Elmo's World by annarobots  

| | |

Elmo's World

“Elmo!  Don’t tickle me!”  Artanis wiggled out of her great-uncle’s embrace. 

Elmo frowned.  “But you came to my private chambers,” he said in a tone of such reasonableness, she could hardly believe that his hands had just been roaming all over her generous curves.  He sounded exactly like her grandfather when he was trying to explain something incredibly obvious, such as why he would not allow the mad king of the Noldor to steal away the entire fleet of swan-ships. 

“I came at your invitation, expecting respect and guidance, not molestation!  What of your wife?” 

“Who do you think suggested I invite you?  She’s just in the other room, probably listening at the door.  We thought you might like privacy, to begin with.  Would you prefer her mentorship?  I’m sure she’d be up for it, she likes women, too, though I should warn you, she won’t be satisfied with a little grabby-grab.  She’ll expect to eat your pussy straightaway.  Only with your enthusiastic consent, of course.”  Elmo had stepped back, giving Artanis space, though his impressive erection was clearly visible beneath his robes. 

Eat her… what?  Artanis felt dizzy.  The heat that rushed to her cheeks was surely due to the chill in these damp caves and no other reason.    

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said, slowly.  “Your tongue is still foreign to me.  You had better explain what you mean.  And use the simplest of terms.” 

And so Artanis’s great-uncle Elmo, a lord among the Forsaken People, and a man who possessed great influence in addition to wandering hands, plainly and patiently explained to Artanis that, if she wished to build alliances in the court of Menegroth, she had better be ready to use every tool at her disposal: her wits, her charm, her beauty, and yes, her tits and ass. 

Artanis, whose fair form was accounted bodacious beyond the measure even of the women of the Eldar, was struck speechless.  

Meanwhile, Elmo began to disrobe.  “Look, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I brought you here expecting some action, so I’m a little worked up.  I’m going to take care of myself.  If you care not to formalize our friendship, it’s no bother.  Your brother has made it clear he’s more than happy to cement the bonds of kin and camaraderie in the way of the Sindar.  He’s busy making alliance with the Marchwardens tonight, but I’ve got him on my calendar for brunch tomorrow.” 

Her brother! 

When first she came to Doriath, Artanis had instantly felt in her Uncle Elmo a kindred spirit.  Surely he, among all the relatives, understood what it was to be the last and thus through no fault of their own oft considered an afterthought (if at all), in a family of impressive and imperious brothers.  She thought perhaps Elmo saw in her a kindred spirit, too.   

But perhaps all he saw was a nubile and credulous piece of ass. 

Well, regardless.  No way was she letting her brother steal Elmo’s patronage from her.   

Elmo stood before her bare-chested now, only a light pair of sheer under-drawers covering him.  He was, of course, very handsome in the way of his people: narrower of shoulder and shorter in stature than the big brutes of the Noldor, but with smooth, soft-looking skin, delicate features, and a fat cock that strained at the seams of his drawers.   

“I want your friendship,” said Artanis, before she could lose her nerve.  “But I am but a novice in the arts of love.  I should hate to disappoint you and unintentionally cause tension and strife between us out of my inexperience.  We did not speak of such things back home.  I hardly know where to begin.”  She cast her gaze down, batting her long, golden eyelashes. 

Elmo groaned low, then, at that admission.  He stroked himself through his drawers, one long, firm movement that suggested the shape of him beneath the fabric.  “We’ll start simple, then.  Some private tutorials are in order, as it seems your education in the Blessed Land has been sorely neglected.  You poor things, you have lived so long in the Light of those Trees, yet you know not how to delight in the touch of another.  I won’t even ask you to touch me, not this first time.  I’ll show you what I like, the equipment’s not complicated, once you get a grip on it.  And in return, you show me the goods.”  He looked her body up and down, no longer restraining the fierce lust in his star-lit eyes. 

Something had begun to spark beneath Artanis’s skin the moment her great-uncle’s hands had wandered over her ass, and that spark had grown into a fire that blazed hot within her.  She swallowed hard.   

And she began to unlace her gown.  She let the bodice fall open in the front, revealing her firm young breasts that surged and fell with each panting breath of swelling excitement, her nipples red and hard like rosebuds in early spring just before their petals began to unfurl in full bloom. 

“Very nice,” said Elmo, whose drawers were now about his ankles.  He had taken his cock out.  It was bigger than his narrow form had led her to expect: long, thick, and pink, reddening at the tip.  She had never seen an erect cock so close up.  She wondered what it might feel like in the palm of her hand.  “I should like to put my mouth on those and suck until you scream.  But that’s actually not what I meant.” 

Artanis, whose vision had gone a bit hazy at the thought of his lips upon her, frowned.  “It isn’t?” 

“No,” said Elmo, one hand moving up and down the length of himself.  “Show me your hair.  I want to see your hair unbound.” 

Artanis gasped.  Her hair?   

The Sindar were quite open when it came to matters of modesty and bodily propriety.  Artanis had seen more naked shoulders and bare arms among the high lords and ladies of the Sindar than she had ever seen among the Noldor, except for her dearest intimates.  But she had not, for the entire duration of her stay thus far, seen any woman of the Sindar with uncovered hair.  They were civilized people. 

Yet she would not disappoint her uncle, who was, after all, going quite out of his way to introduce her to the ways of this hidden kingdom. 

“All right,” said Artanis, her voice trembling.  “I will.” 

Slowly, she reached up and removed first the dark head-cloth embroidered throughout with silver leaves.  It was wound only loosely about her crown; when she untucked one end, the rest of it came easily undone.  She let it drop to the stone floor in a whisper of silk.   

Elmo groaned in approval.  His hand worked steadily over the length of his cock.  His hips thrust in time with his fist.  “Keep going.” 

Next, Artanis ran her fingertips over her head, finding the series of tiny pearl-headed pins she had used to secure the coils of plaits.  She removed the pins, one at a time, tucking them between her lips as she went.  She felt each thick braid fall past her shoulders, sighing around the pins in her mouth in sweet relief as her scalp was no longer burdened with the tension and weight of the heavy arrangement. 

Elmo’s groans picked up speed.  So, too, did his hand moving over his cock, its sound wet and obscene.   

Last, Artanis drew her hands through each long lock, pulling the hair loose.  It rippled with indentations from the many braids.  There were so many to undo.  Elmo kept his gaze locked onto her as she worked, his lecherous expression hot like a blade against her bare neck.  She thrilled at his attention, wicked and vulgar as it was.  At last, her hair fluttered free, framing her flushed face, cascading about her exposed breasts, trailing down to her belly, her thighs, and flowing down her back like roaring rivers of silver-gold.  Her heart was in her throat.  Her mouth felt dry.  Her blood pulsed between her legs. 

“Oh, look at you,” growled Elmo.  “Such a sweet young lady you pretended to be, so respectable, a perfect paragon of the golden virgin of the Blessed Lands.  But that isn’t who you really are at all, is it?  You turned away from the Valar, you hated how it felt to be bound within their holy Light.  You’re a sinner at heart!  You want to be taken on your belly like a beast on the forest floor.” 

“No, no,” gasped Galadriel, mixed shame and desire gathering dark and thick between her thighs.  “I am no deceiver, I am a virgin!  I want to be good!” 

“You lie even to yourself.  Kneel,” ordered Elmo.  “Kneel, then, if you’re so good.  Do what you’re told!” 

A flash of anger, then, rushed within her, joining the mingled shame and desire.  How dare he command her?  She was a Calaquendë of Aman, and she was better than any of these low Elves who cowered and hid in the shadows of this dark land. 

On the other hand— 

She was in no position to negotiate. 

And her legs had gone all wobbly. 

Artanis trembled, and gasped, and tossed her head in defiance.  And then she let herself fall to her knees before her uncle on the cold stone floor. 

His cock was right before her face.  The tip of it nearly brushed her nose.  He jerked himself, gracelessly, knuckles gone white and belly taut with effort.  He flexed and thrust, grunting softly.   

Wisely, Artanis kept her own mouth shut.  She felt urgent need swelling within her.  She could not quite keep her own hips from rolling, thrusting against empty air.  She considered reaching between her own legs to relieve the pressure but did not wish to give her uncle the satisfaction.  There would be time later.  So instead, she took her own breasts in hand and thumbed at her nipples, gasping at the tiny shocks of pleasure. 

Perhaps later she might in fact let him suck on them. 

Her uncle’s movements grew more frantic, and his grunts more animalistic.  Surely he would be finished any moment now. 

Then—to her uttermost shock—with one hand, he grabbed her by the hair and twisted. 

“Elmo!”  She thrashed, then stilled at once.  It was no use.  His grasp was tight.  Sparks of pain shot across her scalp. 

Before she could react, before she could even think, he forced her head down.  Not, as she briefly feared, nudging open her mouth with his cock.  But rather lower, prostrating her face-down as though in perverted worship. 

And looking at his feet, she heard and felt but did not see him climax.  He ejaculated all over her unbound, golden hair. 

“Well done,” said Elmo, a bit later, donning once more his clothing.  “You might be the greatest of Elven women, one day, if you learn properly.  You’re very fortunate that it was I who you came to first.  Others would not have treated you with such care.  I won’t even break your maidenhead until you ask, I promise.” 

With the discarded head-scarf, Artanis dabbed at her hair.  It was no use.  She’d have to wash the spend off in the pool later. 

“Nevertheless,” said Elmo, thoughtful, “a girl like you, with ambition, had better not limit herself to just one alliance.  I’m telling you this for your own benefit.  I could keep you to myself, but I see you have a higher doom.  I should make some introductions.  I’d love to show that pussy of yours off to my closest friends and allies.  I know,” he snapped his fingers.  “My grandson, Celeborn.  I think you’ll like him.  He’s a lot like you, come to think of it.  And besides, he’s got a thing for blondes.” 

The name sounded dimly familiar.  Hadn’t she a relative back in Alqualondë called something of that nature?  In the Telerin tongue, of course. 

A funny coincidence.   

“Very well,” said Artanis, rising to her feet.  Her arousal was still hot in her core, but she had the mastery of it.  “I shall meet your Celeborn.  But first,” she said with command in her voice, proud tits still out, “I demand that you introduce me to the Queen.” 

It was the Queen, after all, who with her mighty will and her thought, had raised the Girdle of protection that held Doriath’s quivering, vulnerable soft center within its tight embrace. 

If Artanis was to play the game of politics by the rules of the Sindar, she intended to learn from the mistress of all Doriath.  No dark Elf was she! 

Surely the Queen, of whom it was told with sorrow in Valinor there had been none more beautiful, nor more wise, nor more skilled in songs of enchantment, would be an auspicious friend to Artanis.   

“The Queen,” said Elmo, and he laughed, fond.  “Yes, of course.  I will do this for you.  And remember, niece,” said her uncle, cradling her chin in his hand with tender affection— 

“Elmo loves you.”

Table of Contents | Leave a Comment