Pottymouth: 13. 13

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13. 13


It’s amazing, isn’t it? The therapeutic effects of spending money. Just plunking that credit card down on the counter and walking out of the store with a big square bag full of beautiful clothes . . . gives me that warm fuzzy feeling, like all’s well with the world.

Of course, it isn’t. The world is still the same majorly fucked-up place it’s always been. But I feel satisfied knowing I’m doing my part to stimulate the American economy in these hard times. Just think; these poor fawning sycophants waiting on me would have less commission money, less incentive pay, less reason to have their work hours maintained, were I not in here buying the place out. They love it, I can tell – soon as I walk in and announce in my Shieldmaiden/Bitch voice that I need a whole new wardrobe, their eyes light up and they can scarcely contain themselves. “You’re a summer, aren’t you? We have some lovely new pastels – “ “Are you a size six or a four? What’s your inseam? Here’s a beautiful skirt, just in from Milan – “ “This color looks fabulous on a blonde; just put your bags here and I’ll start that dressing room for you – “ “Would you like to see that in black? Very sexy, very becoming – “ And, of course, “How would you like to pay for this?” I plunk that Visa down and watch it get swiped – the first time I did that I felt bad, like I was using Legolas somehow, even though he was the one who gave it to me and told me to buy clothes. Faramir always made me feel guilty for buying clothes – especially sexy ones. After all, what good would they do me around HIM? Like he cared what I looked like.

But Legolas sure does. That growl he gave, that wolf-whistle when I left the john this morning – shit, how does he make me feel so good? His hand caressing my ass, his eyes dark and cloudy, lips slightly parted, teeth clenched – oh yeah, I felt like my boobs got bigger just because he was looking at me like that. And he gives me this brand spanking new credit card, and tells me to go buy clothes – "Gobs of clothes," he'd said, grinning at me around his lollipop. "Sexy clothes, comfy clothes, somethin' to make every fecker out there sit up and take notice of you, my acushla."

Makes me want to throw myself at him and grind up against him like a crib girl. Makes me wish I knew how to do a pole dance. Makes me want to do a repeat of this morning, when I took him into my mouth and reduced him to a whimpering, weak-kneed ball of goo.

Later, I tell myself, later. Gotta get this mess cleaned up first – gotta wind things up with Faramir, make sure everyone's okay with Legolas and me being together, THEN we can run off together.

Makes me want to run off with him and never come back to Pasadena again. up with Faramir, make sure everyone's okay with Legolas and me being together, THEN we can run off together.

Not sure which obstacle makes me more nervous.

Is it fear of confrontation that makes me want to run off immediately? Not that it would necessarily help any; we'll have to deal with it eventually – with Faramir and the rest of the Chosen.

Wonder what Faramir will think of me hooking up with Legolas?

Wonder if Arwen and Lottie and Rosie and the rest will approve?

Wonder if ÉOMER will approve?

Oh hell; who cares? Whether they approve or not, I'm sticking with my Elven Ass. We'll buy a ranch and a herd of horses and spend our time alternating between riding and screwing like there's no tomorrow. Eventually everyone else will come around. He's never going to leave me, never never never, he CAN'T, and oh my goodness does that make the warm fuzzies kick in big time – Power Fuzzies, running up and down my spine. Like feeling his hands on my back, long nimble fingers dancing the length of my backbone, my limp and sweaty body collapsed on top of him, after I rode him so hard I thought my quadriceps would seize up. Ooooh, that was good; me setting the rhythm just how I wanted it, him pulsing and writhing beneath me . . .

Oh, man. HOW did I get this way? Why do I want him so bad? I never used to like sex before, not really. Not even when Faramir got me to come, which admittedly was about, oh, one time in six. Pretty lousy average if you ask me. I remember our wedding night – we were virgins, both of us – he was so shy, so diffident, so – so damn clumsy and incompetent. And, of course, I had no idea what to do either – but I felt so sorry for him, and I wanted it so badly, that I decided to take the lead or we’d NEVER get it on.

Always resented that. He’s the man, dammit, shouldn’t he at least PRETEND to know what he’s doing? Shouldn’t he take charge? Well, he did, I guess – just not in the bedroom. I can count on one hand the number of times he initiated sex with me, and man, when you’ve been together more than fifteen thousand years that’s really saying something. I always had to approach him first, always had to take the risk of being rejected – if I waited for him to make the first move, I’d’ve never had kids at all. So he compensated, I guess, by running me down in public and making me feel weak and ineffective. I wasn’t as well educated; I wasn’t as well traveled; I wasn’t as wise or learned in lore or from a noble enough lineage. Well – true, I guess. But he wasn’t as bold, he wasn’t as brave, he wasn’t as forward or adventurous or decisive as I was. And I think he always kind of resented that. No wonder he denied me what I wanted, and showered me with crap I hated.

Ah, but Legolas, now!

Six foot two and eyes of blue – well, aquamarine really, but close enough – sleek marble skin over taut tight muscle, mile-long legs and lissome white fingers, and that HAIR! Not to mention his face, and his mouth, and his ass, and his dick . . . geez louise, is there a part of him that DOESN'T excite me? Oh, have I got it bad . . .

Just the thought of him stirs up that damn prickly heat in my belly. Hell; it'll keep the Power Fuzzies company at least. And it puts an extra swing in my hips, jiggle in my boobs, arrogant tilt to my head to think of the way he makes me feel.

Right now I’m walking down San Pedro to 8th, my hands loaded with bags; I dropped my nasty cheap suit into the trash at the first store I got to and now I’m shimmering down the lane in a short short short swishy skirt and tight tight tight fitted top, sparkling and glistening and so new I’m surprised I'm not having an allergic reaction to the sizing in the fabric; my boots are new too – not shit-stomping boots, but heart-stomping boots – high, spiky, glossy, sexy. These boots are made for walking, oh yeah. The breeze from the passing traffic ruffles my hair and I’m hidden behind my new Gola sunglasses, aloof, expensive, untouchable. I can see people watching me as I strut by and it feels good good good.

I haven’t felt this well-groomed, this sexy, this desirable in . . . oh, ages. Millennia. Fifth century at least. BC. We’re talking Etruscans, here. And of course, in the back of my mind is the question: Will Legolas like it?

I pause by a big plate glass window, ostensibly to check my bags but really to check my own reflection. Long legs, encased in shimmery black thigh-high stockings and patent leather boots; short swirly skirt, boobs pert and jiggly in my sparkly top; bags from expensive stores and Audrey Hepburn sunglasses –

Yeah, he’ll like it.

Everyone else seems to, from the looks I’m getting. Yowza. Sexy thing, you sexy thing . . . Think sexy and you’ll be sexy. And I’m not a normally competitive person but I take certain satisfaction that I’m the best looking damn thing on San Pedro – in the fashion district – in West Hollywood! Damn! Where’s my Elf when I want him? Want to show off for him, make his eyes light up. Because there’s no denying it might be fun to make all these other guys look, but making HIM look . . . at least it's almost lunchtime. Can't wait to show off for him . . . I check my reflection one last time; look like I just stepped out of the pages of some big fashion magazine. Oh yeah, he’ll like this outfit.

He’ll like what’s underneath, too. There’s this Parisian lingerie shop, see, with the most delectable stuff . . . "It'll look good on the floor," the sales clerk had said with a smirk; I can just see those long white fingers trace patterns on the embroidery, tangle themselves in the straps, slide them down my hips –

The gush of sticky wetness takes me by surprise. Even absent he can inspire me to horniness. Can’t wait to see the look on his face when I show up – bet he mutters something about my “two-klick legs,” bet I get a not-so-surreptitious grope, too.

Oh, yeah. Can’t wait for that. I can almost feel his hands on my ass, oh man do I want to feel them –

Okay, slow down, breathe breathe breathe! He’s NOT here, I CAN’T fuck him, at least until after lunch, and I’m NOT getting felt up – not now, anyway.


When when when did I get so HORNY? Is this just Legolas’ influence on me, or is this a part of the Inner Shieldmaiden that never got a chance to surface? Either way, I’m twitching and Kegel-ing like crazy while the Power Fuzzies and their friends the Hot Pricklies dance the Watusi in my stomach.

I’m also getting hungry; that’s another thing Faramir couldn’t understand – how a woman as thin as I could eat so much. But I love food – I love tastes and textures, I love combinations of good things, melding different tastes together – I love to eat. People talk these days about being a carb addict, or a sugar addict, or going on all-protein diets or whatever. Hell, I’m a FOOD addict, I love the stuff.

Me and Legolas both, I guess. I’m so glad we’ll have the money to buy proper food now, so glad I won’t have to share my fridge and pantry with Dorcas. No more Hamburger Helper! No more canned tuna fish! No more instant mashed potatoes! Now it’ll be me and my Elven Ass and all the fresh, expensive, gourmet foods I can eat.

Oh yeah. Now my mouth AND my private parts are watering.

Appetite – feed the appetite. I am denied nothing and it’s so so sweet.

I promised to call Mary and Doris about lunch. I want them to meet Legolas – want them to see what I have, why I’m leaving, why I’m so damn crazy about him. I pull out my cell and dial the office. Kirstie connects me to Mary; I hum arias from Die Zauberflöte while I listen to the elevator music on hold. At last she picks me up with a click and says, “This is Mary, how may I help you?”

Poor thing, still stuck in the lowest pit in hell . . .

“Mary, hi! It’s Éowyn!”

There’s a scrambling knocking sound on the phone; next I hear her voice, hushed like she’s shielding the mouthpiece with her hand.

“Winnie! Oh my god! You have no IDEA what you’ve done here!”

I feel a twinge of guilt until I realize she’s laughing. Must not be so bad after all. “What?” I ask.

“I can’t talk now,” she breathes, but she sounds as though she’s about to bust up any minute. “Free for lunch?”

“Yeah, you and Doris meet me at Casa DiNapoli in thirty, okay?”

“Casa DiNapoli? Shit, Winn, what do you think we’re made of, money?”

“I told you I’d pay. Wanna meet my sugar daddy? He’ll be there.”

“Hell yeah. Gotta see this guy who’s gone all Pretty Woman on you.”

I snort at that; like I was some prostitute rescued by a suit. Still remember Legolas' reaction, when I called him after Barbara kicked me out – "That's my Shieldmaiden!" he'd laughed. "Fuckin' marvelous, acushla. Knew you had it in you." Then I realize why he didn't offer to "deal with" Barbara for me – he's trying to stimulate my Inner Shieldmaiden/Bitch – trying to make me more like what I was, what I was before Faramir spent all those millennia emasculating me. Pretty Woman like hell – more like Walsingham to Elisabeth I. I could say that, of course, but will Mary get the allusion? Probably not; why should she know who Frances Walsingham was? Most people don't even know who Elizabeth I was anymore; the closest they get is knowing what an Elizabethan Collar is, and then it's only because people need to know why the dorky plastic satellite dish-looking-things that keep their pets from chewing their stitches are called "E-collars." “More like Cinderella,” I say.

“Then I know who the evil stepmother is,” she says, laughing softly into the phone.

Interesting. "You and Doris the evil stepsisters then?" I ask.

She laughs again. “Half hour then, Casa DiNapoli. Wait if we’re late, Barbara’s having a cow and the shit’s hit the fan big time.”

“You bet,” I say, and hit END over her chuckle.

I flirt happily with the cabbie; he was grouchy and petulant when he picked me up, but by the time he drops me off in Pasadena he’s grinning and laughing. Poor guy, probably gets nothing but stuck-up bitches and snooty toadies all day; sure he needs some cheering up. I’m actually pretty good at that, and I tip him very generously when he lets me out, even opens the cab door for me and helps me with my packages. Doris and Mary are there already, staring at me in amazement.

“What?” I say.

They don’t say anything for a moment; it occurs to me they’re staring at my clothes. Yeah, guess I do look a bit different. I grin, can’t help showing off; I twirl in front of them so they can see me. “What do you think?” I ask; my voice is nearly girlish. Haven't sounded like this since I got that absolutely killer green damask velvet gown in 1391. “Dolce and Gabbana, with Fendi boots. And I’m wearing Lise Charmel panties!”

“Uh . . . “ Doris can’t say anything; she’s staring at me like we’ve never met. But Mary is thrilled; her face lights up and she runs over and gives me a big hug. Oh yes, I’ve always liked you, Mary; you’re one of those rare souls who actually rejoices when others are doing well – most people get resentful, jealous. But not Mary; you can tell she’s tickled pink about all of this.

“Look at you!” she squeals, ruffling my curls. “Oh my god you look like a model! Wow! Doris, look at her! Doesn’t she look GREAT?”

“Uh,” says Doris again. I can tell she’s a little taken aback by all of this. “Well, Winn, you look very, um, expensive.”

“Good,” I say smugly. “That was about half my goal. But I have to look sexy, too. Do I look sexy? Does this outfit show off my legs?” I turn again so they can look. They look, Mary enthusiastically, Doris still a little reticent.

“Oh, yeah,” says Mary; “shows off everything, but especially your legs. Always was your best feature, right, Doris?”

“I dunno,” frowns Doris, looking me over. “The boobs don’t look so bad either.”

Mary and I laugh, and I say, “Good! That’s what I was going for. I want him to know I spent his money well.”

“The faithful Steward,” says Doris dryly, and that makes us laugh again.

Oh, I feel good. I feel so light, so buoyant, so careless! Everything seems so good, everyone seems so happy, even Pasadena’s not that bad. The restaurant’s awning is green, which I take to be a positive sign – Greenleaf, you know – and up on the second storey are clusters of little tables with umbrellas over them. You pay a premium to sit up there – I know; Dorcas told me once; her boyfriend Stan took her there but couldn’t quite afford the extra you-know-what to hand the maitre d’ to get one of those premium tables. You only sit there if you’re Somebody, if you want to be Seen.

It must be really hard for the maitre d’ to be forced to seat someone like Gimli, though – and that’s what he’s had to do, ‘cause there’s Gimli, hanging over the rail and shouting – “Éowyn! Hey! C’mon up!” much to the surprise and either amusement or annoyance of everyone else up there, who are Somebodies wanting to be Seen but not quite like this. After all, Gimli is Somebody, just not the kind of Somebody folk in L.A. seem to go for. He doesn’t fit in – looks like a bulky Alan Ginsburg. Thirty years ago that would’ve been okay, but these days he can raise a few eyebrows. He’s in black leather clothes, which makes me hope against hope Legolas is wearing HIS black leather pants – ooohhh, to show off my Elven Ass like that! Would Mary and Doris drool then!

“Hey, Gimli!” I call, waving up to him; he grins and turns from the rail back to wherever his table must be; can’t see it from here. Doris grabs my arm as we go under the awning; I have to pause to take off my sunglasses while we’re walking through.

“Winn!” she hisses. “Please, please tell me that’s not him!”

“Can’t be,” says Mary; “Winn said he was gorgeous.”

“Shh!” I giggle. Poor Gimli; never gets a break, does he? “No, that’s his best friend. Be nice to him, he’s all right.”

"Right," says Doris; she sounds a little apprehensive. I look over at Mary, who is beaming, looking around eagerly.

"Where is he?" she asks.


I can smell her the instant she walks into the restaurant. Orange and lemon, the sweet musky scent of her sex. I can hear her too – her melodic contralto, her sudden delighted laugh. I close my eyes in the stairwell, my fingers resting on the banister. Acushla, acushla, Éowyn mine; why can't I just sweep you up in my arms and rush you out of here, out of L.A., out of sight of everyone who knows you? I want to keep you to myself, share you with no one. Not Grim, not your two work friends, not Ducky or Poppet or even Éomer. I want to be alone with you, watch you, listen to you, touch you.

Fucking A, my Lord Manwë; what the bloody hell has happened to me? Is this you doing this, or have I finally gone nutters?

Neither, really, my Greenleaf. Though my Lady has influenced you greatly; it is she who has laid the compulsion upon you to so adore your Edan. Yet the choice to do so was entirely yours. You see how perfect a Listener you are, Greenleaf? You obey without even realizing the command has been given.

But it hurts too, my Lord; it's fucking driving me insane, wanting her like this. Will it always be this intense? Don't know if I can bloody well take it if it is.

Patience, my Greenleaf. Your discomfort will end soon.

Good thing, too.

Wait – what did you mean, my Lord?

Lord Manwë?

Fuck! He always fucking disappears just when I'm starting to suss things out.

I feel someone pass me on the stairs; a waiter. I open my eyes. I can hear her clearly, speaking to her friends in the foyer; can hear her beautiful laugh. In a minute I should be able to see her. Oh, it hurts it hurts it fucking hurts; don't take her away from me don't don't don't, oh please don't let anything happen that takes her away from me. Oh Elbereth bless me, make the light of the Two Trees to shine upon me.

Be at peace, Thranduilion. I hold your heart in the palm of my hand.

Thank you, my Lady. Nice to know SOMEONE cares how I feel about this fucking debacle.

Though the way Éowyn's been tip-toeing around me, still afraid to offend me, still afraid to push me too far – oh fucking hell, would I love to get Fairy-Meer's Adam's apple under my thumbs. I'd push and push and push until his lips turned blue – making her from a sass-your-arse, kick your teeth Shieldmaiden into this hesitant, diffident, fearful little kife. There are sparks still, some leftover Shieldmaiden bits that show up now and then, but whenever things get serious she backs down.

I love you, Éowyn. I’m just afraid to tell you, afraid that YOU'RE afraid you can't tell me you love me back.

You see? You fucking SEE, my Lord Manwë? It hurts! Hell shit fuck damn it hurts.




Well, here we go again. Here come two more of her mortal friends to drool all over me. Fucking hell, why'd I have to look like this? Why couldn't I look like Frank Perdue? Make my life a hell of a lot easier. I mean, I don't mind men sharking MY little bit; makes a man proud, it does; look what I'VE got that YOU gobshites don't. But it's kind of felt like she's fucking showing ME off, showing her friends –

Oh, my sainted aunt.

Oh, fuck. Oh, shit.

How could I have thought she looked good BEFORE? She's – she's – oh fuck, I have no words, I can't describe it, oh fuck –

breathe breathe breathe breathe BREATHE!

Lovely, you are lovely, my acushla . . .

. . . and you've got your pretty little hands wrapped round my knacks so tight I can't fucking BREATHE


Where IS he?

It's like having an elastic band connecting us – the further apart we get, the tighter I feel. I know, I know, I know he's just around the corner, I can feel myself drawn to him, like a magnet to iron, like a butterfly to a lilac bush. I wish I was like him, wish I could smell him, hear him before he's there, but although I'm a Chosen I'm only an Edan and I don't have his keen senses. Where is he where is he where IS he? Oh god I’m so pathetic, I'm so fucking pathetic, only been four and a half hours and I can't WAIT to see him, talk to him, smell his hair –

Wonder if we can have a quickie in the bathroom?

Oh geez, I can't believe I just thought that. A quickie in Casa DiNapoli? I must be nuts.


There she is. She's turning. She sees me. Our eyes meet. Like fucking lightning.


Oh yeah, that quickie's starting to sound like a VERY good idea.


I want her.


I want him.


Don't fucking care WHAT she spent on that goddam outfit, it was worth it, oh was it bloody well worth it. Those boots . . .


Well, judging from the way his eyes are lighting up, I'd say he likes my boots.


Oh my sainted aunt, think I'm fucking kinky or something, all of a sudden I want her to ride me wearing nothing but those bloody boots


Boy, Doris and Mary got quiet. Think they've figured out why I'm staring at this ABSOLUTELY! GORGEOUS! hunk of manhood – er, Elfhood – here.

Boy, I got quiet, too. My tongue feels thick, like I'll never move it properly again, and my brain just got all cloudy. Weird . . .


Your Edan follows the same compulsion that drives you.

Does it hurt her as much as it hurts me?

Do you want it to hurt her, Greenleaf?

Fuck no! Of course not. I don't want ANYTHING to hurt her, ever, ever again. Of course – I know that's impossible; things are going to hurt her whether I try to stop them or not, right? And I'm just going to have to live with it, aren't I?

Yes, Greenleaf.


But rest assured, my beloved Greenleaf, this compulsion confuses her but does not hurt her. She desires you, she enjoys you, her soul is instinctively drawn to you, but for her your presence and the thought of it is a comfort, not a hurt; you succor her, you encourage her, and she greatly craves that. She has been ignored for too long. By the time the fear of your not returning her feelings can take hold, she will be so far assured of your fidelity that the question will be moot, even to her.

You make it sound like we'll be together for a long time.

I have long desired to pair you, beloved Listener, but a suitable mate could not be found amongst those worthy of you. At last Oromë and I have agreed that you two ought to be drawn together – for you, to reward you for many ages of faithful obedience; for her, much the same holds true, though you may call it more a compensation, if you will.

Compensation for fucking Fairy-Meer kicking her in the bloody teeth, you mean. How the fuck can I make up for THAT? Fifteen fucking thousand years of hell? Shit, my Lord, I'm good, but I'm not THAT good.

You underestimate yourself. See, there . . .


Oh lord have mercy, do I have it bad. Hold me back, girls, I'm about to throw myself at this man's feet!

Oh, all right, ELF's feet. Whatever.


Damn, I saw THAT. Little pink tongue flicked out to touch her lower lip, oh yeah, acushla, I saw THAT . . .


oh god oh god oh god he's wearing the leather pants oh shit yeah, can practically see the outline of his dick from here


OH fuck why'd I wear these FUCKING LEATHER TROUSERS I told myself don't wear them around her but did I listen NO . . .


His eyes got all bright and glittery, not Listening but looking looking at me, looking at only me, like I'm the only woman in the whole world, oh shit here he comes


This is fucking IT my life is fucking OVER everything has narrowed down to this one point, everything else goes dark around me, I'm in a tunnel, all other things fade, it's her, it's only her


Here he comes – oh shit, what if he tries to take me in the middle of the restaurant? I recognize that look on his face, it's the same one he had when he pinned me to the kitchen table the first time. Hold back hold back hold back hold back –


Her two little friends look a bit gobsmacked. Poor things, make it up to you, promise I will, but right now me and my acushla have something to talk about.


Phew! Okay, better; stepped his predatory nature back a bit, though he still looks as though he'd ask nothing more than to get it on right here in the middle of the lobby. Make introductions, stop staring at him like a dork, though now I think about it Doris and Mary are staring at him too.


Kiss her, you grotty pikey, kiss her.


His arm curls around my waist, his face close to mine; his eyes twinkle and glow all at once. Then his lips are on my mouth, soft insistent sweet lips, tilting my head; ooh, there I go, I'm all dizzy again


Ah, nectar of the gods


don't stop don't stop oh your mouth on mine your tongue against mine oh paradise


Pull back pull back pull back! Bloody awful form, getting the leg over in public, makes the woman look no end a fucking slag


oh damn he stopped

Well, upon reflection probably a good thing; was starting to get a little excited there.

Okay. Introductions. Ahem.


Oh fuck, love the way she bites her lip and looks sideways at her friends; diffident, embarrassed, sexy and hot hot hot; oh fuck yeah will I make it up to you


"Mary, Doris, this is Legolas. Legolas, my former co-workers, Mary and Doris."

He's shaking their hands politely, as though nothing major ever happened between us; Mary looks like she's going to bust up laughing any minute, Doris' eyebrows are puckered together and I think she's either going to tell him off or jump him – one or the other. Not even sure if SHE knows which she wants to do.

"Nice to meet you," they both say, and he just grins his adorable dimpled grin at them and says, "Cheers."

Just when they're opening their mouths to spout some platitude I'm tackled from behind, I can feel rough grizzly hair on my neck and big stumpy arms around my waist.


It's Gimli, of course; oh man I haven't seen him since that mess-up in Philip II's court, thought for sure he'd get beheaded that time.

Not that it'd have made much of a difference to him, I guess.

I turn and hug him; it's like getting embraced by a bear, all that hair.


Oh good, Grim's here; he can carry these two kifes off while Éowyn and I have a little talk.

She's laughing, pretty laugh like bells chiming, introducing them to Grim. The tall one with the sticky-out hair is laughing too; seems to have made quite an impression on my poor Grim; the dark quiet one is watching him, watching me too; can tell she's not so fucking sure whether to trust us with my acushla or not.

You can trust me, all right; you can bloody trust me to turn her inside out with bliss.

Oh fuck, look at those bloody two-klick legs, can just see the line of lace where the stockings stop; makes me want to run a finger round underneath it, make her twitch. And oh bloody hell those double-handful tits, can see them dancing and waggling under that thin material; oh fuck that's sexy too.

Head thrown back, laughing and talking; ah fuck yeah, that's more fucking like it; that's the Shieldmaiden I knew. Knew she could do it, knew she could tell that bitch of a manager of hers to slag off; knew she could find her knacks again.

Speaking of knacks –

OW hell fuck shit, fucking leather trousers!

All right, enough bloody conversation. Bugger off, you three.


"Grim," he says, all casual but I know that undercurrent in his voice, can feel his fingers making patterns on my left butt cheek. Looking for my panties, are you? Well, keep looking; I'll let you know when you get close . . .

"Take Mary and Doris up top, will you? Got something to talk about with Éowyn before we eat."

Gimli looks at him suspiciously, hell, even I’M looking at him suspiciously, but I'm a little excited too; what does he need to discuss with me? But Gimli leads them up the stairs, one big meaty hand on each one's elbow, just as charming and flirtatious as a Dwarf can be – well, moreso; Gimli's had more practice.


Ah, that's a hell of a lot better . . .


Now we're alone at last. Well, if you don't count the seventy-some people sitting downstairs, and all the waiters. May as well be alone, though, the way he's looking at me. Ooooohhhh, shit, I think I'm in trouble . . .


My heart's drumming against my chest so hard think it'll bloody well pound its way out; can smell her hair, look at that white throat, want to bite it


His eyes wander down my face. I can feel my breath come short. What does he want? And really, what can we do HERE? Not much, sadly; I suppose we'd better wait until we get back home, huh?

WOAH I felt that; his fingers tightened on my ass, pulled me up to him so our pelvic areas are touching in very interesting spots; I can feel his breath on my cheek, can see his eyes looking into mine, impossibly blue, blue like the Mediterranean, surrounded by those thick black lashes. Oh, he's so damn beautiful, oh shit have I got it bad . . .


"Acushla," I whisper into her hair; she shivers and her eyes close. Oh, bugger, these fucking trousers –

"Legolas," she breathes back; she tips her face up to mine and I brush my lips against that soft sweet mouth. You can feel that, can't you, acushla? You can feel my chopper pressing into your yielding body, your delectable, your delicious body; oh fuck how I want to sink into you, pound you into the fucking floor –

Can't though, dammit. Have to settle for something else. Let's see now . . .


Oh, kiss me again, kiss me again; push up against me, I can feel our private parts pressed together, oh shit I want to rub up against you, oh shit I need to get off


Fucking lost it already, she has. I pull away, take her wrist in my hand. She opens those silvery eyes, cloudy, filled with desire, oh fuck she wants me, she wants me, thank you my Lady for making her want me

And why would she not want you, beloved Listener? I do not think you realize your own worth.

"Come here, acushla," I say, and tug on her hand. She follows, frowning a little, I can tell she wants the bunk-up but knows we can't here.

Oh, we can't, can we!

Please don't let there be anyone in there, please please please


Where are we going? Are we going upstairs? Already? But he hasn't said anything to me yet. Hell, he's barely touched me yet.

Oh, bad, bad Éowyn! Wanting sex in public. Never knew how kinky I was. He really does bring out the worst in me.

Around a corner to the restroom, he fumbles with the knob, the door opens and he pulls me into the darkness.


Oh thank you Elbereth, it's empty

You're welcome, Greenleaf.


Hm, must be a one-holer; yep, he turns on the light and it's your standard small-restaurant-john; sink, mirror, towel rack, toilet. Clean, at least; after all this IS Casa DiNapoli.

What's that click sound? Oh wait, I know that, that's the sound of a bolt being thrown.

Oh, shit.


You get what you fucking ask for.

Now. It's time.


WHOOF he pins me to the wall, my arms over my head; thank goodness I sent my bags upstairs with Gimli and the girls; now his body is covering me, pressed up against me, and oh I can feel that hard rod grinding grinding grinding and making my breathing uneven.

Oooh, yes, that feels good; oh shit he just bit me, right on the neck, now there's that hot wet tongue; oh yes that's quite nice too; let me tip my head back for you and give you a little room –

His mouth is on my ear; I can feel his lips, his breath, he's whispering.

"We have a little problem, acushla."

It takes me a minute to inhale so I can answer him. My breasts are crushed against his chest, my shoulder blades against the cold tile wall; his hands have my wrists pressed up over my head and his hard hard leather-clad dick is rubbing back and forth, back and forth, oh shit I can hardly breathe. "What?" It comes out as a gasp, that's all I can manage. I'd be worried by this turn in the conversation but he's smiling, that have-I-got-a-surprise-for-you smile, his eyes have gone dark, oh yeah this is gonna be good

OH yes rub me there again that felt so damn good

"There's a bit of disparity between us."

Disparity? Well, no shit, Sherlock; I could've told you that.

"First you gave me that hand job yesterday, then this morning you sucked me off. Now I'm not complaining, acushla, but fact is, I'm two up on you. Can't have that, acushla, need to even the playing field." Now one strong hand is wrapped around my wrists, holding me still; the other hand is making its way down, oh thank you for dropping by my breasts, they were feeling left out –

Oh yes, those fingers kneading, rolling my nipple, oh thank heaven I'm not wearing a bra, I can feel the raspy glittery fabric abrading me, oh oh yes

I press up against him, lift my face to his; he grins and kisses me, a hard kiss, his tongue sliding in my mouth

oh god I'm groaning, it echoes

wait don't go don't move that wonderful hardness away from me

"Now let's see," he says into my mouth, "what's underneath this pretty little skirt – "

Oh shit he's stopped touching my breasts, oh but he's working his way down, oh yes further down, that's right, touch me there touch me there touch me there


Oh fuck if I'm not careful I'll spunk in my trousers, my goolies are so tight think they'll fucking explode, but I'm doing this right, going to take care of my acushla

Pull the skirt up, find those knickers; oh pretty little knickers, all over embroidery, just in the way though

Oh fuck she's wet, oh fuck I want you, acushla


Suppose I should be worrying about my new clothes wrinkling but who the hell cares, he's got one knee between my legs, pushing them apart; and those fingers, oh god yes

I can feel cold tile on my ass, I brace my legs out straight on either side of his feet, two pairs of black boots on the imported Tuscan tile

Oh yes here it is, there are those long warm fingers, and here comes the moaning bitch, right on schedule


Fuck! Making too much noise, let's muffle that a bit, acushla


His mouth covers mine his tongue intrudes, hot wet slick tongue dancing and stroking, oh speaking of stroke two fingers slide down inside my panties, two fingers finding those hot smooth folds of flesh

oh shit


I stretch you out, arms over your head, legs out, you're open, open and wet and ready for me

Ah, but you won't get me, not yet, not yet


His fingers are on me, in me, oh shit that feels good, fill me fill me fill me, I'm aching for you

long Elven fingers, long dexterous Elven fingers, oh thank you Elbereth for making them like this

touch me touch me touch me, oh god yes, fingers sliding in and out, touching me THERE


She bucks up against me, starting to make agitated noises; I press my mouth harder against hers, hold her against the wall firmly

Slide the fingers in, slide out, circle your little nub

She bucks again, arches her back

Slide in and out, circle; in and out, circle, in and out circle in and out circle


oh shit oh shit I'm getting tight I can feel it it's pressing on me from the inside it wants to get out oh shit Legolas let it out let it out of me


I can feel her walls clench, her breath is short and ragged, she's panting into my mouth, mewling like a fucking cat

In and out and circle and in and out and circle, faster, faster


YES that's even better yes keep it up yes yes yes


Keep it up keep it up Legs she's getting close her whole body is tense, taut, tight, legs shaking mouth grimaced

Keep her mouth covered or she'll scream so fucking loud you'll have the flatties in here in no time

In and out and circle in out circle in out circle in out circle

If she were any wetter she'd be dripping on the fucking floor


almost almost almost there don't stop don't stop oh god here I come



She curls forward, her body lurching, I clamp down on her mouth but some of her scream gets out anyway, I let go her hands and they come down clutching my shoulders, I pull my fingers out of her knickers and catch her just as her legs give out.

Oh fuck acushla, you are so fucking beautiful.


OH my god that was amazing, felt like a big ol' jolt of electricity running from my snatch up out of my mouth.


Beautiful, sexy, hot hot hot; want you want you want you but not yet, we're not even yet


I can kiss him now; I'm still out of breath but at least I can inhale and exhale. Oh shit my legs are trembling, I'm so glad he's strong because he's holding me up, kissing me, his lips pulling and sucking on my mouth, the bathroom echoes with the sound of our breathing.

We kiss for a minute until my heart calms down, thought it was going to jump right out of my chest there for a minute, then he pulls away, open your eyes open your eyes and look at him, look at him


Her eyes flutter open, clouded, sated – but not yet, not yet, just you wait my acushla


Oh shit now what, he still has that mischievous look on his face

His hands are around my waist, holding me; I try my legs out – trembly but okay. Then his fingers go south, oh yes right on my ass, I love it when you touch my ass, nice strong fingers kneading and grabbing, I press against you.

Oh how funny, you'd think I'd be done but feeling your hardness against me makes me want you even more


I'll give that ivory throat one last taste and then it's down to the buffet, darling


His lips travel south, not biting this time but I can feel his tongue, it makes a long cold line down my throat, mmmm yes, now there are some teeth on my collarbone, his tongue in that little hollow, oh yes . . .

Here come some more fingers, lifting my shirt; the raspy material scrapes up over my nipples, the cold air makes them tight, I can feel them tighten, then the fingers oh the fingers stroking stroking stroking, oh yes that mouth

lips and teeth and tongue, my breasts are happy happy happy

oh don't stop they liked that so much


Better hurry up Legs or someone will interrupt us, that wouldn't be very fucking funny now, would it?

Good-bye, pretty tits; I'll spend more time with you later, I promise.

Now, where's that navel? Oh yes –


The mouth goes south, tongue in my belly button, making me shiver, then teeth scrape over the skin beneath and then



Mmm, you taste so fucking good, acushla


Fingers pull my thighs apart that hot hot tongue dives into me, slides up and down the slit oh shit shit shit I'm on fire


Got the bloody hot spot there, her hands grab my head, oh fuck you smell so good, so good

Slide around those slick wet lips, find the little knob, suck it into my mouth


oh shit

oh don't stop oh yes

the moaning bitch is back, too loud, echoes through this little room, brings me back – what if someone comes? Hand to the mouth, bite it, don't let anyone hear you, oh don't stop don't stop


Hm, what you doing up there, acushla? Oh yes, bloody good idea, bite your knuckles so you don't scream

Shall I make you scream, acushla? You know I can make you.

I slide my tongue in as deeply as I can, curl it up, slide in a finger, oh fuck you're so wet, find the little rough spot and stroke it

She bucks against me, I pull my tongue out and find her clit again, suck it between my lips


oh shit how does he know where that spot is


Yes do that again do that again oh my knuckles hurt from biting oh god don't stop

it's coming it's coming suck it out of me oh yes suck it out of me


She's clenching, pulsing, whimpering, her juices dripping down my hand, I press her arse against the wall, press my finger down hard inside of her, flick her little head with my tongue, oh fuck yes here she comes again


It's, it's coming out, oh shit it's coming, I can't I can't I can't



She lurches up, throws her head back, teeth clamped down on her hand, but the scream gets out anyway, even if it is just a strangled whine. Her whole fucking pelvis is throbbing, I can feel her spasming inside against my fingers, clenching; her legs nearly give way but I release her clit from my lips and catch her as she starts to slide down


I'm dead, I'm dead, that must be it, death by orgasm, oh shit I can't feel my feet, oh shit oh shit oh shit

Oh shit I hope no one heard that


Oh acushla, Éowyn mine, you are the most bloody beautiful and sexy woman on the planet, and you're mine mine mine.

I rise to my feet again, hold her up against the wall with my body, my arms around her; she's panting, trying to catch her breath; her limbs are flaccid, weak, drained. I bury my nose into her golden curls. Sweet, so sweet and pungent; I can smell you, can smell the musky scent of sex in this little enclosed room; it's the greatest fucking perfume in the whole fucking world.

How long have we been in this bloody little toilet? Five minutes tops; time to have some lunch. Feeling a bit peckish, acushla? I know I am.


He holds me, his arms around me, his hands caressing me. Oh that felt good, still feels good, like waves of electricity passing through me still, taking all the strength out of my legs.

Wake up wake up wake up, haven't done anything for him yet


She pulls back, finds my mouth with hers; can you taste yourself, acushla? See how fucking good you taste?


Odd tasting myself on his mouth, sexy too though, I could get used to this, oh yes.

We still need to get you off, though.


Her hand moves tentatively down my chest, down the buttons of my shirt, finds the front of my trousers. Yeah, acushla, still hard as a fucking rock, but that's just too bad – got other things on our bloody agenda, don't we, now?


He pulls back, smiling at me. His eyes are still touched with lust, still glowing a bit, but the outside edges crinkle; he thinks this is funny.

Then he reaches down, pulls up my panties, pulls down my skirt hem, adjusts himself and steps back.

Where are you going?


You've no idea, little bit, how much I want to knob you, take you right here against the wall, but there's no time – need to get topside.

Don't think she can fucking walk at the moment. Better give her a minute, I'll cover for her.

"Brush yer hair, acushla, you look a right mess," I say, grinning at her. She smiles back, one shaky hand goes to her curls.

"But – " she pauses, bites her lip; oh fuck I'd rather be the one doing the biting, but not now, not now! "But we haven't, um – " She reaches forward, runs one long finger up the length of my plonker. I cover her hand with mine, press it up against me; oh fuck that feels good but –

"Not now," I say, moving her hand away. "Time for dinner, luv, can't keep our friends waiting." And before I lose all presence of mind and just shag her silly I unlock the toilet door and duck out, leaving her glassy-eyed, leaning up against the wall.

Fuck, that was fun.

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: Le Rouret

Status: General

Completion: Complete

Era: Other

Genre: Humor

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 09/30/04

Original Post: 04/19/04

Go to Pottymouth overview


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