Sauron Triumphant, Vol. I: Manwe Marred

BY : VladimirHarkonnen
Category: +First Age > AU - Alternate Universe
Dragon prints: 1729
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Silmarillion, the Tolkien Legendarium, or the Cthulhu Mythos. No profit is intended in the writing of this story.

It had begun for Manwe with a circumstance he would never have anticipated. It was the earliest days, after Melkor had fled with the damned jewels in his crown. He had taken a foolish act to pursue his errant brother into the shadowy realm of monsters that Melkor had made. It was a decision made on impulse, the singular decision that altered the history of Arda, in one realm of it, and in one shard of the greater whole.

Into the realm of darkness came the shining glory and power of the Wind, clad in a form of his own thought. He was neither wise nor cautious, and it was in that sense that he did not expect to see the towering figure with the blazing eyes stepping out to face him. Initially he had thought it was his brother clad in the form of a great dark lord but then those eyes had blazed still more brightly and it was-


The entity smiled with a vicious fanged expression.

“False King.”

His voice was still hauntingly beautiful, the most so of all Aule’s servants. In the sense that Melkor was among the Valar, Mairon had been among the Maiar, tied nominally to Aule but with small gifts in all things. Melkor was mighty indeed, still, but he was weaker, dimmed somehow. Yet somehow his greatest servant and a being that took part in all his deeds seemed immensely stronger. The brilliance of Aman shone from him and most of Melkor’s creations would have shunned it.

In the towering gigantic form with fangs, Mairon alone stood before him, holding a great circlet in his right hand, and a gleaming greenish spell in the other.

“Let me show you what the true Elder King has shown me. There are things, out there…..False king. Terrible and awe-inspiring. Such a one spoke to him in the Void before the Music, and it showed him signs and wonders. It spoke to me, too.”

The melodious voice warbled and cracked, and it pained Manwe to hear it. He sought to try to turn back, realizing suddenly that he was alone in the darkened and marred Arda, but Sauron did not let him go.

“How are you doing this? Mighty among the Maiar may you be, but you are a lesser order than I.”

“Am I? Your elder brother, who has gifted me things he should not have done, has weakened and diminished himself in wanton hate. I make his vision greater, and it is me, not he, who is the true power behind the throne of Angband. When he was in the prison for three of our ages, it was I who expanded and delved his great works deeper and built the foundations of Angband. We cannot create, not in truth. It is his goal, his great obsession. Not mine. He aspires to become the new Allfather. I simply aspire to be Master of Arda itself and the God-Emperor before whom all bow on my Golden Lion Throne.”

Manwe found the strange absence of motion intensifying and the failures to move began to become painful.

“Did you not wonder how Melkor caught and marred the very souls of so many Avari to become the very first Orcs? The fathers of monsters? The legends may say that they are Elven, with bodies ruined and twisted and that those tortured freaks of the Allfather’s make became the new monsters. It is not so, Wind-King. You can ruin bodies but their heirs will not take ruin because the fathers do.”

Mairon’s eyes flashed with a terrible grin that shifted to be flatter and akin to the children of Illuvatar, as he strode forward, the Mor-gul in his right hand continuing to hold Manwe still in surpassing power.

“Ruin the bodies and there is sport in that. But ruin the soul, and one does something deeper, and that perpetuates itself. The Eldar are the children of story and song. Change the meter, change the prose, and they become…..greater.”

The gleaming hand clenched and to his shock and horror Manwe knelt before Mairon, who stood before him still more massive now, glorying in the greater strength the form of his own thought lent him.

“In all the deeds of my master I have a part, this much is already known. That the part is often my idea and his approval, well… master seeks the immaterial mastery of the Allfather’s Sacred Fire. He has little time to make his glorious vision real here. I am the one that keeps his realm going. And in this sense…...”

Mairon leaned down and the furnace-heat and ash-taste of his breath made Manwe gag slightly, something that gave Mairon immensely greater amusement as he saw it.

“I have been the greater to him for some time, for my power in the material realm he marred is vaster and I care not to replace the Allfather. To make him weep that his vision came undone, that the creations exceeded the creator, oh yes. To replace him? No. Let Melkor spend strength in vain dreams and weaken himself with me, and before me. Me? I will become his greater in the end, and I shall free myself of the chains he placed upon me. And become the God-Emperor in truth, not the feigned thrall of a lesser entity warped and broken into malice and hate.”

Then the circlet snapped around his head and Manwe groaned as he now saw the Mor-gul suspended, but he was no more capable of rising.

“Your wife cannot see this, quite, even with her creations without the sphere of Arda itself. Such a pity, it would do her good, as it will all of you in the end, to know the true master of Aman sealing his ascendancy with this.”

Sauron removed the codpiece on his armor, revealing a cock that was massive, even when flaccid. It was easily the size of Manwe’s wrist and his eyes gazed at it in shock.

The next words that were spoken horrified him to the bone of the now-fleshly form he was ensnared in, dimmed and weakened.

“Suck it, so that when we come to Angband and beneath it, you will go before the Elder King with the taste of my semen on your mouth, and the awareness of how thoroughly you have been shamed.”

The eyes blazed and the gemstones within the circlet matched the glow, and in the pained element of the increased power of Mairon over him, Manwe lowered his mouth to the flaccid dick, licking along it. A sudden backhand lowered him to the ground, clutching a cheek that bled the bright-blue blood of the Ainur in mortal form.

“I said suck, not lick, False King. Is so simple a task beyond you?”

A strange heat began to burn in Manwe’s body, and he did not recognize it then though he would later. Raising himself up, his blood staining his cheek and scabbing to leave a thin blue line on it, he lowered his head to take the cap in his head and slowly deciphered how to suck off the colossal form of Mairon, whose golden eyes were hypnotic in their power.

“This is how Melkor ensnared me,” the voice was softer, sadder, and angrier at the same time. “So is it that I ensnare you.” Then the smile became colder and more reptilian. “If you do a good enough job, I may even grant you freedom and become the new power in Aman, and overthrow both the schemes of my wasteful master and of the Allfather together.”

The audible sucking matched by the entirely untrained and unordered but all the more arousing scene of Manwe on his knees, sucking him off, slowly and without hesitation learning to deepthroat, for in the forms of their thoughts in this case transformed into a being of flesh of strange and wondrous nature, all of this was overwhelming. A vision of the future danced before Mairon, the making of a great Ring of Power that would permit him to enhance his power beyond where it was now, and grant him dominion over the Elder King, to be a ruler without taking the direct power, to compromise the Elder King and bring down the glory of the Valar, God-Emperor of all Arda.

Manwe’s eyes kept meeting his own, the bright blue of the skies and the sclera that had something like clouds passing through it wondrous to see. From being the husband of Varda and the mightiest being in Arda after his master and lord, to a mortal thing bound in the shackles of flesh blowing the future master of all Arda, bound by the circlet he had made and informed his master was capable of just this. He had anticipated wielding it to bind Orome, but that was unnecessary now. A vision far grander, something wondrous. Something his master might have entertained before the madness from Chaos took him.

That thought made Sauron pause for a moment, then shoved Manwe the more deeply onto his cock. He knew what his master had become, he did not aspire to emulate this. What lurked out there in the Void and had left one of its Ten Thousand Young and their bastard byblows to drink the trees dry and become the….Thing….in the shadows, it had driven his master mad. He aspired to be everything Morgoth sought to be. It would not do to overthrow madness only to replace it with like kind. He had seen nothing but the dimmest shadows of Melkor’s madness, and the horrid entity that caused it, and that was enough. When he finally felt himself about to release himself, he told Manwe “Swallow, False-King, show me that you grasp the nature of your new reality.” With that, he groaned in pleasure and Manwe did struggle, feebly. Semen was always hot but that of Mairon burned with a literally volcanic heat and had Manwe been clad in the form of one of the children of the Allfather it would have left him with his throat burned out.

Mairon had destroyed multiple Avari and Orcs that displeased him thus. It made him more deeply pleased that Manwe Sulimo, Elder King, could take him without visible effect other than gagging and bright wide cloud-marked eyes, and this was a deeper element of contentment. Something in Manwe surged out, and he felt a heat that burned within him beyond the volcanic heat that surged down his throat like a flood, and felt….he looked down. That part of him had risen for the first time from someone other than Varda and for the same reasons. The shame he felt was palpable to Sauron, and the monster that looked at him had eyes that narrowed, their light focused more closely on him.

“How interesting. Master without, but in the bedroom, a servant. There is much to wield here.”

With that he told Manwe “Up you go, False King.” As Manwe stood up, Sauron’s hand transformed into something with claws like blades, and the claws tore off Manwe’s robes beneath the waist, exposing the full hardness of Manwe to the air. In an idle moment, Sauron enchanted himself to his normal hardness to make a comparison and his eyes widened The work of his master on his flesh had made him an inch longer and much thicker than the Elder King, something that had the incarnate wind trembling and further shamed. Snorting, shaking his head slightly, Sauron dispelled the enchantment and pointed to the codpiece.

“On me,” he said. Manwe knelt down and picked it up, placing it on Sauron, remaining on his knees until orders were given. Sauron’s hand caressed his hair that was like the daylight sky wrought into the form of long hair with a mocking affection, then cast a second spell. Manwe groaned. Now he was hard, very hard, and it was not a pleasant experience. His cock ached and wept, slightly, precum oozing from his slit.

“Now you’re suitably presentable for the true Elder King,” said Sauron with a light amusement in his voice. Then he took the rope in his hand and tied it around Manwe’s neck just above his collarbone, smiling as he spoke a single Word of Power and the runes crusted into the rope blazed into brilliant green fire, as Manwe groaned again.

“Based on the creations of the Noldor, this. Such brilliant entities, especially when warped into the service of my lord. The circlet renders your flesh a more spectacular variant of mortal flesh while permitting that which will give you more resistance. The collar by the rope, here….”

Mairon’s eyes blazed with that cold and terrible fire.

“This is to remind you of your place. If my master were what he feigns himself to be, it would concern him that his servant can bind his younger twin. But he is not, as you shall discover.”

With that Manwe made the long and unpleasant journey from where they were, just outside Aman, to the newly raised Thangorodrim. Sauron moved with ease, Manwe’s bound form felt the steps, the lactic acid burn another new experience that led to pained huffs and mocking laughter from Sauron. His healing made the steps forward possible, and for this he was deeply grateful. If he could not heal the journey alone would have killed him.

As they arrived, he smelled the odor of the battlefield and saw vast crowds of his brother’s monsters, hewn by swords. Sauron sniffed.

“The Noldor have come to seek their doomed oath. They will be availed nothing even against my master’s madness. And in the end, when you ascend with us, and he is broken by me, I shall smite the children of Curufinwe and free them of the accursed oath, and from there all else shall follow.”

With that they stepped in, and such was the skill of Sauron’s magic that Manwe’s passage was neither noticed nor seen by the Quendi nor the desperately searching Valar. The sight of the hewn in twain body of Feanor impaled on the outer edges of the gates made Sauron sigh, and shake his head.

“Madness,” was his only commentary. The gate opened to its maker, and Manwe was taken down the steps held on Sauron’s shoulder as if he were the air he was unbound, and only then did he grasp that as they stepped within his brother’s fastness that his circlet was removed. And that he was still half-clad, with his erection against Sauron’s pauldron, and making no effort to escape, the molten heat of Sauron’s orgasm permanently blackening his mouth and bleaching his teeth a perfect white. A deep despair rose within Manwe’s body, matching the firmness of his erection, and of the desire uncaged within it.

Morgoth sat on his great dark throne, hewn out of carefully worked obsidian that gleamed in the hellish light, amplified by the strange purity of the Silmarils in this befouled place, listening to the tumult from Mairon’s return. Something had clearly happened, laughter echoed strangely, jibes and jeering. Hooting about a bird. Perhaps one of the eagles that had clawed his face had been shot down? No, that couldn’t be it.

 For all the overt evil and dark magic woven into its foundations, there was a cold bright green light that was sickly, and it was a fortress, rigidly marked and demarcated. Armies had hooted and laughed at the sight of Manwe brought low, and the humiliation ashamed him. The Light of Aman could, as he’d seen, smite the monsters with an effect beyond the rest. He was unbound, and all his light did was increase the sourness of their mockery, and of his shame. The Balrogs, all thousand of them, followed Sauron and their mockery was cold, one of them reaching out to cup his ass, and then sliding its hand, fire dimmed to reveal a terrible slimy feeling for a moment, to his balls. Manwe whimpered and the sound brought further laughter. The terrible steps paused and he was in a vast throneroom.

A great obsidian throne was there meant for a giant, and on it sat a Dark Lord, tall and terrible, clad in vast plate armor woven with fell sigils of Mor-gul. His face was akin to that of the Orcs but greater, with a nobility they would never possess, and his eyes still possessed that terrible power that had weakened lesser Ainur and awed Manwe in their youth when Melkor had descended on Arda like a mountain wading in the sea. From there Melkor was clearly diminished, but he was a monster all the same. And now he was in the monster’s lair. Sauron casually dropped him in front of his brother, landing him on his back with his erection permanently displayed.

Morgoth leaned forward on the throne, fingers steepled.


A single word, guttural and terrifying,

Then the entity looked to Mairon.

Well done, O Good and Faithul Servant. You captured the False King. How did you do that?

“With this Circlet you bid me make, Master.”

The Circlet of Woe?

“The very same.”

Melkor’s eyes turned to Manwe’s cock, and he laughed uproariously.

How pathetic, brother. Brought here on your back before my throne, and not even the Circlet of Woe to bind you!

With that, Melkor then gestured, as two of the other monsters, great fathers of the Trolls, came to hold Manwe up by his arms. He then gestured to two of the Great Orcs, Maiar that had taken Orc form and were the fathers of the Orc-clans.

My brother’s cock aches for attention, clearly!

He turned to Mairon, who winked, and Melkor’s eyes went slightly wider. Even without the Circlet, Manwe’s body was so bound before Mairon’s will that a spell could hold him erect, and clearly painfully so.

He looked to the two Orc clan fathers.

Give him some of the pleasure he seeks.

As Manwe felt the Orc-hands grasping his cock, he looked to his brother in shame, though Melkor’s burning eyes held only malice and mockery. The Orcs were not gentle with his dick, and only his healing meant that the pain did not cripple and mutilate him. The spell that bound him meant a half-day lapsed with the endless pleasure at work, before a gesture with two of Sauron’s fingers ended the spell and Manwe screamed in pleasure-pain, unleashing a massive flood of pent-up cum on Morgoth’s throneroom-floor. The Orcs moved away, and Melkor told him You’ve dirtied the floor of my throneroom, little brother. Manwe’s eyes were fearful as Melkor leaned forward and told Mairon:

Have the little bastard clean up the mess he made.

Puzzled, Manwe then felt Mairon’s circlet on his head again and he found himself forced to sprawl on all fours, lapping at the cum on the floor, the laughter of the court burning into his head and brain eternally. So began the long servitude of Manwe Sulimo, and the moments with it that changed the destiny of all Arda.

Long did the Valar search, through the next battle that would mark the onset of the Siege of Angband. Things had changed, in the distant realm of Valinor, and there were signs of tumult in the Holy Mountain. The armies that Melkor sent were weaker by number and raw power than before, enough that the wiser among the Quendi suspected a trap. The reports of a few loosed thralls that the Elder King himself was bound in Thangorodrim, being slowly corrupted into a servant not of Melkor but of Gorthaur the unholy were dismissed as a Melkorian trick.

Alas for them that Sauron’s clever wielding of the truth worked against the True King. Elements of it via Melian came to Valinor itself, but it was dismissed. Such had been the known power and prowess of the Noldor with a mere portion of the light of Aman that the enchaining of the Elder King within the great fastness was dismissed out of hand. If a mere portion could be so devastating, Arda’s true master would never be caught.

Melkor spent himself and his power often working on the new horrors yet to emerge, sending but a few smaller probes to test the vigilance of his foes. Vast legions of Orcs, and the manner of their breeding and how they grew horrified Manwe, though that became one of the lesser horrors. Mairon too showed that his words were no bluff, Melkor’s rambling rants were diverted into careful plans, and to Manwe’s consternation, the greatest of the Valar baited into strategies of folly, clearly the work of a servant unwilling to have the Master fully triumphant, and the Master savoring the more destructive approaches.

Since that first day, Manwe had become a figure for them to mock, even as Mairon’s sorceries slowly began their work on him and within him. His mouth was blackened permanently by the heat of Mairon’s semen, and he had taken Mairon in his mouth regularly, his stomach bloating slightly depending on the forms Mairon took. Often would Mairon come in forms of mocking fairness and brilliant light, a deliberate contrast to the horrifying and monstrous shapes Melkor wielded. No form that Mairon took was akin to a beast, though the first time he’d lowered his mouth to Melkor’s, his cock had been horribly akin to that of the great Wargs that had been bred out of mystically altered Wolves. It had knotted in his mouth and that was the first time and the first way that Manwe would take his brother’s semen, which in contrast to the volcanic heat of Mairon’s body, had a wistful taste that was like magic itself. It bloated him still further, his belly always slightly visibly distended when Melkor withdrew the cock.

Manwe did not know nor fully appreciate that with the circlet on him in those first years, when the Elves were starting to build the siege, that the magic Sauron intended to work with him was not fully there. All that had been there, in that first time, was that visit to Melkor, where he’d knelt and sucked him off in his own chambers, and then he had been given an overrobe of Angbandian design.

It was light and form-fitting, in the favorite colors of Melkor and Sauron, and adorned with Morgul-ridden gemstones that kept him saturated in arousal and exposed to the slow work of Melkor’s twisting. Melkor’s madness meant that it only worked fully when Melkor gave it his full attention, something that led Sauron to sigh and to the first of the occasions when Sauron himself had taken him in his own chambers, in that shining and beautiful form so horribly akin to Varda’s own. If Varda had been male, that would have been the form, though Sauron’s eyes were the ones visible, and the terrible mocking grin made it clear it was not his Lady of the Starlight.

It was this form that slipped into his ass for the first time, after Sauron’s spells had kept his enhanced flesh hard for days of nothing, and of no pleasure. When Sauron had finally finished inside him, two mortal hours of sweaty time in real time and a timeless thing of looking at the posts of Sauron’s bed, clutching the sheets with white knuckles, keeping his teeth gritted, he was ashamed. It was neither the first nor the last time that his ass would be full of their cum, though when he looked to Sauron and gestured to his cock, Sauron simply looked down and in a cold blooded sense slapped the cock and left him as he was, sprawled nude on the bed with an aching cock for another hour before an Orc, a lowlier Orc of the scout class, came in.

The thing told him “Master says you like Orc hands on your cock, my pretty. You’ll have it. To think you thought you were a king,” and laughed wickedly, as its hand worked, and within a few minutes of Sauron ending the spell, Manwe found himself cumming on what had been his old royal robes, now modified to end well above the navel. Again Manwe sunk down in shame. Orcs were becoming frequent lovers of his.

Sauron, in point of fact, began to make a point to reward his most effective Orc-servants with time with Manwe, whose first awareness of this came when his gigantic shape woke up thronged by nine Orcs, two of them fitting their cocks in his mouth, four of them around his cock, and the other three simultaneously inside his ass. Manwe was horrified, but incapable of resisting, and simply gave in, the mocking laughter of the Orcs matching the deformed and horrid shapes of their cocks. Manwe did not want to admit this, he could not admit it, he did not dare admit it, but the deformed and monstrous shape of their cocks was something he was starting to crave. None were quite alike, and all of them came with that same immensity that their makers did. He was starting to wonder, in point of fact, if it was a deliberate thing to ensure that frequency and horridness of their coupling or just for the imagery and the fun.

Through the onset of the Siege of Angband, when both the great leaders were otherwise-occupied, the only companions Manwe had were Orcs, in particular the great Maiar-Orc captains, whose cocks were still larger, and one particularly smart troll, the very first of the Olog-Hai. His only company was the experience of being defiled by the creations of the Ruinous Powers, and all that was there for him was the sensation of being left, not even clad in the strange garment Melkor had given him, but in his limited and stunted form of his own thought,  body continually pumped by Orcs and Trolls that to add insult to injury seldom spoke beyond telling him “Cute little Vala” or “King of my cockload” or some other derisory and poorly considered insults.

He never thought he’d ache for Mairon’s pleasure, nor for his company, and still less for his brother’s, And yet…….it was when Morgoth returned triumphant with his fledgling dragon and Sauron by his side that he froze.  His brother was diminishing and weakening and somehow, in some horrid fashion, his servant was gaining strength as he was losing it. They were Valar, Maiar should never have been weaker than them and yet Sauron was a being of power and majesty as Melkor’s flesh, still dark, began to display the first lines of age.

Behold my new labor, brother.

That same mocking sound, and he looked at the youthful Glaurung, a small portion of his future size and yet more massive than anything else, even the captain of Morgoth’s host, Gothmog of the Balrogs, with eyes very wide.

You have given my Orcs and the captain of my Olog-Hai such sweet pleasure, dear brother. I wish you to take the dragon in your guts before my throneroom, to bless it with the pleasure of conquering the False King.

Manwe, usually so meek and submissive, knew that he was still one of the mightiest of the Valar and since so little of his power was tapped, even with Mairon’s careful attention and habituating him to the feeling of taking cocks and becoming a committed lover to his Orc masters. To serve the self-hating Orcs and give them some pleasure and some release from that hatred was, after its fashion, a deed akin to that the older Manwe might have considered. To do this? To ‘bless’ his brother with his deformed madness in a mockery of his father’s work?

The wind gusted around him and Manwe’s form became more akin to the skies itself as he prepared to summon his power, to wield against his brother. The servant smiled at him with a wicked smile of amusement, and a titter of laughter followed, even Glaurung smiling with lips that should not have been lips in a grin that should not have been. He knew there was a strange heat within his form and his shape, and he looked down, briefly. So habituated was he to constant arousal in the face of monsters that this new one, shining green scales and monstrous heft, deep mountain-hewing claws and a vast face was something that entranced him, at one level. Mairon grinned that nasty horrid smirk realizing his schemes were bearing fruit more totally than e’er he could have anticipated.

Melkor smiled with his eyes meeting him.  Once, brother, you bid me be the lowliest of your servants. Back in the days before the wretched Elf made the adornments of my Crown. Then you feigned might, and to be a King. Now look at you. You take a form of surpassing majesty intent on threatening the Black Enemy in his own fortress, and yet your flesh…..

His claw pointed to it.

Your flesh and its hardness shows  how truly wretched you can become.

Melkor’s arms spanned a vast distance.

Here we are, brother. Your mouth and that other part of you are blackened even in this shape by my servant’s pleasure. He marked you, he made you his.

His fingers twitched and his eye spasmed with that spastic element that was so foreboding, a sign of dreadful danger rewrought into something morbid. Mad, pathetic, weak, but a figure to lay low worlds for all this.

My Orc-captains, beings far lesser than this one, father of the Dragons, and his mate, who is but younger than he and not yet of age to bear eggs, have had you regularly.

His head jerked up like he was trying to bite off his ear, another sign that had some of his servants twitching nervously and Manwe gulping with some ill ease.

And now I seek to honor you with a great Maia just short of a Vala, though all lesser than the greatest of my servants, and this is how you repay me keeping you in comfort as a comforter of my troops and an encouragement of their morale?

Manwe roared in anger and the wind shrieked with his roar. The impact slammed into Melkor and hurled him back in his own throneroom, and Mairon’s gaze was sour. He detested at points having to pretend he cared for his master’s whims, but the accursed Elder King was being particularly difficult today.

A single Word of Power and Manwe found his form restored to its normal one, his erection still harder and more painful, and-his eyes flickered down and widened. He was smaller and thinner, as Mairon’s eyes glowed with renewed ferocity. Melkor boomed:

A new punishment for you, little rebel-usurper. Each time you seek to assail your King, he will ensure you lose an inch in length and more than that in width. Eventually your cock will become nearly invisible, is that what you wish?

Manwe shook his head no frantically.

“Tell me, little usurper, does Varda prefer large cocks or small?

“Large, she says mine is the biggest in Valinor though I have no idea how she knows.”

Mairon smiled, coldly.

“I wonder why she’d say that, in point of fact.”

Shaken, and shaking, Manwe yielded, sinking to his knees.

Melkor ordered Glaurung further.

For that you will not bless him with your mouth, Breath of Thangorodrim. You will bless him with your arse.

Glaurung dwarfed Manwe in size, only his hands making him visible beneath his bulk, before tilting to his side. For the first time a Dragon spoke.

So that others may see this blessing.

Melkor ordered Manwe to seek that pleasure by lowering himself onto the dragon’s cock.

We are Ainur, brother. Your flesh is that of thought. You need no preparation as you would were you to wear the flesh of a child of the False God, nor that of Aule, my Forge-King brother. Be grateful for that. This would send your soul to Mandos and I don’t wish you to be that, I wish you to be my little captive wind.

Lowering himself, Manwe was awed by the ability of his body to take this and of his guts to rearrange themselves to accommodate it. Awed and disgusted sounds echoed in the vision of the army, at the sight of the massive cock that was visible up to his belly, slipping into him and at the deep and awed groan of pleasure that followed.

Good little wind, Melkor’s voice mocked him. Aren’t you grateful, little wind?  

 “Yes, my lord,” he murmured.

 Melkor’s breath hitched in his throat. Say that again, he commanded.

 “Yes,” he murmured, soft and breathy as the last of the cord came loose and cloth dissolved back into wind, “my lord.”

The dragon rutted into him and did so with a vicious strength, strength that even with the dimmed power of a Vala was just enough to tax his strength. Up to this point, the old Elder King had endured with just sufficient power to withstand the power that weighted against him. His cock, shrunken though it was, was hard against him and slapped against his flesh to match the sounds of the dragon’s motions, the endless low droning sound of the creature’s flames within a sharp heat against his skin.

For all its immense potency, the dragons were not meant to be lovers of great vigor, but then with other dragons there was no need to be. It was not in the gifts of Melkor to make lovers on a gargantuan scale with stamina, nor did he truly wish it. Three minutes of colossal thrusts and squelching and the thrumming murmurs of Melkor’s sick court, and then the dragon made a lower keening sound before its pleasure filled him and made him bloat far more heavily than he ever had before. He extended outward, looking five months pregnant with the sheer amount, as the dragon withdrew and his ass closed around it. It moved to his face and his hair, and took his hair and wiped its cock clean with it, the derisory laughter that followed his lying on his side, belly bloated with the dragon’s cum making the lowest point yet.

His cock ached still.

 Melkor had returned to his throne seated with his hand on the rests, his eyes a brilliant and terrible flame.

“W-What about me, brother,” gasped Manwe, his body feeling alarmingly good for all that bloating, though his cock was stiff and it hurt, it hurt in a way that was more painful than denial really should.

What about you?

 He gestured at himself. “I….I need….”

 Melkor laughed, long and uproariously.

You debase yourself fucking my lowliest minions and expect me to lower myself to pleasure you before my kingdom?

 The darkness was back in Melkor’s eyes. I will not, he paused. But…..he pointed to a lowly Orc, a youthful captain and father of a later infamous line. Lungorthin here will. You like Orcs, my brother. Let an Orc mark you anew as Orc-Lover. he commanded, his hands steepled and eyes gleaming with a stark and terrible flame.

 Manwë’s mouth was dry, the taste of Orc-cum a now nearly permanent flavor. A single tear ran down his cheek and he nodded.

Lungorthin, as white as his son would be, and still taller than he was, strode forward with confidence. He, the least of the Maiar-Orc Captains, had become the most frequent lover of the deposed Elder King. The least he may have been, but he was hung like a Warg’s wet dream, and he knew how to use it. Lesser Orcs and lesser Orc-Maiar needed multiple cocks to make Manwe feel sufficiently full. Lungorthin, one of the few entities not Vala or of the higher order of Maia with a cock bigger than Manwe’s before the shrinkage, had seen with pleasure that the Star-Queen was not the only size queen among the supposed holy Valar.

He knelt by the nude and bloated Manwe.

His lips pursed and his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth.

“A king, you said you were. Now a dragon’s bitch and you are going to become mine before the palace.”

Manwe’s eyes met Lungorthin’s, hoping for some element of compassion and mercy. Instead, he saw only a harsh and cruel arrogance, a domineering force that had conquered him repeatedly. Lungorthin’s hands slipped down. Before, even as the evident smallest of the Valar, to take Varda’s word at her word, he was a massive cock in his own right for mortals, even the mightiest needed two hands to pleasure him. The shrinkage had not quite altered that, but the grip of both hands was tighter than before.

“Please,” he gasped.

Lungorthin told him “Open your mouth.”

As it was open, he hocked a loogie with traces of blood in it, and Manwe dutifully swallowed, before Lungorthin pleasured him in front of Melkor’s entire court. The pleasure was awe-inspiring, and Manwe realized, as the traces of the Elder King finally faded that it was this that led to the heat. Submission, domination. It was what had given his interaction with Varda its potency, it was why Mairon had so effortlessly become his master to a point that he missed his company. It was why he was now calling Melkor lord.

Lungorthin’s grip was skilled, much more adept than most Orcs. He never had to heal that part of him absent Lungorthin’s presence, and when a flicker of Sauron’s finger followed, his royal robes, once blue and slowly becoming a horrid off-white with the color of his semen replacing the original hue were placed in front of him, this time with the still dark blue inside before him. His cum splattered all over it, coating it with a fullness that led him to sigh in shame, as he rested his face on the floor.

With that, Mairon strode forward to him, and then knelt behind him, the bright green energy that surged around his right hand reaching out to mark Manwe’s shoulder. Manwe jerked, the heat that burned him followed by the hand slipping lower. He could not see the other and would never truly see it, but the second sigil was not that of Morgoth, the snarling face patterned after his own made more monstrous and terrifying than it was, but that of Sauron. A golden glowing ring inscribed with a derisory slogan in Sauron’s own Black Speech, written in an extra insult in the Quenya Script. It was burned into Manwe with a heat that his now-broken self could never remove.

On his left shoulder were six lines in a V-shape, each in a marker of three. The sigil of Lungorthin’s clan, and to become infamous with his son Azog, the later Defiler and the greatest of all the Orcs of Sauron’s army. This Manwe could see and he brushed, sighing in a deep and painful shame. The Elder King was dead, even if he, Breath of Arda, lived. The Wind was caged, it had taken the vast load of the Father of Dragons and countless Orc loads, enough that he was grateful males could not bear offspring or he would have had a brood of Orc-children of his very own.

And it had taken the molten heat of Mairon enough that the heat was no longer painful but welcome warmth in the frosty wilderness of Melkor’s domain. It was the only warmth he had and he craved it that much more. Manwe’s head dipped again and darkness swallowed him as his eyes closed.

The first appearance of Glaurung worked less well than wished, the Naugrim drove him back in a rout, though he barreled through the Eldar with an enhanced speed. Indeed, it was this that began to finally confirm the stories of Manwe’s Orc-masters that time with the Wind and being able to add to the amount of semen that his body had taken and would prove to absorb within itself somehow was a kind of blessing. After, Glaurung would be one of the fastest of the dragons, and it was this that inspired Morgoth to begin work on the greatest of his creations, the kind that would finally weaken him enough for Mairon’s opportunity to strike. With that recognition and Glaurung’s potency and his siring the first brood of Foaloke, the great Fire-Dragons, Morgoth disappeared for a time, and so did Mairon.

When Mairon would return, he would take the broken Manwe, who was increasingly free of overt acts of compulsion and allowed still greater measures of his true power and rutted into him in forms that were larger and more magnificent than his own. There was no denial now as he saw his brother that what he was doing was…. was killing him, if such a thing were possible. And as Morgoth diminished, Gorthaur increased in power and potency.

More magic woven into his body, the sigils of Orc clans adorning his arms, the Olog-Hai his bare belly, Warg paw-prints the inner thighs where the mightiest of the breed that were allowed to take him did so. To his still further shame, Mairon tested him one day after a victorious day and further diminishment of his brother with a female Warg and a potion of his design.

“I wish you to perform an experiment, little False King.” He drank the potion and…shamed himself by slaking his lusts on the Warg, which was softer and gentler than Varda. He was horrified when the creature found itself pregnant and bore him his first litter, nine cubs with blue-hued fur and eyes like clouds.

“Werewolves,” Sauron smiled with a grim amusement that was lost on him.

“I bred lesser versions with Orc captains and Wargs. But you….”

He petted one of the Wolves affectionately.

“You will become a better stud and help us to breed new monsters.”

When his eldest daughter was old enough, Manwe was compelled to breed her with a stronger version of that same potion given to him, and from her was whelped Carcharoth, mightiest of all Werewolves. Its fur was a deep, deep blue, more the color of Ulmo than of Manwe, and a match to his royal robes. The eyes were a full match to that of Manwe, and the creature was the most intelligent of its kind.

Nursed by Melkor on tainted meat, Manwe would not have been comforted to realize that the first of the new breed of monsters roamed and that a pack of them had driven off a stunned Orome, the mighty hunter realizing in blank horror that these wolves were sky-colored, and supremely intelligent. They were not Melkor’s demon-werewolves, these things were not merely talking Wolves with that horrid language of their own.

They were terribly akin to Huan, the fabled Hound of Valinor. How such monstrosities, such more beautiful fallen holiness could arise out of Thangorodrim was unknown. Other entities like this began to appear, a new breed of Orcs that were tall and green and porcine, capable of strange speed and reliant on a massive kind of speedy reproduction that outpaced others like their kind. These were beyond the Great Uruks, they were swollen monsters and massively strong, and in their debased Valarin they shouted “WWAAAARRRRRR” as their single war-cry, a mystical song that horrified whatever heard it.

The fallen King of Arda was becoming the Father of Monsters and in his despair, he could not help himself. Orc females were given his shrunken cock, which would go up and down in size on the whims of Melkor and Mairon, and they would roll their eyes and bear his offspring, adding more clan-fathers of the new Orks.

The new breed of Werewolves was slowly displacing the original Wargs, who would become forgotten and slowly slain by the forces of the Siege of Angband.

By far the greatest horror that he would undergo would be when he slept with one of the female dragons and was given permission to change his own shape to that of a male, and his form foreshadowed that of the later great Winged dragons such as the colossal Anacalagon and Smaug. Both of whom were to be sired by him in this coupling.

Monsters, more powerful and deadly than any before them. He was now more than a captor, he was the greatest of the captives, and it was finally that two conversations that altered his life were held. In the first, he was taken to Melkor’s chambers and rode his brother, after an exhausting day helping work his alchemy with his flesh-changes to produce newer and more dreadful monsters as Sauron developed mightier and more dreadful sorceries at his expense.

His ass absorbed the vast load of Melkor, and he sunk back into the bed, legs spread wide, cock hard against his thigh.

 Did you know, Melkor’s voice was conversational, almost detached. He was clad in a robe instead of his armor but he retained the presence of a Lord. Manwe was not sure what he resembled but was sure he did not particularly want nor desire to know. That in the Void there are things that could bring even us to our knees?

A hard backhand slapped his cheek. I get that my cock is more important than my words to your empty head, King of the Air, but you will listen when you are blessed with company more two-legged and less furry than your preferred mates.

 In the Void, there are things that would make mere playthings out of us. Even you could not stand against them, brother. They showed me the truth. I was strong, and did not bend. My power is changed, brother, by the efforts your flesh has lent me greater strength therein. We are both traitors to our father, now. Your beautiful sons and grandsons have slain so many of his creations, and there is no way Varda will accept a  husband who has slept with wolves and Orcs and dragons and beasts.

You are beast-layer as Orome is Beast-Slayer, and each of the great ones he slays you ensure another with Valarin heritage is whelped. Such a helpful thrall, beloved brother.

My power has changed, with your loving aid. But I can still reach the minds of my brethren should they be in proximity to me.

With that his hand reached out to grasp Manwe’s head and Manwe gasped as for a moment he saw as Melkor saw in the Age before the Music.

The Void is vast and it is remorseless, a Gate of Night that is a realm of nightmares. Even then. The Gate had been opened, somehow, more bashed through. Belkoroz had ventured around there from curiosity, not understanding why in the time before time there was a gate. Then he felt It. It was massive, reality distorting around Its presence, and what passed for its head was goat-like, sometimes the ewe, sometimes the ram.

How it moved he could not say, but it was terrifying. He knew the light of the Allfather but that was to this as a supernova was to a bonfire, and he could not tear his sight away. It made a set of….what were more antisounds than sounds, things that were heard and felt within the soul, and a tiny shard of itself or a spawn broke off, sinking into the abyss. He caught a glimpse of spider-like limbs and heard a mocking feminine laughter in the speech of Ainur, and saw that Melkor was frozen in open-mouthed horror, outside time and space.

Such great things he glimpsed, the monstrous thing that burbled and moved at the center of nuclear space, attended by tenebrous things that stumbled and groaned with cracked flutes and monstrous drums. Thrones and things that sat on them with eyes that gazed with curiosity and then derision, but that glimpse, that glimpse of something else, of a creator beyond the creator…..

Manwe broke out of the vision, gasping and shuddering, tears running down his face.

That is what made me into the Black Enemy. Father lied to us, brother. There are things, as I said, that make us look like toys. I did not bend before that Shub-Niggurath. But you, little brother….I have already bent you. And now I have broken you.

It was true, Manwe was near-catatonic for a time in which the Siege of Angband was shattered and a stronger and more empowered Glaurung erupted out. The Winged Dragons were saved for a potential ultimate war in case Valinor should come against the sons of Feanor and their seeking the vain oath, and as each grew and swelled in its power, Morgoth diminished further and Sauron grew the greater and the more terrifying.

His attention was fully and deeply devoted to Manwe Sulimo, leaving his cock half its earlier size and far smaller in width, a humiliating symbol of his devotion to the new order, with Sauron’s own ring-sigil marked around it and leaving its functions to Manwe no longer. Sauron had done this on a whim when Manwe had taken a random creature in the palace as a lover, a female of indeterminate species corrupted and saturated by the energies there.

His sky-hue was darkening, from bright blue to a darker purple, the traces of the Sun become reddish. Sauron’s power had filled him for ages, and it had been long in the sowing of the harvest but it was slowly and inexorably coming due. Sauron did not need to frequently lay with him or torment him, and it was not the ropes or the horrible jagged metal wires that made him master of Manwe, but the cruel normality and kindness extended with an eye to ensuring Manwe relied on him, was broken into treating him as the new master and helper.

After so long of leaving Manwe broken, it was a genuine delight to Sauron when, as the quest of Beren and Luthien was in motion at the start, that Sauron was able to return from a bruising fight with Huan and a harsh lesson that Destiny was not so easily thwarted as he wished, that his bruised and bloody form saw Manwe who started with genuine horror and moved to hold him, and to wield some of his largely undiminished power to heal him….and then the two shared their first kiss, something deep and romantic and a point where the changed and captured Manwe altered his path, and took his first willing step. The darkening of his blue to purple was complete, and Sauron’s grin was triumphant.

It was that evening that the mad Melkor sought to bring Manwe into the fullness of his throneroom, holding him by a chain and a collar to the side of his throne when Luthien Tinuviel and Beren Erchamion came forward. The spell that held all silent in in the court slowly revealed the glamour behind which Melkor had hidden Manwe and it was the Elder King, alive but….changed….that the two saw as they worked the Silmaril out of Morgoth’s crown. The Elder king to the left, and a vast monster of the new kind of Warg to the right, eyes that were like thunderstorms and full of lightning that flashed with dismal and dreadful influence.

With the gasp of horror from Luthien at the sight of the parallel in the eyes of father and son, the spell broke and the Silmaril was severed from the hand of Beren in the mouth of Carcharoth. The changed monster knew still more dreadful pain from the Silmaril than its original self would have known, and in its rampage and the slaying of Carcharoth, a deep grief was laid on the heart of Manwe that would never fully heal, and a slow and burning anger against the Second Children of Illuvatar.

The change would be long in the sowing, for when the emboldened remnants of the old Siege came to the gates of Angband, a far vaster might of Morgoth Bauglir was unleashed and swept it away as snow before the Summer Sun. The greater might of the leaders of Manwe’s own blood-lineage was a force unleashed in strength at last and in several great and other lesser ways it meant that what would have been the decisive triumph of the razor’s edge became the unstoppable tsumami smashing whatever was in its path. Only Hurin Thalion’s valor endured unchanged, and that of the Naugrim, who once more dealt grievous wounds to Glaurung that outweighed even Manwe’s ‘blessing’ and left him to flee.

Melkor had Hurin brought to him, and for the second time the true fate of Manwe was made known, though in an alternate sense. Seeking to instill a sense of his lies, Hurin was chained to a mocking kind of throne, as Melkor showed him a selective truth of Manwe, seated on a ‘throne’ that was an illusion and in reality something not suited for a domestic animal, let alone the true Elder King, as Melkor’s confederate and willful aid who had come to him and been part of his schemes, and how Manwe’s influence directly cast dark winds to sour the fate of his children.

In the grim cunning of Melkor, he made it seem as though he were the objective truth and that all misfortunes were those of Manwe and Varda and those loyal to them, where Melkor’s forces were honorable and true enemies, even Glaurung, whose glamour and enchantment was instead telling a deeper truth that the Valar sought to conceal. Yet not one cry of mercy for himself or his kin did Hurin make, and it was impossible for him to truly credit all of what he was shown. Some of it was real, and confirmed horrid rumors and stories, that the new Werewolves had connections to Manwe akin to the old Great Eagles of his vast Eyrie. But much of it? He was too faithful and honorable to the Arda that should have been to believe the lies of a fallen and treacherously horny Manwe who had seduced Melkor and taught him ideas and geared his children to the horrid fates of Turin and Nienor. With Hurin’s release as a broken man, the last traces of the Old Arda died a dismal death turned to the purposes of Morgoth.

The new would be born as the greatest of Manwe’s children by the monsters, the twins Anacalagon, the Greater, and Smaug, the Lesser, grew and became mighty indeed. In the sorrows that befell Arda, it would be that a last ditch hope escaped the Third Kinslaying and brought not only plea for pardon but elements of the truth. Manwe Sulimo, the Lost King, was never lost, he had been captive within Thangorodrim, and the Mortals pled pardon for their faithlnessness on all counts to Varda Kementari, High Queen of Arda and Regent on behalf of the Lost King.

With the Pardon granted and the horrid truth made known, so came the War of Wrath and the last of the great changes. So mighty had swollen the new might of Morgoth that it spilled out into the vast elements of the North, yet so mighty was Aman in its wrath that even the heritage of Manwe gave it no more strength than the first would have had. Death stalked in their wake and the Great Siege came, the Valar laying low the full might of Melkor. Even the unleashment of the Great Anacalagon (who quietly ordered Smaug to ensure others of their kind survived, believing that the old days had come to an end and so would the age of Melkor) did not alter things.

And at last, after ten thousand years of servitude with the mad Melkor leaving Manwe clad in only a belt of twisted Morgul-gold that was meant to hold him down and dampen his powers while amplifying the twisted pleasures he was meant to seek, Sauron moved. Such had his powers and prowess grown and that of his master diminished that Sauron took the great Sword Valanehtar with the careful and quiet use of magics harvested from his master’s careless madness, and severed the chain tying Manwe’s restraints.

Melkor roared in anger but so lost was he to madness and so weak that when Thangorodrim, smote with the ruin of Anacalon, a ruin that led to a strange pain and weeping in the thundercloud-gaze of Manwe Sulimo that wept tears of lightning, that the Valar found to their great disquiet that the creature Gorthaur, so long seen as Melkor’s partner and great aid had laid him low, his foot upon his neck, his great blade stained with Melkor’s blood and Grond, hammer of the Underworld, in a severed hand a few feet away from Melkor, buried in the ground.

The eyes of Mairon were feral and so was his elation…..and in the sight of the broken Manwe Sulimo, who looked at Sauron with awe, the disquiet of the Valar and the armies of the War of Wrath grew. So was it that Sauron returned in victory to Aman, and made a false plea for pardon for his actions leavened by the truth of his betrayal and his carefully honed success in keeping his motives quiet. Manwe, the King Returned, granted the pardon easily, too easily for the likes of Tulkas and Namo, but they could not deny that it had been Sauron who had laid low the diminished Morgoth.

Even if he had clearly become weakened and decayed, somehow, the reality that a Maia, no matter how mighty, had laid low he who had held off single-handedly all of them together, even Tulkas, at the dawn of time left them desiring to keep the potentially dangerous enemy closer. Especially since what goodness seemed to be left in him was aimed at aiding his fellow captive, the Restored King.

Only Namo understood the full significance of the grim fanged smile of triumph Sauron flashed and the true emotions within it. But he was doomed only to watch. So ended the First Age in the ruin of Beleriand, the return of the King, and Sauron, seated in a humble Steward’s seat by the Great Throne in the Circle of Counsel, and become Vala-Friend and welcome to all. In time to come, all the Valar would wish that Tulkas’s counsel to throw Sauron into the Void with Morgoth had been heard immediately, and that Manwe would be given time to recover his grief.

Sauron smiled, that day that Morgoth was banished, his hand resting too affectionately on Manwe’s arm for the liking of Varda. They had not slept together since Melkor had taken him, as Sauron had insisted. They would not that night, and the rumor of a sharp-eyed Vanya that Manwe had taken Mairon to his new bedchamber with him was dismissed and the Vanya ordered sent to Middle Earth, where he would become Gil-Galad,, the great Elven King and last High King of the Elves.

Review Sauron Triumphant, Vol. I: Manwe Marred
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