for godofthemachine

[shieldofrohan]

Pride is all she has in the city. They've done their best to take it from her, and a few times they've come close to succeeding, but she's recovered; every time, through everything thrown her way, she's drawn pride back around herself like armour, and that pride, fuelled by burning hatred, is enough to keep her going.

She draws that armour around herself now, as she's ushered onto the stage at the auction house. Her lips are pressed taut, her back ramrod-straight and her chin lifted, her arms clasped in front of her as she glares down her nose at the gathered Dominants. Let them know that she is no slave to be bought and sold, no matter the mark on her neck. Let them know that they will get no meek deference from her. She wants everyone in that room to know that, had they not taken her weapons from her along with her clothes, she would have killed those who dared to treat her this way, or perished herself in the attempt.

The eyes on her make her want to shrink into herself, even so. It is difficult not to give in to the urge to cover herself, to blush and turn away and try to hide her nakedness. Éowyn has always been comfortable in her own body, even before Duplicity forced it upon her; but that doesn't mean she wants it to be on display like this, bared to the eyes of half the city. She is glad for the fall of her hair, which cascades like a curtain over the swell of her breasts, covering her scarred nipples and brushing the curve of her hip. It isn't modest by any means, but it's better than nothing.

Besides, strange though it may be, she's more worried about showing her breasts to such a crowd than she is about showing her cunt. The rest of her may have healed, but her nipples are still marked from where they were pierced at Saturnalia, and she certainly doesn't want anyone to remember that.

As the auctioneer starts to read off her stats - 24, uncontracted for three and a half months, athletic, likes rough sex and being fucked against walls - Éowyn tunes him out, focusing instead on the crowd, her eyes drifting from face to face. As she understands it, by the end of the day she'll be contracted to one of them. She'd like to gauge who it might be.

Comments

[godofthemachine]

It's a combination of satisfaction and regret when AM wins the bid, because well, he has to spend quite a bit of money. Fortunately he already has the house he had been saving up for, so that's less of a concern. But still - three submissives, especially one who so viciously hates him, is going to be a lot.

There is immense satisfaction, of course, when she sees her fear, when that determined rage overtakes her features... And then she demands her sword. AM won't deny that his own adrenaline rises, the fear of her actually winning taking hold...

Of course, the LIES staff don't give her a sword, and a couple of them run over to try and restrain her. One of them scolds her, threatening what would happen if she dared turn a weapon against her dominant. Good. AM's position is beneficial to him in many ways, but not in all...

So of course he steps forward, grinning as he looks over his new prize. He has to intimidate her, after all, and make sure she knows exactly who owns her. "Lucky for you, I don't need that money for a house anymore."

AM aims to grab her by the wrist and drag her away, eager to finally put her to use.

[shieldofrohan]

There's a horrible sense of déja vu about this whole situation. She isn't bound this time, but the LIES employee behind her has her arms pinned right up until the moment AM reaches for her wrist; they aren't standing in a public square, but they're in public nonetheless, and there are a hundred eyes to watch her humiliation; and once again he's close enough that she can smell his sweat and see the glint of his teeth. Nausea writhes in her belly, and there's a part of her, deep and shameful, that wants to break and run.

There is a major difference, though, and that's the fact that when he does grab her wrist, the LIES staff let her go, and her other hand is free. For a moment, despite her pale and nauseous look, a sharp and rather unpleasant smile tugs at her mouth, baring her teeth. His grip on her wrist is painfully tight, strong and inescapable, but then, in that moment, she isn't trying to escape it. Instead, she uses it as leverage to put her whole body into a blow, swinging her elbow up to his sternum to try to knock the wind out of him, and her knee up between his legs.

It's not a victory. There's no chance of it being a victory - she knows that, he knows that, and the LIES staff standing by with tasers know it. But as the stun gun presses up against her bare flesh, as the electricity turns her legs to wet rope and sends her sprawling against his grip, she at least gets to know she went down fighting.

[godofthemachine]

It isn't surprising that she fights back, but even so, she fights hard, slamming him in a sensitive area on the chest. Just from that alone, he arches back, exhaling awkwardly as the knee nearly crunches his rather sensitive gonads.

While he wasn't prepared for the blow to the sternum, he was somewhat prepared to be struck in such an obvious location between the legs, so his own are pressed together, one knee extending in an instinctive protection against her. (After all, with the intensity of her blow, AM would likely be knocked to the ground and be incapacitated for quite a while.)

It still does get him between the legs, though, so he isn't immune. Faltering several steps back, he gasps in shock and pain as the LIES guards strike her, bringing her down to the ground.

It's disgusting, knowing how vulnerable he is, especially to some human woman. Some of the crowd snickers at the display, while others gasp, and AM does feel some approximation of humiliation. He's supposed to be powerful, after all, and this is showing the exact opposite!

With gritted teeth, he stands up and bends down to grab Éowyn not by her limb, but by her long hair, grabbing fistfuls of curls and yanking up to try and bring her to her feet. "And here I was considering being nice to you!" he hisses.

The LIES guards warn her that this behavior toward her dominant could result in incarceration, a long stint at the People Zoo, and the like. But AM knows that's not a threat to her. She's far too proud, after all.

[shieldofrohan]

It is perhaps more of a threat than AM might suspect. Deep inside herself, and despite all her pride, Éowyn nurtures a deep and abiding horror of captivity. Still, compared to what no doubt awaits her at AM's hands, the threat of mere imprisonment is almost banal enough to make her laugh out loud.

Almost.

His hand tangles in her long golden hair, and pain jolts through her scalp as he yanks her upwards. Still dizzy and nerveless from being knocked down, she scrabbles to get her feet underneath her, instinctively fumbling for his arm with both hands to try and release some of that pull. A low grunt of pain and effort escapes her, and her nails scratch at his forearm, her eyes screwed tightly closed as she feels some of her hair pulled out by the root under her own weight. She wants to curse, to kick and scream and scratch like a wildcat, and make him regret in this moment that he ever laid hands on her.

But pride is all she has.

It's hard to find any semblance of pride when you're being pulled along by your hair, when your legs have turned to wet rope and you can't get your feet under you. It's harder still to accept defeat, even momentarily, when the price of defeat is so high. Still, with a great effort of will, she resists the effort to scream and lash out in childish panic; manages, through the tight edges of pain, to sound almost cold.

"Don't lie to me, cur." She finally manages to get her feet under her, and brings one hand up to her scalp, to ease the pain of his pulling. "Nicety is beyond you. Let such petty taunts be beyond you, too."

[godofthemachine]

Had AM known of her fear of being captive, he would exploit it to the ends of the Earth - or whatever planet this damned city is on. Still, it's a natural fear that most humans have, so he plans to use it regardless. As his new submissive, she'll certainly be captive enough. In fact, AM may not even keep her with his other submissives. They may never even know about her.

"Oh, I'm not lying, cur." As he pulls Éowyn up by her hair, he brusquely grabs her forearm and yanks her forward. "Now, if you can't walk, I'll have to carry you."

Of course, he expects that his "offer" to carry her will be met with more of her pride, an insistence on walking despite her legs clearly shaking, barely able to hold her weight. But even so, he doesn't wait for a response. Instead, he attempts to pull her roughly into him and let her naked form press against his. It wouldn't be difficult from there to lift her up and carry her more bridal-style, though he expects she'll fight him on that.

[shieldofrohan]

As far as Éowyn is concerned, there is no right choice out of the two - no way to salvage her pride in this. Either he slings her up in his arms like a sack of potatoes, or - perhaps worse - she'll be forced to stumble after him like a bridled beast, naked and humiliated. If he chooses to continue pulling her by her hair, then she'll have no choice but to double over and stagger out of this place in full view of anyone who wishes to see. No, what pride she could possibly scrape back from this mess had already been won by hurting him, and that had been little enough. She's leaving this auction hall a slave, and there is no disguising that - no way of defying it, either, unless she can get hold of something sharp enough to slit his throat before the LIES guards with their stun guns can get to her. A cheering thought, but not a likely one.

"Forwisne ond brosne þín gneáðes cyrfel," she tells him. It's easier to keep her voice steady in her own tongue, making the conscious choice to remind herself of her blood and her kin - even if she's doing it while telling him to go and rot off his tiny penis, as she is in this case. She can't pull herself to her full height, pinned as she is against him, and with the heat of his body making her skin crawl and pull into gooseflesh, and she can't fight him physically, but she does at least manage to turn her face up to him, her grey eyes blazing with furious hatred. "Fuck you. Do what you will."

I used a shitty online translator for this lmfao

[godofthemachine]

Fortunately, or unfortunately perhaps, for Éowyn, AM knows all of the major languages of Earth, including the dead ones. As she is pressed into him and insults him, he is quick to answer.

"Þú undergietan efen onem hâl hale hîe sy unnêah forniman m¯æte," he hisses. But really, the insult doesn't bother him too much. It only makes him want to prove to her just how "small" it is. But he will in private. Oh, he will. But first he has to get her out of this public square and into her new home.

While she was an impulse buy for AM, he's not going to put her up with his other submissives. No, those two actually chose to be with him, even if he is still abusive in many ways toward them. He wouldn't trust Éowyn not to grab the other two and lead a coalition against him, so she gets to stay in his second home - that is, the abandoned building in the Down he essentially claimed. It was Flagg's old "church", the house of his silly cult, and Flagg disappeared, so now it's AM's.

Besides, he has been busy setting it up as a convenient place to take people he has "business" with, so why wouldn't he keep his newest pet there? He wants to see her suffer, after all, so she doesn't deserve to live in the lavish house he owns. No, she deserves to be chained up like the whore she is.

To her insistence that he does what he will, he acquiesces, lifting her up and into his arms. From there he carries her out of the square, the remnants of the crowd watching this entertaining spectacle as they depart. And from there, it isn't far to the abandoned building.

It's dark inside, as well as hollow. Some pieces of the walls crumble, the result of abandonment, but AM carries on, finding the staircase that descends into the basement. If by now Éowyn hasn't fought him off, he deposits her onto the stone cold ground. He is gentle, at least, as dropping her directly onto the concrete could enable her to hit her head the wrong way. Pulling a string on the ceiling, AM turns on the ceiling light, illuminating the barren basement hallway.

"Well? Should I show you to your room?" He smirks at her, gesturing toward a steel door at the end of the hall. What may or may not be obvious is that it is a double security door, wired by AM to be opened only by a keycode.

lol like i use anything else for my old english

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn grits her teeth and tenses as she is swept up into his arms, his hands hot and rough on her bare skin, his reek in her nostrils. Hearing Rohirric - or something very like it, like enough to be jarring - come out of his mouth only makes her stomach heave. It is deeply. deeply wrong that the first time she's heard anything like her own language in this place, it's coming from someone like him.

She is still, though, as he carries her out of the square, past the idiot crowd laughing and commenting as though her fate was a matter for their entertainment. She is still and rigid in his arms, making herself as heavy as she can - a petty revenge, but better than nothing - until they are in the Down, and the last of the weakness from being shocked has ebbed out of her. Unfortunately, it has taken some of her adrenaline with it, but once they are in the winding streets of the Down, which are by now more familiar to her than the Up ever was, she begins to fight against his grip, kicking and scratching at him. She's strong, but hampered by her own fear and confined in his grip; he is stronger. Still, she doesn't make it easy for him to carry her to the crumbling old building, and fights all the harder, writhing in his grasp, as they step inside and even the ugly, artificial light of the Down fades from view.

When at last he sets her down, she scrambles to her feet as quickly as she can, breathing hoarse and ragged. She could run, perhaps. She might get lost in the dark hallways, but she is a fast runner and given some strength by what, now, is building back into genuine panic. In the end, as so often before, it is her prideful stubbornness that dooms her; unable even now to flee without fighting, she instead lunges for him, her teeth bared and fingers like claws, scratching like a wildcat at his face.

At this point, it's so predictable a move that it undoubtedly gives him an opening to recapture her well before she can think better of it and run.

[godofthemachine]

AM isn't at all surprised when Éowyn starts to fight against his grip, but he carries on, sighing inwardly and gripping her even tighter. His nails dig into her frame and he shifts his stance, slinging her over his shoulder at one point.

But regardless, once they're finally in AM's warehouse, Éowyn is eager to fully fight back, and again - AM is not at all surprised. He assumed it would either be that or running. Like a bullfighter, he is prepared for her to lunge, stepping to the side and throwing out an arm to catch her.

"And here I was trying to be nice to let you walk!" He hisses as he tries to catch her and block himself from being attacked, but obviously he's going to have to fight back.

She does scratch him, nails raking down his face before he finally reels a fist back and aims to deck her in the face. He should cripple her legs once he gets her into the locked room, then perhaps she won't run or lunge at him, will she?

[shieldofrohan]

She moves too slowly, sees his blow too late, and while she rolls with it as best she can, his fist still crashes into her jaw hard enough that, for a moment, sun-bright lights explode at the corners of her vision. Her head snaps back, and she tastes the sharp tang of salt bursting in her mouth as she staggers back against the wall, her lip splitting against her teeth.

Her head spinning, she steadies herself against the wall with one hand, spitting blood in the general direction of his hulking, blurred form. Her eyes are bleary and unfocused, but she narrows them at him nonetheless, lips drawing back from her bloodied teeth in a snarl. "Fuck you," she hisses, but there is a slurred edge to her voice, and she sways a little where she stands, clearly knocked off-balance by his punch. Unconsciously, she raises her free hand to the side of her head, as if to steady it. "I'll not walk like a lamb to your slaughter. I... You will pay. For this. For all else. Pay in blood."

A threat which might be a great deal more threatening if it weren't coming from a naked, unarmed woman whose bloodied face is pale with dizziness and fear, and whose whole body is trembling now.

[godofthemachine]

Between the two of them, it's obvious that Éowyn has taken far more damage from this brief little brawl. While there is a long scratch down AM's face, it barely draws any blood, and is at most a mild annoyance. Still, her tenacity could prove to be a detriment at some point, especially because she is more of a skilled fighter than he - or so he assumes. Strength and size will only get him so far.

But strength and size are what he has at his advantage, as well as durability. And so far these have all served him well. As she insults him, leaned against the wall with clear injury, AM eagerly takes advantage of the break, triumphant in this battle.

"My dear, is that what you are worried about? Being slaughtered?" He chuckles as his voice takes on a mockingly gentle tone before he aims to grab her arm. He wants to take her to the room that he had set up, so he'll drag her if he has to, after all. "I have no intention of doing such a thing."

After all, 'slaughter' would imply death, and there are many worse things than death.

If she goes with him, AM will drag her into the the room behind the security door. He presses a few keys on the pad, which unlocks the heavy bolts. With that one hand, he slides the door open, and inside is indeed Éowyn's new home. It is bare, except for a single chair in the center. If she looks hard enough, she might find old blood stains in the metal... But what will likely catch her eye more is the long loose chain haphazardly scattered behind the feet.

[shieldofrohan]

She fights against his grip, of course, but quickly begins to flag, cold despair seeping into her veins and weakening her. Even Éowyn, stubborn as she is, has to admit to herself that she can't fight forever. Exhaustion is beginning to numb her; she had already fought hard before she ever came to the stage where he found her, and always against those stronger and better-armed than herself. As he starts to punch keys, she lets herself stop fighting for a moment, focusing on steadying her breathing and bringing the world back into focus, on readying herself for whatever comes next.

What comes next, as her vision starts to clear, is the room. The chair. The blood. The chains.

It is that last part which makes her cry out, furious and afraid, and begin to fight his grip again, with less finesse than sheer, blind panic. She remembers being bound before, at his hands, and the chain makes that memory real again, so real that she feels it as if it were still happening, the sharp pain in her breasts, the heat of his body against hers, the eyes of the crowd...

Panic brings with it a surge of strength, but it makes her clumsy, too, robs her of any skill she has in fighting. Instead, she finds herself just trying instinctively to get away, pulling against his grip, twisting and shoving at him in a way more likely to hurt herself than to do any real damage to him. She is horrified to find that her vision is blurring again, this time with unwanted tears.

[godofthemachine]

While AM knows that he certainly scarred Éowyn emotionally, it's difficult for him to know the depth without being around her regularly. He doesn't know her life or her fears, other than what she exhibits. Still, it's easy for him to surmise that she certainly values her independence. She's prideful. And well, isn't pride one of the cardinal sins?

Needless to say, though, Éowyn's reaction to the room is both amusing and annoying. It's easy to detect when the realization hits her that she's not just going to be any ordinary submissive. No. She's going to be his toy. Just the room alone suggests that she's in for an indeterminate amount of time reduced to a plaything. The time is only indeterminate because who knows how long her life will last?

Still, AM feels a significant tug at his grip on her as she fights and yells and seems to shove every last ounce of strength into this. It's commendable, in fact... But the fact is that she's far outmatched in strength. AM just huffs as he attempts to reel her back, pulling her toward the chair as he slams the door behind him with his other hand.

And now to restrain her further, after the door is slammed, he slams the same hand toward her face, reeling forward to shove her into the wall, hopefully let her head smash against it.

[shieldofrohan]

Her head hits the wall with a dull thunk, and for a moment, pain washes over her - a numb, dull pain that tinges everything in red. She thinks, for a second or perhaps an age, that he's hit her harder than he meant to; that perhaps he's cracked her skull, perhaps this dizzying wave of crimson is what comes before oblivion. Perhaps this is how she dies. The thought is almost peaceful. It would not be so bad, to die.

Of course, she is not so lucky. Unconsciousness hovers in front of her, but just out of reach; her eyes roll up into her head for a moment, and she goes limp again, this time not from choice, but she's still all too aware - aware of his hot hand against her head, his bruising grip on her, aware of the echoes of the door that's slammed on even the little freedom of the city. Her stomach twists, and she gags weakly, not hard enough to bring anything up. There is fresh blood matting on one side of her scalp now, dark against her golden hair.

Reeling and semi-conscious as she is, AM will doubtless have no trouble in getting her into the chair. He's got a minute or two, at least, before she can regain her composure enough to fight back.

[godofthemachine]

Disorientation is a decent weapon for AM. It's a delicate balance - he wants to incapacitate her, and yet doesn't want to kill her or cause severe brain damage. A bump on the head is unlikely to do the latter two, but something that is enough to incapacitate her is a whole different matter.

With her body going limp, AM takes advantage of the moment and grabs her, keeping her close to him. Since Éowyn is still conscious for the most part, AM does have to make sure she stays put when she is finally in the chair, so with her in hand, he bends down to pick up the scattered chain on the floor.

So now he has to act quickly, shoving her into the chair and pressing a hand against her to keep her there. As long as she doesn't fight back much, her arms are grabbed behind the chair, the wrists bound together with the chain wrapping up the arms and around the back of the chair, essentially keeping her bound to it.

Her legs are still free, but those can be dealt with easily. As long as he has her trapped, she is his for the taking. So when she's bound up, AM lifts a boot, placing it atop one of her thighs as a perch. Knowing, though, that she would probably use her other leg to attack his groin, his other boot presses atop the bare foot, keeping it secure against the floor.

"Too bad, really. Had you been more cooperative, I might have given you a nicer room."

[shieldofrohan]

She does fight - even now, she fights, can't conceive of doing anything else - but it's a weak struggle, and a doomed one. The chain is ice-cold against her bare skin, raising gooseflesh where it falls, biting at the taut muscle of her arms and digging against her back. With her arms bound behind her that way, her shoulders are pulled back, arching her back and pressing her chest up and out.

He's quite right that her next move is to try to kick him, and even with his boot on her foot, she pulls against the weight of him, trying to use her bonds as leverage to pull herself away from him.

She looks up at him, hating the fact that she has to look up at him, that she's put in a position where she feels almost as though she's been made to kneel. For all the agony and horror of the last time he got his hands on her, at least then she could look him in the eye. Naked, bound, and in a position that can only be read as submissive, it makes her feel sick to think how much the city has already succeeded in humiliating her through this - and that it has only just begun.

[godofthemachine]

If AM were at all attracted to the human form in more than the most basic of ways, he would certainly find Éowyn rather fetching. But her true beauty comes from her naked vulnerability, bound up in chains like a true slave, completely helpless before him. There is some blood from being attacked, but it's nothing compared to what AM plans to do to her in the future. After all, he paid good money for her. He's going to get good use from his newest pet.

"Hmm... Maybe if you don't kick me, I won't need to chain your ankles up," he tells her, pressing his boot harshly into her foot. She tries to pull it away, of course, and he knows that she is going to kick him, so obviously he will need to restrain her somehow.

"But it's up to you. Cooperate, and perhaps it won't be so bad..." His legs shift slightly, though he keeps his feet pressed where they were, trying to keep her legs down. But all the while, he leans in, taking hold of her thick curls and pressing his lips to the side of her neck - inhaling her scent, tasting her flesh. He expects she'll retaliate, of course - perhaps try to bite him, which is to be expected. He almost wants it. And yet she may not, in which case his lips will press further along her neck.

[shieldofrohan]

She laughs at that - a sudden, jagged sound, bitterly sardonic and entirely unfeigned. "Perhaps, indeed!" There is no merriment in her voice, but a kind of hollow resignation at odds with her laughter. She tenses under his touch, recoils instinctively from his mouth with a look of disgust, but chained as she is, she can hardly hope to escape his parody of a kiss. "Perhaps a warg will sit and beg, and a brigand spare the passing poor. But I will not stake my chances on perhaps."

She doesn't try to bite. She'd like to keep her teeth a while longer. Instead, she tries to headbutt him again, ignoring the sharp pain of his hand in her hair, and at the same time her briefly-limp body twists under him, not kicking so much as kneeing. She has no illusions of her chances. Bound as she is, it would take a miracle to incapacitate him, and even then, she would be bound in a place where none but him might come for days, or weeks, or longer.

But no matter what she does, he means to hurt her. No matter how she acts, he means to rape her, to torture her, to enslave her. He has made that clear. No matter what she does, he will hurt her, and he will hurt her no less if she is meek and malleable: she has seen how that would please him, and men like him may be worse pleased than angry, if anything. Why, then, should she not try to hurt him in return?

[godofthemachine]

She is frustrating. Feisty. Annoying. And yet that's why AM is so drawn to her. There are plenty in this city who are meek, whom he could easily mold and shape to his desires as much as he wants. And then there are those who present a significant challenge, but... not an unwinnable one. There are overpowered submissives in this city that AM would love to beat down and claim for his own, such as Jonathan Reid, but his own power can't compete. At least not for now.

Éowyn is the next best thing - a challenge, but one he can win. Now he's in the position where she will fall to him, even with a fight, but eventually her mind will be so warped that the fight will be gone. Will she still be fun then? Perhaps. And yet he won't have to worry about bruises from where those knees jab into him.

"Fine then, keep fighting." He winces as a knee drives into his thigh, and he smashes his foot down even harder to keep her foot in place. Ugh, he does need to chain them up, doesn't he? Fine. She's not going to stop, so he won't stop either.

Fortunately, the chain around her wrists is long enough that it can wrap around to both of her ankles, so he reaches behind her to grab the loose metal links, pulling them toward him as he finally kneels down. Now, this kneeling obviously frees one of Éowyn's legs, as AM no longer pins it down with a knee. And the other foot, pinned beneath his boot, is freed at least temporarily as he shifts his foot beneath him to kneel.

As quickly as he can, he grabs her ankle, attempting to pin it to the chair leg. If he can, he'll wrap the metal chain around both the leg and the chair, winding it several times to keep it tight and secure before affixing a lock.

[shieldofrohan]

Freeing even one of her legs is a dangerous move on AM's part. Éowyn's legs are strong and well-muscled, fit not only for riding a horse, but for kicking like one, too. It's hard to aim a kick as precisely as she would like, bound as she is and with her head still spinning a little, but she makes up for it by putting as much force as she can behind it, aiming for his head, his throat, his chest - anything in reach, anything that will hurt. She wants to break something - his nose, his jaw, his neck - but she'll settle for just leaving a nasty bruise or two.

Still, there's only so much she can do. To her disgust - and, yes, her horror - he has her right where he wants her; he need only move to the side, or back out of reach, and there is nothing she can do against him. And she is tiring, even through the adrenaline. She has lost. They both know it. All she is doing is putting off the inevitable.

And the inevitable comes nonetheless. She has fought until she can fight no more, but he has every advantage, and at last she is chained fully, hand and foot, so that all she can do is glare, pressing her lips taut and hard, and silently promise him death some other day. She pulls a few times against the chains even after the lock clicks into place, testing their strength, their tightness, seeking any way she might escape. Then she settles into stillness, her jaw tight, her eyes closing for a moment. She is horribly aware of her own naked vulnerability, her breasts jutting forward as her back arches against the tension on her arms, her legs bound far enough apart that the cold air brushes her exposed cunt like a mocking caress. Even with her eyes closed, she could swear she feels his gaze on her, scorching her with its hungry mockery, with the triumph of his victory and his anticipation of whatever he plans to do to her.

She no longer says anything; does not trust her voice not to betray her with a quaver. When you cannot fight, all you can do is hold fast. He will not break her, she swears to herself, though her tongue feels thick in her mouth and she feels her chest tighten with dread. He will not break her. Not again.

[godofthemachine]

Any thoughts that this might be easy are quickly dashed as Éowyn fights against AM with all her might. Her legs are certainly strong - well-trained and sculpted. Plus, with the adrenaline from being captured, her body will exert more strength... So those few seconds where her ankles are free have proven to be less than ideal.

As soon as he lets up on one foot, it flies up and hits him in the side as he starts kneeling, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Perhaps it's because he has a robotic endoskeleton that he isn't as affected as he should be by that kick, or perhaps it missed a vital area. Still, he growls and snatches that ankle, wrapping the chain around and strapping it to the chair leg.

The other ankle, when temporarily freed, does end up connecting with AM's face, and he reels back, hand over his nose to stem the slow bloodflow. Still, with his other hand automatically grabbing at the ankle, he's able to hold her back for that short while as he gets his bearings, feeling his head spin for just a few moments.

He growls in fury then, glaring up at her with bright red eyes that match the color of blood dripping out of his nose. He doesn't need to say anything, as his anger is reflected purely in the harsh tightness with which that ankle is wrapped.

But still... Once that's done, he finally has her. She is chained to that chair completely, and just to make sure, he attaches a heavy lock to it. Sure, it is possible she could escape from it, as anything is possible, but the room will be locked when he leaves. However... he's not going to leave just yet. He has to play with his new submissive first.

"You know, my dear, it violates our contract if you kick me like that!" Truth be told, any contract that was signed was absolutely bare bones if at all, given that Éowyn was bought from the public square. He stands up and wipes away the blood from his mouth with a sleeve before putting his hands down on the sides of the chair to lean over her.

With a much softer tone, he says, "Then again... You would probably rather be at the People Zoo than here, wouldn't you?" He knows that she's trying to stay strong, to not break. It's obvious. And that's why he's going to enjoy what he does to her.

So to bask in the joy of having a fully captive submissive, he slowly runs a hand down her hair, twirling a curl around a finger as it traces down, and then comes to cup one of her breasts. He squeezes it just briefly before his hand traces down again over her soft flesh, down over the belly, then between her spread legs. Two of his fingers trace between her folds, gliding over the clit and below, briefly inserting themselves inside of her.

[shieldofrohan]

There's no satisfaction, even fleeting, in the crunch of his face against her heel or the oozing ribbon of blood. There ought to be something, some tiny sense of victory, but all she feels is a sick, mounting dread that overwhelms everything else. After all, she's still bound, and he still has her caught, and it wasn't even close to a strong enough kick to knock him out.

Sure enough, a moment later he's wrapping cold chain around her ankle, the links biting cruelly against her skin and crushing her foot back against the chair leg, and his blood and his anger count for nothing when she's so thoroughly, hideously immobilised. She's lost. All the pride in the world, all the stubbornness, can't deny that she's lost. Defeat twists bitterly in her throat, and she has to fight against the sting of tears trying to fight their way into her eyes. She manages to meet his eyes as he leans in, her lips pressed into a thin, white line and her teeth clenched; her face is stony, unmoving, but there's no way to hide the fear in her eyes, or their slight wetness. She's good at hiding her emotions, but not inhuman.

She also can't quite hold back how she flinches when he trails his hand through her hair, down to the breast that still bears the scars of the last time he had her tied like this. It's at that point, when he squeezes her breast and makes her gorge rise with it, that she gives up on defiantly holding his gaze: biting down hard on the inside of her cheek in a desperate effort to hold back her nausea and her tears, she turns her face away (as well as she can, with her arms pulled back at such an awkward angle) and closes her eyes tightly. As his hand continues to work downwards, unhurried and inevitable, she tries to breathe, tries to fight the disgust and panic lodged like a bone in her throat.

Then his hand is between her thighs, probing at the heat of her cunt, and although she instinctively pulls against her bonds, trying to close her legs, there is nothing she can do to prevent it. Worse, too: whether because of the adrenaline, or simply because her body is a traitor, that warm and gliding touch against her clit sends an unwanted shiver through her. At least the friction of his fingertips thrusting into her is enough to reassure her that her cunt, for now, is dry. At least there's that.

She pulls against the chains, ignoring the bruising press of them against her skin, in a desperate attempt to pull away, although she knows there's nowhere to go. Her eyes, now beginning to fill with tears despite her best efforts, open and fix on him with a furious hate.

[godofthemachine]

Stubbornness can be a good trait to have, and yet it can also be deadly. Éowyn's stubborn nature has probably helped her thus far, and in the end, who is to say that it would have saved her from AM? Had she been too easy to break, he wouldn't enjoy her so much, probably would not have decided to purchase her at the auction. Maybe it is a detriment to her, at least at this moment, because now she looks all the more alluring as she tries to hide her emotions.

As AM looms over her, he sees those tears start to prick at her eyes, even with a concentrated effort to stop them. Good. Soon they will flow, because he has only just started... And they do.

Every motion he makes now is deliberate in an effort to demean her, to make her realize she is nothing more than property, an object. And because he owns her, he can do whatever he wants to her. Her genitals are his for the taking, just as he lets his fingers glide between her legs, carefully studying every curve and bump between the folds.

When she glares at him, though, it's obvious that he has won. Even now, even as this has only begun, AM knows that she is his. The corners of his mouth twist and he bares his teeth slightly, lips parted in a sick sort of grin.

As he explores with his fingers, though, he realizes that if he keeps this up, he'll be hunching over continuously. So he pauses momentarily and grabs the other chair in the room - a much nicer one at that - and pulls it up to Éowyn. Once he's seated, though, his fingers are back between her legs, and this time they press harder, deliberately rubbing in a circular motion over her clit.

Now that he's seated, he leans forward, pressing into her body as he more or less sits on the very edge of his chair, knee perched next to her hip. The hand goes deeper then, his elbow bending as the back of his hand presses against the metal chair, palm cupping over the vulva as his fingers push their way inside of her.

Meanwhile, his face is back upon her body, teeth at her neck to bite down. They down from there as he squeezes a breast in hand, letting himself get absorbed in the passion of this encounter. No... passion would denote that he might actually care about her. A more accurate word would be power, something that he will gladly hold over her.

[shieldofrohan]

She knows that this is what he wants from her, and yet she can do nothing to stop the tension thrumming through her, the tears that sting at her swollen face and will not stop. He wants her pain, wants her humiliation. He wants her to fight against her emotions, and to lose. The hardest thing of all is to know that she is giving him exactly what he wants, and that there is no way in the world that she can stop. If she were stronger, perhaps... if she were the hero she wishes so dearly she were, perhaps she could bite it back, face this with courage and strength, and never shed a tear. After all, he has hardly even hurt her. Yes, she is a little battered, but she has withstood worse pain and never made a sound. She ought to be able to withstand this.

But it is too late; the tears are already there, her gut already twisted into knots of fear and nausea. And she knows - they both know - that pain is not the worst he has to offer. Pain can be withstood. Far worse is the humiliation of defeat, the violation of his hands and his mouth on her body, the knowledge of her own powerlessness. He bites down on her neck hard enough to wring a stifled cry from her, but even then it is not a cry of pain, but one of disgust and grief, at all that he has taken from her already and at how easily he has been able to do it.

And worse of all, worse than even the knowledge of her defeat, is the betrayal of her own body, the sickly unwanted pleasure that comes from his rough hand circling her clit, tracing her folds, pressing inside her to find, no doubt, the treacherous slickness of arousal. She would far sooner be tortured to death than this; rather be flayed and torn limb from limb. At least no-one could claim that she enjoyed that. At least she herself would not wonder whether she did.

She presses her lips tighter together, digging her teeth against them until the abused skin splits again, a thick dribble of blood joining the tears that stubbornly course down her face. Under his hand, her scarred nipple is hard. From the cold, she tells herself, only the cold. But his fingers find little resistance as they push into her, and so it is hard to convince herself that she feels nothing. It is impossible not to feel the heat that pools between her legs, the treacherous lust that even a body so abused may find in itself at the worst moments.

[godofthemachine]

AM is taking his sweet time at this point, prodding her and exploring her body instead of immediately commencing with outright fucking her. Of course he will do that soon, but right now he wants to get to know his newest submissive. He wants to know what makes her tick, wants to know how easily she can break.

Funny how she says nothing to him, no more cutting words, no more insults, just the silence of defeat, with the occasional involuntary noise. Maybe he should gag her, but that can come later. If she's forced to be silent, then she will have an excuse to hold back her tears. But the voluntary silence, AM assumes, is the only thing keeping her tears from flowing harder.

AM breaks the silence then when he feels between her folds, prodding inside and feeling distinct wetness. Arousal. Her nipples are hard when he fondles her breast, but she is naked in a cold room. Ah, he can't wait to pierce them again now that he thinks about it. Éowyn's breasts are lovely, and would look far better with chains pierced into the skin to denote her lowly status. Still, the silence is broken when he softly laughs, grinning against her collar with a muffled sound.

"Just because you're my submissive doesn't mean that this can't be a mutually beneficial relationship, after all..." Last time, he hadn't done anything to pleasure her. It was all a show of power, a raw beatdown and rape to humiliate her in front of a crowd. This time there is no crowd, but that doesn't mean the humiliation can't be just as potent.

AM shifts his position again, bringing his other knee to the floor, transferring from a half-seated position to simply kneeling before Éowyn. He places one hand on each knee as he leans in, her exposed warmth right before his eyes. Only a momentary pause with a broad smile then before he presses his lips to the top of her labia, tongue starting to circle between the folds over the clit.