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]

Ah, so that's how they're going to play this game, are they? She spits a concoction of bloody semen onto the ground, barely missing his boots, and he stares down at her unmoving. No, he doesn't proceed to beat her more, knowing that she's already on the precipice of too much. If she dies, then he'll be out quite a bit of money from buying her, plus... Well, it will be one of the violations of the contract. Not that there's really anything in the contract that favors Éowyn at all, being the absolute bare bones for a submissive purchased in auction. But killing the submissive... Well, that had to be on the contract somewhere.

Instead, he utters a soft laugh from his closed lips before slowly bending down, reaching for those tangled blonde curls. He takes hold of them and pulls, partly lifting Éowyn's upper body up. "Such a feisty little vixen, aren't you? As if you enjoy the pain, just to get back at me."

He then lets go, letting her body drop back to the floor. "Clearly you despise me so much..." And now he takes a seat, gently maneuvering Éowyn's body and cradling her like one would a lover. But his hand goes between her legs, prying them open just enough to slip that lock back between her labia piercings with a click.

"So I'll do you the pleasure of leaving you alone for a few days," he gently purrs.

[shieldofrohan]

His touch no longer just makes her skin crawl - it hurts, no matter how mockingly gentle it might be. And yet, there's some truth in what he's saying: she might not enjoy the pain, exactly, but there is a savage, hollow satisfaction in it. It is the closest thing she has to getting back at him, knowing that eventually he'll push it too far, that he'll break her to the point where she's no longer fun for him, and have nobody to blame for it but himself. Her pain might be enjoyable for him, but only to a point. Sooner or later, she'll be too broken to fuck, and too broken to fight, and - maybe, just maybe - too broken to care.

Her eye is swollen shut, her mouth filling up with blood again. Breathing hurts. She doesn't resist as she's dragged up into his lap, doesn't even try to close her legs against his prying hand. Weak as she is, that would only humiliate her more. Even so, the sharp snap of the lock falling back into place through the raw, swollen flesh of her labia is enough to make her shudder.

"You cannot know," she croaks, "how much I despise you."

And even so, the thought of his leaving is almost worse. The thought of lying here, broken and alone, without even the distraction of his brutality, is appalling.

[godofthemachine]

AM's softer expression immediately sharpens when Éowyn professes her hatred. It sharpens as his eyes narrow and his lips curl, clearly quite satisfied with her description. She needs to hate every moment of this existence to come even close to a fraction of how much AM utterly hates her.

"Oh, I have a good idea of it, my pet," he croons, brushing some of her hair from her face. Gently, he dabs a cloth at her bleeding facial wounds and pours a little water from his canteen on them. It's almost a complete contrast to the sadistic delight in his face, the way he seems to lovingly tend to the wounds that he himself caused. No. She caused them. All of this is her fault.

"And that's why I'll give you a little vacation away from me." Another dab at the corner of her eye, soothing over the lid with the wet cloth. "Who ever said I didn't consider your wants and needs?"

He sets her back down on the floor relatively gently, setting the canteen beside her. "Be sure to ration out this water while I'm gone, though. That's all you're getting." That's when he stands up, tall and proud with his submissive at his feet, crumpled and injured on the floor. Pathetic. How much longer will she be that prideful vixen? Time will have to tell.