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The King's Vineyard, Chapter 34


By: Mary A
Beta: Malinornë
Pairing: King Thranduil/OFC
Rating: R for mature sexual content (this chapter!!!)
Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!
Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.
Summary: A young woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhûn to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elvenking's vineyard.
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They almost did not make it onto the bed. It was mostly Cella's fault. The Elfking's generous caresses both outside and inside the back of her dress had further loosened the rest of the hooks to the point that it was slipping off of her shoulders and annoying her. Somehow she managed to yank down the loosened garment between kisses so that it was at least off of her arms and no longer restricting her in any way. After that, the gown began to slip farther and farther off of her body while she kissed Thranduil.

Deliriously oblivious to the rest of the world, she was hopelessly lost in the storm of sensations that surrounded her and blinded her to everything but fulfilling her immediate desires. It was marvelous to feel the Elfking's body against her breasts through the silky shift as she pressed against his chest. And it was also wonderful how his fingers felt as he stroked her back through the thin covering of slippery fabric, which was all that remained between his hands and her skin.

At one point he felt along her spine all the way down to her waist and a little lower, with just the tips of his fingers, sending shivers from her head to her toes and she thought she would never draw breath again. This was probably when the rest of her gown fell off, but neither of them cared.

More than anything, she wanted the Elfking's extraordinary hands to move everywhere else on her body and soon. However, it was too wonderful to be smashed up tight against him while they kissed. She could not part from him long enough to allow him to touch her in any place that he could not currently reach.

His hand moved down to her hip and then over her backside, and he cupped one of her bottom cheeks, which made her gasp. His thrilling touch was too much of a distraction that she did not even register the fact that the skirt of her gown was no longer there between his stroking hand and the silken undershift.

The Elfking dipped down slightly at the knees in order to reach beneath her better and he moved his hand from her bottom to just under her thigh. After sliding his hand down to the back of her knee, he lifted her leg up to hook it over his hip and then stood straight again as he held her like that against him. Again she gasped as he pressed himself there, in between her legs, with a mysterious hardness that dwelt beneath his leggings.

The fascinating pressure was satisfying and stimulating at the same time, and in response she wrapped her lifted leg around him in an effort to draw him closer, which was not possible but she tried to anyway.

The interesting new contact muddled her mind thoroughly and she had no idea where she was or much of anything else, let alone what had happened to her dress at this point, although she could vaguely discern the feeling that her other foot, the one still standing on the floor stretched on tip-toe, was swaddled in fabric. It did not make an impression in her mind, and at that moment it certainly did not seem to be the Elfking's chief concern either.

Thranduil made a sound in his throat like a growl or a groan, and he lifted her up from the floor with his hand beneath her thigh. But in his effort to transport her from the dressing room and into the bedchamber, his foot was tangled up and caught in the fallen dress and the discarded nightgown. He tripped and they both nearly toppled over to the flagstone floor.

Luckily, the Elfking was not a clumsy mortal, and he swiftly regained his balance, but he did have to set Cella back down to stand flat on both of her feet for a moment. She was more than willing to fall to the floor with him, and stay right where they were, if only he would remove some of his clothes first.

Now that there was enough room between them for a split second, Cella took the opportunity to reach up under his tunic, before she glued herself to him again and kissed him some more. Her hand traveled over smooth, warm skin that was stretched taut over firm muscles, and she marveled at the way he felt under her admiring fingertips.

But she wanted him to press himself against her some more, too, in that interesting new way he had discovered, and she tried to reach her leg up around his hip again. He broke away from her mouth and grinned down at her lustily.

"You are making it difficult to move," he said, his voice hoarse. He lifted her again, but this time with his arms under both of her legs after the hazardous garments on the floor were safely booted out of the way. She had pulled her hand out from under his tunic and was trying to figure out how to pull it off of him with her free hand while she kicked off her shoes and sent them flying where ever they had a mind to go. "You have no patience, firiel," he told her.

"Neither do you, Majesty," she giggled after he nearly threw her down on the bedcovers. He stood for a moment beside the bed and she lifted herself up on her elbows to watch him pull his tunic over his head, revealing creamy skin that was burnished by the firelight's warm red glow. His hair was a river of shimmering copper as he lowered himself onto the bed next to her, and it caressed her face and chest as he kissed her again, and again, barely pausing long enough to allow her to draw breath.

His mouth moved away from her lips, and over her neck and down her chest, but slowly, oh so slowly, and she felt her body tremble with anticipation as he did so. And then he pulled the strap of her shift off of her arm, down her side, and revealed one of her breasts.

Cella bit her lip to keep from crying out as his warm tongue lapped at the taut nipple thus exposed, and she nearly felt afraid of the waves of pleasure that rippled through her as he did so, like gales of wind they buffeted her internally. He pulled away from her.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, never!" she told him while she tried to pull his face back to her chest, but instead he resisted her and lifted himself up to kiss her again. As he ravaged her lips, his hand cupped and stroked her breast so recently abandoned by his mouth, and she arched her back to lift her body to his touch.

She could not get enough of touching him and she wanted to touch every part of him. Frustrated by the interruption of his suede leggings under her exploring hands at his lower back, she asked him to remove them, and to hurry.

"Dartho [wait]," he told her, holding her hand still after she had tried to insinuate it between their bodies to unlace the offensive garment that still stood in her way. Before she could stop him, he left the bed and crossed the room to the door. She sat up, her head spinning, and just as she was going to cry out in anguish for him to come back, he lifted the latch and locked the rest of the palace away. Now no one could come in and interrupt them.

He came back, to her relief, and sat on the edge of the bed. But instead of falling into her outstretched arms, he faced away from her and bent over so that his hair covered his face, and she could not see why.

"What are you doing?" she asked, anxious for him to return to her.

"Removing my boots," he answered with a chuckle.

"Leave them on," she whimpered. "I don't care." She sat up to wrap her arms around his back while peeking up over his shoulder to observe. However, before she could even focus farther than how delicious his hair smelled and how nice it felt against her cheek, he was finished. Her undershift was pulled down to her waist and his hand found her breasts again after he turned to kiss her.

Together they fell over onto the blankets. Cella lifted her hips so that he could pull the interfering shift free from where it was bunched around her waist, and he had to release himself from her arms and sit up in order to pull it off of her legs. Next came her stockings, and he seemed to have fun removing them, like she was a doll to play with. She enjoyed being naked with him, and did not feel shy at all.

"Lay still," he whispered. "Let me look at you." She sighed contentedly after he guided her to lie with her head on the pillows and then sat next to her. It was not hard to tell that he was enjoying the way she looked as she stretched out on the bed before his eyes, and the way his gaze touched her was almost as tangible as his fingers.

His hand soon followed the trail that his eyes took and his fingers moved from her knees up to her thighs and over her tummy where they paused. She squirmed with impatience until he bent to kiss her again, and she kept still.

There was a burning ache between her legs that she wanted him to do something about, but he moved his hand away from her belly and up to her chest instead. Lightly his fingers grazed over the tingling surface of her breasts while she sucked in her breath with a long hiss of delight.

But then he moved his hand away from there and stroked her arm from her shoulder down to her fingers. He lifted her hand again and pressed his lips against her palm.

"Sire, please." Cella felt on fire and she tried to pull his hand back to her body but he resisted her.

"You are almost ready, have patience," he told her. He bent again, but this time he pressed his mouth on her belly below her navel, and he licked her there. As his tongue traveled lower Cella began to shake again as he drew nearer to that tingling ache between her legs.

"Yes," she hissed with satisfaction as the warm wetness of his mouth covered her there, the tip of his tongue exploring her. She almost could not stand the riveting sensations he caused her to feel and yet she lifted her hips for more. Thoroughly agitated, she mewled with vexation when he drew away from her; his silky hair tickled her thighs for a moment, until he lifted himself over her again and kissed her. She could taste herself on his tongue.

His legs against hers were bare, even though she did not know how or when he had removed his leggings. But the way his skin felt against hers as he shifted himself to stretch out next to her was lovelier than her most wild, but otherwise limited, imaginings had come near to being.

And then she was aware of something rubbing against her thigh, it was that hardness again, which had been previously hidden beneath the Elfking's leggings. She was curious and yet suddenly hesitant about learning more about it. She was not afraid, but she was not feeling very brave all of a sudden. As if sensing her doubt, he broke away from kissing her and looked down at her silently.

"Estelio nin," he said.

"Always," she answered. He had never given her a reason not to trust him.

"I will never hurt you," he added.

"I know," she sighed.

Gently Thranduil captured her hands and, holding them at the wrist, lifted them over her head and kept them there while he kissed her. After shifting his body across her in order to bear his weight on his opposite side, his other hand was free to travel back down between her legs.

The touch of his caressing fingers was barely perceptible at first, but soon the same excitement his tongue had aroused just moments before returned. She thought about that rigid member of warm flesh that lay flat against her belly now. At last she was beginning to realize what was going to happen to her and she felt curious again.

But her thoughts were superseded by another sensation, a slightly discomforting and almost too intimate touch. She whimpered a little and involuntarily shifted her hips to escape it, but the Elfking was insistent, and she surrendered. He let go of her wrists and she wrapped her hands in his hair as he penetrated her, slowly and carefully, with his fingers. There was a moment of almost burning irritation, but the pain faded quickly.

"That will make it easier," he explained after he withdrew his hand. He was on top of her again, kissing her, while he nudged her legs farther apart and settled his own between them. She did not know what he meant, but she trusted him. And she was on fire to please him, and to bring him as much pleasure as he gave her.

She lifted herself on her elbows one more time, to see what was happening below. And to get a peek at what he had in store for her. Cella had only seen a fully engorged manhood once before, but she had been terrified and disgusted at that time. Now she was not either. Without a doubt, she wanted the Elfking, all of him, and right now.

Instinctively she opened her thighs wider as he guided the blunt tip of his hardness to press up against that heated center of her womanhood and then held himself there, as if waiting for a signal from her. Gladly, she collapsed back down to lie flat on her back and tipped her bottom up to assist him. She let out another long ragged sigh as he slid between her slick and yielding folds.

While holding himself up on one forearm in order to watch her face, Thranduil entered her deeper. Slowly, inch by inch, he moved in such a way that Cella could gradually adjust inside to this welcome invasion of her body. His eyes never left her face as he gauged her reaction to losing her innocence.

As the Elfking gently eased himself within her, he uttered words that she did not understand, but she felt comforted and reassured by the tenderness in his voice as he spoke them. He stroked the damp hair away from her forehead and rained her face with tiny kisses after he had reached his limit, and was fully inside of her. Their bodies were sealed together as one, and Cella felt victorious.

At first, unsure of what was required from her as he began to move within her, Cella remained limp and still until the rhythm Thranduil established brought back the tingling pleasure and heat. Their moans of mutual gratification mingled together as she lifted herself at the hips to meet each thrust and she enjoyed each thunderously sensational collision of his body against her again, and again.

Lowering himself to her, he slid his hand beneath her head, wrapped his fingers in her hair, and lifted her face closer to his. His glowing eyes seemed to bore as deeply into her soul as that other part of him was buried in her flesh. Savagely, he kissed her and she responded back, unafraid. The mounting waves of rippling heat coalesced where they were physically joined and the urgent nature of their coupling reached a climax of explosive and coinciding release.

Afterwards, they lay together face to face and Thranduil stroked Cella's back until her head cleared. As soon as she could think clearly, she felt embarrassed at how loudly she had shrieked in the final throes of their passionate coupling. She hoped she did not hurt his beautiful ears, which she was sure must be more sensitive to the ghastly noises she made than her own were.

But without her having to say a word about it, he told her not to worry about his ears, as her voice was always pleasing to him, no matter how expressively she used it. She smiled at him and touched his face, to make sure he was real, and that he was truly there, in her bed.

And now Thranduil's hand traveled up her back to the nape of her neck, and he gently guided her head to rest in the space between his neck and shoulder. She nestled her face against the satin-textured skin there while he tenderly cradled her in his arms.

In his embrace, she closed her eyes and felt as if she was floating in the same clouds she had found herself in after he had healed her in the past, and her whole body hummed with joy. Waves of drowsiness swept over her in much the same way the rippling waves of pleasure had done earlier, and were just as difficult to resist. But she did, pulling out of his arms and sitting up beside him, she looked down at the Elfking groggily.

"I don't want to go to sleep," she said and then yawned. She barely could react quickly enough to cover her mouth with her hand. It seemed hopeless. Outside of the great gates of Mirkwood the hour must have been near dawn, and despite her nap the day before, she was only a mortal after all and could not go on forever without rest.

Even if she had done nothing more exerting than dance at the feast and walk in the cold fresh air after that, her body would have felt exhausted by this time. The lusty play with Thranduil had weakened her in a new way, a wonderful way, but she did not want to miss a moment alone with him, and she tried to ignore the urge to melt back into his warm and inviting embrace. It took all of her strength to stay alert.

But if she had clung to him earlier as if she were drowning and he was a rock in a stormy sea, she was now as curious about exploring him as the grateful swimmer would have been if washed ashore on an island in the middle of wide uncharted waters.

He lay silent and did not try to make her lie down again while she examined his body from head to toe. Even though the fire had died down to only a few glowing embers, the light that his skin seemed to always radiate was more than sufficient for her to see him with. And was more beautiful than any other illumination.

She devoured him as if her eyes were capable of feeling hunger and he was a feast spread out before them. Her hands had to touch his skin on his shoulders, his chest and over his ribs and abdomen, and then she had to know what his feet felt like, as well as his ankles, shins, and thighs.

And there was that most private part of him, which she now knew more intimately than any other part. It was soft now, and she lifted it and held it in her hand, amazed at how different it was in appearance.

As if her touch was magical she felt him stiffen immediately beneath her fingers, with a series of pulsing throbs. This curious phenomenon was accompanied by some interesting sounds, like grunts or soft whiffing growls, which Thranduil emitted as she squeezed him there to encourage the situation.

He growled again, a distinctly ferocious sound, and with lightning like swiftness she was pulled over on top of him and he was inside of her before she knew what he was doing. This time there was no discomfort and no slow careful motion as they vigorously enjoyed each other's bodies in the renewed joining.

She loved being above him so that his hands could caress her breasts as she rode him. He lowered his head and pulled her closer in order to replace his stroking fingers with his hot and hungry mouth instead. It was hard to tell which was better, the way he looked as he suckled her or the way it felt.

At last Cella felt she would explode with ecstasy and she clasped the back of his head while she held on to him for dear life as if she was astride a bucking horse. They barely escaped falling off the bed and onto the hard floor. Not that either of them would have cared.

Afterwards, at some point, Cella fell asleep, although it would be more truthful to say she lost consciousness. If she had a moment between wakefulness and dreamless slumber, she did not recall one. But her head snapped up off of the Elfking's chest when a loud banging sound crashed into the lovely peace and quiet in her bedchamber, and only then did she realize that she must have been sleeping.

"What?" she mumbled drowsily as he slid her off of him and under the covers. "Where are you going?" she murmured as the soft pillow replaced his hard chest. "Don't leave," she whispered as she resisted drifting away on her clouds. She felt his lips on her cheek, but although she tried as hard as she could, she was incapable of rousing herself to delay or stop him.

"I will be back," she heard him say, and it was enough. The banging was there again, but it made no sense within the logic in her dream, and Thranduil was there to take care of it, so she ignored the sound and drifted all the way down into sleep.

To be continued in Chapter 35



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Posted: December 17, 2004

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"Long live Thranduil, great Elf-king of Greenwood!"