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.

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[shieldofrohan]

She had thought she knew pain. She had thought - naively, innocently - that there could be no greater physical pain than what he had already done to her, yesterday and before; no greater pain than the needle thrust through her nipples or the tearing, bloody wake of his rape.

She realises in the moment that the needle drives in, as the hot, sharp agony of it spills over along with the warm wetness of blood against her skin, that she was terribly wrong. Nothing he has done to her until now is close to this, as he first pierces and then stretches the achingly sensitive flesh of her labia. It is a pain that is almost literally blinding, light exploding behind her eyes as the lock tears through the hole he's made, tortuously slow.

Despite her best efforts, she screams. Screams in pain and horror, as curses in Westron and Rohirric are lost in the ragged gasps of pain; screams until it echoes around the high walls of the room; screams, and cannot seem to swallow back the scream once it starts, until her throat is raw and aching, and still it barely registers past the burning, stinging, tearing agony between her legs. The blood wells around the lock as he pushes it through, and flows freely, dribbling down the channel of her cunt and between her thighs, pooling on the table in a small, crimson pool.

[godofthemachine]

It's not that AM is at all careful to make this a clean process for Éowyn. He wants it clean to the extent that the locks work and will keep her labia relatively closed, making pleasure rather difficult. Not that she could do much to pleasure herself anyway, as AM sees little chance of not keeping her chained up.

But even so, the pain that Éowyn inevitably feels is a great bonus, and he makes no move to prevent this. When she screams and squirms from the pain and degradation, AM feels his own blood shooting right to his own cock. Once the locks are on, he'll have complete control over her genitals. She'll feel pain in that area for a long time, and even longer from the repeated rapes he will surely commit.

There is a sick grin fixed upon his face as he works on Éowyn's vulva, pressing the lock into her skin and shutting it.

Now he gets to do it again. A little bit lower on the labia, the needle punctures her skin once more, and the thick silver ring follows on each side - a few more times down the skin, ensuring that everything from her clit to the top of the perineum has rings that he can insert locks through. At the top of the perineum, though, he pierces her skin and fastens a lock instead of a ring once more, snapping it shut.

While several rings line each side of her swollen, bleeding labia, AM is easily able to press them together, ensuring he can fasten a couple more locks through them, effectively closing off her genitals. Once he's done, he stands up, holding a shiny key just above Éowyn's reach.

"There. Now you can't have the pleasure I was so willing to give you."

[shieldofrohan]

The pain is a living thing, coiling and scorching between her legs, a throbbing agony that stabs white-hot needles up her spine and into her belly. She can feel herself shaking uncontrollably, with pain and with fury, sweat slicking her pale skin, mixing with the tears that flow freely down her face. Her breath catches and burrs in her throat, coming out as hoarse, trembling sobs.

And with the pain, the humiliation - a heavy, bitter humiliation that clenches in her chest and twists in her guts. As if it was not enough to be enslaved, to be tortured, to be raped - as if he had not left his mark on her enough with the healing scars on her nipples - as if it were not degrading enough to be laid out here, naked and bound, helpless against a man who is in all ways (she feels it now and always will) her inferior. This is worse than rape, worse than enslavement. This is a brand she can never be free of. Her body will never be her own again. Even if she frees herself, even if she rips out the cold, aching metal she felt him stab through her most sensitive areas, the scars will remain - and so will the memory. So will the knowledge of his claiming her.

As he holds the key above her bound hand, she gags, tasting bile in her throat along with the bitter salt of tears. His words are a cruel mockery. She knows that, if he wants, he will still force that pleasure on her if he can - if her battered and bloody cunt is even still capable of pleasure, which in this moment it hardly feels. She knows, and knows that he knows, that it was never a matter of pleasure, only of pride.

He will not break me. He will not. She bites her lip until it splits afresh, blood squirting into her mouth and down her chin. Her eyes close tightly, her fist clenching. He will not. He must not. Praying against all evidence that she can hold out - that he has not already broken her. If he only gives her time to breathe, to regroup against the pain and the agonising humiliation, she will find her strength again. She has to.

"Fuck you," she grinds out, but her voice catches in a low, hoarse sob. "Filthy worm."

[godofthemachine]

It was a rather pleasant process to pierce Éowyn's genitals all over, claiming them completely as his own and delivering horrid pain. They always will belong to AM now, for even if the metal is removed, the memory will linger. The knowledge will linger. Perhaps even the pain will linger.

Of course it won't stop AM from fucking her, though. He holds the key, after all, so her chastity is only relative.

It's too bad her hands have to stay bound. Otherwise it would be fun to watch her struggle to pleasure herself or try to work around the locks and rings. But no matter. Perhaps one day she'll be broken enough where it will work. But not now, especially as she insults him.

But instead, he grins at her, deciding to climb onto the table and straddle her.

"'Fuck you', you say? You don't need to ask, my dear."

But as he starts to unbutton his pants, he pauses. "Ah, but the piercings do need to heal..."

So he scoots forward, straddling her waist as he unbuttons his pants. Now, it's tempting to shove his cock into her mouth, but he knows that she will just bite it. It's one of the few things she has left, after all, unless he decides to pull her teeth. Still, he'll figure it out. After all, as he slides his pants down, it's clear he's already half-hard.