Éowyn sat on the bed, the book open on her naked thighs. How was it possible to get so... aroused and embarrassed at the same time by a few pictures and descriptions?
She stared at the page in front of her. The woman was on all fours, the man behind her. Like the wild horses of Rohan. She had seen that posture in books before, but never experienced it in life. It was one of the simpler positions shown in the book, and yet she found herself surreptitiously leafing back to it. Merry's hot breath flowed over her shoulder, making her nipples harden in answer to the soft breeze caressing them that way. She felt him press against her back, a solid weight. Merry was exactly one foot smaller than she was, but for all that difference in size he weighed the same and his muscular strength exceeded hers considerably.
"So you want to play horsey," Merry said, his voice a little husky with desire.
Éowyn tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. Her face burned.
"I... I... I..." she stuttered.
"And should I get my whip?" He reached around her and traced the outline of several implements on the opposite page of the one she was looking at.
Éowyn banged the book shut over Merry's hand. After a long moment of silence she realized that Merry was indeed waiting for an answer. "No," she said and gulped for breath. "No, that won't be necessary, I think."
"But since when is it the wild fillies who decide what is necessary and what is not?" There was just the slightest hint of teasing in Merry's voice. With a decisive gesture he took the book from her hands. "Well, then, my dear. Down on your knees, so that I may master you as a lady of Mearas is meant to be mastered."
She was so surprised at Merry taking charge like that, her Merry, who was usually so very gentle and considerate in their intimate moments, most of the time almost worshipful of her, that she simply did what she was told. She knelt down on the carpet in front of the fireplace, feeling the warm breeze of the flames blow against her breasts. She realized, slightly embarrassed, that her breasts were hanging in this position, heavy and full. But that is normal, she told herself. You are a grandmother, after all.
A hoarse sound, almost a moan, made her turn her head. Merry was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her. His pupils had dilated so much that his eyes appeared to be almost black, and they were glazed over with desire. His member reared up between his thighs in undeniable proof of what the sound and the expression of Merry's face suggested. Merry liked what he saw. "To see you like this," he murmured, as if to himself. "Your buttocks so sweet and round and inviting, your breasts like the juiciest pears in the Blessed Realm..."
He rose from the bed and moved towards her. Glancing at him over her shoulder, he seemed to tower over her for once, a completely unexpected and quite exhilarating effect. He stepped behind her and bent down to stroke her back. His palms were warm and just a bit rough on her exposed skin. The touch made her shiver, and press her bottom up and against him. "Yes," he said. "You need to squat a bit, raise your rear a little."
She did as he commanded. The change in position made her feel even more exposed, almost helpless. He took hold of her, holding her hips with a firm grasp as pressed himself against her cleft. Hard. The tension low inside her body dissolved in a rush of wetness between her legs and the unreasonable desire to be simply had. To be taken just like the young mare she remembered seeing with a white stallion in a joining that had been so... ferocious... She gasped. "So you like that, my sweet," Merry sounded surprised and pleased at the same time. He leaned forward against her back and reached around her, finding her breasts, weighing them in his hands, pressing them upwards against her body in a gentle, but firm massaging motion, all the while pressing deeper against her back. The last vestiges of reasonable thought left her mind.
In slow, delicious strokes Merry moved back to where he had started his exploration of this new position, her rear end. Now he drew back from her. This made her groan with unsatisfied need. Merry's answer was a low, very satisfied laugh. "Oh no, my dear, not quite that quickly."
His hands went to the hollows of her knees, an area where she was very sensitive indeed. Skilfully he teased her into noises that were probably very much like those a filly might utter when first meeting her stallion. Then he reached the one place where she sported some curly hair of her own. Deftly his fingers dipped into her folds, tracing her furrows with deliberate slowness. When she felt her knees buckle, and she thought she could not take it any longer, he finally moved back against her, and with a firm thrust he shoved himself inside her.
"And now I will show you who is your master. This should teach you not to keep such sweet secrets from me," he rasped, setting a rhythm that made any reply she might have thought of impossible.
She felt herself flow towards that thin edge of orgasm, sweet and salty between pain and pleasure and she knew that she had lost all control of herself and her body. And still he kept up his rhythm, holding her firmly in place, in complete control of this encounter. Then, suddenly, she knew she was falling. She felt her body contract around his member again and again, the most delicious of feelings washing over her in great, unstoppable waves. She felt her knees grow weak. When his release, a final forceful thrusting, fingers almost painful on her hipbones, set of a last cadence of tremors deep inside her, she felt her knees give way.
If Merry had not been holding her, she would have simply collapsed onto the carpet. But he held her, he held her firmly and safely. Without even withdrawing from her body, he allowed them to sink down on the carpet, spooning her from behind.
"Forwards, Eorlingas," Merry murmured into her ear, making her chuckle and then gasp at the sensation this provoked inside her, where their bodies were still joined.
It was probably not very surprising that she dreamed of horses that night.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.