The Evenstar and the Fairie Queen

Arwen couldn't explain why being alone with her grandmother intimidated her, not at first. Well, there had been that dream, that wonderful and yet sordid thing where she'd experienced something in a dream that was so very real she only knew from her father's lore and those furtive glimpses and hints of that world. Perhaps it was that her grandmother in taking her into her chambers took her into a bedroom and locked the door, activating a set of powerful wards with Nenya that only later would she come to understand sealed in all sound in the room.

Perhaps it was when her grandmother started hugging her and it was.....wrong. Hands sliding down to the small of her back, caresses that weren't how a grandmother should hug a granddaughter. Light moving up and down her waist, spanning her curves, stopping on the curves of her hip. The initially crude and then delicate kneading of her ass, the start of fingering of her pussy through her dress, slow and gentle caressing and swirling that led to the heat that was flowing within her to accelerate, her hips bucking she realized in tune to the stroking and caressing, and soon her dress was hiked down sufficient to expose her alabaster tits to the hungry gaze and the endless kisses and nibbles of her grandmother.

The ring on her finger sparked with greater hypnotic force and then Arwen stood nude, hands behind her head so that her tits were displayed more prominent and her legs splayed, Galadriel's continual caresses slowly marking each and every inch of her, from her eyebrows gently kissed and the tips of her ears nibbled (her knees buckled slightly) to the lips that had kissed her ass with a passion that made her flush on a different level, to the kisses on each of her toes. It was three quarters' an hour worth of worshiping her body.

An initially dull gaze clouded over in a different fashion with lust, stunned silence became gritted teeth and then unwilling, oh so very unwilling moans but her body was heated in a fashion warmer than anything had any right to be and it felt so horribly wrong and yet so sinfully pleasurable. and the shrieks and pleas to stop kept being stifled.

Then she saw the ring on her grandmother's finger as her grandmother shoved her down on the bed with her legs spread wide, smiling carnivorously. In between strokes and caresses and fingerings, her tongue went to work with a greedy eagerness, while alternating between that and grasping Arwen's ample, soft, and yet pleasurably firm ass.

Arwen whined louder, her toes curling, knuckles whitening. She refused to give her grandmother satisfaction, to reward this wickedness, even as she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and to her disgust it made her grandmother more active, not less. The great fire built and surged and grew, going from a constant fever-heat to a roaring inferno worthy of the chariot that pulled the sun, the glory of an undimmed fire-spirit of the kind that became a surging force that left her to open her mouth in a silent scream gazing at the ceiling in despair.

She sagged back and her grandmother reared back, licking her lips only for anger, a pure and strong one leavened by hatred to surge up in her and for Arwen to kick her grandmother in the face hard enough she fell on her back. Woozy from the kind of overwhelming pleasure, heedless of her nudity, she staggered toward the door only for symbols to glow and the door to hold no matter what she did.

Her grandmother raised hersellf with wrath blazing in her eyes and for a moment she was a figure of terror as beautiful as the dawn and Arwen fell to her knees before her in fear. She hissed:

"Luthien in body but you, fair maiden, are a pitiful imitation of her. You have a small strand of divine blood in you diluted by many and many a long generation, but you are but a part-Elleth, a wretched and debased mockery of the most beautiful woman in Arda, the woman I loved. The woman who made me hers, and who I took as I take you.

If you were the true rebirth of Luthien this would be trivial for you to escape as she did. You are not. You are a mongrel and your purpose is to slake my lust as I wished her to have done.

It is her I still crave for but you, mongrel, you will do. All of her beauty, none of the risks of seducing a demigoddess."

She laughed coldly and Arwen, suspended in paralysis in fear, then closed her eyes and just let it happen.

Then she woke up the next morning, extremely famished, and nude and tried to move. It was then that she realized her hands were bound and her legs likewise, probably recently given she wasn't anywhere near sore or numb at parts of her.

Then her grandmother said "Good morning, Arwen. If you want to eat, or to be clothed, or to be able to have any kind of a normal time here in Lothlorien, you will do exactly as I say...."