Tales of Middle Earth The Deep Breath Before the Plunge Chapter Three - Edoras
Same disclaimers as before - Lord of the Rings and Middle Earth are the property of JRR Tolkein and New Line Cinema, and I have no connection with either. None of the characters described here are meant to besmirch the original and much loved characters of Lord of the Rings, or imply anything about the actors who played them in the movie trilogy. If you are too young, or don't like gay stories, PLEASE GO ELSEWHERE, or I'll get in trouble. These stories contain scenes of gay sex without condoms or protection, because it doesn't seem likely that condoms would exist in Middle Earth, or STDs for that matter - don't try and copy these fictional characters - always wear a condom during sex, the experience isn't worth the risk
Author's Notes: I was much more impressed with the response this time round; five emails, compared with last weeks one! I'd like to say thanks to all the guys who have let me know that they liked the story so far (and all the response has been positive!), I appreciate it greatly, and that my previous offer still stands, any views that you have and that you feel I should be aware of, for either encouragement or sadistic purposes, please don't hesitate, and that the last five mails I received has made me even more anxious for news that people are still reading! Also I would like to give a forewarning that I could be getting a job at my local cathedral soon, so don't be surprised if the stories become less frequent, but PLEASE keep reading! I like this story too! And also, that this story is the first involving one of my favourite characters in Lotr, Eomer, and it has also been requested of me that this story includes a rider of Rohan somewhere, and I have complied. And just because I have used his character once here certainly doesn't mean I won't use it again :-)
Anyway...
The climate in Rohan was unpredictable to say the least. When Eomer had set out across the Riddermark, the sky above Edoras had seemed overcast from the River Anduin as far west as Isengard. But as he rode back across the plains, the cushioned interior of his warrior's helmet thudding against his skull as he rode, Edoras in the distance, the clouds had parted, and Eomer was in a much better mood than when he had left, as had been his intention. There had been a time when Theoden, his uncle and king, and himself had sat for hours talking over matters of state, accompanied by his cousin Theodred. That had been when he was much younger. Now, the king was more inclined to attend to the suggestions of Grima, Theoden's 'adviser'. Just thinking the name seemed to make the sky darken to Eomer's eyes, his good temper receding slightly. But he ignored the thought, telling himself that the interfering worm that now resided in Meduseld was not worth his humour. Nobody was riding with him today, as he had left without telling anyone, wishing to be alone. The fact was that Eomer was lonely, and funnily enough, being alone on the plains made him feel less alone than if he was in Edoras surrounded by his subjects and family. Being around people just intensified the feeling. Eomer, despite his years as the king's trusted advisor, was still a young man, barely 25, and he was still horny as fuck at times. This was easy to relinquish, it was just a matter of slipping out of Edoras at night, riding to the nearest village and find a married lass of easy virtue willing to surrender herself to his impressive endowment for half an hour or less. Nobody seemed to mind if the woman got pregnant by him; the husbands assumed of course that the child was theirs, and were very happy to say the least. Luckily, none of the women ever knew that he was a potential heir to the throne of Rohan; he was careful to mask his identity, so that, if he did become king one day, he would not be under the threat of opposition from illegitimate children, of which he had now lost count. He didn't feel guilt of remorse for his actions; the wenches had practically begged for him to ravage them with his large manhood, and he knew that they had enjoyed every second of it. The truth of the matter was that Eomer simply pursued these loose women to get his rocks of with something more than his right hand for a change. Nobody knew that sleeping around in this manner, while not plaguing him with guilt, just made him feel more and more alone. He didn't want a woman; he'd realised this long ago. He much preferred the feeling of a man's body between his loins, a man's muscular chest beneath his own (he always topped during sex, man or woman), and the sound of a man's groans as their tight, hot arses were stretched and pounded. Yes, that was how Eomer liked it. But this kind of activity, while undeniably primal in instinct, and commonly practiced amongst the men of Rohan, especially the soldiers and riders, was still frowned upon by the rural society, and for a man of royal blood to participate in man to man sex...he would never be able to show his face in Edoras again if it got out. He had witnessed many a new, young rider being instituted, watched the young butt filled with cock, occasionally with more than one. But he never joined in. Therefore, with all his legendary sexual prowess, his experience with men was extremely limited, for while the women he fucked might not recognise him, the men of the country would instantly identify the king's nephew in a sexually encounter, and the news would inevitably spread that lord Eomer of Edoras enjoyed shafting fellow males, at first only amongst the men, who would most likely follow him around, hoping for a good Royal fuck, but then it would be revealed o the women as well, possibly even, Valar forbid, the children. He would be disgraced in the eyes of the king, even possibly in the eyes of his sister Eowyn, and his life would be ruined, sent away to farm some distant dirt field, with all the man sex he wanted on offer, but deprived of love. For that was what Eomer craved during sex, that virtue-less women could never provide him with. He had seen it in eyes of the four or five men he had had in his bed over the years, even if only for a minute or two. They loved him. Eomer's mind slipped back to the real world as he suddenly realised he was less than a mile from the hill of Edoras, and put these thoughts also out of his mind. But his mood had been darkened, not by anger, but by sadness by the lack of acceptance in his own kingdom. As he rode back up the hill to the stables, he met his cousin, Theodred and they grinned at each other. Eomer's mood lightened again. While he didn't think he could bring himself to fuck a member of his own family, even if just a cousin, he could rely on Theodred for the best blowjobs and handjobs this side of Minas Tirith. It was quite bizarre, yet somehow extremely erotic, to see his young cousin's head or hand bouncing up and down on his long shaft, and see the lad swallow his cum greedily, even sometimes licking it off the wooden floor if he missed some. Eomer wasn't sure if this meant that Theodred was gay, but he definitely seemed to enjoy giving head. And if he was, Eomer chuckled grimly to think of the king's reaction to his own son liking cock. Theodred still couldn't provide him with what he wanted from a man, but Eomer was grateful for the attention.
It was several hours later when Eomer's thought returned to this subject. He stormed out of the Hall of Meduseld in what even he would describe as a tantrum. He had just spent another afternoon in a battle of wills with Grima Wormtongue, and, while he had tried not to let the king guess this, he had felt a great desire to curse the detestable creature to the dungeons of Barad-Dûr for the rest of eternity, but he knew his sire wouldn't have taken kindly to that. The king had grown disturbingly fond of Wormtongue over the last couple of months. There was only one ale house in Edoras, and this was mostly occupied nightly by Eomer's fellow Rohirrim, all getting drunk as sows and commencing activities that would undoubtedly result in a heaving orgy before midnight, which was why the pub was as far away from any house as possible, to keep the wives from suspicion. Eomer had of course, never participated in these almost nightly events, preferring for this reason to avoid the pub as much as possible, but this evening he felt the need for something to loosen his grip on reality for a short time, and a pint or two of ale or beer seemed just the thing. His need turned out to be justified, and in less than 45 minutes he was sitting alone at the bar, his fourth pint of ale in front of him, already half empty, his head in his hands, simply for support, lest his neck let him down. He was sitting just down the bar from a group of rowdy soldiers, all of them obviously as drunk as could be before ten at night. He had been listening to their loud talk of their own sexual ability and skill, and how they planned to use it that night, either on their wives or each other, laughing at the end of every sentence. Eomer sneered to himself at heir immature behaviour, hoping that he had the sense that night to keep from descending into the same state of loose tongue and mind. Deciding that it was getting a bit late, and that he didn't really want to suffer the effects of another pint of ale the next morning, he stood unsteadily from his bar stool and tried to walk in a straight line to the door. As he passed the end of the bar, he caught the words of the men. "Hey now, any of you catch a glimpse of that new stable lad, eh?" There was a suggestive bout of roaring and laughing from the others. "Oh, yeah, I saw him I did!" another shouted above the din "A fair piece of beef he was too!" "Catch a good view of the backside on him?" "Arms as thick as a horse's neck!" "Face like an Elven prince!" None of this would have mattered to Eomer had he been sober. But, as it happened, he wasn't sober, and found himself very interested in the conversation. He continued to totter towards the door like an old man without a stick, but took in every word of the banter behind him. When he reached the doors, the men finally noticed him and roared in his direction, raising their pints in salute, but Eomer was already gone. On his way back to his bed, he found his mind filled with images of what this new stable boy could look like. Muscular, handsome, and naïve, the men had seemed to think of him as, and Eomer found he could think of little else, even the way home. It came as a surprise, then, that he found himself at the bottom of the hill upon which Meduseld was built, obviously going in completely the wrong direction, but by this time he was too far-gone to care. There was nobody on the paths or outside their houses, so there was nobody to embarrass himself in front of. This was his last clear memory of the night, before he felt himself drifting off to sleep, reminding himself that he should never drink ale again.
The morning came at last. Everyone awoke quickly and went about their business for the day, the men exhausted from their night of 'entertainment' at the pub, but trying not to show it in front of their wives. Eventually, Eomer awoke as well, the sunlight dancing across his face. He opened his eyes and sat up. His head didn't hurt as much as he thought it would, for which he was very grateful, but it was still enough to make him feel dizzy as he sat up and took in his surroundings. He was shocked to discover he was lying in straw, straw that gave off a nasty smell as he moved. He could hear the sounds of horses, which was not exactly what he would expect to hear waking up in his own bed. And the light was wrong for him to be in Meduseld, too bright, and the air was too open and fresh. He had spent the night in the stables. He swore to himself and sank back into the straw. He was a complete idiot. A complete idiot who obviously couldn't take a few pints of ale without being practically flat on his face. Given the amount his fellow riders seemed able to carry within themselves without falling asleep, this wasn't a home truth he was comfortable with, and felt almost ashamed of himself. It was then that he heard a sound other than the impatient stomping of hooves from nearby, a sound of boots on wood, approaching him fast. He looked around quickly for someplace to hide. If he were found here...he shuddered at the thought. He would become the laughing stock of Edoras. The taunts would go down of course after a while, but he would be forever known as the lord who slept in the stable. He saw a leather saddle lying unused on the ground and pulled it over himself, not so that he was completely covered, just to keep him from being noticed by whomever it was long enough to get away without making a fool of himself. The steps drew closer and finally entered the stable door to his right. He lifted the saddle off of his head an inch or two so that he could see. A pair of cloth wrapped leather boots walked past, followed by a cheerfully whistled tune. Raising the saddle further, he just managed to glimpse a pair of dark green baggy cloth breeches covering what looked like finely muscled legs, which were tucked into the tops of the boots. Then the boots and the legs were hidden by the wall of the stall he was lying in. Eomer listened for another moment or two, as the sound of the boots grew further away, and then stopped. He decided then that this was as good a time as any to make a getaway. He threw off the saddle as quietly as he could, and pulled himself up on the stall rail. His mind reeled, and he almost lost his balance, but after he had stood still for about a minute, he pulled himself the rest of the way up into a standing position. He had thought, on waking, that his hangover hadn't been that bad. But standing up seemed to bring it on full force, and when he took a step, he felt as though he were on the deck of a ship. The floor and walls didn't seem to want to stay still, and again he almost fell. He pulled himself along by the stable wall, trying to get to the door. Four steps, five, six; he was almost there. But less than three feet from the open door, he put his hand out to support his weight, and found nothing. He took another step, and felt his head hit the floor with a thud. He didn't hear the sound of a pair of boots moving rapidly towards him across the stable, or the knees connect with the floor near his head. All he heard was his loud heartbeat in his ears and an automatic groaning sound coming from his throat. Then the pain seemed to die out and he opened his eyes. The face he saw above him was square and lightly bearded, but obviously much younger than Eomer himself. Blue eyes, full lips, and long blonde hair that curled around the young man's ears. Yet he couldn't be that young, for his chin was already covered in thick light brown stubble. "My lord," said a young, yet deep voice from above "My lord, are you alright?" "Water." He managed to grunt. The face disappeared with a nod, and he saw a tight butt clad in green material jog away from him and disappear from his range of vision. When the man returned, Eomer was almost sitting up, feeling his head, which was now only lightly throbbing as opposed to pounding as though a dwarf were mining the inside of his skull. He took the flagon of water from the handsome man, noting his strong hands, and drank most of it in one gulp, and almost choked. After drinking the rest more slowly, he sat the rest of the way up, using the young man's shoulder as a support. The feeling of the bulging muscles beneath the loose white cotton shirt made him stop for a moment or two. This man wasn't a rider. Sure, the riders of Rohan were all well built, but they tended to be more streamlined. This was a lad more accustomed to lifting and carrying than riding a horse. A stable lad. At this thought, a memory of the previous night flashed through his mind. "Who are you?" he asked gruffly, getting to his knees and pushing himself up. The young man backed off slightly. He wasn't as tall as Eomer, reaching just about up to the warrior's shoulders. "I'm the new stable-keeper," he said, wiping his hands on his breeches "Káin son of Kellermine, from West Folde, my Lord" he added with a bow of his head. Eomer gazed at the boy, his mind seeming to 'click'. This was the new stable boy his men had been talking about so inappropriately the night before in the pub. He could see what they meant. The boy could hardly be more than seventeen years old, eighteen at most, yet he was probably more developed than many of his men who were in their mid-20s, far too handsome to be assigned to the stables. "I am Eomer, nephew of the King." He said, simply for need of something to say, since it was obvious that the lad knew exactly who he was. The boy smiled, and shook his lord's hand. Eomer continued to stare at Káin, even after they had stopped shaking hands. He realised instantly that he desired the lad, the familiar contracting feeling in his stomach alerting him that there would very soon be a familiar swelling in his groin, but he didn't realise this. All he could focus on was the details of the younger man's face, like the way his hair curled upwards around his ears, and how the thick stubble covered the slow cleft in his chin.
Káin himself was also studying Eomer's face, the sternness of his eyes, and the strength of his jaw. But he very soon began to feel quite uncomfortable under the almost scrutinising gaze of his lord marshal. He cast his eyes down slightly, and found himself staring at the taller man's broad chest, the light hairs showing above the open neck of his red shirt. He was now also feeling the sensation in his stomach, the feeling that extended down to the head of his cock. Feeling this, and growing more embarrassed, he looked towards the floor, but something caught his gaze. His lord Eomer was wearing a pair of loose brown trousers, and obviously nothing underneath, for a large bulge was slowly extending down the man's left leg, that probably wouldn't have been there if he was wearing underwear. His lord was getting morning wood. This was such a strange thought that he almost laughed, but managed to look up again, and saw Eomer looking down at himself, looking horror-struck.
Eomer had seen the boy look down, first to his, Eomer's, chest, and then down to his belt. He saw a slight smile cross his mouth, which was instantly gone, and looked down himself. His face went bright red with embarrassment. He would have run, had he not looked up at the lad in front of him, and realised he was in a similar predicament. It was Káin's turn to turn red, his skin now contrasting with the colour of his eyes and hair. Eomer felt his already plumped cock swell even further, but not to full hardness, although just enough to let Káin know that he liked what he saw. Káin's cock looked about six inches long, semi-hard, but he couldn't tell much else, and he found himself wanting to find out. He licked his lips, and felt himself begin to burn with desire.
Káin saw the fire ignite in his lord's eyes at the sight of his half-hard manhood through his breeches, and smiled back. He grabbed a hold of his shirt, tucked into his breeches, and pulled it over his head, throwing it in a nearby stall, his upper body on full display to the older man in front of him, who now seemed to be drooling.
Eomer had a right to drool. The body displayed to him now was almost perfection, worked up by hours of lifting bales of straw and tending to horses in West Folde. He had a hugely muscular chest, with a light spattering of short brown hair covering it and topped by small nipples, huge shoulders, his thick neck seeming to join his head under his ears, huge arms almost fifteen inches around, with his forearms covered in a smooth layer of hair, and rock hard abdominal muscles, the lower two hidden by his belted breeches. The lad flexed his muscles, making them stand out like a relief map under his skin. Eomer was sure now that he was drooling, but the boy had not finished yet. He untied his rope belt from his waist, untied the lace fly of his breeches and dropped them to his ankles, pulling them over his boots, and tossing them away to join his shirt in the nearby stall, the white of his cotton 'short' underwear the only thing standing between his cock and the air.
Káin wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this. Young as he was, he had had experience with other men, much more than Eomer he was sure, but he had never really felt the need to show off before. The men he had been with were uncles and cousins, all of whom were almost as muscled as he was, more in some cases. But this rider, while being very fit, was undoubtedly impressed by what he saw, and it was nice to feel that. Eomer now began to do the same. Káin watched as he too pulled of his shirt, revealing his slim body, while not as defined as Káin's, which was more furred, the hair on his chest extending down over his tight belly to a patch on the small of his back. He was beefier than most riders, with a thick lower body with barely an ounce of fat on it and broad shoulders. To Káin, his body looked magnificent against the brown trousers he was wearing, now tenting splendidly.
Káin slowly closed the gap between himself and Eomer, laying his hands on the developed pectoral muscles, down his furry stomach, around his back and under his trousers, squeezing the furred butt cheeks, which felt firm yet soft, pulling both their bodies together. Eomer was relishing in the feeling of the hot smooth body of the younger man pressed against him, rubbing and teasing at the hairs, his large cock rubbing against the firm ridged stomach, when Káin pushed himself up on his toes and captured Eomer's mouth with his own, grabbing at his shoulders as he shoved his tongue into his lord's mouth. Eomer had never kissed a man before. He'd felt the desire to, whenever he'd had the pleasure of bedding a man, but had never found the right way to initiate it. While he tongue wrestled with Eomer, Káin managed to get his hands further down in the man's trousers, and pulled them down. He looked down, and was greatly impressed. All the men in his family who he'd ever seen with their pants down had had cocks about seven inches long, maybe seven and a half at most. But the men of Edoras were obviously very well bred in the manhood department. Eomer's cock was nine inches long and very thick, the biggest cock he had ever seen, with low hanging balls swinging below. Eomer saw the young man staring fixedly at his cock, and felt it swell another half-inch with pride and lust. He knew perfectly well that he had one of the biggest dicks in Rohan, with only the legendary king Helm-Hammerhand being bigger, about eleven inches, according to legend. He hoped the stable boy was impressed.
Káin grabbed a hold of Eomer's long thick shaft with his hand and began to pump slowly. Eomer threw his head back and groaned at the ceiling, grabbing hold of the side of a stall to keep his balance. This was better than being drunk any day. He had to smother a yell when Káin got to his knees and took his large mushroom head into his mouth ad began to lick around under the foreskin. He then sank the whole length of it expertly into his mouth, his chin resting on the big man's balls, his hands stroking his butt casually as he began to move off slightly, only to have it shoved back down his gullet with a thrust of Eomer's hips. The third marshal of the Riddermark was now almost blind from pleasure; his naked body heaving as the talented lad below him went to work, swallowing his cock like a giant sausage. The feeling was too much for the older man to take, and he began to roughly snap his hips backwards and forwards, fucking the face of the lower-bred stable boy like it was the pussy of one of the many, many wenches that had laid under him over the years, and the lad took it gratefully. It was less than two minutes until Eomer felt himself reach the edge. He was enjoying it so much that he tried tensing his stomach muscles to try and hold it back, but it just seemed to make it worse. He tried begging Káin to stop, but the younger guy refused. It was at least one more minute before he felt himself start shooting. His large ball-sack tightened suddenly, and he felt his already oversized cock swell to its limits. Káin just sucked harder, until finally, Eomer unloaded himself into his mouth. Káin almost suffocated. Eomer was shooting so much cum into his mouth that when he tried to hold it, he felt it almost go back up his throat and up his nose, and the white cream was dribbling and spurting out around the older man's cock before Káin had even had a chance to swallow. Eomer felt himself shoot five, six, seven, in all, ten times before he ran dry. His cock began to soften and he bent down, curving his body around the lad's head. Then he felt it. Guilt. He had disgraced himself. With hardly a second glance at Káin, he pulled his flaccid cock away from him, pulled up his trousers, and retrieved his shirt from the stall where he had thrown it. Káin was looking at him with a confused expression, but Eomer didn't want to care. Without a second glance at his young, yet competent fuck-buddy, he practically ran out of the door. On the way out, he almost knocked down the second marshal of the Rohirrim outside the door. The man looked after his lord in surprise, and then looked back through the door. He caught sight of that hunky new stable boy, wearing nothing but his underwear and boots, with what looked suspiciously like cum smeared around his face, and wearing a very upset expression. He chuckled to himself. Eomer, lord of the Rohirrim, had just fucked and left a guy like that? He was still laughing as he walked into the pub. In twenty seconds, the rest of the Rohirrim knew everything. Eomer laid on his bed a few minutes later, his mind consumed. He had just had the best blowjob of his life, and yet he couldn't enjoy the memory. He had always made sure that whoever he was, they didn't know who he was. But this guy that had just sucked him off knew perfectly well who he was, and any minute he could spread the news around Edoras faster than a flock of crobaine. But then he started to get sleepy. Having spent the night rolled up in hay, he hadn't slept very well. His thought slipped back to Káin, the way his muscles bulged, how sexy those white cotton underwear looked on him, and how he had never gotten a good look at the younger guy's tackle, leaving plenty of room for imagination. Eomer felt his manhood rise provocatively in his loins, and he felt his skin begin to prickle with that sensation of lust-filled hornyness he had felt just minutes before. He slid his hands down his body, stopping to pinch his own nipples, making himself gasp in pleasure, and then down his hairy belly to the root of his cock, rubbing his hands up the long thick shaft and up to the head, the foreskin pulled back down over the purple mushroom. He began to beat of slowly, sliding both his hands leisurely up and down the veiny pole of flesh, occasionally stroking his palms lovingly over the sensitive skin of the head, almost making him cum each time. When he finally lay back down, his half hard cock in his hands, and his chest and stomach literally drenched from his latest orgasm, the last thing he thought before he fell asleep, was that this had been a very satisfying morning.
To be continued...
Well, that was certainly the least difficult chapter of Tales of Middle Earth so far! This story WILL be concluded, don't worry, and there is still plenty more stuff to come! Keep reading! JC