Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Will of Another	By : MorierBlackleaf Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2847 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings nor any of the related characters. I make no money from writing about them.

Chapter List
- 1-The Will of Another
- 1
N.B. -- I have intentionally written no names in the story so that you can imagine the Master and slave to be whomever you want, although they are both written as male Elves.

The Will of Another
There was someone in the room – this much he could tell. Indeed, with a horsehair sack covering his head, the Elf could see nothing, nor could he be seen. The blindfold made even his eyelids crawl with discomfort, so scratchy was the fabric. The urge to reach up to rub this itch was great: he did not move a muscle, even though as of yet, his hands were not bound.
Held tight by a thick, coarse hemp rope tied around his head, a substantial, long block of rough wood was wedged between the top and bottom rows of his teeth, making coherent speech impossible and stretching his lips wide open, even at the sides of his mouth. It would not remain once the visitor began his fun. He had only to cry out one word to stop everything, to bring this game to a halt. Now, however, he could say nothing. He had nothing to fear, though; his Master would not be far away and knowing his slave better than the slave knew himself, his Master would stop anything that he thought might hurt the thrall beyond his endurance. The Elf had a habit of keeping quiet when he should have already brought the game to a halt. His Master knew this.
From his right came the creak of a drawer being pulled open; the Elf tried not to turn towards the sound out of anticipation. The slave knew that this visitor had come here before, for this one was aware of the items tucked away within his Master’s bedchambers. Depending on what items a guest decided to use upon him and in what manner they were used, usually the slave could guess who it was that had come to enjoy the slave, should the visitor truly have come to his Master’s chambers before. Every visitor had a different method of inducing his own pleasure, a unique stroke to the lashings they bequeathed upon his flesh, and even the comportment of their completion identified them to the slave – not that he knew them outside the bedroom, or rather, if he did, he could never have placed any of them among the populace.
Indeed, most of them never saw his face, either. His identity would have shocked them, they might have been appalled to find such an important Elf the object of their perversions, or they might have enjoyed themselves all the more to find that someone so irreproachable by reputation was now at their mercy. Only a few of his Master’s visitors, the closest of his Master’s friends, had any idea of from whom it was that they were exacting their pleasure. These visitors the Elf could count on one hand, so few were they, and outside of this chamber, none ever mentioned what occurred within, nor did they treat the slave any differently for it. Outside his Master’s chambers, the slave was again an important and respected Elf. The visitors knew the difference.
Many of these unknown and unseen visitors to his Master’s chambers were visitors to the realm itself. This was to ensure his safety, so that none would recognize the slave by his body or hair, or if he spoke by accident. These guests to his Master’s pleasure were not brought here to firm some concord or coerce the visitors into agreeing with the Lord of this realm. The slave was not a whore, not a plaything to be kept by any of the visitors, and his time with them was not in trade. His Master invited these guests because it pleased him to share his slave, not because it pleased the visitors. If in doing so his Master facilitated any agreements or treaty then it was only by happenstance, not by design.
The slave waited impatiently. He desired to shift his weight from one foot to the next, to shrug his shoulders, which ached from standing so still and straight for so long, or to cough behind the impediment to his breathing and speech, to clear his throat. He did none of these things. One never knew when his Master’s visitor would take offense to such simple actions, believing the slave to be acting impertinently. It would only make tonight harder for the slave to incite anger from the guest. He was weary and wanted this to end quickly tonight.
Of course, most visitors preferred it when he struggled, when he pretended not to enjoy their perversions, so he also realized that it might be wise for him to agitate the guest, to foment the visitor’s anger and lust promptly, so that it would be sated rapidly, as well. They grew more aroused to think that they were punishing him, taking him against his will, and even though he was not entirely in their power, being as at any moment he could stop this game, he had come to enjoy the immersion of himself in another’s control. If they wished him to struggle, then it only heightened his own excitement to pretend that he was being taken by force.
Despite his tiredness, thinking about the visitor taking him fast and hard alleviated this fatigue, and the slave found himself more aware and intent on what the guest was searching for in the drawers. It would not do to displease his Master by hurrying his visitor along.
He played each night he wore the collar as if his Master was watching, whether his Master was watching or not, and having his Master observe him as he thrashed and resisted under the pinning weight of a visitor, or whimper helplessly as a guest took him violently from behind, brought his Master joy, he knew. Besides, even should he not be watching, his Master could be gauging for himself the performance his slave gave a guest. He straightened his tired shoulders further and tried to stand perfectly still, to project an appearance of obedience and discipline – just in case his Master was watching the guest’s search or viewing the performance of his slave.
The slave knew that it also thrilled his Master to know that these guests were as much his Master’s thrall as was he. Should any of them speak about their time in his Master’s chambers, they would be as much ostracized by their friends and family as the slave and his Master. The Master’s chambers were a place of perversion, the likes of which Elves did not participate, not with their mates and loving wives. Nevertheless, here, with another male, anonymous to each other, they could do as they wished without reprisal, assuming they followed his Master’s rules. If any of them who knew the slave’s identity ever spoke of it, they would find themselves the object of ridicule and blame, for hadn’t the guest also participated in the slave’s degradation?
The visitor took his time in choosing what object, belt, or other device he would use; else, he was merely teasing the slave by making him wait for what might come. He was not sure to whom his Master had loaned him tonight, except that whoever it was, they were not one to converse. Some of his Master’s friends enjoyed taunting him as they abused him, or provoking him and humiliating him with their words before they ever touched him. Those who knew who he was seemed to desire to do this more so, or they preferred instead to have the slave talking, to beg them, to plead with them, and to acquiesce verbally to their every desire. The reversal of power excited them.
No, he could not yet tell what guest his Master had invited to join them tonight. In a few moments, when the guest began, he would have some idea, and thus would know what to expect and how best to act to please his Master’s guest.
The rules were very simple. Unless given explicit permission from his Master, visitors were not allowed to remove the sack covering his head, they were not allowed to bruise him above his slave collar, they could not break skin, and visitors were not welcome to maim the slave permanently. If he wished, his Master could be watching all of this, or he could be sitting in the room outside the bedchamber, sipping a glass of wine and reading by the firelight, while his slave was tormented in the next room. Only with his Master’s most trusted friends would the hood be removed and only with them had his Master ever joined in during these sessions.
The slave kept utterly quiet in the chance that his Master may be in the same room, watching and waiting for his slave to break the rules, or perhaps to call an end to this before it had even begun. Above all, he did not wish to disappoint his Master. His Master’s opinion meant more to him than his own, his Master’s displeasure could be more painful than any crop or chain, and likewise, his Master’s delight at his slave behaving and acting in accordance with what he had taught him would bring the slave untold happiness.
Hands fumbled at the hem of the sack and then squirmed their way underneath the cloth covering his head. He would see who it was that tortured him tonight. Without thinking, the usually obedient slave twitched at the touch out of the longing for it not to be so. These nights passed by more pleasurably when he was not forced to endure seeing the visitor – depending on which of his Master’s guests was here. His body became absolutely still when he realized his mistake in moving and he waited for either his Master or the guest to discipline him for showing reaction to this handling.
No castigation came and the hands did not remove the sack. Instead, they met at the back of the Elf’s neck, where visitor’s deft fingers untied the knotted rope; gently, the rough wooden block was removed from his mouth. It slid out from underneath his hood, along with the visitor’s hands, and the slave breathed deeply, licking his dry teeth and lips. He was glad that these small actions could not been seen by anyone in the room. No, tonight he and the guest both would remain nameless, much to his relief.
His arms were raised above his head and the sounds of the chains dangling from above were quieted as the guest grabbed them to pull them down to fasten the manacles, which were encased in thick wool and cloth to keep from injuring the slave. With each click of the metal as it enclosed his wrist, the slave felt himself becoming increasingly ensnared within the game. This guest was not one he could recall being here before, for he seemed to know what he desired to do to the slave but was not certain in his actions to accomplish it.
Suddenly, there was another in the room. The slave knew it was his Master just from the confident sound of boots hitting the bare stone floor. Without speaking, his Master was showing the visitor how to raise and lower the slave by his chains. The slave could hear the pulley’s muted squeak as the chain was pulled through it, raising the slave from the floor by his wrists, until his Master and guest were satisfied, and one of the chain’s links was hooked into a stake on the wall to keep the dangling thrall securely in the air.
The steady footsteps of his Master walking across the room signaled that he had left the guest and slave alone for now.
The walls of his Master’s rooms were doubly thick. Between two layers of the rock that formed the walls was a layer of wood and sand. This clever means of drowning out sound had been part of his Master’s punishment when the slave had been too noisy one night and had woken the Elves in the rooms next to his Master’s chambers. For three weeks, the slave had worked only at night, never seen by the servants who brought the wood and mortar, who hauled the goods necessary for the slave to do his Master’s bidding. No one had questioned his Master’s desire to alter his quarters in this way. No one questioned his Master about many things, for he was a powerful Elf whose judgment and acumen were rarely wrong. His life outside the councils and libraries and studies of the valley was his own.
Suddenly, a hand trailed down the back of the slave’s thigh. It was hesitant and jerky, as if the visitor was not sure of what he was doing. The fingertips of the guest lingered upon the slave’s skin, smoothing across the downy flesh of the slave’s inner leg, following the curve of muscle there until it met with the juncture between thigh and torso, close to the slave’s nether regions. He considered whether to open his legs for the guest to continue his exploration, but the guest removed his hand and the thrall remained motionless.
He was fully prepared for whatever the guest wished to do tonight. As per his Master’s instructions, he had cleaned himself as was necessary for the pleasure of the guest, he had rubbed fragrant oil on himself to both make his skin supple and please the visitor with the heady aroma, and he had braided and bound his hair around his head to hide it from view. If it had been any of his Master’s other, less experienced guests, already he might have been on his knees and hands on the floor, panting at the brutal thrusting into his passage; as it was, the slave was pained by having to wait to find out what ordeal he would endure from this timid and reticent visitor.
His Master had always preferred humiliation and control over inflicting pain, as did the greater part of the guests who came to his Master’s chambers. The items his Master owned were made for these purposes. What the visitor had selected from the drawer, the slave soon discovered, was a thong made of a wide strip of supple leather, where at one end was tied a small silver ring. Under the sacs beneath his sex and then up and around his shaft, the visitor carefully wound the thong. It was not tied – not yet. It would not be tied until the slave’s shaft was hard and his need great. He knew this thong well, for he had made it himself.
In fact, most of the toys and objects in the room were fashioned by the slave who now dangled from one such invention. He had spent many a night carving phalluses from wood when he should have been carving arrows. He had sat at his Master’s feet by the fire, sewing the very horsehair sack that now covered his head, when he ought to have been in the hall of fire with his friends. The thong he had made by order from his Master, when he had first begun his training, for use after the slave had not followed his Master’s order to refrain from spilling his seed.
As the slave was high in the air, the visitor could stand comfortably as he caressed the slave’s nude body from his shoulders almost down to his feet. His hands smoothed over the taut muscles of the slave’s expanded torso, down his hips and thighs, and then back up again. Just this touch was awakening the slave’s shaft, and as the guest must have noticed his playmate was responding to this, he began to grow more confident in his actions. The guest stepped closer, his damp, hot breath teasing along the slave’s torso, until the heat and wetness of the visitor’s mouth engulfed the thick bud of flesh on the slave’s chest, where it was laved gently before released, only for its twin to be treated the same.
No, this was not the usual course of events at all for the slave. His body responded to this temperate enticement out of habit, not out of lust. For a few moments, the guest continued this attention, breathing heavily as he found various points of interest on the slave’s torso to lick and lap.
Without even knowing who this guest before him was, the slave could imagine his confusion as the guest stepped back to note that the evidence of the slave’s lust – his shaft – was growing no fuller under these tame attentions. He willed his shaft to comply with the guest’s wishes; the visitor wanted to use the thong and it would be of no use unless the slave was thick with need. The befuddled guest began to rub the slave’s flaccid shaft, trailing his fingernails along it experimentally with one hand, and with the other, he held the slave’s hip in hand, as if keeping the Elf hanging before him from moving away from these attentions. Again, the slave barely reacted – at least until the guest’s nails gouged lightly at the swollen glans of his shaft, creating a sudden prickle of pain to race along the slave’s member.
Tentatively, the visitor did this again, this time digging his fingers into the flesh more roughly, though not so hard that it would break the skin. He dragged his nails along the thrall’s sleek, hardening shaft, pausing as an unwilling shudder from the slave caused the hanging Elf’s body to twitch of its own accord, and to the slave’s consternation. With his other hand cupping the sacs beneath the slave’s sex, the guest grew bolder, squeezing these sensitive organs tightly, rolling them between his fingers, while he continued his heightening assault on the skin of the slave’s shaft.
All his tiredness and reluctance forgotten, the slave twisted his hips in aggravation and welcomed pain. He had gone without for so long that now, when he should most be trying to earn his Master’s favor so that he could later obtain his own release, the slave could not seem to stop his response to the guest’s torment. Fortuitous for the Elf slave, this wanton response to the visitor’s painful stimulation excited the guest and the visitor soon replaced his grasping hand with his equally avaricious mouth, his teeth resuming the rough chafing of the skin on the slave’s shaft. His other hand joined its fellow behind the slave’s back to knead the slave’s supple rear, while the guest’s fingernails now abraded the thrall’s arse with more force than he had the slave’s shaft.
Pressing together the two halves of the slave’s rear, the guest then spread them far apart, his fingers sliding over the slave’s skin to grip the silken, more sensitive flesh between, his fingertips grazing the delicate breach found in their midst. Squeezing and releasing the slave’s shaft with his mouth and his rear with his hands, the guest moaned unintelligibly around the slave’s sex, while the thrall hung his head in concentration, his belly contracting and expanding with the strain of not moving anything else of his body – not his hips to thrust his shaft more fully within the painful embrace of the guest’s mouth nor his rear to thrust backwards into the guest’s robustly massaging hands.
When the slave was gasping quietly for air under the hot and scratchy cloth of the sack over his head and when the guest was satisfied that that the slave was on the verge of no longer having a choice as to whether he found his release or not, the visitor finally tightened the thong around the slave’s shaft with a harsh tug, looping it closed around the iron ring a final time to keep it in place.
The slave breathed. It was all he could do. There was suddenness to the events of tonight for which the slave was not at all prepared, despite his careful planning. It seemed that this visitor did not require much of the slave. For some of them, it would take several hours of hearing the slave’s anguished cries or reddening his hide before they were ready to violate him, to take him roughly and quickly and spill their searing seed inside of his slick passage. This visitor was already preparing to enter the slave. He hoped that this did not mean that the guest was not pleased with him.
A finger, thankfully oiled, brushed between the cleft of his rear, before it slowly stabbed into his body. The sensation halted his breathing. How long it had been. The slave had most wished that it would be his Master who would be doing this, not some stranger, but he was in no position to complain. One could not have chosen to be a slave to another’s will without being keen to acquiesce to him in all matters. Besides, his Master might allow him release later, and so, the slave enjoyed all the more what he received now, knowing that the thong would keep him from release and thus prolong this torment until perhaps his Master was the one to relieve him of it.
A second finger, more oiled than the first, penetrated the tight void between his legs, jabbing and questing in the guest’s desire to prepare the slave for his own pleasure, not for the slave’s lust. The slave’s gratification was not in the guest’s interest anymore, not since the thong had been tied. Any pleasure that the slave may feel was only a way to increase his pain later by the denial of his release.
Slow and hesitant, the thick, short shaft of the visitor was wedged between the cleft of his rear. Surprisingly, his Master’s guest wrapped his arms around the slave, hugging them together as if they were lovers and unintentionally pulling the slave’s body backward, which caused him to sway in his bonds once the guest had released him. With this strange show of affection completed, the guest grabbed one of the downy, pale thighs of the slave in each hand. He lifted the slave’s legs, bringing his feet completely off the floor, and thus his weight was less supported by the manacles in which he was bound and more by the guest. The slave tried to keep his legs up and apart for his Master’s visitor, to help the guest achieve his satisfaction, when the guest released his legs to house his shaft inside the thrall. With a guttural grunt, his Master’s visitor spread the slave’s rear with one hand and used his other to guide his own shaft to the slave’s breach, which he entered crudely, sorely, causing the slave to buck forward in surprise, to evade the pain, but once relieved from it, to buck back against the visitor’s shaft to feel such agony again.
This is what he was accustomed to, this is what would arouse his Master, and thus bring the slave pleasure before the night was over. He imagined what the guest was seeing and sought to make it more enjoyable. His rear, spread as wide as possible, his hands hanging from constraints, his feet and legs high in the air in utter submission to the pleasure and discomfort that the guest gave him – the imagining aroused him just as much as the battering of the visitor’s shaft piercing his arse.
“Moan for me,” the guest pled in a voice disguised by lust and necessity, speaking for the first time since entering the chamber. “Show me that you want this.”
He did want it. The slave wanted this, perhaps not for the same reasons as the guest, not because he wanted the pleasure itself or because he wanted the guest’s pleasure, but because he knew that in the next room his Master was likely sitting on the soft couch there, imagining the same that the slave was imagining, listening and waiting for the moan that the guest demanded that he make. And so, he whimpered a harsh and deprived, wordless plea, and when the guest pushed inside of him roughly, striking the spot deep inside his passage that made him cry aloud, his mendacious moan became truthful and urgent.
At his every sighing sound, the slave found himself bounced upwards, the guest’s thrusts turning insistent and greedy, until his opening became numbed by the constant motion of the visitor moving inside of him. While his aperture may have become accustomed to this activity, his innermost flesh had not, for within, the guest’s sex perpetually inflamed his desire, though he had not the chance to relieve it, for he could not even reach down to stroke his own shaft, nor did the continual thrusting increase his desire with the hope of some end, but only with the mounting of a pleasure that because of the thong he could not hope to allay.
The weak light of the only candle in the room was even fainter when seen through the horsehair sack he wore over his head. He kept his eyes open out of instinct, however, when the guest’s plunges into his body grew violent; the grip on his hips that drove his body up and down onto the visitor’s shaft became brutal and bruising. This ferocity only caused him to moan harder, his arousal incited by these actions, and with a final, sadistic stab into the slave’s body, the visitor found his release, his hot seed filling the slave’s passage in several short lived spurts, each one accompanied by a shiver and groan from the guest.
They remained as they were for a moment, the slave dangling by his wrists from the ceiling with his legs aching and held up in the air for the guest, the guest with his shaft inside of the slave and his fingernails digging sharply into the thralled Elf’s hips. With his rapture complete, the guest did not remain any longer than he must, but withdrew from the slave’s body, saying neither thank you nor goodbye as he made his way quickly around the room to adjust himself however necessary before leaving. A good number of the visitors found themselves ashamed of what they had done once their lust was satisfied and would make haste from his Master’s chambers. This always amused his Master.
When he was sure that the guest was finished with him, the unsatisfied slave lowered his trembling legs. He could hear his Master speaking in the room beyond, telling the visitor something in hushed tones. The slave could not tell what was said, but a laugh followed whatever his Master had jested, a cachinnation that portended to the slave that he had behaved well, that he would be rewarded and not punished for his behavior tonight. His Master’s visitor was pleased – this would please his Master. Thinking that he knew that laugh, that he knew who it was that had visited his Master tonight, who had defiled him and left him wanting more, the slave could not place a name with any certainty. He did not truly want to know who had come tonight. His being able to sit at the council or dinner table tomorrow depended upon this anonymity for both himself and the guest.
After a few moments more of the visitor’s laughter and his Master’s subdued enjoyment, the slave heard the snap of the corpulent door to the outer room being shut. At once, his Master was in the inner chamber with his slave.
His Master unshackled the slave’s hands and the slave let his body fall slack over his Master’s shoulder. This was a ritual that would take place each time the slave endured a visitor to his Master’s chambers and the thralled Elf knew this ritual well. That he was being released from his bonds evinced that he had indeed pleased his Master’s visitor, for if the guest had been unsatisfied, the slave might have been left to dangle from his bonds for a while more. Always wary of keeping his slave in good health, his Master never allowed the slave to remain in this pose for too long, though, but if being punished, the slave would only be switched to a different position, such as bent over his Master’s desk with his hands then tied to the legs of the table, or forced into kneeling on the floor with his forehead upon the cool stone, his hands tied behind his back.
Keeping his body pliant despite that he was tense with unresolved lust, the slave felt content as he was carried to the bed, where his Master placed him tenderly upon the thick, soft blanket. He laid there, not moving even to rearrange his limbs more comfortably, as when his Master returned from gathering the items he required he would do it for his slave. First, the sack from over his head was removed; the slave breathed in deeply the cooler and fresher air of the room. The hair that had come loose from his braids stuck to his face in damp strands, with sweat having plastered the plaits to his scalp, as well.
With a pan of water sitting precariously on the bed beside where the slave lay, his Master dipped a cloth in the liquid and began to pat at the rapidly forming bruises upon his slave’s hips, and then, starting with the thralled Elf’s heated brow and moving ever downwards, his Master bathed him. The algidity of the water eased the throbbing that was beginning to form in his flesh. With a gentleness that belied the fierceness of which his Master was capable, his Master washed the slave clean of the unguent that had been used to lubricate his passage, the seed that clung to the globes of his rear, and the combination of these that had trickled down between the slave’s legs. When all else had been soothed and washed, his Master ran his cool cloth over the straining flesh of his slave’s shaft, wiping away the seed that dribbled from his shaft because of incomplete desire. Not even the cold of the water dampened his desire – the heat that was trapped within his shaft only seemed to grow with the cold touch of the cloth. Pan in hand, his Master finished his task of seeing that his thrall was clean and mostly comfortable. Any mess that the visitor had made of his Master’s toys and room the thralled Elf would be charged with cleaning up tomorrow.
It had often occurred to him that his Master enjoyed seeing his slave hurt because he so much enjoyed comforting him – at least, he hoped beyond anything that this was the case.
“I thought you would need to be trained again, for so long have you been gone,” his Master told him as he sat upon the bed again. Drawing the submissive Elf to him, rolling his slave upon his side to face away from him, his Master then laid himself out behind the willing thrall. “I have missed having you here, as have many in the valley.”
As he had been taught, the slave said nothing because he had been asked no question. He could feel the hard length of his Master’s arousal pressing against his abused and aching arse. Though his flesh had been soothed by his Master’s comforting, the tie around his shaft had not been removed, and the slave wanted more than anything to be taken by his Master. It had been so long since he had enjoyed his Master’s attentions. He had been gone for over a year; during that time, he had not sought pleasure with another nor by his own device – just as he had been ordered. But it was not his place to ask for anything. If his Master wished to take his slave, he would do so. If he wished to allow his slave release, then it was only by his wish that the slave would find it.
“You were given reprieve tonight. Once everyone heard that our warriors returned from Lothlórien, they all knew that my little slave had returned, as well. This visitor was not the only one wishing to come by my chambers. I would have invited them all in turn, had I known you were so ready to resume your service.” His Master inspected his slave not with his eyes but with his hands. Palpating his servant’s body lightly with his fingers, his Master listened to the thralled being’s breath, catching every sharp intake as he hit upon sore areas of his thrall’s body. “And yet I expected much less from you. You surprise me every time you enter my chambers for these games.”
This praise made the slave forget his pain, his need for release, and all else except his joy to have his Master extol his performance that night.
Finally, his Master’s foraging and exploring hands lit upon his slave’s weeping, adamantine shaft. Unable to stop himself, the slave’s hips shifted forward, his body seeking to finish the pleasure that the visitor had started. Immediately horrified that he had acted without permission, the slave bowed his head and waited for his punishment; however, his Master pressed himself harder against the thralled Elf, encouraging by whispering into his slave’s ear, “You have served me well tonight, tithen mûl. I am proud of you. You may have release.”
Having been granted the permission his body required before he could even hope to achieve fulfillment, the slave pushed his hips forward, increasing the pressure of his Master’s hand on his shaft. For a few moments, his Master allowed this.
Taking the chance that his Master was truly in a good mood, the slave asked in a voice timid with uncertainty, speaking for the first time since he had entered his Master’s chambers earlier that evening to prepare for their session that night, “I beg of you – will you take me, Master?”
The hand on his shaft constricted, becoming so excruciatingly tight that the slave could no longer feel the constant sting of the strap tied around the base of his arousal. He feared he had upset his Master by speaking without permission and thus possibly ruined his Master’s good mood. The fingers of his Master’s hand relaxed and next were removed, and though he thought this was his Master’s denial of his plea, the slave soon felt the tie of the thick cord looped securely around his genitalia loosened, and then, it was gone.
This in itself nearly caused the slave to lose himself, but while he had been granted permission to find his release, he knew that he would have to wait until his Master gave it to him. He would not disappoint his Master, not after having already earned his approbation. As his Master’s own desire was already swollen with need, he knelt on the bed and roughly pulled the slave by his bruised hips to his knees. Pressing down upon his slave’s back, he forced the thralled Elf’s upper body and face into the soft mattress and the blanket over top it. With his hands lying limply out above his head, the supplicant slave was the epitome of obeisance to his Master’s lust. He could hear the Elf behind him loosening his belt.
“I heard you moaning for our guest tonight,” his Master told him, just as he slid his shaft inside the waiting slave’s body. “You begged for him to take you with your sweet moans.”
He had been well stretched by the guest tonight; it was with only minor discomfort that his Master took him now.
“Can you feel how hard you have made me, tithen mûl, after listening to you moan for our guest? Do you know how much I wanted to take you immediately after him, to feel the heat of his seed still filling your tight passage, before I filled you with mine? Do you know how I longed to watch the seed spill from you, to see it run down your soft thighs to the floor, and then watch as you lapped it up from the stones? Your performance for our guest has brought me much pleasure and great need.”
Even when his Master pounded his shaft into the slave with all of his force, his strong hands broadening the slave’s arse as he pierced the slave’s opening, and thus spreading his aperture to accept every bit of his Master’s thick and long shaft, the obedient Elf took it all without complaint, for truly he wanted more. He wanted whatever his Master would give to him, however his Master would give it to him.
“Moan for me. Show me that you want this,” his Master ordered of him as the guest had done earlier that eve.
The slave moaned loudly, his voice harsh and broken, eager and needy, as if this in itself would grant him release. He moaned because his Master had asked him to, and yet, he did it also because his Master had begun to shove his shaft within the slave’s body as fast as he could, using the slave’s hips to pull the slave backwards and then push him forwards to meet each thrust of his Master’s shaft.
“Come for me, tithen mûl,” his Master demanded, his hand seizing the slave’s sex roughly.
It took only a single stroke for the slave to lose himself in his Master’s hand, although his Master did not stop thrusting, and it seemed that with each succeeding strike of the shaft within him against the inner walls of his body, the slave found a higher intensity to his pleasure, until he sobbed into the blanket under his face and could feel no more.
“I can see that you kept your promise and did not find release during your time away,” his Master snickered, admiring the amount of seed that his slave had expelled.
Removing himself from the slave’s body, his Master held his hand out to the slave, who lapped up his own seed with relish, crawling around on his hands and knees to do so better, and once his Master’s hand was unsoiled, the satiated slave did not need instruction to finish his task of cleaning his Master, but took the solid shaft before him within his mouth. Now his Master moaned. The slave knew that his Master enjoyed watching the slave lick the seed and oil from the shaft that had only moments before been entrenched within the arse of his slave. To increase his Master’s pleasure, he laved his Master’s shaft with his tongue thoroughly, tasting not only his Master’s seed, but that of the visitor, and the briny, darker taste of his own passage, clean though he had made it for tonight’s guest. Lewdly, the slave suckled his Master’s shaft, causing the Elf before him to reach his peak in watching his slave’s debauchery.
Twisting his hand in the slave’s braided hair, his Master held the slave’s head so that his lips were flush with his body, his Master’s long shaft probing deeply into his gullet, which left the slave no option for removing himself as his Master’s hips twitched forward to find his completion within his slave’s throat. When the slave had no air and began to gag, his Master finally let him pull his head away and then watched as the slave tried not to spit up his Master’s seed as he coughed into the blanket beneath him. The slave was meant to drink every drop of seed that his Master gifted him and spilling any amount, no matter how small, would earn him a swift and brutal punishment.
“I will let you rest now.” The Elf before him abruptly removed the collar from the slave’s neck and then leant over the nearly prostrate slave to lay the faded and stained scrap of cloth on the table beside the bed. “You must be tired from your journey.”
His Master pulled his fellow Elf into lying on the bed, though the slave’s coughing had only just subsided. Not bothering to allow the slave to clean himself, to obtain a drink to wash away the taste of seed from two different Elves, or even to make himself comfortable where he was pushed into laying, his Master sighed and draped himself over the thralled being before him. The one the slave called Master was now just another Elf, as was he. Without the collar and their games, the two were on relatively equal standing, but even without the collar, he did not argue against his Master’s wishes and remained as he was.
Listening to the soft sounds of his fellow Elf breathing, he stared at the collar on the nightstand, waiting for his aching flesh to lull him into sleep. He had told himself that his return home would mark the beginning of a new time. When first he had accepted this offer and become the object of his Master’s games, he had envisioned a time like this, when he would end this charade and enjoy this Elf as his lover, not his Master. Out of habit and entrenched respect to his Master’s wishes, the slave, tired from his journey home to Imladris and wanting nothing more than to sleep, had worn the collar tonight and was already capitulating to his Master’s will rather than his own.
I will not wear it another time, he told himself, pulling at the arm swathed over him like a blanket. His body was satiated but his mind’s worry was whetted. I will explain this to him tomorrow.
He had long thought that if this were the only way he could enjoy his Master’s love, body, and esteem, then he would suffer for it, if that was what it took to be near him. His Master did not love him, not as he loved his Master. As the candle spit its last light out before dying, the slave wondered if his Master loved him at all, but as ruminations such as these would only bring him grief, he backed himself into the slumbering form of his bedmate and fell into slumber still studying the collar on the nightstand.
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Upon his awakening and before he had even opened his eyes, the slave noticed that his Master was no longer in the bed beside him; once opening his eyes, he noticed that the collar was on the nightstand no longer. Light though the cloth was, the slave could feel it around his neck. It was morning and past time to complete the games of last night.
“It is late,” his Master told him.
This caused the slave to sit at once, heedless of anything but the disapproval he heard in his Master’s tone. The slave scrambled from the bed. Without hesitating, the slave dropped to his knees the moment his Master came into his view. He bowed upon the stone floor, his hands clasped behind his back, and his face lying upon the stones and his back arched so that his naked arse stuck up in the air. The slave closed his eyes in misery that he’d not been awake but a moment and already his Master was dissatisfied. The muscles of his forearms ached from hanging from his wrists the night before, he felt sticky and smelled from the oil lingering on his flesh and in his hair, and the opening between his legs throbbed fiercely from the abuse he’d so gladly begged for from his Master and his Master’s guest. But none of these aches, his dishevelment, or his Master’s pleasure with his performance for the guest last night would prevent him from being punished this morning, not now that his Master was displeased with him.
“Lazy, tithen mûl. You are lazy,” his Master reprimanded as he came to stand before the supplicant Elf on the floor. Placing one booted foot on the slave’s shoulder, his Master applied pressure to the slave’s upper torso to keep his thrall’s face tight to the stone beneath it. “It has been a very long time since you have broken this rule. Perhaps you have forgotten your training and need to be reminded.”
The foot was removed from his shoulder but the slave did not budge. He could not see what his Master was doing but he heard his Master’s footsteps as he crossed the room. He heard the distinct squeak of his Master opening a drawer, the clank of wood and metal as his Master rifled through the items within before he must have found what he needed, for his Master slammed the drawer shut and came back to the bed near where the slave was bowing in abject supplication.
“If you have forgotten your training, then this will help me to remind you, tithen mûl. On your feet,” his Master demanded with quiet irritation.
The slave was quick to obey. He rose from the floor, his head hanging low so that he would not be forced to see the displeasure in his Master’s face, but nor would he dare to look into his Master’s eyes. With the collar on now, he was not an Elf but a slave. He was nothing. He was a plaything. He was a thrall – and a bad one at that. He had no right to look upon the face of this Elf before him, especially not now when he had forgotten his duties.
Sitting on the bed, his Master ordered, “Over my knee.”
The slave had experienced this punishment before, particularly when first he had worn the collar, when he had not been swift to follow his Master’s orders. Straightaway, the Elf climbed across his Master’s lap, his waist folded against the right of his Master’s thighs, his knees bent to keep his balance, and his torso lying across his Master’s lap. Tears brimmed in his eyes. To have earned his Master’s praise the night before only made his Master’s castigation this morning all the worse. The punishment he was to receive would not be as agonizing as his knowing that he had disappointed his Master and thus deserved this excruciation.
“I am most displeased to find you so lax in your duties, tithen mûl.” His Master rubbed one hand over the slave’s bare flesh, kneading and spreading the slave’s arse, while he held out the object he had selected so that his slave could see it.
The slave knew this toy well. It had a wide base that served as a handle of sorts, while above this base was a thin portion that abruptly became a thick, ample shaft that slowly tapered into a dull point at its top. The whole of it was no longer than the slave’s forefinger. Without oil, this simulacrum of a phallus was pushed inside his tender orifice, the conical shaft widening and filling his passage, the thin portion allowing his opening to close around it, and the base helping to keep it in place within the slave.
This was his punishment – he had displeased his Master and now he would be reminded of his place. Usually, such chastisement would not be completed in one session but stretched out over several nights and mornings such as this, until the slave could be sure not to repeat his error. The slave knew that he might be required to keep the phallus inside of him for several hours – or perhaps all the day, should his Master wish it.
Keeping the thralled Elf bent over his knees, his Master used his finger to prod at the object’s base, shifting it, pulling at it, and then releasing it before it could come free of the slave’s body. Though not as long nor as thick as his Master’s shaft, the device hit upon the inner rise within him that brought pleasure to the slave, and because of his Master’s skillful actions, the slave was soon struggling not to writhe in his Master’s lap. This lewd behavior was just what his Master wanted.
The first strike against his rear by his Master’s flattened hand left a perfect, scarlet imprint upon the slave’s skin. The second strike, made to the other cheek of the slave’s spread and squirming ass, left a similar mark. Each strike thereafter blended these imprints together until the slave’s entire arse became the same empurpled shade. The pain of these slaps was escalating and his Master increased his tempo, striking the slave’s rear systematically, leaving no inch of skin unblemished with the reddening force of his hand. Between blows, his Master would caress the hardening shaft and filling sacs of the slave’s sex, teasing him with this momentary pleasure before striking the slave’s ass again. Each blow made the slave’s orifice contract around the phallus lodged within him and each infrequent palpation of his engorged shaft made him squirm on his Master’s lap, until the slave was panting and sweating. When he began to lift his arse to meet each blow of his Master’s hand, the blows stopped.
“On the bed,” his Master ordered. The slave complied eagerly, crawling carefully from his Master’s lap, and knowing just how his Master wanted him to lie on the mattress.
The footboard of the bedstead had been altered from its original design. Whereas it had once consisted of several planks of wood nailed to each post at its end, his Master had removed the topmost of these planks so that there were only boards at the bottom, below where the planks under the mattress held it aloft. This left an opening at the bed’s end between the posts and was often used by the slave’s Master for the purpose of tying his thrall. Here, the slave lay, spreading his legs as far as they could be spread, so that his Master could attach him to the bed. Not his ankles but the slave’s thighs were tied to the posts with the smooth ropes that hung there always. This left his entire lower body pulled low on the mattress, his rear hanging from the edge of the end of the bed. To the posts did the Master tie his slave’s wrists, as well, such that the slave’s body was doubled over, with the slave’s torso bowed so that he would face his Master during this punishment.
From the chest of drawers where such items were kept, his Master withdrew another object with which the slave was well familiar – a thin rod of flexible metal, covered in braided leather, on which was attached by a looped cord a small square of metal that was also covered in several thick layers of cowhide. Fully dressed, his Master walked to where his nude and trussed up slave was bound and stretched before him. As if testing the paddle he held, his Master slapped the square end of it against the palm of his hand lightly, but even this light strike created a loud wallop as the leather hit his skin.
“You will wake before the sun rises,” his Master demanded. “I have cleaned the room this time, but next time this room will be spotless before Anor graces the sky, else you will be licking the dust from the stone floor.”
With that said, his Master began to run the leathered object over his slave’s body, beginning with the inside of his thighs, traveling down to the dark hair surrounding his arousal, and lingering underneath his shaft, where his Master bounced the paddle lightly under his slave’s tightening sacs. The slave whined, twisting his lower body into the feeling, which also jarred the phallus inside him and caused him to moan vehemently. Normally, his Master wanted the slave to enjoy himself during these punishments because it was the aim for the slave to receive no gratification at its end. This morning, however, his Master was annoyed at how the thrall writhed in pleasure. His Master struck out with the paddle, the flat of it hitting the slave just where the soft flesh of his inner thigh met his groin. He started, his body jumping and twitching at the intensity of the pain. This did not faze his Master in the least; the one strike was followed by another in the same spot, and then a third, and a fourth, until his moans of pleasure became quiet whimpers of discomfort.
“Tithen mûl,” his Master whispered, hushing his slave because the thralled Elf needed to hear what his Master told him. “I have waited a long year for your return and the first day you are back you have already disappointed me.”
He moved slowly around the thrall’s thighs, slapping each in turn now, moving closer and then further from the slave’s sex, until with measured, careful movements, the Master slapped between the thralled Elf’s extended legs, hitting both the base of the polished stone phallus inside the slave’s body to jar it and striking the fragile flesh between the globes of the slave’s arse as well. The intumescence of the slave’s shaft was more agonizing than this assault on his rear, for the pain of this delicate bruising was only heightening his subservient lust.
“I am sorry, Master,” he whined pitifully, losing himself completely to this treatment, for here in his Master’s room, there was no shame in supplication. “Please forgive your slave.”
Quickly, his Master removed the carved phallus from his slave’s body only to replace it with his long shaft. Although his opening had been stretched by the phallus, it had been without oil, and the slave cried aloud now at the added pain of this dry entry. His inability to keep quiet earned him a strong reprimand from his Master, who removed his shaft and once more thrust it into the thrall’s unprepared opening with a vicious stab, making his reentry akin to skewering a piece of meat upon a knife. When the slave cried out again, his Master used his leathered paddle to strike the slave’s chest, his aim accurate as he sadistically hit the tender bud of the thrall’s nipple, and then the other one.
“Watch me,” his Master ordered, grabbing the other Elf by the back of his neck to pull his head forward, while with his other hand, his Master pushed the slave’s genitalia roughly to the side, displaying for the slave the sight of his Master’s shaft as it pushed its way inside of his slave’s exposed and tormented aperture. “Watch me as I rend you in two, tithen mûl. Watch my shaft splitting you. Beg me to take you harder. Beg me to punish you,” he ordered.
“Harder, please, Master. Please, Master, take your slave. Punish your slave,” he wailed softly, inciting his Master to further his assault, letting loose the thrall’s limp shaft and the back of his neck so that he could grab instead his slave’s hips. Pulling the slave hard into him, his Master forced the slave’s body into meeting each of his brutal thrusts. He could not look away from the spectacle – his Master wanted him to see this aggression, but moreover, the slave wanted to see for himself so that he would always remember this lesson.
“You deserve this, slave,” his Master told him, his grip on the slave’s legs becoming bruising and the rope chafing the thrall’s skin each time his body was pulled taut within its confines. “This is what happens when you disobey me, when you disappoint me. Once I am done using your arse, you will use your sordid mouth to lick me clean again, because you are a filthy and lazy slave.”
Between the agony of his abused orifice and the humiliation of begging for his Master to punish him in this way, the slave’s untouched sex wilted, for the slave was feeling no gratification at all any longer. He could not close his legs or push his Master away. He could only lie there, watching his own body being used by his Master for the elder Elf’s pleasure, pleasure taken because his Master enjoyed his slave’s pain and did not care during this punishment if the slave felt any satisfaction at all.
Searing the thrall’s abraded inner flesh with its heat and salt, his Master’s seed filled him, though this did not stop the elder Elf from continuing his thrusting. His Master rammed his shaft within his slave to milk from himself every last frisson of pleasure. He exited and then reentered the thrall’s body, distending his vulnerable opening repeatedly, to continue to bring the thralled Elf as much suffering as possible before his chastisement was complete.
Master, breathing harshly but appearing completely impassive about having just violated another being so savagely, looked down at his slave. Finally, his Master jerked himself from his slave’s body when his own shaft was soft. As if in afterthought, he picked up the carved phallus from where he’d thrown it onto the bed. Whilst looking directly at him, his Master shoved the phallus back inside the thrall’s maltreated opening. His thighs and arms were still tied, his body still doubled over, and the slave could feel as his tortured arse dripped his Master’s semen. Well-stretched by the vicious punishment he’d earned that morning, the slave had to clasp tightly with the innermost muscles of his body so that the phallus would not fall from his opening, for should he let it hit the floor, his Master would find a new and worse punishment for him.
Without speaking, his Master climbed onto the end of the bed, causing the thrall to open his mouth. His Master shoved his softening shaft between the slave’s lips. Immediately, the slave did as was expected of him; he had done this last night with voracious lust but this morning he did it out of desperation to please his Master, and so laved his Master’s shaft thoroughly, eagerly, while hoping that his Master’s desire did not renew. Already he could taste and smell the sharp tang of his blood upon his tongue as he washed clean his Master’s length – he would not be able to walk to the morning councils if his Master punished him further for doing a poor job in this task.
After a short while, with a sigh his Master wordlessly climbed off the bed and walked to the washbasin. He waited a moment until he was certain that his Master was finished with him, which he thought to be true since his Master was now washing his shaft with soap oil and water.
“I am sorry for disobeying you, Master. Thank you for punishing me,” he whispered, as was expected of him. He was feeling more disgusted with himself than usual after a night of their games, when he had told himself only the night previous that he would not wear the collar again, and already, he had woken with it on and submitted without a second thought. “I willingly await more punishment tonight.”
“No,” his Master told him. “I have no need for you tonight,” he continued dismissively, adjusting his robes and then using the burnished silver looking glass on the wall to check that his hair was in proper order. “I have someone coming by my chambers tonight to continue his training.”
As he was wearing the collar, the slave did not ask why another Elf would have need to come by his Master’s chambers for training. It was not his place to ask, even without the collar around his neck. However, the rejection and jealousy began at once and was made all the more acute by his not knowing whom his Master had chosen for training. His Master had no one else who wore the collar but him – he had believed this because his Master had told him so. But now, his Master told him otherwise. In his yearlong absence, the slave had been replaced with another.
Finished with his hair, his Master returned to his slave and began to remove the ropes binding him to the bed. He did not remove the phallus from the slave’s body, but he did remove the collar. Once free of the ropes, the slave climbed to his feet to find his clothing where he’d left them the night before, ere the visitor had come. His jealousy and hurt, especially coming so soon after his punishment, rankled the slave.
“Why do you train another?” he asked now that he was no longer bound by the collar to keep quiet. He pulled on his clothes swiftly, knowing that he would have to find his way quickly to his own chambers to bathe for the coming day. He smelled of seed, oil, and sweat.
His Master threw the slave’s boots at his feet, telling the thrall with annoyance clear in his voice, “It is no concern of yours.”
Even without the collar, the slave cowed to this displeasure and so did not question his Master further. Instead, he grabbed his boots to put them on his feet; however, when he sat back on the bed to pull them on, the phallus still wedged inside him shifted within his aching orifice and he hurriedly made to stand. By pushing his slave on the shoulder, the Master shoved the slave back into sitting, earning him a yelp of agony from the thrall. A wide smile graced his Master’s face.
“Wear it until the evening meal,” he told his slave of the device entrapped inside his aperture. “I will know if you have not. I may check to see that it is still there, tithen mûl.”
With that, his Master turned away, not acknowledging the slave again, not even when the thrall whispered his goodbye before exiting his Master’s bedchambers to enter the sitting room, and then leaving surreptitiously by the door to the gardens outside.
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The Will of Another