Chapter 29: Audition

[Caution: this chapter contains violent and semi/nonconsensual sex. Uruk is the name for an Orc in the Black Speech.]

... she snapped awake, her cataclysm arrested, and instantly burst into tearless sobs.

Even in my dreams I can’t reach orgasm. What have they done to me? I’m broken and cannot be mended.

Once again she awoke free of bindings and entirely alone, with the door to her dungeon wide open. She was exhausted, her body a patchwork tale of abuse, and she studied the bright red remnants of cane, strap, and pincer crisscrossing her flesh. Her lips were raw and dry, her nipples engorged and purple ... and her labia swollen and wet as if freshly fucked.

Was I... ? She “felt” the depths of her channel, not daring to fondle herself lest she lose these few cherished moments of solitude. No. Just in my dream. And anyway, I can’t imagine they wouldn’t want me to be awake for such an event.

Wearily, she stumbled down the hall, clutching the wall in the half-blindness of her misery. The bath that awaited was as hot and soothing as ever, and the usual range of unguents and cloths were arrayed at its side. She made use of all of them, salving and rehydrating her damaged skin. There was also food and drink, and she partook of as much as she could consume and guiltily devoured the rest, unwilling to rely on the continuing charity of her captors. When she was as healed as possible she re-immersed herself to the neck and considered her options.

I could try to end my life again. I could hold my breath until the final moment, feigning life to the last, then sink into the water and ... no, it will never work. And what was Khamûl’s warning? “They have ways of bringing you back.” I can’t imagine what foul sorcery might be involved, but I don’t want to be confronted with that reality or its aftermath.

So what now? Trapped here forever, each day a fresh palette of torture until every cell is broken and remade by their twisted whims? And then to become a mindless automaton like that woman ... branded and marked, no more than a target for their whips and holes to be used for their pleasure? That fate is one in which I’m already mired, and its endpoint seems closer than ever. Though she could no longer see a future that belonged to her — it was all she could do to summon the necessary strength to survive her bleak present — it was with even greater despair that she realized she couldn’t clearly remember her past, either. Field and foal, hearth and hall, friend and foe ... all faded. I can’t picture the wide plains of Rohan, nor feel the rhythmic undulation of a galloping horse, nor test the heft of a well-forged sword, nor breathe the freshness and promise of the free air, nor turn my face to the sun as it rises and sets. Faces and voices elude me. Friends, lovers, enemies ... even my beloved brother and fallen King ... are formless silhouettes and silent ciphers. Why can’t I remember what they look like?

Éowyn had only two goals in her terribly constricted universe: somehow achieving the release she so desperately craved, and doing whatever was necessary to submit to her tormentors, no matter how painful or demeaning ... for every form of resistance only worsened her situation.

But are there even worse torments than those I’ve already suffered? I’m sure there must be, even if I can’t conceive of all they might entail. My captors’ imagination in this regard seems hideously boundless. Anyway, it’s not important. If they want to abuse me, I’ll submit to the abuse. If they want to make sexual use of me, I’ll let them. There’s no other way to survive. And one day, when they no longer expect defiance, perhaps Khamûl and I can...

She tried to shake her mind free of its sickening capitulation.

What’s wrong with me? How can I think this way? Where’s my will to live, to escape my abuse, to walk free, to wreak bloody revenge on my jailers? To this her mind found no answer, and her body ignored the question entirely. It remained immersed in the soothing water, borrowing what comfort it could in the moments it was allowed, yet still burning with arousal, the memory of pain, and anticipation of the next degradation. The next torture. Even if I could summon the will to resist, it’s too late. My flesh has already surrendered. Between thought and act there was an impenetrable fog, and though the fading vestiges of her deepest self fought against the encroaching haze, there was nothing tangible to which to cling. If I could win just one victory. One brief escape. One penetrating wound. One climax that belongs to me.

Through the fog the object of her most uncontrollable lust strode; naked, powerful, and utterly compelling. His cock was already fully erect, and her gaze was trapped and held by its majesty as he approached. Though her lips moved, she couldn’t form coherent sounds with which to greet him. She could only stare, overwhelmed by her desire for his manhood.

I should be angry at him for how things ended last time. At the very least he should first bring me to orgasm before I agree to serve him again.

Effortlessly, he lifted her from the water and cupped her breasts in his strong hands, kneading the flesh and testing the resistance of her hardening nipples. She winced, for their recent abuse had not faded, but she didn’t stop him. Then, taking her head between his palms, he gently but insistently guided her to her knees, nudging her lips with his glistening manhood.

How dare he? Neither word nor promise of help has he uttered, nor has he done aught to bring me pleasure, yet he expects me to...

But she was already opening her mouth. All her most righteous objections drifted away as he pushed his towering phallus through her encircling lips, distending her jaw and flattening her tongue. She licked his smooth glans as it passed, then gave in to his will and sucked him deeper ... and deeper ... and deeper still. Accepting, in one smooth and triumphant effort, the entirety of his impossible staff deep in her throat. I guess my long oral training served its purpose. If she could have breathed she might have cheered in victory.

Khamûl’s voice was hoarse and thick with lust. “You are the one. I knew it from the beginning.”

Flushed with gratitude at his praise and the promise within, she took the initiative and fucked her throat with his rigid pillar until she was again bruised and raw. What she was doing wouldn’t have been possible save for the hours of relentless oral assault she’d been forced to endure, and her already waning resentment at such treatment dissolved. Ignoring her discomfort, she focused instead on the pleasure she was bringing him. Her own needs were unimportant; her only goal was to make him come and then to feed on his creamy sustenance.

His words continued, their tone dark and strangely ominous. “I have not forgotten your request.”

What request? She sucked harder, swirling her tongue around his length whenever he retreated from her throat. My hopeless dream of escape? Please, Khamûl, stop talking and let me finish you. We can speak of the ephemerality of freedom after you’ve given me your seed.

“It is almost time. You must endure a little longer. That cannot be helped or arrested. But when the moment arrives I will come for you, and together we will seek your truest desire.”

She knew she should be listening, knew she should be paying attention, but in truth she could barely hear his words. At the moment the only things she could comprehend — the only things she wanted to comprehend — were his cock and the sweet gift it would soon provide. Sucking until her cheeks hollowed, she popped her mouth free of his hardness, stroking his length with both hands while she noisily slurped at his enormous balls. When they’d been satisfactorily bathed and worshipped she slowly licked up his shaft until she reached the end, plunging forward with vigor, aggressively impaling her oral cavity with his rod. She gagged at each penetration, reveling in every moment of asphyxia as he rammed deep into her gullet.

Groaning, he clutched her hair and became the aggressor. With powerful strokes he fucked her throat, smashing his pelvis into her face as he stretched her down to her esophagus, pounding and punishing her for his pleasure. She welcomed every staggering thrust, every painful tug on her hair, wanting only to serve him, to let him use her until he came, however and whenever he wanted.

He continued to whisper mysterious words about the future... her future ... but at the moment she cared nothing for his promises. There would be time to discuss the impossible later. Grasping his flexing ass in a desperate attempt to keep his cock all the way inside her, she silently begged him to arrest his rambling and bless her with his tribute.

With an accelerating series of grunts, he withdrew his phallus until only the head was sealed by her eager lips and poured a river of burning semen into her mouth. She gulped and choked, on the verge of climax at the mere thought of drinking so much of his nectar. It soon proved impossible for her to swallow as quickly as was required, and in desperation she pressed her face forward, directing his scalding fluids into her throat. Still, streams of ejaculate oozed back along his pulsing cock, and in sudden panic over the thought that she might lose a single drop she pulled him all the way in, bypassing her ability to swallow as the rest streamed straight into her gullet.

When he was finally spent she diligently applied herself to a thorough cleansing of his rod, greedily chasing and lapping up every stray drop. Her sight was dulled and unfocused by her numbing lust, yet she could conceive of no greater purpose in life than kneeling before his mighty phallus to do it obeisance, and so — despite being unable to see clearly — she again opened her mouth, preparing herself to take him into her throat once more. Her tongue was already circling his hot glans when he yanked her to her feet. Confused, she stared into his smoldering eyes until her focus returned, and in that moment any notion of complaint or objection evaporated. She waited patiently, wishing only to learn how she could continue to serve him.

When his stiff rod prodded the entrance to her pussy, she thought she knew his answer. She was incredibly wet but otherwise physically unprepared; penetration would certainly involve a great deal of horrible stretching before it could be accomplished. But she pushed this unimportant thought aside., I’ll willingly accommodate him there or anywhere else if that’s what he desires... because that’s what he desires.

She whimpered as he squeezed her buttocks, lifting her from the floor to grind her dripping sex against his cock, sliding her up and down its length but denying her fulfillment. Her swollen labia enveloped only a fraction of his girth, but her hyperextended clitoris vibrated with arousal as he stimulated her to the breaking point. She wrapped her arms around his enormous shoulders, pressing their bodies together, and in response he whispered in her ear. “One day you will have no thought except to beg for my cock. It is on that day that you will finally be free.”

Her brow furrowed between her gasps of pleasure. She wondered if he meant that she shouldn’t beg now, as she’d been on the very cusp of doing so. There was also his odd phrasing to consider. “You will finally be free.” Does that mean we won’t be free together? But how could I truly be free unless I’m offering him pleasure? Then his glans strummed her clit, and she abandoned any thought or desire beyond the mechanics of their union.

“Your greatest tests are before you, but by their end you will know who you truly are. Whenever you offer yourself for my pleasure you will remember this, the moment you took the first step towards your destiny.”

Though she should have felt a thrill of fear at his warning of torments to come, she was so focused on the fire in her loins that she didn’t care. We will be together after all. Of course I’ll endure whatever they want if the eventual reward is submitting to him. But why does he still speak only of the future? What about the craving that consumes me right now? She squirmed against his body, pleading without words for him to take her.

He released her ass, and she impatiently reached between them to grasp his manhood, positioning it at the entrance to her desperate sex. His hand gripped her wrist, immobilizing it (and her) with only the tip of his glans still teasing her eager channel. She whined with desire, straining to draw him inside despite the strength of his resistance.

“Beg me to fuck you,” he growled.

Éowyn writhed, trying to impale herself on his spear but unable to dislodge his restraining hand. “Yes. Yes! I beg you to fuck me. I implore you to fuck me right now! Please, please, please ... I want your cock! I need it. Please, please, please, please...” she repeated, fading into incoherence.

With a violent twist he spun her ‘round and bent her at the waist. Her momentary bewilderment was quelled when he sank a thick finger into her sodden cunt and then brought it to her mouth. She attacked it with a frenzy, tasting her delicious arousal, then tensed as his stiff prod slid upward to her puckered rear entrance.

“Now beg me to fuck you here.”

Despite the extremity of her need, she hesitated. I want him inside me so badly, there and everywhere, but can it be? If it’s even possible, the pain will be enormous. I could be injured, or worse. The physical objections rolled through her mind, but her mind was no longer in control. Her body, in all its deranged lust, spoke for her. Beyond thought, beyond care, beyond rationality, she sobbed her answer.

“YES! Khamûl, please fuck my ass! It’s yours, all yours, only yours. Bury your giant cock in my tightest hole. Ravage me. Use me. Fuck me as deep and hard as you can. Stretch me. Split me open. Ruin me. Make me scream in pain and pleasure. For you. Only you. Please, please, please!“ Again her words descended into an indistinct litany as she reached back to pull her cheeks apart, opening herself to him, straining backwards, choking with the intensity of her desire.

The pressure was immediate. His oozing tip pressed against her resisting sphincter, and even though his emissions were lubricating her tight entrance, even the slightest forward movement seemed impossible. Immense discomfort flamed into pain. Every nerve and synapse in panicked protest, she tried to assemble the will to push him away, to pause and prepare herself. The terrible stretching as he tried to widen her aperture was unbearable, and she feared he’d never breach the entrance without ripping her open. Still, she didn’t care. She was determined to let him take her, no matter the price.

Gritting her teeth, steeling herself against what was to come, she pushed backward with all her might. Some damaged quarter of her mind welcomed the sharp escalation of pain, desperate for the penetration no matter the physical — or perhaps even mortal — cost. And yet, despite all her undeniable agony, pleasure grew in direct proportion to the terrible force; pleasure at being a pliant vessel, pleasure at being used, pleasure that her suffering could be the path to another’s pleasure. She knew with complete certainty that she would come the moment he broke through her barrier, and she reached between her legs and furiously abraded her clit in building anticipation. She could already feel her orgasm starting, and her body shook with tremors even as her ass resisted his entrance to the last of its waning strength. Pleasure and pain. Pain and pleasure. I finally understand: they’re the same! They’re one and the same! She opened her mouth to scream this exalted truth.

Suddenly, her mind shattered and her searing agony disappeared as she fell into an insensate nowhere. Her tenuous grips on reality and consciousness failed, and her raging emotions dissolved into despair and confusion. Had he successfully buried his cock in her ass? Had she collapsed from the pain? Had she finally achieved her long-desired climax? Was she dead?

She found no answers. Instead, she drifted through a void of infinite nothingness, bereft of sensation, forever frozen between the moment of comprehension and the moment of surrender.

When she awoke, her thoughts — and her fingers — flew to her nether hole. Did he... ?

Nervously, she probed.

No. I’m a little sore, but nothing ... certainly nothing of his size ... actually breached my entrance. But then what happened? Why did I pass out? Was the mere anticipation of the pain more than I could endure?

She opened her eyes, and immediately regretted it. Blinding light was everywhere, bathing her in harshness. She was lying on the cold stone floor of the dungeon, her collar loosely chained to a ring driven into the floor. Flight was impossible, but within about a ten foot circle she had complete freedom of movement. Nor was she blindfolded ... though there was still no hope of identifying her captors, for her form was over-lit by dozens of torches blazing in dazzling yellow flame, behind them arrayed glittering panels of well-polished silver that functioned as mirrors. All light was focused on her, like a prisoner under interrogation. Her image was reflected back at her by the panels, and seeing her naked, chained, abused, and vulnerable flesh from every angle was a shock. Though it was pointless modesty given her circumstances, she sat up and drew her limbs close.

Voices murmured from behind the panels. One that she knew all too well rose above the others. “I understand that you are desperate for an orgasm.” It was the cruel Voice again. Seeing little point in evasion she nodded, bowing her head to her knees ... for she was sure this conversation portended another session of torment and denial. “You must be desperate if you considered taking Khamûl into your ass without preparation,” he continued. “Even an experienced anal slut like you could never hope to do so without irreparable damage. At least not yet. Once that stage of your training is finished you might be able to accommodate him. It will never be easy, but of course your pain is of no more concern to us than your pleasure.”

Éowyn looked up in growing concern, whispering the name of her fear. “Khamûl ... is he... ?”

Mocking laughter came at her from all sides. “His energies have been redirected to something more useful. Your dalliances have been entertaining, to be sure, and your greedy enthusiasm for his staff and seed have been most impressive,” he said as she gaped at their intimate knowledge, “but his task was to restore you for what is yet to come. Whatever else happens is irrelevant. Should he deem it an appropriate reward for his services, he is free to make use of you as opportunity permits and within the limits we have set for you. You may see Khamûl again, and you may not, but what you will not do is reach climax on your own terms. You forget, slut, that your orgasms also belong to us. You were close to achieving one that we did not grant, and so it was necessary for us to take immediate and extreme measures to arrest your behavior. For that you will be punished, and harshly. As for Khamûl, I assure you that few are as well-acquainted with the price of disobedience.”

Her head fell once again, but not as far as her final thread of hope. It’s too late, then. They were watching and listening all along, and I have to assume they know everything we talked about. I’ll never escape. And poor Khamûl... Her last tattered shreds of resistance drained away with the first of her tears.

Again the Voice laughed, and as before there was limitless cruelty in it. “Do not cry, whore. We are about to give you something you want. Look behind you.”

Despite her weeping, Éowyn complied. There was a small pile of instruments on the floor next to her that she hadn’t noticed before. She stared, wiping away her tears, and then her breath caught as the instruments’ form and purpose became clear ... for most either were or bore a prodigious representation of the male organ. The smallest were by any measure large, while others were of epic scale, though varying wildly in shape and material. There were also bulb-like devices attached to what looked like long metal fishhooks. That’s what they’ve been using to stretch my ass while I sleep, she guessed, though these look bigger. A dual phallus, designed for the simultaneous impalement of both holes, was half-obscured by the rest of the items, and some sort of even more complicated construction rested at the base of the pile. There was also a large vessel of thick golden oil. But then her eyes strayed, for horror loomed as close as ever.

A few feet away, right below one of the reflective panels, was a neatly arranged line of what the Rohirrim called horse-tail whips. She knew that there was a more common name, but she couldn’t recall it at the moment. From each sturdy grip streamed scores of thin leather strips. Used gently they were a kinder substitute for a crop or a full-size whip, employed to encourage recalcitrant horses and other beasts to comply without causing significant discomfort or damage. Used forcefully...

I doubt they’ll be used gently today, and there’s no question at all who will be their target. Her body trembled with anxiety; there were eight of them, and her flesh would surely be rent to shreds should all of them be simultaneously and violently applied. They claim they won’t let me die, but the pain...

“You are wise to be afraid. But we are feeling uncharacteristically magnanimous, and have decided to offer you an opportunity to avoid the caress of the lash.” She squinted into the light, fearful yet curious. “And, along the way, to achieve for yourself what you have so selfishly begged from others.”

She waited in silence, though her hands were shaking.

“You will note that there are eight floggers, one for each who watches from the shadows. At the end of a single hour, those who remain will take them up, punishing you to our satisfaction and using you for our own pleasure in whichever order we choose and for as long as we want. But you have an opportunity to send all of us from the room and escape this reward. All you have to do,” he snarled, “is come. Can you do that, slut? Is that not what you seek?”

Éowyn remained planted on the floor in confusion.

“You have one hour to perform for your own pleasure and our amusement. Use what we have provided to come like the shameless whore you are. Each time you do one of us will depart the room with their flogger. If you can achieve eight climaxes before the hour is up, you will — for now — escape the lash and anything else we wish to do to you.” She thrilled with relief and hope. In my frenzied state eight orgasms should be trivially easy.