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Sin and Slavery	By : pip Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4273 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author: pippychick (email:a.slash.writer@gmail.com)
Pairing: Sauron/Maglor
Warnings: AU, M/M Slash, graphic sex, BDSM, D/s, Rape/Non-con, horror, violence, physical handicap – basically, if you can think of it, it’s likely here somewhere. Generally dark, disturbing, and possibly bad for your mental health. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Middle-Earth is not mine, neither are Sauron or Maglor. They belong to Tolkien. I make no money from this.
Summary: After casting the Silmaril into the sea, Maglor wanders aimlessly along the beach, and to quote Tolkien: “…he never came back among the people of the Elves.” Here might be a reason why.

Author’s Note: First of all, a few words of grateful thanks to my wonderful reviewers!

Okaydy - Thank you so much for your review! I’m really glad you are enjoying it, but as for Maglor being rescued – he’s still with Sauron by the time “Fallen” comes around, so I’m afraid he’s not going to get very far away.

tiz - Thank you :) I’m so happy you like it, and I’m sorry I made you wait so long for an update.

Binky - Thank you so much for your encouragement, I am really happy that you like Sauron and want it to continue. Maglor has so much more to come… *eg*

And to everyone out there: here at last is the third chapter of this story. I hope you all like it, and that you will leave me a review. :)

Chapter Three

It was perfect, gargantuan and daunting. A thousand massive blocks of black granite had been used in the building of it. Minarets graced its higher reaches, decorated lavishly with obsidian and jet. Instead of a moat, it was surrounded by an ever-burning pit of red hot coals. It was something to rival the great volcano and mountain. Something to cement his presence now that Melkor and Angband were no more. Something to declare in no uncertain terms that the war was not over – would never be over until he had won.

The dark tower.

At the moment, it only existed in Sauron’s mind. But with its existence there, its eventual realisation was virtually guaranteed. For now, he had built a much less ambitious structure close to the foot of the fiery mountain. But Mordor was the place he would settle – there was no doubt at all.

Only one thing held him back from beginning this great and glorious work.

Beside him the elf stirred again, moaning already as Sauron flooded his psyche with overwhelming desire.

“Please, don’t. Not again,” Maglor whimpered, and Sauron chuckled. He was diverting, there was no question of that either. Contrary to Maglor’s expectations, and fully proving his own thoughts on the matter, the elf had not begun to fade at all. He was well and animated, if somewhat emotionally delicate now that he had become a mere plaything.

Of course, when he had first observed Maglor on the beach, he had felt nothing but cold anger. He was an elf. And Sauron hadn’t been moved by Maglor’s pathetic sorry mumblings of grief and regret. The deception had been worth it for the sheer terror when Maglor realised his mistake, but by then it had been too late, and Maglor was his.

Perhaps it was destined to be this way. Already when Maglor was bound and imprisoned and Sauron had been preparing to grant him the gift of death by using him as just another test subject, he had despised giving him such an easy merciful escape. Better maybe to have left him on the beach, wailing about his wrongs forever in his guilt and self-pity.

The wish for punishment had not been a surprise, but it had given him pause to hear the elf ask him for it out loud. Abruptly, his plans for Maglor had undergone a drastic change, and death, which had been too good for him anyway, was put to one side – perhaps forever.

At first, the thought of sexually abusing the elf had limited appeal – until of course he had noted Maglor’s reaction to it. For almost six months now, Maglor had only existed in this bed, or in the dark room adjoining. Sauron himself spent long periods of time here, tormenting his new pet. It had become a great pastime to him, something he had not predicted, and the surprise pleased him.

“Is this really the worst thing I could do to you?” he asked with deliberately teasing sarcasm one day, no longer bothering to hide his malice and cruelty, and Maglor had wept as if by command. Pain was too easy for Maglor – it would be what he wanted – while pleasure perpetuated his guilt. In fact the guilt made Maglor’s desires so twisted and dark that Sauron found himself quite captivated by them.

He was Maia. The physical was fleeting and quite useless unless he was commanding the orcs or influencing worldly events in his still mostly anonymous guise of Annatar. But now he found it much less cumbersome. Indeed, sometimes, he even found it pleasurable. He sighed now and relaxed back among the furs as the elf began placing needy kisses over his bare chest, still consumed by the magical lust.

“Is there something you need, mûl nín?” he questioned in amusement, relishing the moan of dismay and desire that his question pulled from Maglor’s lips.

For the last few weeks it had been his sole concern – to make the elf beg for his ravishment. At first it had been amusing to let him come down from the magic, and draw out his pained anguish at the abuse of his body. But even then, Maglor hadn’t displayed the quiet acceptance which would have meant escape for him.

After that he had experimented, using different levels of magic, wanting to discover the ideal edge where Maglor knew what was happening to him, but was unable to keep his body from obeying its new Master.

“Tell me,” he commanded, rolling over to trap Maglor beneath his taller, bulkier form. Lazy, he let his gaze rove over Maglor’s body, certain that the elf was so far gone in his lust he would feel even a look as a touch.

“Please,” he moaned wantonly, twisting his head from side to side in his torment. “Please.”

Unaffected, Sauron touched the back of his hand to Maglor’s face in a gentle, impersonal caress, noting how the elf turned to rub the soft skin of his cheek against his fingers.

“Tell me,” he ordered again, smiling when Maglor sobbed for the first time since awakening.

“Please…” He still writhed and moaned, but he also swallowed, and it was the proof that he knew what was required of him. “Herdir…”

A flush of power ran through his mind as he stared down at Maglor in surprise. So he would use the word, after all? It was pleasing to be sure, but it wasn’t what he had asked for.

“Tell me, or we shall be here forever, mûl nín.” As he spoke he leaned down to brush his lips over Maglor’s forehead, even as his hands moved further, touching on his ribs, gentle and teasing.

He parted Maglor’s legs with a thigh, smiling when he felt how hot and hard Maglor was, tilting his head when he heard the sudden sigh of lust and witheld pleasure.

“Use me, Herdir. Please.” Victory was much too easy, and Sauron abruptly withdrew the magic, hearing Maglor take a deep breath in shock and loss as his body shivered. He moaned now, but in self-disgust instead of desire, and Sauron looked down at him.

“Tell me, Maglor. How do you feel your punishment is progressing?” The elf refused to answer, arching up as if to throw Sauron from him. His arousal had faded like snow in the sunlight, and his eyes held nothing now but hatred and fear.

Sauron stretched out on top of the elf’s helpless body, enjoying the feel of warm skin against his, but he didn’t break the eye contact. “Do you feel a shadow of regret?” He deliberately misquoted the curse, grinning when Maglor’s eyes closed momentarily in grief.

“What do you want from me?” Maglor asked dully, his voice defeated and full of pain, although he was far from the quiet listlessness that would mean he escaped. And perhaps then the curse was true. He would either die by violence or grief, or not at all. If it was true… Sauron envisaged some of the things that awaited Maglor, and it made the pulse of the body he occupied race a little.

He stared deep into Maglor’s eyes, allowing some of his plans to show through, sharing them with the elf as though they were gifts. “I want to possess you.” There was a flare of panic as Maglor shivered.

“No! You cannot! I did not break the oath…” His voice was wavering on the edge of terror, and though his words were strong and forceful, there was a lack of belief in Maglor that Sauron found mouthwateringly delicious.

“Are you certain?” Sauron asked in delight, dipping his head to lick at Maglor’s pale neck. “Because I do seem to have you at my mercy.”

“No…” Maglor turned his head fitfully as if to struggle. Instead, he made it easier for Sauron to taste his skin. “You stole me away,” he argued stubbornly as Sauron flooded the elf’s mind with sinful pleasure that made Maglor moan and arch up against his body, wanton and desirous. “I was –”

“You were given to me,” Sauron interrupted, almost silent, rocking against Maglor slowly. Again the elf shook his head.

“My fate –”

“You were waiting for me.” Once more Sauron interrupted. With an elegant movement, he positioned himself at Maglor’s entrance, not quite inside him.

“No…” It could have been a protest against his actions or his words. Most likely both. Sauron smiled indulgently, leading the elf into a trap he wouldn’t escape.

“Yes, you were. This is your punishement. I am your punishment.” Despite Maglor’s mounting dread, Sauron could feel his excitement too. How strange that an elf should feel such things, and yet he did. There were no secrets between them. Sauron decided to show him.

“I’ll destroy you,” he promised, looking down hungrily as he licked his lips. Maglor noted it, his eyes darkening in fear and invitation. “I’ll consume you. When I have done there will be nothing left but your slavery to me.” He edged forward just slightly, enjoying the way Maglor gasped in expectation and lust.

“Please, don’t!” The words were such a stark contrast to Maglor’s clearly defined emotions that Sauron laughed.

“Don’t, what? Do you not wish for me to remake your memories as they should be? To give you back that instant when you capitulated to Maedhros, and instead allow you to break the oath? Would not that be a gift worthy of my name?”

“What name?” Maglor asked, his mind turning now to that long-ago argument, unable to help playing Sauron’s game. It made the dark lord smile.

“To some I will become known as Annatar,” Sauron prophesied softly.

“Annatar…” Maglor breathed. “Lord of Gifts.”

“Yes… to some. To you? Perhaps. Answer me. Do you want the chance? Give in. Accept your place in the dark, and I will make you believe in it.”

“How?” Sauron decided to ignore the question. Even if he could answer it, were he to do so the elf might very well lose his fragile hold on sanity, and Sauron wanted him to be aware of it all.

“Do you want it?” he persevered, still rocking so slightly against Maglor’s body, almost entering him each time.

“Please!” His inner conflict was stunning. His mind and his heart were an arena for Sauron to manipulate and explore, every part of him that wanted the gift was almost equally balanced by a part that rejected it.

“Say yes,” Sauron suggested after a moment or two of enjoyment at Maglor’s predicament. Another long minute passed while the forces at war within the elf struggled towards the favoured outcome.

“Yes.” His utterance was so quiet the word was almost voiceless, and yet Sauron laughed as he forced his way inside Maglor’s slightly resisting body. Beneath him the elf cried out in a little pain, but mainly unwanted pleasure. And there was so much more than a shadow of regret.

To be continued…

Translations:
mûl nín – my slave
Hîr nín – my Lord
Herdir – Master

Author’s Note: The actual curse from The Silmarillion reads: “[…] And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burdon, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.”

Thank you for reading, I hope you are enjoying it. Please review, or send me email: a.slash.writer@gmail.com
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Sin and Slavery