Bury Me to Release Your Splendor by annarobots  

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Chapter 4: A Man and a Woman Make a Garden Between Them

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But in Faërian drama you are in a dream that some other mind is weaving, and the knowledge of that alarming fact may slip from your grasp. To experience directly a Secondary World: the potion is too strong, and you give to it Primary Belief, however marvellous the events. You are deluded—whether that is the intention of the elves (always or at any time) is another question. They at any rate are not themselves deluded.

- J.R.R. Tolkien, On Fairy-Stories, 1947

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The White Lilies

As a man and woman make
a garden between them like
a bed of stars, here
they linger in the summer evening
and the evening turns
cold with their terror: it
could all end, it is capable
of devastation. All, all
can be lost, through scented air
the narrow columns 
uselessly rising, and beyond,
a churning sea of poppies--

Hush, beloved. It doesn’t matter to me
how many summers I live to return:
this one summer we have entered eternity.
I felt your two hands
bury me to release its splendor.

- Louise Glück, 1992

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The bedchamber, dark and still, was thick with the fragrance of Fingwen: her jasmine and lily of the valley perfume, her sweat, her breath, and her desire.  Alphangil’s eyes, which had never known Tree-light, took a moment to adjust to the darkened room, lit only by stars through a high window.

And then she saw her wife, sprawled all alone in the center of the bed.  Alphangil rushed to join and smother her in kisses.

For his part, Maedhros had retreated to a chair next to the unlit fireplace.

His customary spot. 

This, now, was all familiar: the softness of her bed, the light cotton coverlet beneath her, the feel and smell of Fingwen.  And not so far away, Maedhros’s keen attention.  Once settled, he was utterly still.  But that did not mean Alphangil heeded not his presence.  Indeed, all her senses were attuned to Lord Maedhros, who could not help but command a room, even in play.

Fingwen was flushed a deep rose-pink.  Her chemise was all askew from Maedhros’s manhandling, and her veil twisted beneath her. The gold and jewels sparkled in her hair.

“Oh, what shall I do with you?” murmured Alphangil, placing a hand upon Fingwen’s knee.  When one had such a feast spread before her, how could one choose where to begin?

“Strip her,” said Maedhros from the chair.

A flutter of excitement stirred anew in Alphangil’s blood.  “May I, High Princess?” asked she, turning to Fingwen.

“It is not my leave you require,” breathed Fingwen.  “The words of my Lord Himring shall rule me.  Do as he wills.”

Annoyance—only mild—tempered Alphangil’s arousal.  But seeing as the order was in agreement with her own desire, she obeyed.  With the utmost delight she removed Fingwen’s chemise and gazed upon her wife in all her nude splendor.

Now Fingwen wore only the bridal veil, the jewels, the medallion round her neck.  And, of course, revealed at long last: through each nipple, hoops of the finest Valinorean gold. 

A waterfall of golden chains linked the two hoops, delicate as lacework, pure as the Sun.  The chains draped in a deep curve over her torso. The highest crossed just beneath her breast, and the last dipped below her navel.  Hung from the lowest chain, a single white gem in the shape of a teardrop pointed downward like an arrow.  Look below, it seemed to say, and you shall find your treasure!

Yes, they had learned the answer to Fingon’s question.  If pierced while in Fingwen form, his nipples would retain the golden rings.  The medallion could be removed, but the rings remained in place, threaded through his nipples.  Changing the outer shape did not wipe away the impressions that could be left upon it. 

All the better for Fingon, who was altogether thrilled with his new pierced nipples.  He went mad when Alphangil tugged at those rings, regardless of form.

Alphangil loved her so much.

“Shall I kiss her?” she asked Maedhros, and she hardly managed to wait for his approval before she dove in and pressed her lips to her wife’s.

What joy!  What sweetness!  She did not think there was any Elda in all Arda more blessed than she, who had this.  Who else could have in one soul all that she desired: respect, security, affection, a hard cock that would pound her rough and screaming, and now, in that very same person, a soft, warm, wet, wonderful woman who tasted like strawberries, and who fell to pieces at the touch of a hand.

Fingwen moaned into Alphangil’s mouth, opening like a flower.  Alphangil pressed into her with eager tongue.  Maedhros’s silver gaze washed over them both.  Fingwen wiggled, wrapped her arms around Alphangil, and pulled her closer.

“She stirs,” said Maedhros. “You kindle her fires.  What a wanton creature.  Who could have imagined that such lust hid beneath those fine skirts? A High Princess she may be.  Yet now her true nature is revealed.”

Alphangil broke away, breathing hard.  Fingwen whined.  “Would you like to see what else hid beneath her skirts?” Alphangil asked Maedhros.

A hum of assent. 

Alphangil shifted so that she sat behind Fingwen, chest to back.  Now Maedhros’s view was clear and unobstructed.  Then she grasped Fingwen’s thighs, the flesh soft and yielding beneath her hands, and she spread them wide, revealing what lay between: a perfect pink pussy, swathed in dark curls.

Fingwen, breasts heaving with each breath, gasped out loud.  “Oh, mercy!  Spare me!” She could not close her legs, not with Alphangil holding her so firm.  She moved instead to cover herself with her hands, folding them demurely over her sex. 

“Now, now,” chided Maedhros. “This is no time to be shy.  Show yourself to me.  Or shall your lady wife do it for you?”

Fingwen tossed her head in pretend defiance.  The veil swung about behind her.  She did not move her hands.

“I see.  Make her, then.”

Gleeful, Alphangil wrapped her own legs over Fingwen’s, pinning her.  Then she reached between her thighs.  She pulled Fingwen’s soft hands away.  And with the vee of her fingers, Alphangil spread open Fingwen’s lower lips for Maedhros, unveiling within the glistening, delicate skin that was already swollen thick, dark, and fragrant with arousal.  Alphangil’s mouth watered at the smell.  Fingwen whimpered.

“That’s some glamour,” said Maedhros, almost to himself.  He considered Fingwen’s exposed sex for a few moments, then met Alphangil’s gaze.  “Now, you tell me this lady is a creature made for pleasure, is she?  Whose pleasure, I wonder.  I think you have taken yours at great leisure, keeping her locked away in this room for your eyes only.  I think you have glutted yourself on her loveliness and let none else partake.”

Maedhros had, of course, the right of it.  It would not do to let anyone else see Fingwen.  She was Alphangil’s to use and share only as she pleased.  Alphangil moved ever so slightly, rubbing the palm of her hand against Fingwen’s mound.  Her fingers brushed against Fingwen’s soft, wet curls where they held her open below.

“Now she is for your pleasure, my Lord,” said Alphangil, magnanimously.

“For my pleasure,” echoed Maedhros.  “Ha! So it would seem.  Very well.  What would please me?  What would please me,” he repeated softly.  “I think I should like to see you bring her to the very precipice, until she is mindless with need.  I think I should like to hear the lady beg.”

Fingwen moaned out loud, thrusting her hips forth so that her sex rubbed against Alphangil’s hand. The very words Maedhros spoke seemed to inflame her ever more fiercely.  She dripped against Alphangil’s fingers though she had scarcely yet been touched. Alphangil’s own cunt throbbed with sympathetic need.

“Are you so close already, my love?” murmured Alphangil into her ear.

“Yes,” moaned Fingwen. “Ah, yes, I am.”  Her back was hot where it pressed into Alphangil’s front.

“Then will you beg, like our lord guest asks?  Will you give him what he wants?”

Fingwen swallowed her moans, closing her mouth in petulance at once at the suggestion.  Her hips moved faster, rocking herself into Alphangil’s hand.  She touched her own breasts, fingers on each gold ring.  The chains swung as she moved.  She would chase her pleasure, Alphangil well knew.

Oh, and how Alphangil wanted to see her climax!  She was halfway there herself, dizzy on desire and on Fingwen as the sensations echoed through their bond.  She wanted to let her catch that peak.  Fingwen lost in orgasm was a beautiful sight.

“Stop.”

Maedhros’s command was firm.

With sorrow, Alphangil removed her hand from Fingwen.  It came away wet.

Fingwen cried out in distress.  “My Lord!” She reached between her own legs, but Alphangil intercepted and caught her by the wrists.

“You know his wish,” admonished Alphangil.  “Won’t you beg?  I think he should let you come, if you only ask sweetly.”

Fingwen’s mouth clamped shut again.

“She is stubborn,” said Alphangil to Maedhros.  “She must be taught.  We must strike again, and strike harder.  What should I do with her, my Lord?”

Maedhros’s grin was full of teeth.

They three all knew it: he was as skilled a general in the bedroom as on the field of battle.

Alphangil launched an all-out assault at his direction.  She took Fingwen’s ears into her mouth one at a time to tug at the jewels with her teeth. Her hands groped at Fingwen’s plump tits (Maedhros’s word) and played with the chains that linked them together. She sucked on the soft skin of her neck while she fondled a nipple.  She pushed aside the cloudy layers of veil, she raked her fingers through Fingwen’s hair, she yanked at her braids.  The agate hair-jewels fell, jingling, upon the bedspread. 

All the while, Maedhros remained seated and still in his chair, long legs crossed at the knee, chin in hand.  He watched, he gave commands, he did not so much as twitch.

How did he take such pleasure with no touch upon his own flesh?  Alphangil did not understand it.  Once, before she had come to know Maedhros as she did now, Alphangil might have thought that they might both take her, Fingon and Maedhros; they shared so much else, why not a wife?  Perhaps one after the other might bury themselves within her, their seed mingling in her sex.  Or perhaps they might enjoy entering her from two ends, one sheathed between her legs, the other filling her mouth.  She knew not the taste of Maedhros’s seed and had oft wondered whether it might burn her tongue, if it would heat her from the inside when she swallowed it down. 

In her wildest imagination, she had even envisioned perhaps she might take them both jointly, Fingon and Maedhros in her cunt at once.  They might stuff her full with their two fat cocks pressed together.  Oh, they should like that!  Such tightness, such heat.

Yet Maedhros had shown little interest in her body.  Yes, even when she was naked and gasping before him, even spread wide and aching, he remained ever unmoved.

No matter. 

She had Fingwen. 

And all the while, as she worked her sweet body, Fingwen’s pleasure built ever higher.  She moaned, she gasped.  She panted with exertion and her skin took on a deep red flush; her hips thrust against empty air, as Alphangil continued to neglect that part of her that most demanded to be touched.

At Maedhros’s command, Alphangil flipped Fingwen onto her back and crawled on top of her.  She kissed her way down Fingwen’s neck to her breasts.  When she reached a perfect, pert nipple, she teased first around the edges.  Fingwen tossed her head from side to side. Alphangil’s own cunt was clenching around nothing.  She swirled her tongue closer and closer to the center until at last she reached the golden ring.  It was warm and hard beneath her mouth.

When Alphangil tugged on it with her teeth, Fingwen’s cry of pleasure was nearly a scream.

Oh, she knew that sound. A sharp bolt of arousal struck between her legs.  Could she—

She tugged again, and Fingwen cried even louder.

“Stop,” said Maedhros.

He, too, understood what that sound signified.

Alphangil tugged once more at the nipple ring.  Her breasts tingled.  Just another pull or two, and she was sure she could get Fingwen to--

“I said stop,” repeated Maedhros, more sternly.

With regret, Alphangil pulled away.

And then Fingwen cried even louder.

Maedhros had given no command against Alphangil touching herself.  She could not resist any longer, she rubbed her palm between her legs and moaned.  Her gown was in the way, and it was damp with sweat.  She lifted the gown up and over her head and tossed it aside.  Now she bared her body in full to Fingwen and Maedhros both.

Fingwen pushed herself up onto her elbows, to better watch Alphangil.  “Oh, you’re cruel,” she moaned, “you are both so cruel.  How can you be so heartless to an innocent, helpless girl?  I am at your disposal.  Look at you, oh, how you leave me wanting and yet you fondle yourself before me!”  She reached again for her own sex.

“Do not,” said Maedhros. “You know what I wish to hear.”

Fingwen’s mouth shut tight, her lips pressed together in a line.  Her eyes went wild enough that, for a moment, Alphangil feared the teasing had gone too far.  Then she winked.

Alphangil loved this game. She had loved playing it when it was Fingon desperate under her hands, and loved it even more with Fingwen, but now Alphangil, too, had begun to grow impatient.  Stroking her wife was a pleasure unlike any other, and she could sense Fingwen’s growing desperation through their bond.   

And Maedhros was not her lord.

“Shh, shh, do not cry, sweet one,” said Alphangil.  “I cannot bear to see you suffer so.  Be at peace. I will give you relief.”

When Alphangil bore Fingwen down onto the bed, there was little Maedhros could do.  When she kissed her wife deeply and slipped her tongue into her mouth just as she slipped her thigh between her legs and pressed it against her cunt, Maedhros’s calls of “stop, stop” rang out unanswered. Their combined slickness mingled and slid between them.  And when she drove Fingwen into a helpless, shuddering climax with nothing but the movement of her thigh, it was Alphangil, and not Maedhros, who got to share in the echoes of her pleasure through the bond of holy matrimony. 

Maedhros went still, a dark cloud looming in the bedchamber.  He spoke not.  He moved not. But it was of little consequence. Alphangil had risen above his darkness. She had brought Fingwen to the highest heavens of ecstasy and together they soared in bliss. 

After the waves of pleasure receded, Fingwen slumped back.  Her mouth opened and closed in silence, her eyes went hazy.  The medallion rose and fell between her breasts as she breathed.

Alphangil gave no quarter. She did not wait for Fingwen’s recovery but began to launch her assault anew, with lips and teeth and tongue. 

“Oh, you savage,” Fingwen groaned.  “You will eat me whole!”

What was Maedhros to Alphangil?  He mattered not at all.  He would never, he could never do this.  He could not take such joy in Fingwen’s soft curves.  And he knew it!  His silence was the proof.  When Alphangil began to lick her way down Fingwen’s body, the heady aroma of her arousal growing ever stronger the lower she went, Maedhros did not intervene.  She reached Fingwen’s sweet, hot cunt, and found her absolutely dripping.  And there was nothing on Arda that Maedhros could do to keep her from feasting upon her wife.

And what a feast! What sweetness, tartness, and salt all mingled together, pouring out of Fingwen like wine from a cask.  Did other women flow so freely?  Alphangil neither knew nor cared.  How could she, when she had such decadence before her?  She licked, she lapped, she drank deeply. She thrust her tongue into the source of all that wetness and found still more flowing forth, mixing now with her saliva and the sweat that dripped from her brow.  She sucked at Fingwen’s tenderest part, the bud of her pleasure, and delighted in the shrieks she drew.  From the shaking of Fingwen’s thighs and the spiraling, dizzying tremors that flew along their bond, Alphangil knew that she was approaching a second climax, and she was herself carried along its current.  Drunk on her wife, Alphangil lifted Fingwen’s hips ever so slightly with a thrust of her shoulders, and with one hand she pushed down on Fingwen’s mound, the angle and pressure that she knew would drive her to ecstasy.

But though Alphangil drove against her with all passionate intensity, though Fingwen was rolling with pleasure and glowing with sweat, desperate as ever to reach another peak, that peak would not come.  This was no hardship on Alphangil, who could dine on her fair wife for hours, she could gorge for days.  She could dwell within her folds and forget the world outside.  Nothing—and no one—else merited concern.

But when Fingwen began to beg out loud to be allowed to come, to please, please, make her come again, she needed it so badly—

“Finger her,” said Maedhros.

He had not spoken in a long while.  It took a moment for Alphangil to comprehend. 

Lord Maedhros grew impatient.  “I say, finger her!”  He spoke more sharply.

Alphangil pulled back, grudging.  She looked up, a question in her eyes for her wife. 

“Do not ask her leave!” Maedhros did not stir from his place, but his voice thundered throughout the bedchamber.  “She is for my pleasure, is she not?  That is what you said.  If you are no servant of the Enemy, then you must do what I tell you.”

Anger flooded Alphangil. 

Yet Fingwen nodded, ever eager.  Her cunt had gushed anew at the rumble of Maedhros’s voice.

Still Alphangil hesitated.

“Have you ears?  Put your fingers inside her.  That is what she needs, and that is my will and my command.”

Of course Alphangil heard. And of course she knew what Fingwen needed.  She was her wife!  She had the bond!  She had the same parts.  Maedhros could never understand what it was to ache with emptiness.  Alphangil felt Fingwen’s need as though it were her very own. She felt her longing in her own blood, she felt her cunt pulsing. 

“Of course, I will give you what you need, darling,” Alphangil soothed.  She gazed upon Fingwen’s cunt and spread her open so that she could better see the task at hand.

As a point of fact, they had not, in this manner, explored the inner depths of Fingwen’s body. Penetration had seemed so utterly irrelevant.  Instead Alphangil had feasted upon this shape’s many outward charms: her breasts, so soft, her ass, so plush, her pussy, so perfect.  The little bud, so sensitive and so sweet beneath Alphangil’s tongue.  Fingwen had not before asked to be breached.  Why should she, when Alphangil had showered her with such devotion?

Yet now, in the presence of Maedhros, Fingwen needed more. 

She needed to be filled. 

Alphangil swallowed hard and fought an overwhelming and sudden urge to flee.  But she could not fail her wife now.  She would do this. 

“I will be gentle,” promised Alphangil.  She would go slow as honey.  It would not do to hurt her.  Fingwen gazed upon her with fathomless trust.

Her fears, she found, were groundless.  Fingwen was so slick and so ready, Alphangil’s first finger met no resistance at all.  A wild, impossible thought: if Fingwen had had a maidenhead, Fingon must have broken it riding upon horseback with his men across the plains of Ard-galen. Alphangil laughed and gasped aloud as she slid all the way inside Fingwen’s perfect heat.  Oh, what a strange sensation: the wet pulse of her passage, Fingwen’s inner walls clenching around her finger. 

How deep did this glamour go?  Fingwen felt entirely real, entirely woman.  So much as Alphangil could perceive.

“All well, love?” Alphangil asked.

Fingwen rocked against her. Her thighs fanned outward and then snapped back in.  She tipped back her head.  “Oh, lovely. Oh, that’s gorgeous.  You feel—perfect, so good, but—can you give me more?  May I have more?”  She trembled.

“Greedy girl,” teased Alphangil.  She curled her finger within Fingwen.  She was breathless, herself.  “But seeing as you’ve asked so sweetly—”

“Give her another,” ordered Maedhros.

“I was going to!”

Both Fingwen and Alphangil groaned as Alphangil withdrew and then penetrated Fingwen again, this time with a second finger alongside the first.  Now there was friction; two fingers went less readily.  She needed to be stretched.  Alphangil wiggled and worked her way in and out slowly, breathing onto Fingwen’s cunt.  Fingwen in her eagerness did not make it easy.  She writhed, she squirmed about, she pushed herself down on Alphangil’s fingers in her haste to be speared through, even as Alphangil tried so hard to be gentle.

“You’re very tight, my darling, you must relax for me.  You know how to relax, don’t you?  You’ve opened up so well for me before.”  Between her own legs, Alphangil felt the same invading pressure that Fingwen felt. Slowly, she coaxed her open, that pressure giving way at last.

Fingwen laughed out loud. The feeling was glorious around Alphangil’s fingers.  “This is very different, and you well know it.”

Yes, she did. Alphangil had on many occasions fingered Fingon’s ass in preparation to take her carved cock.  She had not understood why he desired that, not at first; she had once thought the wooden cock in its harness, a gift from Fingon, was a sign that he saw her as only a pale substitute for the one he truly wanted. Fingon had assured her it was not so, and the tool had become a treasured possession, and the act of penetration a joyful one for them both.

Still.  An ass was not a cunt, and her fingers knew it.

Alphangil thrust in and out with her two fingers, and she devoted herself once more to the unparalleled pleasure of licking her wife’s cunt with firm, flat strokes.  She gave her everything she had, driving into and upon her with steady fingers and tongue.  The sounds Fingwen made were trills of delight.

And still she did not come.

“I need more, please, oh, please, love,” choked out Fingwen between gasps of pleasure.

“You heard her! More!”

“Of course I will give her more!”  Alphangil snapped.  She could only ever give her wife everything she wanted.  Her face was covered in Fingwen’s wetness.  “Another finger, love?  It will be tight.”

“No, no more fingers, it isn’t enough,” moaned Fingwen. 

There was a sharp inhale from Maedhros in his chair.  Alphangil refused to turn and look at him.  Whatever he was thinking was of no interest to her.

“Then what, love?”

“I need your cock! Please, my love, please get the cock from the cupboard.  I need you inside me.” 

And then Alphangil’s whole body seemed to go up in flames.  She was engulfed in a rush of explosive desire so shocking, so powerful, she could not breathe.  That heat burst forth from a place so deep within her, she had not even known she contained it: the hearth of the Flame Imperishable that sparked every Elda’s soul.

Fingwen spoke, of course, of her exquisite wooden cock.  It was a pretty thing, carved and polished and lacquered to a fine, dark sheen.  Too smooth and perfect to be quite realistic, but well-shaped, long and thick.  It fitted perfectly to the light brown suede harness that felt so soft against Alphangil’s skin.  And it fitted perfectly inside Fingon. 

“Are you sure, love?” Alphangil thrust her fingers as deep as they could go.  There seemed no end to Fingwen’s channel, at least none she could reach.

“Yes, yes!” 

“I will get it,” Alphangil promised.  She withdrew. “I will have you, I will take you as you wish to be taken.  Would you like to ride me, for your first time?  Or should you like to lie on your back?”

“Hands and knees,” said Fingwen, then rolled into place, presenting herself like an animal. Alphangil—and Maedhros—had a clear view of Fingwen’s pink cunt. 

The position was familiar, at least, even though the hole was not. 

Alphangil went to get the wooden cock from the armoire.  She was glad Maedhros could not see her hands shake.  The cock and its harness sat next to a little stoppered vial on the top shelf, but of course there was no need for the oil.  Fingwen’s river of desire flowed so freely, she could take a dozen wooden cocks.  And besides, if she did manage to run dry, Alphangil could always make her wet the cock with her mouth.  Or—Alphangil’s heart skipped at beat at this thought—Fingwen could take a turn wearing the harness.  She could fuck Alphangil, wetting the cock with her own overflowing need.  They could switch off and fuck each other again and again throughout the night.  How many times could they take pleasure in each other this way?  Until the Sun rose?  Until Maedhros grew weary of watching? 

She buckled the harness around herself, fixed the wooden cock in place, and dashed back to Fingwen, nearly stumbling on the stone floor.  She scrambled back onto the bed and knelt between Fingwen’s legs.  The air was thick with their mingled desire, with anticipation, with the sultriness of late summer. 

Fingwen hummed in pleasure at Alphangil’s return.  She arched her back and lifted her hips.  Alphangil swore and nearly plunged right in without another thought.  But she would not take her wife so recklessly.  She would not harm her.  Instead she positioned her cock with care, sliding it along Fingwen’s outer folds, thrilling at the sounds she made.  She rested her other hand on the small of Fingwen’s back.

“Please, please, please,” begged Fingwen.  She tried to push back onto the cock.  Yet Alphangil wished to linger in this moment.  She held Fingwen’s hips in place.  She wanted to savor this symmetry, the closing of a circle of profound love.  Alphangil had been a virgin when she met Fingon.  He was the first and only person who had ever taken Alphangil thusly, the only one who had ever been inside of her.  He had on their wedding night possessed her utterly, body and soul. 

And now she would take Fingwen.  Fingwen was hers.

She rubbed the head of the wooden cock against Fingwen’s entrance.  She hoped she could find the right angle.  Fingwen was braced on her knees and one hand, the other delving between her legs.  If Alphangil’s cock had been flesh, she would have felt Fingwen’s fingers brushing against her.  As it was, she could feel through their bond the echo of the cock’s head just about to slip inside.  Fingwen craned her neck, half-twisted about, her gaze searching.

Alphangil stared into her wife’s grey-blue eyes, heart in her throat, nearly bursting with happiness at this moment of consummation—

And Fingwen gazed back—

Well—

What was Fingwen gazing at, actually?

Her eyes did not meet Alphangil’s, in fact, but went past—

And before she understood what was happening, Alphangil found herself shoved aside, knocked off balance, and nearly rolled clean off the bed by the great bulk of a broad shoulder, clothed in grey.

Stunned, she looked up.

Maedhros, still fully dressed, took Alphangil’s place between Fingwen’s legs. 

“For my pleasure, you said. And now it is my turn.” 

He took only his cock out, red against the soft grey trousers she had chosen for him, hard in his big hand.  The head was fat and dark like a plum.

And—she swallowed—Maedhros’s cock was much, much thicker than Alphangil’s.

Fingwen moaned, near incoherence.  She arched her back in a curve as deep as a drawn bow ready to be loosed. “Russandol, please—”

Maedhros had had enough of teasing.  He did not linger.  He did not savor.  He planted his knees, pressed the thick bulb of his cockhead against Fingwen’s cunt, grasped her by the hip, and with one formidable thrust, pushed his way inside.

Fingwen sobbed. Maedhros groaned.  Alphangil was speechless.  The sensation of Maedhros’s great cock was at once overwhelming and devastating, and Alphangil felt only its reflection along her bond with Fingwen. She could feel him in her throat. She could not imagine what it was for Fingwen, to be so impaled.  Alphangil could not protest.  She could hardly move. 

What could she do but lie back and watch?

Tears pricked at her eyes. The sting of her erstwhile jealousy had long ago faded.  Only she, not Maedhros, would ever be Fingon’s true spouse, no matter how much of his heart he held in his hand.  She had grown to enjoy watching Maedhros fuck Fingon, on the rare occasions he cared to involve himself directly.  The size and heft of him, the elegant movement of his hips, the brutality with which he could drive himself inside, a strength she could never match.  Fingon loved it.  Alphangil had accepted it.  She knew what this was.  She had touched herself and climaxed to the sight of Maedhros fucking her husband.

But this was her wife.

Maedhros fucked Fingwen as he did everything else: with deliberate, measured violence, no efforts wasted.  Fingwen had lost her balance almost at once and fallen to her face when one arm proved insufficient to hold her up against such an assault; as Maedhros drove into her, she kept working her own cunt with the other hand.  Almost at once, she reached her peak.  She shook and sobbed and fully collapsed, trembling. 

Maedhros pulled back. For a moment, as the aftershocks of shared orgasm rolled through her, Alphangil thought it might be over.  Then she saw Maedhros’s cock, still hard, bobbing between his legs, and knew he would not stop.  He flipped Fingwen, whose cries were broken like shattered glass, onto her back.  He pulled her hips to him. 

He reached up and ripped off her veil.  Fingwen did not seem to notice.  “Oh, Russo—oh, fuck,” she shouted as he settled himself within her to the hilt once more.

“Fuck, you feel—so good, so big and hard inside me, I love it.  I love you, I love how you fuck me, Russo.”

For his part, Maedhros was less verbal, but each precise thrust was punctuated by deep grunts that confessed his mounting pleasure.

“Fuck, yes, fuck me, do it harder, I can take it.  Russo, Russo, are you close?  I want you to spill inside me.  Will you do that?”

Maedhros’s grunts broke into a sound Alphangil had never before heard from him.  His broad shape was now covering Fingwen, her legs locked about his waist.  He could snap her in half if he liked.  Each thrust drove in with such force, Alphangil bounced on the bed.

“You like that?” Fingwen’s voice had gone low and hoarse. “You want to plant your seed within me? The High Princess of the Noldor must have an heir, my love.  I want it to be yours, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.  Do it, Russo.”

The filthier Fingwen’s talk got, the fiercer Maedhros became.  Alphangil was disgusted, horrified, and more aroused than she had ever been in her life.  Her body was hot with anger.  The suede harness of the little wooden cock now chafed her skin.  She tore it off and flung it away.  Then she regretted it, wishing she had kept the cock to stick inside herself, at least.

Because while she could sense through the bond Maedhros filling Fingwen to the brim and then some, it was not the deep satisfaction of being fucked.  Alphangil was empty.  She mourned. 

“Don’t you wish it, Russo? I believe you do.  You’re so fucking deep inside me.  I never knew, I never knew—I can feel my cunt pulling you in, do you feel it?  This body—it knows what it is made for.  I want you to fill it up, I want you to come in me, I am ripe, I am ready.  Get me with child.  Do it!  Do it, Maedhros!”

“Findekáno,” Maedhros groaned.  The stutter of his hips had grown erratic.

The air in the room became thick.  Power was gathering, swirling between Fingwen and Maedhros.  As they fucked and gazed into each other’s eyes with scorching intensity, it felt as though the rhythm of Maedhros’s hips had caught somehow the beat of the very Music of Creation.  Now their lovemaking plucked the strings that had always united the two of them in deep love and pulled forth from their harmony something greater still.  Their hands were intertwined: Fingwen’s small hand in Maedhros’s big one, fingers laced together. 

Could they—

Could it be possible?

Just how deep did this glamour go?

Alphangil regretted, now, not asking more questions of her cousin who had taught her the spell.  Yet how could she have known?   A madness had befallen her husband and Maedhros.  What could they be thinking?

Now they both moved wordlessly.  They were deep within each other’s thoughts, in that place within Fingon that Alphangil was not permitted inside.  The tension rose and rose and rose higher still.  There was a smell of rich seawater.  Fingwen’s heels were pressed into the small of Maedhros’s back.  She was about to come again, Alphangil perceived, without even touching herself, just from the feel of Maedhros within and against her and upon her.

The stutter of Maedhros’s hips approached a near finality that Alphangil knew from past encounters. They were both so near climax. There was a spirit of divine creation in the room.  The Valar had already blessed Fingon’s love for Maedhros, once.  They had sent him an Eagle.  What else might they send?   Perhaps he was so in their favor, despite his evil deeds, despite the very Doom itself, they might—

This could not be permitted.

Alphangil crawled across the bed.  Neither Fingwen nor Maedhros heeded her, so wrapped up were they in one another. Maedhros was pressed into Fingwen from thigh to belly to breast.  His face was buried into the crook of her neck.  His red hair was all over her face.  Fingwen’s eyes were closed.

The silver medallion hung round Fingwen’s neck.  Alphangil had sung her own desire into that medallion, her much longed for and never fulfilled desire: to lie with a woman.  Not just any woman, but her wife.  Her Fingwen. Desire was the power on which the spell drew.  Alphangil had been astonished to see that it had worked so very well, but then again, her desire had been very fierce indeed. 

Alphangil grabbed the silver chain round Fingwen’s neck, and with a sharp yank, she pulled so hard it broke.

The medallion slid off the chain onto the bed and from there to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” wept Alphangil. “I’m sorry, my love.”

Yet something very, very strange was happening.

Or rather—

Something was not happening.

Fingwen’s body did not change.  She did not reshape herself into the hard planes of Fingon’s muscular natural form. She remained soft, taking Maedhros’s cock as though she was made for it.

Neither had marked Alphangil’s action at all.  They rutted on, like beasts.  The medallion was nothing.  What was a glamour of a Grey-elf in comparison to the unyielding will of the Calaquendi?  There was a new Song to which all would hearken.

 “Stop it!”  Alphangil’s voice sounded ruined even to her own ears.  “Please,” she begged.  “Please, do not do this.”

It was Maedhros who seemed at last to hear her.

He raised his head only slightly.  He did not break his rhythm.  Alphangil shrank back.  She felt pierced by his gaze.  She could not withstand him.  She was helpless.

Maedhros consumed in ecstasy was terrible to behold.

And then Maedhros, at the last possible moment, at the brink of catastrophe, seemed at last to come back to himself.  He snarled. He sneered.  He pulled out.  And he ejaculated all over Fingwen’s belly and thighs.

Fingwen screamed in protest, arms and legs uselessly grasping at Maedhros in an attempt to pull him back in.  He withdrew farther, making no sound.  Fingwen’s fingers scrabbled at herself between her legs.  She wanted to wrest out one final orgasm from her body, but it was no use.

It was ruined.

As they three lay gasping on the bed, the shape of Fingon returned at last.  His shoulders broadened, his hips narrowed.  His breasts, to Alphangil’s great regret, disappeared.  His cock was soft, Alphangil could not bear to look upon it.  And his eyes were shut tight.

“You’ve come back to me,” whispered Alphangil, caressing Fingon’s brow.  She wiped the drops of sweat that had gathered there with her two hands.  She curled her soft body against Fingon’s solid form.

She was safe.  She was warm.  She was loved.

---

Fairy-stories were plainly not primarily concerned with possibility, but with desirability. If they awakened desire, satisfying it while often whetting it unbearably, they succeeded. It is not necessary to be more explicit here. The dweller in the quiet and fertile plains may hear of the tormented hills and the unharvested sea and long for them in his heart. For the heart is hard though the body be soft.

- J.R.R. Tolkien, On Fairy-Stories, 1947

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Chapter End Notes

You have no idea how hard it was not to put the words “whose pussy is this?” into Maedhros’s mouth. I’ll let you imagine it now, anyway.

Many thanks to the Leaf & Lore sprinters and writing marathoners for encouraging this work. I’d like to give a special shout-out to feyandferal for supporting the earliest version of this work when I was certain it was too iddy and specific to my own tastes to ever appeal to anyone else.  Thank you as well to cytryne, who wanted Fingwen to have nipple rings. Thank you to Elrond’s Library for the beta read and endless encouragement.

And thank you, Elleth, for being so generous with the idea and with Alphangil.  I return her to you now, with boundless gratitude.

You can find me on Tumblr as AnnaRobots. If you enjoyed the story, please consider reblogging my Tumblr promo post and leaving a comment. Thank you for reading!