A bulk of sinews

Moaning,

Fidgeting.

What can such a clod desire?

But a clod desires many things.

Vladimir Mayakovsky, A Cloud In Trousers


'You. Wake up, you,' someone uttered with a snap and prodded him in the ribs.

Éomer felt that the murk was dissolving and he was deeply dissatisfied. Unconsciousness was a bliss, reality was a shock. He opened his eyes and saw a dark man bending over. The Southerling was holding a cup in his hand, pushing the water to Éomer's lips. The king of Rohan wanted to take the cup, but he found that his hands were tied behind his back. He growled, but the thirst was too strong, so he let the man water him. The darkling nodded and stepped silently to the corner. Éomer looked around, his head still spinning, his vision blurred. The room was airy, with high pointed windows, painted ceiling, helical columns. The air was thick with a heavy fragrance of osmanthus. There was a soft incessant sound of running water, though the source of it was nowhere to be seen.

'The fountain must be outside,' thought Éomer.

Was he a prisoner? His hands and feet were not free. But the place looked nothing like a dungeon. He tried to remember how he'd got there, but his mind was blank.

Soon Éomer heard the steps approaching. The man in the corner gathered himself up. Two men in full armor entered the room and remained silent, guarding the doorway. And then Éomer heard the most light and soft steps. A young lady came in, dressed in scarlet, with golden armlets and golden rings in her black tresses. Her eyes widened as she saw Éomer. A strange glint was in them, and her lips twitched.

'Aha,' she murmured softly. 'How did you manage to find such a treasure?'

She was talking to her servants in Common speech, obviously wanting Éomer to understand her. Her tongue was velvety, she pronounced words with a drawl.

'He was most likely hunting for orcs that ambush our Western road, my lady.' A man in the corner spoke equally smoothly, emphasizing the vowels. 'We think that he was scouting and got lost, then his horse was injured and he fell off it and was knocked out. No more Rohirrim were to be seen there when we arrived.'

'Rohirrim?' said the lady, approaching Éomer and lifting his chin. He jerked his head to dodge her heavily ringed hand, but he was too numb to succeed. The woman smiled and touched his lower lip with her thumb.

'Is he wounded?' She stood upright.

The man couldn't understand the word she used, so he mumbled pitifully. His queen made an impatient movement, exasperated.

'Is he rhalud?'

'Oh, my lady, no, he is definitely sound, only too weak.'

A crooked smile appeared once again on her red lips.

'What's your name, rider?'

Éomer was too feeble to rebuff, but his eyes shone angrily and he gritted his teeth.

'Are we being stubborn, my horse-lord?' The lady's silky voice became cold and menacing. All the servants drew their scimitars and made a step forward. No, thought Éomer fiercely, he wouldn't die in the South. He had to return to his homeland.

'Brego,' he hissed, and the queen made a sign to her men. They stepped backward.

'Good.' She turned away and left the room, dropping the last words. 'I want him in my chambers at the sunset, you know what to do. No food now, I'll feed him myself. Wine is allowed.'

The sound of her light footsteps were fading, and the wrath in Éomer's chest was ebbing, for he had no strength left.


The night came, but the air was as hot and heavy, as in the broad daylight. Éomer was sitting in a very elegant room, tied to a sofa. The servants made sure that his arms and legs were immobilized, it was obvious that they were much afraid of him, his beastly strength, his rage. Now it was the uncertainty that tortured him, he had no idea what to expect from that night. So far it was not so horrid — the room appeared to be a dormitory: it had only a sofa, a small table, a fireplace and a huge four-poster with silk hangings. Two chests stood near the bed, not unlike those in Rohan, but heavily decorated and engraved. Éomer's nerves were strained. The fire made the heat in the room nearly unbearable and he vainly tried to catch some waft of fresh air from the window he sat by. When the first star appeared in the sky, the doorknob turned at last. The queen entered the room silently, still wearing her scarlet silks, and Éomer felt his heart freeze. She locked the door carefully and sat by the fireplace, throwing some thin logs into the fire. Only then she looked at Éomer and saw that he was bound to the sofa, wearing now only linen breeches. Her eyes wandered hungrily all over his sweating body, his tattooed chest and great biceps. She stepped out of her embroidered shoes and came nearer to Éomer. Then she untied her light dress.

'What a treat you are, Brego,' she said, unbraiding her hair. She pulled all the ringlets out of her hairdo and the hair cascaded down to her hips. Éomer watched her silently, entranced, admiring her beauty and trying to conceal it. She was evil, he knew it. But he couldn't take his eyes off her. Why on earth would a woman take an unknown man to her bedchamber?

'You are probably wondering what I am about to do with you,' said the queen, tilting her head. 'Well, to tell you the truth, I want you to be my...' she clicked her fingers, trying to find the right word.

'...toy.'

She made a swift movement and her dress fell from her shoulders. There was nothing under it. Éomer caught his breath. He never saw a naked woman so unashamedly beautiful, so boastfully attractive. He felt the blood rushing to his face and to his dick. She made one more step toward him, her skin bathing in the glow from the fire. She was somewhat tanned, her whole figure very slim, with small round breasts, swaying slightly as she moved. Now Éomer felt her musky scent, and his head spun. The musk mixed with the fragrance of sandalwood burning in the fire intoxicated him, permeated his own skin and linen. He tried not to look at the queen, but that seemed to amuse her even more. She finally reached for his breeches and untied the laces deftly.

'You're starving,' she said, looking in his eyes fixedly.

'I don't want you,' answered Éomer hoarsely, feeling her proximity with every inch of his body.

'You are a very bad liar,' laughed the queen. 'As a Rohir... and as a man.' And with the last words she stroked his enormous cock, that was already freed and throbbing near his navel. She put her light cool finger on the head, circled the rim, and then traced it all way down to the bush of golden hair and a massive ballsack. Éomer closed his eyes, trying to resist the temptation, but it was too much for him. He let a sigh, when she touched the head once again, now squeezing it slightly, as her left hand squeezed his balls.

'Anyway, my stubborn man, I was talking about real hunger. You must have starved.' With these words she went to the table, and lifted the golden lid on the biggest plate. Now Éomer saw that the table was laden with dishes. Still his hands were tied, but the queen took the plate and returned to him. She sat on his lap. Éomer felt her hot mound through the fabric of his breeches, and her firm belly pressed against his cock.

'Let me feed you, my poor thing. Be a good boy and open your mouth.' Éomer parted his lips and she put there a small bite of meat of some kind. He began to chew eagerly, and she laughed, as he snatched the bites from off her fingers, nearly gnawing them.

When she stood up again and went to the table to pour him wine, Éomer watched her hips swaying and felt that there was barely any free will left in him. She turned around and this time he dropped his look to see that her mound was slightly covered with dark hair.

She pressed the brim of the cup to his lips. As he drank, he watched her hazel eyes closely and saw her pupils dilating. When there was no wine left, she tossed the golden cup onto the floor.

'See, I am a good mistress. I want my man to be well fed before I claim his meat.'

'Why me?' asked Éomer, mastering his ability to think again. 'You have the whole land to rule and you can find a man to please you for every night in a year.'

'I've always wanted a man from the North, my dear horse-lord. And as to why... you know, here in my land a man is proud if he has a small penis. They seem to think that only a beast can have a big dick. I've always craved for a big one. And here you are, with a nice big tool to play with.'

She tugged his foreskin and touched gently the glossy skin beneath it. It was too much for Éomer, and suddenly he came all over himself. His sperm was creamy-white, thick and hot; now with his skin covered with it and his breeches dampened he felt humiliated. He wanted so much to show this haughty wanton that she was unwanted, but instead of that he came easily as a virgin! His cheeks reddened, but he was still unable to waver his eyes away from the woman in front of him.

'Tut, tut,' she said lightly. 'I wanted your semen to be inside of me, not on my couch, my Northman. I'm afraid I'll have to punish you.' She took the lace from her dress and whipped it lightly across Éomer's balls. His cock was still a bit limp, but erect, it twitched from her slaps and Éomer groaned as he felt the strange mingle of pain and pleasure. He needed his arms free to take this whore around the hips and impale her properly, but he was powerless and could only do what she intended him to do.

The queen seemed to read his thoughts, for the very next moment she lifted her bottom and lined her cunt with the head of his cock. She started moving slowly to fit him into her mound, and when she thought that she managed to take all of him, his dick started again engorging. As it filled her up, the queen moaned, and, giving herself some time to adjust to the size, she started to move in small circles. Éomer saw the hair at her temples becoming wet while she moved and realized that he himself was also covered with sweat. At first he thought that he wouldn't be able to tuck into her petite form fully, but eventually he was balls deep in her body. Her tits brushed his chest with their firm nipples and Éomer's hands ached to crumple them. She pressed her cheek against his beard and her hair fell around them like a dark shiny curtain. They shared the same breath and at that moment Éomer felt himself so heated, that the air outside seemed to him cool and breezy. He soon felt another orgasm building, luckily, the queen was also on the brink of her own pleasure and in a moment Éomer heard her whimpering and felt her cunt contracting. He ejaculated with a roar and his head and body became wonderfully light. Some minutes they sat together, panting and shaking. Then the queen stood up. Éomer watched as his sperm trickled down her inner hips, she took her white shift from the bed and said:

'I guess I can regret my words, but I think that you've earned yourself some freedom tonight.'

She cut the ropes on Éomer's feet with her own silver knife and helped him to tie his breeches (for his hands were still tied). Then she opened the door:

'Your room is second to the left. And don't try to run away, the palace is fully guarded round the clock. Be a good boy and keep me happy, then in a month I'll give you your freedom back, Brego.'

She crawled onto her bed and curled between the cushions. Éomer wanted to stay with her in this big bed, but it was unwise to disobey. So he closed the door behind him and turned left, barely able to move his legs from long immobility and the extreme fatigue after two orgasms. When he reached his room, he fell onto his bed, and dropped asleep immediately.