. I’ll let them do anything at all. Yet they continued to refuse her.

After hours of torment and denial she was finally left alone, exhausted but still beset by the craving for release that had consumed her for so long she could barely remember her own name. Her head slumped to the table, forcefully driving the hook deep into her rectum, but she no longer cared. Suffering a few more minutes of utter wretchedness, she finally fell half-asleep; miserable, impaled, and unsatisfied.

Unbound (and un-penetrated) when she awoke, she was only mildly disturbed that she couldn’t recall being freed from her bonds. I suppose it doesn’t matter. Idly, she wondered whether it was day or night, and just how long she’d been imprisoned. Time seems to have no meaning here. Wherever “here” is.

Despite the restorative interregnum of quasi-sleep her sex continued to throb and pulse. She desperately wanted to touch herself, but their lesson had already taken root; she knew that if she tried she’d again be restrained and made to endure an even longer torment. Gritting her teeth, she did her best to ignore her desire, instead occupying her attention by removing her hood. With a great deal of tugging and skin-abrading stretching she was finally able to pull it from her head, but the unexpected blaze of bright torchlight that greeted her eyes was blinding. She squinted, blinking and trying to regain focus ... and suddenly leapt from the table in alarm.

She wasn’t alone.

In the middle of the room stood a woman; copper-skinned and ravishingly beautiful, her hair long ebony ringlets cascading down her back and sides. As curvaceous as Éowyn was sinewed, her breasts were full and round, their nipples pierced by jeweled circlets reminiscent of Khamûl’s.

I mustn’t think of him, she warned herself, even as her sex came alive at the mere thought of his exquisite masculinity. I wonder if they’re from the same land?

“Hello?”

No response. Not even a twitch. The woman stared blankly at the wall, focused on nothingness. Cautiously, Éowyn approached.

I’ve assumed all my captors were male, but then again I’ve always been blinded. Maybe she’s one of them. She doesn’t radiate evil, and yet...

They now stood face to face, but while Éowyn peered curiously at the figure in front of her, the mysterious woman continued to look straight through Éowyn as if she wasn’t even there.

“Are you a prisoner? Or are you one of my jailers?”

Silence.

“Can you speak? Do you even understand what I’m saying?”

Nothing.

Senses on high alert, Éowyn stepped back to study her unexpected companion in more detail. She too wore a collar, but far more decorative than Éowyn’s ... as if it was symbolic rather than utilitarian. Unlike Khamûl, she bore no tattoos. Her cleanly shaven sex was swollen, glistening, and open, suggesting some sort of recent sexual activity, or at least an elevated state of arousal. A thin golden bar, capped at each end by small spheres, pierced her clit, permanently extending and anchoring it in an exposed position.

That must have been even more agonizing than the nipple rings. Though I should probably gird myself, because they just might do the same to me. She shuddered in horror.

Further scrutiny told much of the rest of the tale. She’s as much a captive as I am, Éowyn concluded. Her fleshy, well-rounded ass was crisscrossed by impact lines, older but equally linear bruises patterned her thighs back, and there was a haphazard cluster of strap marks up and down the curve of her back. Her plump breasts were a forest of barely healed scars. Right above her womanhood was a hard black outline that appeared to be a circle within an oval. At first Éowyn misjudged it a tattoo she’d missed, but closer examination revealed that it was a brand permanently seared into the sensitive skin, though what it represented she didn’t know.

I spent my former life around horses, and while I always understood the purpose of such markings I never quite made peace with what must be a brief but wretched trauma for the animals. To do such a thing to a person is ghastly! While she had sympathy for the woman, she was increasingly preoccupied by fear of what it portended for her own future. I wish I knew what it was, but it’s hard to see clearly because of all these...

The realization of what she was seeing struck her like a thunderbolt. These marks that obscure her brand ... whatever they’ve used on her elsewhere they’ve used more recently right between her legs! She contemplated the sort of pain to which she’d already been subjected refocused on her most sensitive folds. Are they going to do that to me as well?

Shaking her head free of terror yet compelled by curiosity, Éowyn reached out to touch one of the angry red welts on the inside of the woman’s thighs. “You poor thing,” she soothed, “how could they do this to you? Is there anything...”

She didn’t get the chance to finish. The moment Éowyn’s finger made contact with the woman’s bronzed skin she was knocked to the floor by a breath-stealing embrace and a powerful, driving kiss. Caught by surprise at suddenly finding the woman’s tongue inside her mouth, Éowyn went rigid with shock as the woman’s hands dropped downward to squeeze her ass, kneading the still-sore flesh and grinding their hips together.

Whimpering, Éowyn tried to extricate herself from the woman’s passionate clutches, but it was no use. She wondered at her inability to escape — could she actually be stronger than me? — then realized it had nothing to do with strength. Her own body was again betraying her. The base desires that roiled her loins wanted this crazed encounter, no matter how abrupt the prelude or great the risk.

Accepting that it was her long-denied orgasm forcing her into such unwise behavior, knowing that she would succumb sooner or later, Éowyn returned the kiss. Tongues moved together, hands caressed flesh, hard nipples dueled, and without a word they shifted until their wet centers pressed against each other’s leg. For a time they lost themselves in simple contact, and then the woman reasserted her earlier dominance and rolled Éowyn to her back.

This is insane. I don’t even know her name, nor do I have any reason to trust her motives. I should stop this.

An insistent hand slipped between her legs, questing fingers sliding through her wet lips and fluttering over her clitoris, then pushing deep within. Groaning, Éowyn lost all grip on rational though, bucking against the invading digits, seeking the quickest possible path to climax. She’d thought herself too numbed by constant stimulation to respond so easily, but the fire in her pussy was rekindled by the insanity of the situation and the ever-lingering fear of discovery or interruption. Her long-awaited release built, and built, and built...

When the tight straps of a blindfold gripped her ears she barely even noticed, so focused was she on the flame between her thighs. When strong arms dragged her back to the bench she kept pumping her hips, seeking to recapture a penetration that was suddenly, inexplicably absent. Even as strap after strap tightened around her body, immobilizing her limbs from finger to toe, her mind refused to embrace the reality of her confinement. She was insensible with unfulfilled lust, whispering formless words as she clenched and released her internal muscles against the phantom impalement for which she was desperate.

She heard — yet didn’t hear — the grinding of ropes and pulleys, the clink of metal against metal, shuffling feet, and grunts of exertion. Why won’t they leave me alone? I’m so close.

Familiar hooks scraped across and then inside her lips, stretching her mouth open. Her swollen nipples were gripped by tight rings of metal, squeezing tighter and tighter until the painful intensity forced her to full awareness of her rapidly disintegrating situation. The tension grew as wires stretched them towards her waist, though to what they were attached she didn’t know. There was a strange tickling sensation along and around her upper thighs, and her nose wrinkled at an unexpected yet strangely familiar aroma.

Then they removed her blindfold.

At first she thought her vision clouded by long tribulation, or by some new device that blocked her sight. But it wasn’t so. Only a few inches above her face flowered the rich wet folds of her mysterious companion’s sex. A drop of arousal dangled from one side of her clitoral piercing, gathering weight until it fell directly onto Éowyn’s exposed tongue. Far from repulsed, she savored the salty tang even as she wondered what this intimate alignment portended.

Am I supposed to pleasure her for their entertainment? No, that seems too easy. So what obscene devilry have they concocted?

The body above her shifted. Éowyn presumed that the softness brushing across her pelvis was the woman’s luxuriant hair, but at the same time she groaned at an upsurge of pain in her breasts. She guessed (correctly) that their nipples were bound together by wires drawn taut by movement, though the other woman made no sound of protest.

A huge, throbbing, magnificently erect phallus entered her field of vision, at these close quarters appearing to be every bit as massive as Khamûl’s. It pressed against the woman’s blossoming sex, teasing the opening, spreading and stretching her labia, and then with surprisingly little effort slid straight inside, impaling her to the root in a single stroke. For the first time the woman cried out. It was a language Éowyn didn’t understand, but she needed no translation, for it was a clear expression of unbridled pleasure.

In and out of her welcoming and obviously well-prepared cunt the thick shaft moved, the heavy balls trailing it sliding back and forth along Éowyn’s forehead, catching on her nose, and settling over her immobilized lips whenever their owner paused at the end of a particularly deep thrust. The woman’s arousal was obvious, for the giant rod was already slick with juices that spattered Éowyn’s face at every withdrawal. The only sensation Éowyn felt was the sharp spike of agony searing her nipples at each thrust. They were a horrid counterpoint to her desire, but no pain could completely arrest her overwhelming need to climax. Had she able to speak she might have begged for an even crueler stretching of her abused flesh if only she could be allowed to reach it. But now she at least understood her role in the tableau in which she was entangled. He’s going to fuck this woman to orgasm while I’m unable to do anything but watch; denying my pleasure while making me witness hers up close. This is the merely the same torture in another form. Her own weeping hole throbbed with frustration. I don’t know how much more of this I can bear.

Rapid-fire pistoning rattled the woman’s body, causing her to repeatedly cry out in ecstasy. Her fluids continued to drip onto Éowyn’s tongue and spread across her face, and the pinching and tugging at her nipples grew even more excruciating as the woman writhed through what appeared to be her climax. With an incoherent roar, the man withdrew his throbbing shaft until only his glans remained within the woman’s rhythmically clenching vulva. Éowyn watched, fascinated, as his ejaculate poured forth. In her desperation she could almost feel the spurts filling her own greedy cunt.

With one last pulse his cock slipped from the wet entrance to the woman’s sex. Gouts of their mingled fluids oozed from her stretched hole, flowing directly into Éowyn’s mouth. She struggled to swallow lest she choke on what was a formidable quantity of cream, but the inability to close her lips made it impossible to draw more than a minuscule amount into her gullet at a time, and so her mouth was soon filled with the heady aftermath of their climaxes ... bitter, salty, thick, and hot. It took her a long while to consume it all, and the moment she was done his semen-streaked truncheon pressed into her mouth. Reflexively, no longer even attempting to maintain a façade of resistance, she lapped the rest of their juices from his rampant manhood.

As soon as she’d cleaned him he plunged back into the woman’s sex, smoothly working her sodden channel with his enormous prod. Éowyn was still trying to pull the last remnants of his ejaculate down her throat, the woman’s wails of pleasure making her all too cognizant of that which was denied her. She wanted to plead for relief, but could only groan helplessly as she watched, heard, smelled, and tasted the messy union directly above her face. Desperate for any form of contact she lapped at his pendulous spheres whenever they landed between her lips. It’s not enough. I need his cock inside me, or the woman’s tongue on my clit, or ... something. Anything.

The woman thrashed her way through several more fluid-gushing climaxes before the man erupted a second time. What followed was a repeat of the first: ejaculation, withdrawal, Éowyn’s panicked attempts to consume the ooze that filled her mouth before it choked her, and then a forced cleansing, preparing him to reenter the woman’s cunt for a third time.