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Azof and the Farmer's Wife	By : kspence Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 9835 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
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- 8
‘Bed’, Azof called it, but that was a euphemism, really. In the days that followed he showed himself just as likely to initiate an enthusiastic pleasuring of the farmer’s wife out of bed as in it, and they came together frequently - in the kitchen, and the garden, and on one memorable occasion, the outhouse floor.
Balancing on a table-top, Julienne was spring-cleaning in the outhouse, clearing away the dust and spider-webs that had accumulated up in the eaves over winter. The cured hams she’d put away last autumn had been packed up and sent to market, Julienne having arranged for a delivery-driver to collect and transport them on her behalf.   As the only cart-track running up the valley petered out a mile or so down the hill from the cottage, Julienne and Coppey, her young assistant, had loaded her wares and taken them by wheelbarrow, in batches, to await collection at the end of the valley road.
On hearing that there would be visitors to the cottage Azof had suddenly remembered some other, pressing matter he had to attend to and had set off early, before first light. The suspiciously short interval between Coppey Drew’s leaving, following a late lunch of tea and biscuits in mid-afternoon, and the Orc’s return suggested that Azof might once again have been lurking, somewhere not far from the house.
Julienne teetered in place, still perched up on the table as he caught her round her waist, hugging his face to her stomach and inhaling the scent of her clothes. They stayed like that for a moment.
“You ‘appy to see me?” Azof muttered, into her skirts.
“Well, I was just clearing out this –“
“But you are, aren’t’c’ha?”
Lacing her fingers together at the back of his neck, Julienne bent down and kissed the top of his head. “If it really matters to you, Azof, I am – yes!”
He made a throaty sound of satisfaction and ran his hands, slowly, down the outside of her legs, down from her bottom to the bend in her knees, where his thumbs dug in and massaged, gently. The nature of the movements his head was making against her belly seemed to undergo a subtle change; his intentions being confirmed when to Julienne’s consternation he shoved his nose, most inappropriately, into such private places as no nose would ordinarily venture to go.
“You could always let me have a try with me mouth,” the Orc said, grinning up at her, and only just stopping short of waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “You know how much I like using me mouth, don’t yer? Why don’t you let me try it out on your cunt.”
Julienne blushed red to the ears. It wasn’t a word she’d ever expected to hear someone use out loud, or so nonchalantly. “What?” she said faintly.
“Your cunt,” Azof said, seriously.
“You’re not supposed to say that!”
“Why not? You’ve got a gorgeous cunt. Ain’t you ‘ad no-one go down there before?”
Julienne sat herself on the edge of the table, where Azof immediately leaned in close to her, putting his chin on her shoulder, and resumed playing with her knees. “My husband,” she told him carefully, “was a very traditional-minded man.”
“Didn’t ‘old with all foreign stuff?” the Orc nodded. “Lot of these Tarks are like that, ain’t they? The berks. Can’t see what they’re on about - used to like the thought of it, meself.”
It appeared to Julienne that he was quite experienced in this area?
“Nah,” the Orc said, “I ‘aven’t either, not in years. But, I was stationed out east, when I was - young, an’ there was this - one bird. Religious type.” He paused and stood for a moment, staring into space. “Turned out she was bonkers, though, wasn’t she? S’pose you’d ‘ave to be, wanting to go wiv’ – “ he broke off, looking uncomfortable, before concluding briskly - “it was after she’d done wiv’ me, I decided I’d do better on me own.   But I reckon I was getting pretty good at it,” he told her earnestly, “back in the day.”
Azof knelt down, pushed Julienne’s skirt and underskirt out of the way, and starting at her ankle, began running kisses along the inside of her leg.
He stopped about half way up. “You gonna let me ‘ave at you prop’ly, this time?”
Julienne nodded, distractedly; not a particularly useful response as with his head hidden part-way under her skirts, Azof wasn’t able to see. But somehow the message got through; hot and bothered, the Orc withdrew, picked her up off the table and set her down on the floor.
“Here?” Julienne asked, with some dismay. The stone flagstones in the outhouse were cold, hard - and not a little dusty.
“Yeah. Yeah, gotta be in ‘ere.” Azof muttered. “Best get started, quick, before you change your mind. Here you go. ‘Ere.” Struggling out of his jacket, he gave it her to lie on, and as she sat up to fit it under her back, with a smooth, double-handed movement, drew her drawers down round her ankles. He moved in quickly; after planting a swift kiss or two onto the mound of her sex, he splayed her legs wide, shifted his attention lower, and began to nuzzle and lick in slow, teasing strokes.
It was a completely unexpected sensation; almost unbearably ticklish at first, and the farmer’s wife couldn’t help but laugh out a short, amused yelp as he began. Azof however, wasn’t discouraged by her reaction; she could feel him grinning against her flesh.
The tickling turned swiftly into a pleasurable sensation; wonderful - exquisitely intimate, and when he slipped his tongue into her, pushing it inside as far as it would go, Julienne, writhing on the floor against him, abandoned all self-consciousness and let out a keening moan. Azof kept kissing, licking her, lapping and working with his lips till the delicate folds of flesh on the outside of her sex felt almost tender, they were so engorged with blood, but the climax for which she was striving stayed just out of reach. Her nether regions were growing sensitive, but the feelings were slippery and too diffuse; she wanted – was aching for stimulation of a more direct kind.
“Azof,” she groaned, “Azof, please –“
And he did, right away; set about trying to please her at once, using the fingers of his left hand - bumping, as he went, the sensitive little knot of tissue above her opening with the end of his nose.
The farmer’s wife gasped and strained up towards him with her hips. The Orc gave a low moan of pleasure and slipped one arm under her bottom, using it to lift her even closer to his mouth. Beside herself, Julienne reached for him, fisting one hand in the collar of his shirt and grabbed for his head with the other, pushing him down between her legs – then closing them round him to hold him in place. Momentarily raising his gaze Azof flashed her a swift, incredulous look – then huffed out a resigned-sounding grunt of amusement, bent his head again, and allowed her direct him as she wished.
Completely beyond shame or self-consciousness Julienne rubbed herself onto him, and if the Orc’s contribution by this point was reduced to his being not much more than a useful surface to press against, Azof didn’t seem to mind. Not if his obvious enthusiasm was anything to go by; as he crouched there on his knees in front of her, striving for her pleasure, he was answering the soft noises of pleasure Julienne was making with a helpless series of gasps and groans of his own.
Nor did the Orc pull back or resist when a slow, spreading burst of sensation made Julienne bear down on him with all her might. She cried out, clasping his head in her hands and between her thighs and he was still urging her on as best he could with his voice – if in somewhat stifled tones. And then the warm waves of pleasure overtook her, for a long moment carrying Julienne beyond awareness of anything else, and as their wake receded left her lying, limp and rumpled and sated on the outhouse floor.
At last Azof, looking sweaty and dishevelled, was able to draw away from her, and he rested on one elbow for a moment, quietly catching his breath as he kneaded away at the knotted muscles at the back of his neck and the sides. He was drying himself off on his shirt, awkwardly, when Julienne, brimming with elation, flung her arms around him, began pressing kisses to him wherever she could reach -
“Azof! That was wonderful!”
The Orc’s mouth jerked up into a crooked little grin. “Took to it like a duck to water, didn’t ‘cher?”
Julienne laughed out loud. “I did!”
“So you gonna let me do it again?”
What else could the farmer’s wife say? “Well - yes! But, Azof,” - and her conscience was pricking her – “don’t you – mind? Us doing – all this and you not getting anything out of it –“
Azof cut her off short. “It’s not nothing,” he told her, decisively. “’Cause you’re lovely, Jules. I mean – you are, anyway, but it’s lovely being with you, ‘cos you don’t ‘old nuffink back. You know, you can do what you want wiv me – anythink you fancy, ‘cos it’s lovely being wiv’ you, when you come.”
“Oh!” Julienne said.
“An’, you know, it’s lovely at ovver times, too,” Azof went on. He lay back on his jacket, put an arm behind his head, and beckoned her to come close. “Now, why’n’t you come over here for a minute an’ give us a cuddle, Julienne, eh?”
****
After the first morning he stayed with Julienne, the Orc didn’t, strictly speaking, leave. It wasn’t that he moved in exactly; on the contrary, Azof seemed anxious of wearing out his welcome and following the pattern established on the first day, would take himself away from the house for long, irregular periods, often in the afternoon through to early evening, occasionally staying away all night. He was always careful to ensure before he left that he would at some point be permitted to return, and when he did come back was preternaturally punctual about it – always arriving almost exactly when he said he would, leading Julienne to sometimes wonder whether his frequent outings were just a way of killing time.
Perhaps he spent the days in hunting.   Of course she was happy to share her meals, for the company in general and because she enjoyed Azof’s in particular, but the Orc’s appetite was prodigious – at first a worry for the farmer’s wife, whose food-budget was limited and barely enough to cover her own self, let alone cater to the needs of such a famished guest.
But, contrary to Julienne’s expectations, Azof caused her few - if any - problems, in this respect. He seemed eager to contribute, and a young roe buck was only the first in a succession of furred and feathered prey that he delivered to the farmhouse. To begin with, the Orc was completely indiscriminate – apparently despatching any type of bird or animal he could track and catch, and though Azof seemed perfectly willing to consume the various anythings and everythings he captured, the farmer’s wife balked in the face of such exotica as fox, badger and owl.
The creatures he brought her often bore extensive, and very peculiar-looking injuries; not made with any blade or type of weapon the farmer’s wife could think of. That first deer in particular – the skull had not so much been crushed as reduced to a selection of rough, bony fragments held together by only a web of bloody skin, with the eyes, tongue, and much of the contents of the brain-case missing, seemingly -
“Azof!” Julienne had exclaimed on seeing it. “What on earth’s happened to its head?”
The Orc gave her an odd look. “Why?” he asked innocently, wiping his mouth. “You never had no use for it, did you?”
After that the various carcasses arrived always headless, occasionally skinned, and sometimes even jointed and ready for the table.
It couldn’t always be hunting that was occupying him, for his wanderings sometimes took him in the direction of the same village where for many years, Julienne had made her home. He mentioned once, quite carelessly, that he’d be happy to run errands for her whilst visiting and afterwards - to Julienne’s astonishment - returned with everything on the list, down to the smallest odd-and-end, that she’d said he might look out for. The farmer’s wife tried to imagine a scenario under which such a person as Azof would manage to ingratiate himself with the inhabitants of that insular little hamlet to the extent that he would be made welcome at the weekly market or village shop - but she couldn’t do it; knowing her one-time neighbours, their attitudes to ‘outsiders’ in general and strangers of Azof’s type in particular, it was unthinkable that his presence would be tolerated.   Especially since rumours of strange, unseasonal livestock-losses up and down the countryside had begun to circulate – grim tales that had eventually reached even Julienne’s cloistered ears by way of the farm-boy Coppey Drew. The Orcs living up on the mountain were widely held to blame: if it hadn’t already, public feeling would surely turn, and turn severely, against the creatures at some point soon, and under such conditions, why on earth should a black Orc like Azof be permitted to come and go whenever he wished?
And yet he did it – quite often returning with pockets full of coin, for which he seemed to have neither immediate nor long-term use. He’d offered it first to Julienne, who had (rather vehemently) declined, and after that fell into the habit of discreetly placing his earnings, or winnings, or wherever all of it was coming from, into an empty flower-pot that stood on the windowsill by the front door. They had established only that no, the money hadn’t been robbed-for or stolen and was, as Azof put it ‘legit’ - but beyond that, on its origins the Orc was steadfastly, maddeningly, vague.
“Bit of business,” he might mutter evasively, or, “had a game a’ dice.”
Whatever he was doing on his mysterious excursions, it seemed to be a moderately high-risk activity, for when he returned to her afterwards he often seemed worn-out, or was bearing some slight injury, or both.
“Walked into a door,” he’d say, or -
“Fell down some stairs,” after he came home one day with a strange, u-shaped bruise blooming over his jaw-line, up onto his cheek.   Julienne had to wonder about that. There wasn’t a house that had a second storey in the entire district.
Azof’s spirits invariably rose when he set foot in the cottage however.
“Like a – refuge, innit?” he said once, “just you an’ me, together in ‘ere - an’ all the rest gets left outside. Nice to think about, isn’t it? Even if it ain’t true.”
****
Then again, Azof’s absences might have beenpart of some transparently obvious plot to avoid helping around the farm – a tactic with which the farmer’s wife had become familiar during some of the more trying phases of her children’s youth.   They might have been, but clearly weren’t - quite the reverse: he had strength and stamina and had obviously at one point been accustomed to a punishing schedule of strenuous, physical work.
On one occasion only did he hesitate to help. Julienne had had word that her consignment of piglets were in transit and would be arriving any day, shortly after which the baker’s dozen of newly-weaned animals she’d sent for were delivered. The last leg of their journey to the farmhouse was made by hand cart, and Azof, as was his unvarying habit on the rare occasions when Julienne had company or other visitors had made himself scarce, taking himself up into the woods and keeping out of sight until well after the delivery-man had gone on his way. Julienne had been examining the thirteen black-coated shoats fondly, as they snuffled and rooted through their crates of yellow straw. The pigs were fine and plump and in excellent condition and, like all young animals, were extremely appealing little beasts.
Julienne noticed the Orc watching her, from some distance away.
“D’you not want to come and have a look?” she called.
Azof hung back. “How do they reckon they’ll feel about Orcs?” he said, stepping closer, a little cautiously.
The farmer’s wife asked him what he meant by that.
“I know they only got them little trottery things. But it’s still hoofed livestock, innit? Animals like that get – funny, round us. Horses, ‘specially, go berzerk. Cattle – well, you know what stupid cows are like -”
(Julienne did, as she had for a long time lived on a dairy farm down in the valley. But she wondered how Azof, Orc of Mordor, might have come to be acquainted with of all things, domestic cattle.)
“- got a permanent case of the wild shites! Even worse when they’re bloomin’ terrified. Gets messy. Sheep, goats, camels - all go running off.”
“Camels?”
“While back I was stationed out east. Yeah. Camels definitely don’t want Orcs around them, neither.”
And he added, with a very straight face – “’cos it gives ‘em the right ‘ump, dunnit?”
At that point Julienne whacked him.
“Them big dogs of yours, though,” Azof went on, presently, “never bothered me much after that one time, an’ I seen them quite often, coming and going up on the ‘ill. Your chooks don’t seem fussed, neither. Nor’s the cat. Wiv’ them sheep if I ever wanted in their field I snuck up on ‘em from downwind, an’ when the ‘erd was away on the other side, ‘cos I think it’s mainly the kinds what eats grass, an’ ‘as ‘ard feet, where there’s a problem.”
The young pigs, however, didn’t regard Azof as any kind of especial threat and after some basic instruction he was able to handle them with as little difficulty as Julienne herself did. Though even with the two of them working together, it still took some time to catch the lively little piglets and carry them over to their new homes. Julienne planned to keep them penned close to the farmhouse till early in the summer, when they would be old enough to begin fending for themselves up in the beech hanger and mixed oak woods on the hill above the house.
“Nice little things, ain’t they?” the Orc commented, sounding surprised.
“You’ve not been round animals much before?”
Azof looked flummoxed. “Well, yeah, but not like - this. If it’s stuff you’re gonna eat, I always fort it’s better if you don’t –“ he was obviously embarrassed “- get to know it, first.”
“They’re not nearly so adorable when they get bigger. Come slaughter-time, some of ‘em’ll have grown a mean-streak a half-a-mile wide.”
“An’ that makes it all right, does it?” The Orc’s brows drew down into a frown. “Hacking ‘em apart ‘cause they wasn’t nice to you? Gollopin’ ‘em down after - maybe even laughing about it?”
“I don’t know, Azof,” Julienne sighed. “I don’t know if it makes it all right. But it’s the way things are. I’ve got to earn a living. I have to have something to sell.”
Vigorously, the Orc shook his head. “Oh, I ain’t talking about you, Jules,” he said. “I was just – thinking.” He snorted out ruefully, through his nose. “An’ I’ll tell yer, that don’t come natural, neither.   But – now an’ again, lately, I have been, an’ sometimes it makes me wonder about saying ‘no’ even to the sorts of things I ought’er want to do.”
He looked unaccountably anxious, at the end of this little speech. “Azof?” Julienne asked him carefully, “are you in trouble? Is someone trying to get you to – do something, that you don’t want to?”
The Orc glanced at her sidelong, huffed a deep breath in and out.  “Y’see,” he began, “the thing is–“
-but just at that moment the piglet Julienne was carrying squirmed, mightily, wriggling all the way out of her arms; and by the time they’d given chase and caught it Azof, apparently, had reconsidered whatever it was he’d been about to say.
The farmer’s wife tried to get him talking again, but the moment must have passed, for he wouldn’t explain any more.
“It’s nothing, Jules,” he told her.  “Nuffink that matters, anyway.”
“I’m worried about you!”
“Don’t be,” the Orc said lightly. “There’s really nuffing to it.”
TBC
A/N
LoveHopes – thank you so much for your comments!  I’m really glad the bedroom scenes seem to be working! It’s flattering to be described as potentially a proper lady – so apologies if you’ve found it’s erm, now all descended into the usual coarseness and vulgarity. Azof’s cooking well, you know, everyone’s always banging on – ‘are there even any Orc women’ so I’d have thought there’s a good chance they’ll have had to be pretty self-sufficient. As for Azof's other talents – well. He will be getting his needle-work kit out the next bit...
AntiDolorifico! Whooo! What a review - thank you! Yeah, the blackthorn thing, well, you got me, there was indeed a bit of – ahem – intentional symbolism going on, I hope that doesn’t sound too (for want of a better word) wanky(...!) I'm glad the chapter recalled some nice memories. Freezing the berries, eh? Will definitely have to try that....
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Azof and the Farmer's Wife