The Evenstar and the Fairie Queen

Saruman's gaze roved over the body of Arwen Undomiel. She was youthful by the standard of both Quendi and of Men, a mere eighteen years of age. Though he seemed in his mid-30s, he was in truth many times more ancient, one of the choir of the Ainur who'd sung the world into being. One of the Five Wanderers, the Istari, sent to redeem the world of Men and Quendi and Khazad, to redeem it of the Shadow in the East.

Key to any role therein would be the whim and will of the Lady Galadriel, and here he'd arrived to her realm to converse with the start of potential strategy to set up a White Council to oppose the Lesser Enemy, servant of the Greater. And instead he'd found an Elven child-maiden parading with her nudity on full display, her ample tits, matching those of the legendary Luthien. Her body, hairless beneath the neck,, a unique trait indicating either precocious sexuality, the potential horrific grooming of her grandmother who wanted a girl and not a woman for a lover, or something else instead.

They were alone in a chamber a casual use of his powers ensured was locked. His arousal was also visible and Arwen looked with a flushed face at his pitched tent.

"You are very beautiful, Evenstar."

She flushed still more deeply. Her grandmother had taught her enough of pleasures to realize where this might go.

The Wizard remained passive, however, and asked a simple question that sowed the first strand of the Doom Galadriel wove with her sordid lust:

"Is she coercing you to do this, Undomiel?"

She shook her head no, bowing.

"No Lord Curunir, she is not."

He frowned.

"So this.....parading" and then his hand deliberately closed on her right tit as she flushed in shame, his hand groping her tit, squeezing it. The nipple was between his pointer and middle finger and he worked it further into a peak, his other hand grasping her other tit to do likewise. Arwen gasped, flushed again with pleasure, looking at Curunir wide-eyed.

He smirked as he said "This is what you want? This is you?"

Beet red she nodded,

A thought and his robes were off of him, and his massive erection was rubbing against her. His hands moved and she was there in front of him, nude, and he laid her atop the table. The sensation of the wood against her bare ass made her squeak, so did the wind that brushed against her, giving her shivers double and triple edges. Saruman then entered her gushing pussy with a smile, savoring that the woman let him in and didn't bleed.

"So you are not a virgin after all."

His cock deep inside her, Arwen was overwhelmed by sensations she could not quantify. A white-hot heat surging, a bit of pain that was different from her grandmother's actions, a pain that transformed oh so swiftly into pleasure, and into moving her hips in unity with his. Her first kisses with someone who seemed male, rough possessive things where the tongue shoved itself deep inside her mouth and she groaned in delight around it, and the time blurred into itself. Just bodies joined and moving in synchronity, Arwen gasping in delight. It was rough, it was primal.

Hands on her tits, hands on her hips, an experimental grasp on her throat and two orgasms that were entirely of her own will and desire.

And then Saruman groaned in delight as he flooded her pussy with his cum, smirking as he withdrew and had her clean him off with her lips, giving her her robe back.

He said to her "Good girl" and strode out.

Galadriel strode in, seeing Arwen flushed with pleasure and cum rolling down from her pussy.

Neither were aware of the changes that would onset in the next year, which fixed the fate of Undomiel and made her unique among the Eldar.

And in the Outer Darkness beyond the Gates of Night, the remnants of an ancient and towering spirit of fear, the Great Enemy laughed. At last one of his designs was coming true after a fashion, and thanks no less to one who'd shared his lusts and succeeded. The will of Morgoth pulsed and an eerie wind howled across alll Arda, in day or in night. In day it brought alternately in a set of successions the bitterests of cold and the greatests of heats, in the nighttime the howling cachinations of Daemons from the Outer Darkness and the whispered name "Melkor."