You have your eyes closed. Even if you had them open, you would see nothing. True, it is the middle of the night, and the stars are shining brightly and the moon is still hovering above the horizon, but not for long. You are not in the dungeons either. You had been released after that heated interrogation by King Thranduil himself. The true reason, why all you can see is darkness, is the blindfold wrapped tightly around your eyes. Your sight is not the only thing restrained. Your hands are bound above your head with satin strips tied to the headboard. The cushions supporting the upper part of your body serve to let you feel comfortable, the silk sheets underneath you cooling down your heated body. Yet your breath is ragged, your lungs already burning with exertion.
“I am at your mercy, mighty Elvenking.” You say seductively.
He grins at you. “Let us go then.” He entwines his fingers with yours and after he kisses your knuckles gentlemanly, he searches his shredded robe for the key.
You watch him silently, admiring his well-built frame. You remember how mesmerised you were when you first saw him in the training grounds. He was much younger, but he was very well-built even in his youth. And the way he wielded his sword was a poetry written with the wind on his blades. Before you left his kingdom, he had been attending his morning trainings day after day, keeping himself in shape. He is a dual-wielder now and his body is more taut and sinewy than how you remember him to be.
You watch him opening the bars and then, after he takes you by your hand again, you follow him further down, far from the patrols and the artificial light of his halls. In the maze of secret tunnels under his kingdom, he leads you unmistakably, soon reaching the stairs leading up back to the lights of the world above.
He opens a hidden door for you and you enter the vast space, which soon turns out to be his private bath. It is warm there and you feel your skin starting to sweat. You try to convince yourself that it is not caused by the anticipation of a steamy bath, supervised by the mighty Elvenking.
But as it seems, this is exactly what he has in mind. Standing right behind you, he caresses your shoulders, massaging them softly. He leans down to kiss the side of your neck and then he whispers something lascivious into your ear, words rolling out of his tongue in Quenya. Then, he pushes you gently towards the bath. You take couple of steps before you turn back to him and see his long pristine hair disappearing in a tight bun on the back of his head. With his hands raised up, his torso is an artistic masterpiece, wide at his shoulders, forming a triangle down his torso. Muscles are playing the game of light and shadows in the orange glow of blazing torches, leaving much and nothing to the imagination. You do not dare to look further down for your insides are already tingling with need, although your mixed juices are still trickling down your inner thighs.
After his hair is done, he smiles at you warmly and finds his own way into the swirling pool. The water is heated, the steam languidly rolling above its moving surface. There are lights under the surface as well, but you do not dare to think about what magic was used to create them. The water is clear and the lights are helping you to see the elf in his full naked glory. He turns to you and notices your approving stare, a smug grin crossing his facial features. Soon, it turns to an honest smile and he stretches his hand towards you, beckoning you to join him. You do so without any further hesitation.
The water is so amazingly warm it washes off all of your travelling days instantly. Your muscles relax and you let out a content sigh. Thranduil is watching you with a silent admiration in his cerulean eyes which are glowing in the warm light with their own flame. Soon he is back upon you, kissing you deeply. His fingers entwine with your hair but soon find tangles, making him frown.
You feel the heat rising up your cheeks and you lower your eyes, ashamed. But his only answer is a patient sigh and he removes his fingers, moving to the edge of the pool and leaving it. You follow him with your eyes as he paces the floor, water trickling down his broad back. He stops in front of a nearby shelf and browses the vials and bottles stored there. For a mere second he looks back at you and then he reaches for two bottles and one vial filled with fiery red liquid. It is scented oil, you realise, and you smile brightly. It has been moons since you were able to properly wash your hair.
Thranduil returns to the pool and places the flasks on the edge of the bathtub. He is holding a comb and when you try to take it from him, he simply shakes his head and asks you to turn around.
“I have been searching for you.” He admits after he starts to comb your tangled strands. His admission takes you by surprise.
“Why would you do that?” You ask.
He does not answer immediately. Instead he pays all of his attention to your hair. Once done with the combing, he puts the tool aside and only then he silently replies. “You left without any word, [name]. I thought something grim had befallen you.”
You lower your gaze once again, not knowing how to respond.
Thranduil reaches for the shampoo bottle and when he opens it, the scent of sweet jasmine and vanilla fills the air.
“Why did you leave?” He asks albeit reluctantly, as if he was not sure he wanted to hear your answer.
But why indeed?
“I wish I knew the answer as well,” You reply honestly. “All I can tell you is that I needed some fresh air. The Halls became chokingly uncomfortable suddenly. I cannot find more appropriate words.”
Thranduil nods his acknowledgement. “I missed you, mellon nin.”
His admission strikes you again. You indeed had been friends back then. And despite that, you left the halls without any farewells. Guilt settles in your throat. “I am sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” He kisses your temple. “Just do not leave like that again.” His plea is honest. You know he had lost too much already; his parents, his wife whom he loved deeply and most recently his son, who left to find his own life path outside his father's realm.
“I won't,” You hear your promise sooner than you realise that you spoke.
He smiles at you then, with a silent question in his eyes. The shampoo bottle is opened and in his hands.
“Will you wash my hair?” You ask with your own smile. He, again, lets his deeds speak for him.
After your hair is washed and you are finished with the bath, Thranduil wraps both of you with soft, warm towels and then leads you into his chambers. He does not bother to dress either of you. Instead he shreds his towel and leaves it in front of the hearth to dry. He loosens his hair as well, letting the silvery locks fall down his back, reaching almost his hips.
He removes your towel then and, taking you by your hand, he leads you to his bedroom, taking a fruit tray on his way. Once inside, he places it on the nightstand and then returns to the ornate door to lock it.
During that time you try to take in your new surroundings, but all you can see is a giant four post bed placed on the pedestal in the middle of the room. There is no other furniture except the two nightstands accompanying the bed from both sides. The place seems too vast and you realise that it is because the Elvenking does not spend much time there. An elf as old as he is does not need much sleep anyway. Instead he meditates during the night, buried deep within himself. It is possible that he has not slept in his bed for a very long time.
Suddenly, he stands behind you, his hands circling tightly around your waist. His lips find their way to your earlobe and you muffle a moan. He bites the tip gently and then moves to the spot right under your ear, kissing it even so gently.
“Now, my prisoner,” he whispers in that impossibly low tone, “You will face your punishment.”
Your spine tingles when his words sink in.
“You are a spy in my kingdom. You lied to me about that matter and disobeyed my orders as well.”
One of his hands ascends to your breast and the breath hitches in your throat when his fingers find and tweak your nipple.
“I shall mete out your punishment in the equal measure to the crimes you committed. Will you submit to your punishment willingly?”
You lick your lips before you give him your answer. “I will.”
“I am your king and you will address me as such,” He reminds you, his fingertips torturing you nipple with a delicate mixture of pain and pleasure.
“I will, my lord.” You correct yourself and moan when he approvingly kisses the side of your neck. Your skin is prickling, your anticipation pooling at your centre.
He takes you by your hand again, leading you to the pedestal. He helps you to climb on his bed, taking in the sight of your naked and shivering form on his golden sheets. He hums approvingly and joins you, pushing you further down with his weight upon you. He kisses you deeply and you entwine your fingers with his hair. But his mouth does not linger on yours for long. He kisses your jaw and then he nestles against your neck, sucking and biting your tender skin there. You moan and open for him, inviting him to claim you again, but he does not respond. His fingers are on your nipple then, playing with the hardened nub. His teasing is driving you mad from the lack of proper friction in your nether regions and you whimper in frustration.
“You demanding little thing.” He hums into your skin and leaves a bite mark on your shoulder. “We Eldar are patient, but as it seems, you have lived separated from our kin for too long. Therefore, I shall teach you our manners again.”
Your breath hitches in your throat when he moves his lips to your sensitive breasts. You are awaiting him to suck and bite your flesh, but instead he merely hovers with his warm breath over it and then he straightens his back without touching you. He moves to the nightstand where he placed the fruit tray before and opens the drawer. You watch his lithe fingers moving, browsing through the contents of it. With a smirk spreading upon his lips, he draws out two strips of satin then, their colour matching the sheets.
“You are at my mercy,” He reminds you and you shiver.
He takes one of your hands to his and wraps the satin around your wrist. He ties it and checks if the knot is not too tight. Then he draws your hand above your head, slipping the satin handcuff through the intricate carving of the wooden headboard. Your other wrist joins its twin soon and you try the shackles. The knots are tied thoroughly and you know you will never break them without any assistance.
Your heartbeat is speeding up and you watch the powerful elf browsing through the contents of the drawer again. Finally he finds what he was searching for and turns to you with his eyes silently smiling. He holds - a dark blindfold. Your heart skips a beat.
“No…” You plead. “Do not blindfold me, my lord. I want to see you.”
He chuckles at your begging. “You have to earn it, my dear,” He replies calmly. With that, he secures the blindfold around your eyes.
You strain against your shackles but it is futile and you know it well. Thranduil laughs slyly at your ministrations and you hear him close the drawer. Rustling of the sheets tells you that he is back on the bed and soon his lips are back upon you as well.
He explores your body with his mouth and fingertips. His touches are delicate as the first snow, leaving your skin feverish. Sweat is forming around your eyebrows and your breath quickens. You moan his name when his lips close around your nipple, his digits finding the other one. He sucks lavishly and your skin is aching. Your desire for him pools around your heavy centre and leaks onto your inner thighs and the sheets under you.
He is needy too; you can feel the pressure on your thigh. Yet he is not submitting to his desires. He is able to control himself as if he was the master of such art. He is paying all of his attention to you, to your helpless body. He is deliberately leaving the spot where you need him the most, unattended. His free hand reaches up and he strokes your earlobe, sending even more intense pleasure rushing through your veins. You are pressing your thighs together, rubbing them against each other to relieve some of your inner pressure, but he quickly pries your legs open and nests himself between them. Your height difference allows him to fully control you and you curse under your breath when you realise that no matter what, you will never be able to reach his hardness and relieve yourself.
“Do you understand now?” He whispers when he stops torturing your breasts. His saliva is cooling rapidly and you shiver again, prickles returning to your skin. He blows the cold air over your areola and you moan.
“You are at my mercy,” He repeats. He kisses your breast one last time before he slides back up to claim your mouth. You are not awaiting such development and his moves take you by surprise. His kiss is bruising and you cannot suck in enough air. He lets go even so suddenly and strokes your cheek almost lovingly.
“Only I control how much satisfaction - if any - you will get. Behave and you will get rewarded,” He whispers menacingly.
You gulp but you nod. “I am yours to command, my lord,” You reassure him and he kisses you deeply.
He then explains that he has some more questions and you shall answer truthfully. When your answer is satisfying, he will reward you accordingly. You agree to his terms without any hesitation. What other options do you have anyway…?
His first question is not unexpected. “Did Bard promise you any reward for your service?” He strokes your hip delicately and you shiver again.
“He did, my lord,” You answer with shaky voice.
“What did he promise you?” He asks again, his hand travelling slowly to your centre. “Wealth? Position?”
“None of them, my lord.” You reply, biting your lower lip afterwards. “He knows that I am not interested in such things.”
Thranduil's hand leaves your body as a warning and you whimper.
“We agreed that I will tell my price after my quest is done,” You add quickly to regain his touch. “I had known the risks of returning to your realm and thus I did not intend to take my reward when the success of my mission was not guaranteed.”
Thranduil hums but he grants you the reward of his touch. This time, his thumb draws lazy circles around your navel.
“How long have you been working for him?”
You silently count the time and Thranduil waits for your answer patiently. Six years, that is your answer.
“And through these six years,” he continues, but it is clear that his temper is showing its ugly head, “Did he take you as his concubine?”
You swallow hard. Yet your body needs even the smallest of his touches so you brace yourself and let the words slip out of your mouth. “He did, my lord.”
His silent rage guides his fingers to your core and you scream when he inserts not one, but two of his fingers into your core. He curls them in come hither motion and works you stubbornly until your body tenses with the incoming climax. He does not let you finish and you feel tears welling in your eyes. Both your breath and heartbeat are rapid.
You take in a deep breath. “Please, do not leave me like this!” You beg of him again.
“Like what?” He asks stoically.
“Right on the edge…” You push your legs together but he pries them open without any struggle and pinches your sensitive nub. You scream when the sensation of intense pleasure and pain sends you down the cliff.
When you come to your senses again, first thing you notice is that Thranduil lies next to you and strokes your belly gently. His breath smells of fresh strawberries and when he kisses you, you still can taste a hint of them on his lips.
His hand travels to your side and he leans over you, kissing you deeply; your tongues dancing against each other. He nibbles your lower lip but does not let you return the favour. You try to reach him, but your eyes are still blindfolded and he enjoys teasing you with his nibbles. Finally he withdraws his lascivious lips away from you.
He kisses your breast and you moan his name, your voice already hoarse.
His fingers stroke your hipbone and then leave your body entirely. You hear sounds which you cannot decipher, but when a cold item touches your heated skin, you squirm away.
The elf chuckles and kisses your earlobe.
The cold object returns to your skin and as Thranduil moves it along your torso, you can feel a wet trail clinging to your body. A sweet scent hits your nostrils; apparently the item is some exotic fruit and the wet path comes from its sweet nectar. Thranduil ends the sticky trail on your lips when he lets you taste it. It is a ripe nectarine.
You lick Thranduil's fingers and he sighs contently. Under the sweetness of the fruit you can taste your own juices and you know that this is the very hand that tortured you recently. You lick his fingers clean.
The Elvenking grants you your reward instantly. He kisses you deeply and then moves with his mouth over the drying trail, lapping the juice and thus cleaning your skin, paying special attention to your sensitive spots in the process. When he moves to your soft mound just over your centre, you press your lips tightly and open your legs for him.
He accepts your invitation and nestles between your thighs, spreading them with his broad shoulders.
“I still have questions,” He hums near your pearl and uses his hands to fully open you for him. Then he blows on your core and you shudder.
“You are very well trained in some aspects of the art of lovemaking,” He tells slyly. He can clearly see that your breath is quickening. “Who was your teacher?” He whispers his question as he moves one of his fingers along your slit. Your hips buck against his touches but he holds you firmly, controlling how much pleasure you will get just as he promised. The only way to get your pleasure is to answer him satisfyingly.
“There was more than one,” You admit bashfully.
“Oh you naughty little elleth,” He hums again, sending shivers up your spine. “How many?”
You gulp. “Three, my lord.” You cannot tell if he is surprised by that number – even if he is, he will not cease his ministrations on your flesh.
“Mortal men?” He asks though he probably knows the answer already.
He closes his mouth over your nub and sucks it gently. Your inner muscles tighten; your head falls backwards and you moan his name again.
His torture lasts several agonizing minutes. You are nearing your completion again, but Thranduil is skilled enough to read your body language well and stops before the pressure grows too tight. You whimper in frustration.
“All of them?” He questions you further and you have to think hard before you remember what the previous question was.
“All of them,” You pant.
Thranduil creeps over your body back up to your lips and you can taste your sweetness on his tongue.
“Mortals are too eager to be spent,” He tells between his lingering kisses. “They pay no attention to their female counterparts.” He is painfully hard above your stomach and all you can think of is his leaking girth filling you up to the brim. Yet he seems he cannot be bothered by his own needs.
“Shut up and fuck me!” You growl when you catch your breath.
“Not yet,” He replies ever so calmly and your frustration makes you almost howl like a wounded animal.
“Please!” You try to convince him but to no avail.
“Not yet,” He repeats with more emphasis on both of his words. Then he pecks your lips and shifts his weight to one side.
He is supporting himself with only one arm now, the other reaches for the fruit tray. You hear him plucking something and soon something round and sweet is pressed against your lips. You take it into your mouth and happily recognise it as a grape. Another one is trailing down your throat into the valley between your breasts and then it disappears. You hear Thranduil bite it and sigh contently.
“I preferred fermented grapes but now I intend to savour them exclusively tainted with your scent.” He teases you and you have to supress a moan. Two more grapes travel up and down your body and end up in his torturing mouth before he kisses you again.
“Did you enjoy being with them?” He asks suddenly and kisses you deeply before you can take in a breath for your answer.
“Not as much as I enjoy be with you, my lord.” You reply and you do not need to lie about it. Nobody has ever paid that much attention to you; let alone let you reach your peak.
Thranduil can sense the hidden meaning of your words and you feel the smile spreading upon his lips which are pressed to your neck. He nibbles the tender skin under your ear and you once again moan his name.
“Do you wish me to fuck you?” He whispers his next question and you squeeze your inner muscles at the thought.
“Yes!” You agree perhaps too hungrily.
“Yes, my lord.”
He bites your earlobe. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
“I do! Please, my lord!”
“Say it.” He orders you relentlessly.
“Fuck me!” You plead. “Fuck me, my lord!”
This time he truly intends to oblige. He levels your bodies and then presses to your entrance. “I will not be gentle,” He warns you and you moan. He does not need to hear more.
His previous ministrations made you wet and loose enough to accept his admirable size in one swift movement. He plunges into you mercilessly, not stopped by the resistance of your body. He fills you completely, diving into you up to the brim. Then he withdraws and you feel your fluids gushing out.
“So wet,” He whispers into your hair and thrusts hard, making you scream in pleasure. “So vocal,” He whispers again, approvingly.
And vocal you indeed are; even more so, when Thranduil wraps your legs around his waist and changes the angle of his ramming. You scream his name, which turns into profanities when his pelvis strokes your most sensitive bud in rhythm with his deep and deliberate thrusts. Lifting up the upper part of his body allows him to use more force when plunging into you and you feel you are getting close again. Your body is trembling and he knows that you are on the edge. He increases his speed and then the world behind your eyelids explodes.
It takes you some time to get down from your high and Thranduil is willing to give it to you without any constrictions. You can feel his weight on you even though he is supporting himself. Your muscles burn after the massive spasm you just endured, your breath is shaky and laboured. His musk is filling your nostrils; his fingertips are stroking your temples. You cannot see him, but you know that his gaze heavily lingers on your face. He pecks your chin and you pant.
Only then you realise that he is still inside you, and even so hard. You know, what that means – he has not reached his completion yet. He strains within you and you whimper.
“My my…” He kisses your collarbone. “Do you think we are done already?”
You try to catch your breath and form words, but your throat is sore and your tongue dry. Swallowing is hard and almost painful.
“We Eldar do not know limits like mortals do.” Thranduil whispers lecherously. “Our bodies are built to endure. Do you know how long we can last in such carnal dwelling?”
You shake your head, still unable to speak.
Thranduil plants many open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones before he elaborates.
You gulp and strain against your bonds.
Thranduil laughs at your ministrations. “Oh, do not worry, my dear. I have matters of state to attend to. But I must admit I am tempted to postpone them for couple of days. Would you like that?”
With that, he starts to move again, slowly and carefully. You moan at the sensation, your overstimulated body starting to give up.
“Please,” You whisper hoarsely. “Do not torture me like that.”
“Torture?” His tone lets you know that he is genuinely surprised. “My dear, I am not torturing you. All I do is give you pleasure.”
You whimper again. “It is starting to hurt, my lord.” You whisper, your body trembling.
“Is that so?” He asks, holding you more tightly.
He hums and then strokes your cheek. “Will you withstand a bit more for me?”
You press your lips together but nod.
“You are such a good girl today,” He muses and starts to move again. “I might reward you after I am done.”
He builds up his tempo quickly and your body squirms in another climax, your lungs burning with exertion. On the back of your mind you notice him tightening inside of you and when he starts to spill his seed, your consciousness finally gives up.
The world is coming back to you slowly. First the light – you can finally see light spots behind your eyelids. The blindfold has been taken from you and you are able to open your eyes.
The night is also gone. There are beams of sunlight kissing the floor of the bedroom, passing through the open window. The air is fresh; there is not a single hint of the steamy hot sex that happened in this very room not that long ago. Birds are chirping on the branches and the kingdom is waking up for another day.
You are lying on your side. You can move freely, but your muscles are stiff. Even the smallest movement hurts terribly, so you give up very soon and close your eyes again. The sheets are soft and you feel warm and safe –
– Due to the elf who is pressed firmly to your back. It seems that Thranduil is asleep; his breath is steady and deep. His hand is circling your waist protectively. You sigh contently and let the bird songs lull you back to sleep.
When you open your eyes again, the rays of sun are almost kissing your face. Who really is kissing your face, is the mighty and naughty Elvenking. He has apparently rolled you on your back so he has the access to your jaw, which is centre of his interest now. His hands are respectful, one of them resting comfortably on your side.
“I know you are awake.” He speaks silently.
“Am I?” You reply with a question. Your voice is hoarse. It will probably take some time to heal. “I thought you killed me last night.”
Thranduil chuckles and kisses the side of your neck. “You did great.”
You groan. Your whole body hurts.
The smirking elf rests his head comfortably on his elbow. “There are still some questions left I would like to ask now.”
This time you whine. More interrogation by his naughty methods would certainly kill you. When he is pleased with your reaction, he does not let you know.
“Earlier you mentioned that some of Bard's men have gone missing.” There is a noticeable concern in his voice and that makes you turn your head to him. He is indeed genuinely concerned.
You nod your agreement.
“Can you tell me more?”
You sigh. Your throat is sore but would you deny your king? “King Bard sent them with your wine delivery. They should have been back after two weeks and that was one moon ago. It was not a scheduled delivery and therefore you could have thought about them as trespassers. He got concerned and sent me as his messenger. Unfortunately, spiders attacked me in the woods and I lost his letter.”
“How many men did he send?”
He is thinking about your words. You look up at him but you know that you should not interrupt him now.
“One moon is a very long time for mortals,” You add anyway.
“Oh, I know that.” Thranduil rises on his elbow and your eyes meet. “I shall send a patrol. We will find Bard's men.”
You close your eyes in satisfaction. “Thank you, my lord Thranduil.” When you open your eyes again, you see him smiling.
“What?” You ask.
“There is a lot you will have to tell me later, [name],” He tells you sternly. “But for now I shall simply enjoy your company.”
You look up at him. “Truly?”
He nods and strokes your cheek.
“You will get tired of me very soon,” You warn him.
He merely shrugs though you are quite serious. “I have my ways to silence or restrain you.”
You can feel the heat ascending your neck up to your cheeks.
“But now I would like to do something else.”
He kisses you deeply before turning you back to your side. He spoons you from behind and then he plants open kisses on your neck and shoulder.
“Stay with me.” He whispers into your skin. His hand strokes your side and massages your aching muscles. “You belong with your kin, not with mortals.” And you can hear the unspoken part too: Do not return to Bard.
“How could I come back?” You whisper back. “There would be no suitable position for me.”
“You could be my official companion.” He replies, kissing your earlobe. “My concubine. Do not return to Dale.” This time his tone is demanding. “Do not return to him.”
He lifts your upper leg and throws it over his. Using his hand he guides himself back into you, moaning your name in the process. This time he lets you know how much he needs you and you decide to stay long before you reach your first climax together.
And what had happened to Bard's men? They were found near the river with ten empty wine barrels. Dorwinion wine is far too strong for mortals. They are still not sober today.
Sequel to my previous work Interrogation. If you have not read it before, do so now otherwise you will be lost.
See end notes for the elvish translations.
See end notes for the elvish translations.
Chapter end notes:
mellon nin - my friend
Eldar - elves
elleth - elven maiden
mellon nin - my friend
Eldar - elves
elleth - elven maiden
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