Chapter 10: Explorations

9 April 3019 (Third Age), Minas Tirith

“Are you sure?”

“Would you please cross the threshold already?”

“Are you in haste?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Did you bring me here for no other purpose than to take advantage of me?”

“I sincerely question whether or not ‘take advantage’ could ever apply. But of course I did. For the sake of propriety would you like me to invent a more civilized reason?”

“No, no, your purpose will be fine.”

“I note that you’ve yet to enter.”

“Well, this is a formidable barrier.”

“This is the Tower of Guard. Many of its portals are similarly forbidding.”

Her eyes, alight with sudden flame, fixed on his.

“Mine aren’t.”

Éowyn admired the finely woven satin drapes, awed at the complexity of their design, ignoring Faramir’s increasingly impatient attempts to lead her towards his bed. “We have nothing like this at Meduseld.”

“They are but cloth.”

“Don’t blithely dismiss such beauty.”

“How could I dismiss any beauty with you here, save to note that all else pales in comparison?”

“You’re just trying to get me naked.”

“Indeed I am. Mere cloth can’t possibly compare with you.”

“Your flattering words are but a transparent distraction from your unsubtle loosening of my skirt.”

“A wise warrior makes use of the tools at hand.”

“I hope your tools and your hand are well acquainted, then, because if you think I’m doing that again, you are sorely mistaken. I’m here to admire the excellence of this fabric. Nothing more.”

“As it so happens, I’ve a renewed interest in fabric myself. This, for instance...”

“Sir, that is an essential garment and I will thank you to leave it upon my person.”

“It’s a good thing the warrior’s life is a thankless one.”

“And thus are all my fears fully realized. Well, a warrior is also prepared for an abrupt change of circumstance. What, my brave and inquisitive Steward, will you do now that there’s no more fabric to admire?”

“I believe I’ll instigate another change of circumstance.”

“What are you... Faramir!“ she shrieked, laughing.

“I’m escorting you to a fabric I think you’ll better appreciate with close study.”

“You’re carting me around like feckless chattel, and I won’t have it.”

“Indeed? I regret to inform you that I believe you will.”

With a heave he flung her onto the bed. Raising herself onto her elbows, she eyed him speculatively for a moment, then turned her attention to the luxurious bedding.

“I suppose this is fair enough, and its softness is impressive. Especially in counterpoint to your brutishness.”

“My Lady, my intention all along has been for you to take full advantage of its softness.”

“Is that so? Well, then: sleep it shall be. Goodnight, my dutiful Steward and chambermaid. Don’t forget to bring me a hot loaf and some fresh butter at dawn, will you? Steward? Steward... ? Faramir! What are you... oh!“

His lips were trailing up the inside of legs that splayed open as she landed; a bold invitation he could no longer resist. His hands pursued forward reconnaissance, sliding up her torso and, as his kisses pressed into the softer flesh of her upper thighs, caressing her firm breasts and their hardening peaks.

“If you continue with this foolish distraction I fear you won’t get enough sleep to properly serve me come morning.”

His tongue stretched out, teasing the muscles and tendons at the top of her inner thigh, swirling close to her center and then dancing away again.

“It’s no wonder that you’re derelict in your duties, Steward. You dither and delay, taking forever to come to the point.”

His breath was hot against neither lips swollen and moist with anticipation.

“You require a strong, decisive woman; one who can force you to focus.” Her ankles locked behind his head, pulling hard against the back of his neck and forcing his lips to hers. He murmured something indecipherable, and the vibration was immediately transferred to her tingling flesh.

“I’m shocked that you apparently want to continue talking about fabric. Well, we shall converse as you wish. Please show me how it was woven.”

Rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger, his tongue stiffened into action, flickering against the hard nub of her clit and then stroking inward, circling and laving as she quivered with excitement. He reveled in the flavor of her free-flowing juices, drinking her essence as he sought her most sensitive points, probing her depths, spreading her labia, layering waves of sensation onto her throbbing clitoris.

“I find your explanation incomplete and unsatisfying. There’s so much more I wish to know, and I expect you to expend more effort in the future.”

His grip on her nipples intensified. Applying suction to her clit, he pulled it into his mouth and relentlessly attacked it with his fluttering tongue.

“And yet you persist with this thoroughly unconvincing argument. I don’t believe ... I don’t ... oh ... oh, yes! Faramir, my love, right ... that’s ... it’s... YES!!!“ Her powerful legs squeezed against his neck, fingers gripping his hair, and her pelvis thrust wildly upward, burying his face in her gushing cunt. Her wailed exclamations might have been loud enough to bring guards with drawn swords rushing to his rescue had he not sent them away. Her climax seemed endless, her ecstasy total, yet it was not one but many orgasms in a row that his still-writhing tongue drew from her.

For Éowyn, it was a pleasure unlike any she’d known. Not necessarily better — she’d come powerfully enough in the past, with different partners and for different reasons — but deeper; her release came not just from her sex or as a result of pure physical stimulation, but from love. There’d been a premonition of this rapture with Elfi and Théo, but in that moment she’d been too consumed by her demons and the clamor of war to fully embrace the emotion.

Briefly brought earthward by her revelation, she was immediately sent skyward again by Faramir, whose assault on her sensitive folds never relented. Over and over he brought her to screaming, convulsive explosions. Gasping and flailing as she lost her possessive grip on his head, she redoubled her efforts to fuse his mouth with her sex whenever she regained it.

They were hours neither of them would ever forget, not even long years later. He’d shown skill from his first taste, but as he gauged her responses and learned the secrets of her body he was able to tease her to the precipice and hold her there for as long as he wanted, drive her through a countless consecutive orgasms, then make her wait again, letting her beg for release until she was on the verge of snapping his neck from impatience. Éowyn was, for her part, nearly insensate with delirious lust, and would have quite happily urged him to continue until one or both of them expired from excessive pleasure, lack of sleep and food, or — as seemed more likely in his case — asphyxiation.

I’ve been reduced to helplessness, mastered by the tongue of my lover, and if there wasn’t so much more for us to explore I’d quite happily pass away with this as my dying sensation.

After a mighty struggle against her imprisoning legs Faramir at last released himself from bondage. His face was flushed and glistening, his lips were raw and dripping with her fluids, and his tongue ached. Breath returned in fitful gasps. Éowyn sprawled on the soaked bedding, quivering, her sex as swollen and reddened as if it had endured a pounding from dozens of cocks.

At length he found the strength to speak, though his voice was little more than a harsh croak. “Éowyn, I regret...” That was all he could manage before she lifted her head. Her eyes welled with love, but her reply was a challenge.

“You mean that’s it? That’s all you have to offer? Whence the legendary blood of Númenor, my once-mighty Steward?”

Faramir could only shake his weary head with laughter, muttering, “did I not warn you that I’m a lesser scion of the downfallen West? Well, I feel particularly downfallen at the moment.” Rising with surprising ease and kissing him with great passion, playfully licking her emissions from his chin and neck, she lifted his chin and looked into his eyes.

“That may be so, but I assure you that my wild Northern blood doesn’t tire so easily. Now,” she ordered, releasing his head and tugging at the buttons of his tunic, “remove your clothes and allow me to demonstrate.”

His cock strained in her encircling hand. She’d been teasing him for at least twenty minutes, kissing and tongue-tracing his flesh but granting his sex no more than the firm but motionless grip of her fingers. As she moved around the bed she occasionally paused to let her breath warm his foreskin, then returned to her maddening explorations. In frustration, he reached down and tried to move her hand along his length, but she swatted it away, scolding him for his impatience.

Finally, when he could stand no more, he grabbed her head between trembling hands. It wasn’t a gentle touch. She stopped her oral adoration and gave him an innocent look. “Do you have a request, Steward?”