Éowyn, Book 2: The Key
Chapter 11: Explanations

Copyright© 2018 by Barahir

Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 11: Explanations - 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  

12 April 3019 (Third Age), Minas Tirith

“Does your jaw never tire, my perpetually enthusiastic but much-beloved fellatrix?”

Éowyn arrested her motion and, with a mischievously sloppy, undeniably sexy noise, pulled her mouth from his cock and glared in mock disgust, though her fingers continued to slowly stroke his length. “Do you really wish to discuss the relative fatigue of certain body parts, my unexpectedly disappointing yet inexplicably adored beneficiary of such masterful fellatio?”

Faramir grimaced, but shook his head. “It’s true that you’ve rendered me semi-functional, my insatiable Spear-wielder of the North.”

She laughed, still caressing his hardness. “I am afraid I’ve already noted your semi-functionality, my somnambulistic Steward, despite my dismay at your doing little more than lying there for the past hour.”

He sputtered. “‘Hour?’ It pains me to inform you how grossly mistaken you are. It’s been at least two hours.”

She considered. “You may be right. Two hours of lazy recumbence while I do all the hard work.”

“While I’ve little desire to complain about the arrangement you describe, have you forgotten what preceded my languor?”

“Of course not. I clearly remember finding myself suddenly bereft of the proper service due a lady of my position.”

“Your position? On your back, with those lovely thighs pressing against my ears?”

“As you say.”

“I only asked for a moment to recover my breath.”

“Are all your moments two hours in length?”

“Well, there have been certain distractions.”

“Fine, I admit that I was bored and chanced upon an activity with which to entertain myself while I waited. When you leave, I suppose I shall have to seek the rest of my satisfaction under my own guidance. Or,” her smile grew wicked, “perhaps you’d like to stay and witness the results your insufficiency denies you?”

He moaned. “If you refer to the tongue cramps, may I remind you that I’ve occasionally found it difficult to form words these past few days? Remember that I must, at whiles, use my tongue for purposes other than your pleasure ... far less sweet though these tasks may be.”

She giggled. “So complimentary, and yet you stubbornly refuse to satisfy my needs.”

“Other than a reversal of recumbency, what is it that you wish, my love?”

Her grip tightened and her expression turned serious. “All I desire, and all that I don’t yet know I desire.”

“Then you shall have both,” he sighed, “and I will endeavor to accept my early death as well-earned.”

“Now, now, none of that. For one thing, I would hope that you’d at least have the courtesy to expire while I’m doing this.” She gave him a long, luxurious lick. “But until that dark day, we will have to improve your stamina in certain areas. I commit to doing whatever it takes to help you. And I do mean whatever.”

Letting his head fall back onto her small bed, he sighed. “I foolishly thought that I, descendant of a ruling house and acclaimed as a doughty warrior since I was a mere stripling, might venture to test your limits. Such a dubious boast I shall never think to make again, though perhaps we will see what transpires when at last you allow me the full pleasure of your body. At least my passing will be an enjoyable one.”

All motion stopped and the hand that encircled his sex fell loose. Faramir raised his head to see what was wrong, and to his surprise found her face beset by distress. She looked at him with what, only days ago, might have been an unfathomable stare, but their connection had grown intimate enough that he could read her tension and displeasure as clearly as if she’d spoken them aloud.

He cleared his throat. “My love, tell me how I’ve erred that I may mend it?”

Her expression softened. Releasing his cock, she slid upward ... pulling his body to hers, making head-to-toe contact and wrapping her limbs around his, nuzzling her face into his neck.

“Your words aren’t what needs mending, my patient and loving Steward. I am.”

Interrogative silence was her only answer. And so, with a deep breath, she began to speak.


“There’s much I’ve yet to understand, and much I may only learn to accept with time, but there’s also much that you either can’t or don’t wish to say.”

He was laying on his side, facing her, head propped by an angled arm. She’d retracted her limbs and leaned over her folded legs, alternating between beseeching glances at his face and and morose downward stares whenever the subject grew more difficult. With every word she seemed to draw farther into herself.

“Of this reluctance no one is more aware nor ashamed than me.” She bit her lip, abruptly coming to a long-avoided decision. Taking a preparatory breath, she closed her eyes and prepared to have her already fragile vulnerability shattered. “What do you wish to know, Faramir? I will tell you everything, no matter how private or dark. Even if it costs me your love — and it may — I promise to reveal anything you desire.”

He reached for her, clasping her trembling hands between his, and she opened her eyes just enough to study their entwining fingers. “My darling, did you not believe me when I said that none of it could possibly matter? That my love for you is of now and tomorrow but can never be sundered by the past? I seek neither revelation nor confession. I seek only understanding; not just for myself, but that we may grow closer in mind and heart.”

Éowyn was on the verge of tears, but she forced them aside. “Yet it may matter after all. For one thing, you almost certainly wish to know how and why Gandalf acted as he did. I fear I may not possess all the answers you seek.”

“If you speak truly — and I deem you do — you cannot be faulted, least of all by me. But you are correct: should you cleave to me both how and why would seem to be matters deserving of my inquiry. Not because of what has been, but because of what might be. I don’t wish to presume prematurely, but if we ever decide to ... I mean, if we hope for...”

“ ... if we want to have children. You may say this to me without hesitation, Faramir. I do not fear that future. In fact, my heart swells with love at the possibility, though you’re correct that it’s well beyond what and where we are right now, and this would be true even if I’d not been ... altered. But perhaps I don’t properly understand your concern, assuming without warrant that it parallels my own. Can you speak more plainly?”

“My love, your answer gives birth to questions rather than descendants. If it’s not the potential for progeny that you fear, then you must fear something about the gift itself. Are you sure it’s not choice itself that you fear? For this would be a choice we’d make together. Yet how shall I offer my contribution to the decision that precedes the attempt if I don’t fully understand the possible avenues before us, nor the effect of this change upon your ability to bear a child, nor even how the interdiction can be undone? And I still don’t understand how my words led us to this pass.”

She sighed. “Regarding the latter, at least, I’ve clarity. As before, it stems from my reluctance to take the obvious next step in our ... relations. There’s no question that I’ve loved both what I’ve received and what I’ve given, despite my teasing, and I promise that my ardor for both shall never wane. But I’ve resisted giving my body to you in full because I feared this very conversation. For — and here I must speak bluntly — the choices before me all seemed ill: to accept your seed within me and let you believe that unexpected issue is a potential result; to encourage you to join with me in the normal rhythms of safety and danger while concealing that, for me, those rhythms are irrelevant; to employ external barriers of inconsistent efficacy that are equally unnecessary; or to reveal the extent of my shame and doubt.”

“Dearest Éowyn, I know enough of a woman’s estate, and more than enough about you, to have guessed that whatever stayed our progress wasn’t merely physical.” She blushed a bit at the implication, but her attention held firm. “And as you say, our brief relationship already bears precedent for hesitation. Still: I admit, now that I know more of this ‘gift,’ that I’m troubled. Not,” he cautioned as her brow furrowed in concern, “by you or by anything you may have done. However, I find it difficult to understand how this change can have been granted at all, for it seems a fundamental alteration of your nature. Such changes I’ve always believed to be the work of the Enemy, though you reassure me by revealing that the Firstborn can choose similarly and of their own volition. Further, this gift was given to you by Mithrandir, in whom all trust has been rewarded beyond measure, so I cannot see how it can be evil. Still: can you truly tell me no more of ‘how or why,’ that I may absolve myself of my remaining doubts?

Éowyn shook her head. “I cannot say how, for I truly don’t know. It could be some form of wizardry, I suppose, for I felt it within me — physically, I mean — in the moment of giving, and if I give it thought I’m dimly aware of its lingering presence even now. For reassurance on that point, I reluctantly confess that upon a time I was, albeit indirectly, afflicted by the sorcery of Saruman...” Faramir’s eyebrows lifted at this revelation, though he didn’t interrupt “ ... and, more recently, I’ve been a direct victim of the black thaumaturgy of the Witch-king. While I sense enough of a distant familial resemblance between all those influences to recognize them as various forms of wizardry, or ‘magic’ as one might have it, this is different. I can’t expand upon my surety except to say that I feel and know the good at its core, but also the caution and warning that surround and are bound up with it. More insight than that is beyond my ken, save this: I know with certainty that when it is time I will understand how to unravel the prohibition and give up the gift ... whether for a moment or for all time.”

Faramir nodded, satisfied despite her ambiguity, for so may an honest person instantly recognize truth from another. “Ever are the machinations of Mithrandir opaque to the rest of us, save that they always end true and have, despite all doubt, proved strongest and wisest in Middle-earth. I trust your feelings and am comforted within my own heart. But now I wonder if it’s neither the potential outcomes nor the wizardry itself that troubles you.”

Failing to stifle fresh tears in response to his insight she pushed forward with her explanation. “You also wished to know why. This is the bed of thorns on which I dare not rest. Why me? Why now? What is the danger so great and so immediate that I, alone among mortals, must be protected in this deformative way, unmaking — even temporarily or conditionally — the very birthright that makes me a woman? I try to claim that I don’t know, but the truth is a dense thicket of trauma as unnavigable as it is forbidding. I think ... I believe ... the proximate cause to be the evil which the ... the ... which the...” She faltered, trembling and strangely feverish, as if her thoughts themselves were making her ill.

“The Witch-king,” he supplied, edging closer. He could clearly see her struggle against despair ... the very same despair that weighed upon her so heavily when they first met ... but the honesty with which she’d spoken only moments ago was on the verge of wavering. At least I know that source of trauma remains present, even if I still don’t know the form it takes. But I think this memory is one she shouldn’t be compelled to relive, at least not by me, and I’ll never ask her to do so.

“Yes. But in truth I wandered a lonely path of suffocating darkness long before his was forced upon me.” She hesitated. “For there were other darknesses that preceded it; less powerful by comparison, perhaps, but no less real.” She paused for a time, but Faramir judged it wisest to remain silent, for it was obvious she was struggling with a revelation she still wasn’t entirely ready to face. The question is: despite my empathy and my self-proclaimed resilience, am I? What pain is it that troubles her to the very core, so that even one as strong as she cannot bear to admit it, much less confront it?

 
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