Chapter 33: Altar

[Caution: this chapter contains semi/nonconsensual sex, violence, and torture.]

Time ticked away in a haze of punishment, humiliation punctuated by perversity, and climaxes denied, demanded, or coerced. Whenever she was left alone she would rest, bathe, and heal, waiting to be summoned to service Khamûl and the others or to endure a new exploration of her body’s sexual and traumatic limits. Her tolerance for pain grew, as did her orgasmic response to it. Her ass was regularly stretched and ravaged by cocks both real and fake, and her throat grew accustomed to constant physical abuse, but her sex was no longer broached or occupied in any fashion whatsoever, not even by fingers or objects. They ceased bothering with restraints, ordering her into one position or another and having their way with her. Resistance was an emotion she neither possessed nor truly understood anymore.

After one particularly brutal caning session (atypically devoid of sexual contact) she was brought to the crowded dining hall where she’d experienced her extended mechanical double-penetration. It was as full of rough men as before, though the infernal Machine was absent. She was ordered to kneel and orally service each and every soldier, swallowing all they offered. Most required her more than once, and the ordeal took many hours. The rawness and ache in her jaw and throat were, in the immediate aftermath, exceeded only by the distention in her stomach, and she was nauseous for a long while afterward. Yet she departed eager to do it again, and hoped that one day they’d take turns plundering her ass.

But it wasn’t to be. After an unusually long restorative period Khamûl came to her by himself, and for the first time in her experience he wasn’t naked. Instead, he wore a flowing black robe elaborately woven with dark red symbols and runes, parted in the middle to expose his ever-stiff weapon.

“You have been prepared, and you have suffered, and what was ordained from the beginning will now come to fruition,” he told her as she automatically knelt before him, reaching for his cock and wrapping her lips around the swollen head. “It remains to be seen if you will pass the final test, but whatever the outcome I have you to myself for a little while longer. Do not finish me with your mouth!” he commanded as she noisily slurped on his rod, pulling him into her throat with practiced ease. After a few thrusts he pushed her away, ordering her to get on her hands and knees while saliva dripped from his bobbing erection.

No sooner had she complied than she felt his glans pressing into her sphincter. It had been a long time since she’d been offered any lubrication other than that which her mouth could provide, but she’d come to relish the initial pain, knowing that the increased friction would quicken her pleasure. Still, being sodomized by Khamûl would never be devoid of discomfort before the eventual ecstasy, and she grunted and strained as he forced his way inside her rear orifice and remorselessly sawed back and forth.

Her pleasure was just barely beginning when he reached around to clamp iron rings onto her erect nipples. Gripping the thin chains attached to both he pulled, reveling in her wails and pleas for respite, using them as an anchor for his powerful thrusts until the building force ripped the rings from her tortured buds. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she quivered through an orgasm, and the pace of his hammering increased. Just as their coupling reached a frenzied blur he yanked her head backward, twisting her neck to feed his spurting cock into her eager mouth, filling her throat with seed, watching her struggle to swallow the scalding liquid and refusing to pull away until she did.

Still ramrod-stiff, he bent her legs towards her head and forced himself back through her reddening anus, fucking her with a relentless fury while his hands cruelly worked her tits, alternating sharp blows to their sides with scream-inducing nipple stretches. As so often happened in these moments she abandoned herself to sensation, reaching down to spread her cheeks wide and begging him to fuck her harder, to use her hole, to pound her gaping ass until she passed out. Eventually he unleashed another torrent of sperm onto her greedy tongue, then stood and stared at her heaving body, crumpled on the floor and wracked by a continuous series of aftershocks, her nether hole stretched open, a trickle of semen running down her chin.

“Please, Khamûl,” she gasped, “fuck me again. I need you back in my ass. Please. I’ll do anything.”

“You know what happens when you beg, slut.”

Éowyn shuddered in anticipatory orgasm, for this was what she’d really wanted all along. “Yes ... please, please, punish me. Please...”

“And still you ask.”

From beneath his robe he produced a thin cane, applying it with sharp wrist-flicks to her sore tits, and then directly between the sodden lips of her cunt as she writhed in agonized release, juices spattering her body and the floor. He paused and she begged him to punish her again, but instead he responded by flipping her onto her stomach and driving his cock back into her stretched rectum, pressing her head into the stone. Helpless to do more than squirm beneath his pistoning, she moaned and squealed as he ravaged her ass. This time his cum flowed into her colon, and she groaned at its strange and terrible heat.

Rolling over and spreading her legs as widely as her aching muscles would allow she waited for him to punish her again. Which he did, this time with a small multi-tailed whip that repeatedly flagellated her labia until she exploded in another messy climax. At his gesture she rolled again so he could crisscross her tender cheeks with dozens of whip-marks, after which he used her ass one more time, unleashing his final load deep inside her convulsing channel.

“I may regret that, for time is now short.”

Éowyn panted, her body exhausted from his unrelenting pounding and her ever-escalating pleasure.

“Get up. Clean yourself. Quickly!”

Éowyn complied, shuffling to the bath and doing her best to efficiently restore herself with water, unguent, and brush ... though about her many marks, welts, and bruises she could do little. Khamûl handed her a thin black robe, nearly identical to his (down to the details of the embroidery) but gapped to allow unimpeded access to her breasts and both her orifices. She slipped it over her head and knelt, whimpering as she worshipped his cock with her tongue.

“The first stage of your ordeal is at an end. You are ready for Him. Stand and follow, slave!”

Éowyn walked behind Khamûl, limping a bit from soreness but suddenly (and unwisely) curious about what was to come. The first stage? What else is there except more of the same?

“Who is he?” The moment the words left her lips she knew it was a mistake, confirmed when a reflexive slap sent her tumbling into the wall.

“You already know Him.”

Éowyn rubbed her cheek, grateful for the immediacy of her correction, yet she couldn’t remember meeting, or even knowing, anyone other than her captors. Moved to unexpected boldness, she dared to ask another question. “How long have I been here?”

“One week.”

She stumbled, reeling with confusion. Only one week? But how is that possible? Surely I’ve suffered far longer than that!

Doubts long-suppressed infected her ordered and compliant mind. If I had a life before my bondage I can’t remember it. But how could I be so thoroughly remade in a single week? She searched her memories for gaps and inconsistencies. I’ve been used and beaten ... I’ve bathed, eaten, slept ... but ... but... Quelling a gasp of surprise, she suddenly realized there at least one essential function had been entirely absent. I’ve never once relieved myself, nor even felt the urge to do so. How can this be? Going a week without is obviously impossible, and yet...

“We have arrived.”

Lost to her musing and growing suspicion, she ignored the threatening blackness in her heart as they traversed the forbidding corridor, but at the threshold of the chamber in which she’d first been whipped, branded, and taken before the all-powerful Dark Lord’s gaze she quailed. Her endless degradations she’d learned to accept and even enjoy, but the mind-flaying power of the Eye was still more than she could bear, and she flinched, cowering in fear.

Khamûl grabbed her by the collar and dragged her into the room.

Seven cruel-visaged men clad in robes identical to Khamûl’s chanted in a guttural language Éowyn couldn’t even begin to comprehend. It’s not the same as the soldiers’ speech. It sounds related, yet somehow older and more primal. Tall metal torches, their flames sullied and transformed by some substance or magic, filled the room with a quavering red light. At her side stood Khamûl, his incomparable phallus almost absurdly extended well beyond the folds of his robes. Though in this he wasn’t alone; everyone else was similarly erect, their rock-hard shafts pointed directly at her.

Mere moments later, each and every one of those shafts was wet with her saliva. Her initial task accomplished, she was stripped and tightly secured to an angled stone altar. Her collar was restored to now-rare utility, immobilizing her neck and forcing her to stare straight at the curtained wall. Her legs were bent at right angles to her body, spread wide, then bound by tight chains, leaving her dripping sex and abused nether hole elevated and completely exposed. Remnants of Khamûl’s ejaculate slowly dripped onto the altar’s cold surface. Her arms were stretched high above her head, wrists held in place by thorny metal cuffs chained to heavy iron rings.

She tried to close her eyes when she heard the barrier grind open, but it was no use. Paralyzed by fear yet overcome by submission to their dark will, she could nothing other than stare, terror seizing her racing heart. The black curtain fell, revealing a horizon even more bleak and hopeless than before. The lacerating fury of the Eye penetrated her with eager loathing, crushing and consuming the last remnants of her broken soul, but the inexorable dominance of It suddenly sent her loins afire with need. Khamûl was right: I’m prepared for something that I wasn’t ready for until now. But what?

Her captors approached as one, roughly probing her sex with claw-like fingers, repeatedly bringing her to the brink of climax and then digging into her flesh with their hard nails until it receded. By they time they returned to their positions she was gasping with unfulfilled desire.