The nazgul takes Faramir to the witch king
Chapter 12: The Bonding *Warning* Rape. Extreme Graphic Sexual Matter. Violence
this page added by Cyndra
Warnings: Violence, rape, extreme graphic sexual matter with a nazgul.
I'm not kidding, extreme NC-17 rating. Rape.
The stench of the River Morgulduin revealed to Faramir’s distraught and drugged mind he was being carried into Minas Morgul. The hideous carved figures from atop the bridge mocked him as the steed crossed the bridge leading into the ruined city.
The animal stopped abruptly and the nazgul slowly dismounted carrying his prize burden into the dark tower. Orcs slithered out of darkened alcoves making obscene noises and gestures when the nazgul removed the last barrier between him and Faramir’s naked skin. The cloak fell to the ground and the nazgul held the young man tightly against his chest with one hand using the other to stroke Faramir shamelessly in front of the salivating orcs deliberately driving them in a state of erotic frenzy.
Several uruks put aside their fear of the nazguls preparing to take the human when Khamul, the nazgul lieutenant mysteriously stepped out of the darkness. Any attempt to take the human immediately vanished.
The nazgul lieutenant took Faramir from the other nazgul’s grasp, glanced down at the drugged man before accusing the minion. “You dare touch the Witch-king’s chosen?”
“He is unharmed.”
“Fool, you risk much,” Khamul hissed, sending the orcs and uruks scattering back to their places in fear. Never had the nazguls argued openly or if they had the ringwraiths assured no witnesses ever told the tale. The lieutenant from Mordor turned, the black cape flying in the air with such velocity dust clouds blew across the marble floor. Khamul ascended the stairwell climbing quickly that the torches placed inside the marble slabs appeared as brief flashes of light to the human eye.
At the highest point within the tower they entered a large damp room. The faint scent of the river’s stench drifted in from a large opened window. The white marble stonewalls so long ago neglected was covered in dark smudges and smears that one could only guess the origins.
Orcs carried in a large black marble table, placed it in the middle of the room and pulled out the corners to form an x-shape.
Faramir was placed on the table the coldness of the slab sending chills throughout his body. A breeze drifted across his face and the ranger captain turned his groggy head to find the large window. An escape route?
A rough hand squeezed his chin yanking his head back. Through blurry eyes he stared into the hidden face of his captor.
Khamul lifted the human into his arms sliding one hand between Faramir’s legs and the other he cradled the young man’s head before carrying him to the window. Stepping up onto the windowsill, Khamul reached out and dangled Faramir outside the window.
The frightened ranger glanced down and gasped. Nothing but Khamul’s hands stood between him and a sheer drop into the darkness below.
“Escape is futile.” Khamul pulled him back inside the room. “Reprimand is swift.” Confused by the nazgul’s words, Faramir had little time to comprehend them. The hand wedged between his legs opened, jostling them apart. He was carried to the growing spectators and displayed like a prized trophy.
Mortified he tried closing his legs but Khamul’s powerful hand stretched even further flaunting his privates to the favorable enthusiastic orcs.
Each creature took their time ogling the human’s nude body, but none dared touch the ranger. Even the slightest touch meant instant death.
After several long humiliated moments, the performance ended and Faramir was returned to the table. Immediately the ranger’s hands moved to cover himself from the numerous leering eyes that stared wantonly at his nude body. Several orcs openly groped themselves moaning in broken words Faramir couldn’t understand.
“W…w…why me?” Faramir asked sliding to the opposite end of the table. Fabric touched his back and with fearful eyes, Faramir turned to find another nazgul blocking his path. Was this the same nazgul who had brought him to Minas Morgul?
“You are pure. Untainted by evil.” Khamul explained. Metallic fingers reached out and encircled Faramir’s ankle playfully caressing the tender flesh. Faramir jerked upon contact shivering from a fear he never knew he possessed. He couldn’t move, fear overrode every thought his mind screamed at him to escape. Never before had he been in the presence of one so evil.
His frantic mind prayed Tirion escaped to bring help but in that last strand of hope Faramir remembered Tirion had given him to the nazgul. With tear-filled eyes he realized he was damned.
“The perfect host.”
“H…host?” Faramir’s cloudy mind tried understanding what the ringwraith was telling him.
“You will bond with our master in mind and body.” The ringwraith continued caressing the foot remembering a time long long ago when the touch of another warm blooded human sent his body into troves of passion. Passion. Love. Hate. Desire. Fear. Happiness. Human emotions, only fading memories from a life lived thousands of years ago. Damned forever. Immortality was bittersweet.
Khamul trailed a finger along the prisoner’s leg watching with renewed interest as the human shivered uncontrollably under his insensitive touch. Captivated by the power he possessed over the human, the nazgul lieutenant lifted the same leg squeezing his fingers deep into the skin listening to the increased heart beat that came from the frightened young man.
Yes, the Witch-king will enjoy this one immiscibly. He lowered the human’s leg and stepped back almost jealous at the leader’s chance to bond with the human. Though the Witch-king would remain immortal he would retain all human characteristics this one possessed.
The only requirement Sauron dictated, the chosen vessel must possess valuable information on Gondor, particularly Minas Tirith and Denethor.
For decades Sauron’s mental tug of war with Denethor had been taxing costing the dark lord precious time in his conquest of Gondor. The Steward of Gondor had proven to be a powerful adversary and no amount of corruption had tempted him.
Sauron’s patience started to wean until one night Denethor’s use of the palantir revealed a secret Sauron uncovered. The steward held a strong distrust for the wizard Gandalf, believing the wizard wanted to supplant him. Denethor’s distrust quickly turned to hatred when a friendship developed between his youngest son and the wizard.
Convinced the wizard was influencing his son, Denethor kept Gandalf under surveillances whenever the wizard visited the White City, and Sauron used that information to weaken the proud man’s state of mind.
Spies were sent into Gondor gathering information on Faramir that would provide the dark lord with the knowledge to destroy Denethor’s resolve. When the spies reported Faramir not only possessed that information he also had some knowledge on Middle Earth as well. Satisfied with the information, Sauron then concocted the plan to bond his most trust servant with the steward’s youngest. Having the Witch-king controlling Gondor while he was free to continue his search for the one ring had been too great of a temptation to resist.
The only obstruction that prevented the bonding was learning Faramir’s sexual preference. Was the human a virgin? Untouched by man. It mattered not if Denethor’s son had mated repeatedly with females, all the transformation needed was a virgin human male host free of evil tendencies. Surprisingly that information had been provided by Faramir’s own brother during a drunken celebration two weeks ago witnessed by one of Sauron’s most valued human spies.
Tirion and Sauron formed a plan to bring Faramir to Mordor.
Tirion. The man had betrayed his own people. Though once human themselves, the nazguls had no love for the human traitor.
Khamul looked down at Faramir, noticing the deepening blush that continued to spread across the human’s body. Such innocence. Tirion had fulfilled his part of the agreement by delivering the Witch-king’s mate however Tirion’s value had not changed in the nazgul’s eyes.
Khamul pried his fingers in between the human’s legs separating them. The vessel had to be prepared before the Witch-king’s arrival. His fingers caressed the inside thigh continuing their track upwards until he touched an obstacle. “Remove your hands. You are the master’s now.”
Even in his panic stricken mind Faramir remained defiant refusing to relinquish the last barrier he had over the nazgul.
Orcs shuffled into the room vying for position to witness the unveiling of the human’s body again. Each wanted to watch the bonding ceremony that would be long and lust filled. The Witch-king’s sexual drive had been dormant for thousands of years and bringing the Lord of the Nazgul to complete sexual gratification where the ringwraith could produce the seed needed to enter the human’s body would give the orcs a scene to release their own pinned up discharge.
“Remove your hands,” Khamul repeated. When Faramir hesitated, Khamul nodded his head and the other nazgul grabbed the human’s arms and pulled them apart where two orcs waited on opposite sides of the table. Faramir’s hands were locked inside iron manacles.
“Arrange him.” A dark sinister voice demanded. “Prepare the ceremonial chalice.” The first nazgul disappeared from the room and orcs wisely forgot their spectator sport scrambling out of the way as the new arrival entered the room.
The Witch-king of Angmar had arrived.
The new arrival sent a new wave of panic cascading through Faramir’s already tensed body. His chaotic mind screamed in blind fear fighting with untapped energy against the cruel hands that unmercifully pulled his legs in opposite directions. Cuffs snapped around his ankles spreading him wide for the Lord of the Nazgul’s pleasure.
The Witch-king of Angmar moved between the spread legs gliding long unfeeling fingers underneath the frightened man’s buttocks brutally pinching the firm globes. The young man bucked up trying to escape the painful assault. With greedy open hands the Lord of the Nazgul waited patiently as gravity and the arm and leg restraints forced the man back down on the table. Sauron’s servant squeezed the human flesh caressing a buttock in each hand listening with wanton passion to Faramir’s labored breathing.
Fear. The young man was covered in it. To the nazgul human fear was a powerful aphrodisiac and soon the Witch-king would plunge himself into the depths of that aphrodisiac but first there had to be no mistake the young one was the correct host.
“Khamul?” he turned to the second-in-command his hands never leaving Faramir’s body.
The nazgul lieutenant nodded, answering the unspoken question. “He is untouched.”
Satisfied the Witch-king looked down at his unwilling host, inserted his thumbs into the cleft and separated the buttocks. Circling the entrance, the Lord of the Nazgul observed the steward’s son. The young man was terrified, afraid, sweating from fear. The nazgul wanted to savor the ranger’s reaction when his body is penetrated for the first time.
Sauron’s instructions had been clear.
Nothing must come between the Witch-king and the chosen one once the bonding commences. Only when an errection has been achieved will he withdraw to drink from the sacred chalice. The vessel will endure a different sacrament preparing him for the Witch-king’s lust that will increase tenfold. Only through an orgasm can the Witch-king’s essence enter the vessel to claim it.
The buttocks squeezed together angering the nazgul. He inserted a callous finger into the intimate passage testing the ring of muscle. Faramir jerked upwards, trembling violently from the pain and embarrassment. He squirmed in a desperate attempt to escape as the probe deepened hurting him in places he never knew existed.
Black dots clouded his vision as the pain became unbearable. His resolve rapidly deteriorated into the first of many screams that erupted from his throat.
Another scream filled the air as another finger entered him. His back arched off the table trying to dislodge the perturbing objects. In his desperate desire to escape the abuse his rear was suffering Faramir exposed his genitals to his rapist.
The Witch-king seized the object squeezing the young man’s genitals with enough pressure that forced another scream from Faramir’s lips. He fell back where the nazgul’s fingers reentered the tight passage to resume their brutal exploration.
In a last ditch effort, Faramir used the only means of escape he had left. A lie. “Not…..not..,” he stammered sweat forming across his chest and face trying to form the words, “a…virgin.”
The Witch-king immediately withdrew the prying fingers and Khamul’s hooded head shot up and turned towards the archway. “Bring the Gondorian,” the Nazgul lieutenant hissed to the orcs standing in his line of sight.
Faramir renewed his attempts to escape much to the Witch-king’s enjoyment. The two nazguls taunted the young man each taking turns fondling his body to Faramir’s complete horror- arousal.
“Master,” a voice growled interrupting the Witch-king’s attempts to perform the first of many sexual acts upon his unwilling host. He had plans for the human, plans to introduce the young man to a sexual indulgent never experienced before by a human. Secrets unlocked from the millenniums, spent witnessing the sexual practices of many races. Each act the ringwraith leader intended to perform on his virgin host. The pain alone would bring waves of erotic stimulation for the Lord of the Nazgul’s long denied sexual release.
Tirion entered the crowded room escorted by five armed uruks who tossed him to the floor. With fearful eyes the Gondorian looked up to find himself staring into the concealed face of the crowned nazgul.
Had the Witch-king learn he had molested Faramir?
“The host denies your claim.” The ringwraith moved aside revealing Faramir’s nude body strapped to the black x-shaped table. The steward’s youngest had his legs spread wide with his lower torso hanging off the table and from the nazgul leader’s current position it was clear to Tirion what fate waited the young man.
“Tirion please, help me,” Faramir cried pleading with his betrayer for assistance. He pulled at the arm restraints. “Please,” his lips trembled, “help me.”
“Answer the master,” an uruk hissed in Tirion’s ear.
The Gondorian lieutenant released a heavy sigh of relief thankful the ringwraiths hadn’t discovered his failed seduction attempts. He approached the table admiring the naked body.
“You had your chance, Faramir. Now you will lose more than just your virginity.” The young man hitched in a sharp breath at hearing Tirion’s words. Tirion circled the table. If he couldn’t have Faramir, there was no reason why he could not watch that beautiful body being ravaged by someone else. With cold cruel eyes, Tirion turned to the Witch-king of Angmar. “No man has touched him, my Lord. With Gondor’s Captain-general’s own lips he proclaimed his brother’s foolish dream to remain untouched by men for a non-exist king.”
“Noooooooooo,” Faramir screamed as Tirion’s final betrayal was unveiled. The Witch-king of Angmar waved a gloved hand over Faramir’s body and an unseen force pinned him to the hard unforgiving table terrifying the ranger beyond horror. Torches were inserted into hidden holders positioned at the four table corners illuminating the slab of marble in an eerie glow.
The nazgul fisted his hand around the semi-erect organ and began a slow steady rhythm waiting until the right moment when the young man uttered the first uncontrollable moan and then brutally reinserted the finger into the tight channel.
Screams filled the large room. Faramir’s organ was released after the ringwraith gained access to the virgin passage again. The anal muscles closed quickly sealing around the intruding finger, refusing to stretch until the finger bent and the ring of muscle was forced to loosen to accept the different angle.
Another finger was inserted and the brutal assault continued.
Faramir’s screams intensified begging for mercy from the one who was merciless. Fingers increased their cruel examination of the virgin territory searching hurting without care or respite.
Minutes seemed like eternity until the fingers were removed. Silence fell upon the room like a heavy blanket of fog.
“Prepare me.”
Two orcs rushed to the ringwraith’s side. One opened their master’s black robe while the other tied it behind the Lord of the nazgul’s back.
Tirion gasped, shocked at the Witch-king’s sexual organ. No flesh or muscle existed, only a long thick ugly splinter bone that twitched slightly told Tirion what it symbolized. He barely had time to comprehend how painful the sexual act would be when it was viciously thrust into Faramir’s passage.
A blood-filled scream filled the room as the virgin entrance was breached. Tears rolled down Faramir’s face, spilling down onto the table as the young man’s body was viciously assault by the Witch-king.
Faramir screamed again and again with each painful thrust from his tormentor. The manacles rubbed his skin raw, cutting into the flesh as the invasion of his body continued with greater violence.
The bone would almost slide out of the channel only to unmercifully thrust back inside with deeper penetration. Blood squirted inside Faramir’s upper thighs but concerns for the ranger went unnoticed as the thrusts began an unnatural rhythm to completely fill every angle the Witch-king penetrated.
Tirion’s eyes widen in shock, not by Faramir’s blood but the transformation the nazgul’s sexual organ was undergoing. Bone was growing, thickening with every minute until the first signs of muscle appeared. For twenty long lust-filled moments Tirion stood transfixed groping himself, unable to stop watching the brutal sex act. Fascinated how the once thick bone had transformed into what resembled a human penis. Never once did the Witch-King resemble one about to reach climax. In fact, it appeared the nazgul had just begun the sexual act.
Faramir’s screams had diminished into labored gasps of painful breaths. His voice excruciatingly strained from constant cries no longer useful to utter words of pleas. His lower body was lifted giving the Witch-king more access for more powerful thrusts. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Valar for the mercy of death.
Tirion unconsciously took a step back uncertain what had just happened. The restraints were removed, the assault stopped and the Witch-king pulled out of Faramir’s limp body. The Gondorian lieutenant’s mouth dropped open staring in disbelief at the sight. Blood he knew was Faramir’s dripped from the organ but it wasn’t the blood that captured Tirion’s attention. No, it was the size of the thing. During the long sexual encounter Tirion expected some deflation shockingly it had grown stiffer, fuller and very enormous.
No male on Middle Earth could compare to the Witch-king of Angmar’s genitals.
Faramir opened heavy laden eyes mumbling incoherently.
The ringwraith lifted Faramir’s legs and spread them wide exposing the young man’s privates to any voyeurs’ gratification. Trembling fingers moved to cover the exposed genitals. Khamul intercepted clasping Faramir’s fingers within his own sending a clear warning of future retribution if another attempt was made to prevent the Witch-king access to his body.
The first nazgul returned carrying a large golden chalice atop a silver tray. The tray was lowered allowing the Witch-king to take the chalice. The tray was placed on the table next to Faramir’s waist.
The leader of the ringwraiths stepped aside allowing the first nazgul contact with the naked body. Faramir lifted his head, watching the nazgul dip two fingers into an open jar as the Witch-king lifted the chalice to his hidden face. Faramir ferociously shook his head unable to voice his protests when the fingers moved to his genitals.
Two orcs placed their hands against his thighs using their weight to keep Faramir from closing his legs. The nazgul grabbed the lax penis with one hand and began mixing the jar’s contents into the genitals purposely touching every intimate part until the ingredients evaporated into the skin.
Faramir never had a chance to guess the mixture’s purpose. He gasped, jerking his head backwards at the burning sensation that consumed every place the ingredients had been administered. He tried bucking anything to ease the pain but the orcs kept their hands where they were taunting him with sexual suggestions as his body began betraying him. “Fighting is useless, young one,” a voice whispered before a tongue slithered into his ear. His shoulders were pinned as rough fingers caressed his nipples, gently pinching them until they were hard nubs. Faramir tried focusing on dead grass, Boromir’s sweaty boots, and his father’s recent put downs to take his thoughts away from the stimulating sensation his body was enduring.
The nazgul continued stroking the organ while playing with the heavy sacs until the young man’s errection became full. A ring was slipped over the penis leaving Faramir’s already disarrayed mind begging for the denied release. The skeletal fingers caressed the rigid cock squeezing the crown to force another moan from the young man’s lips. The ministrations continued torturing his body as well as his mind.
“Soon my bride. Our body will be denied nothing.” Faramir opened his eyes to find the Witch-king standing between his spread legs again. His eyes widened in horror upon seeing the ringwraith touching his own massive errection. A warg’s genitals could rival the Witch-king’s. Forgetting his denied orgasm Faramir tried screaming only to hear a hoarse groan come from his dry throat.
The Witch-king grasped the slender hips and pulled Faramir towards him. Fingers separated his buttocks and then plunged into the body without any preparation.
The pain sent him mercifully into unconsciousness.
Screams from downstairs turned several heads from the scene. Khamul sent the other nazgul and the orcs downstairs to investigate. If the ceremony was disrupted now the bonding between human and the ringwraith would be broken. Sauron might not allow a second chance.
A blinding flash of light burst through the window knocking Khamul and Tirion to the floor. The nazgul lieutenant screamed shielding his face while running out of the room to escape the light.
Two figures emerged from the bright light, a wizard and an elf, both wielding swords and bows. The elf, a sworn enemy of the Witch-king took one look at the scene and fired several arrows into his nemesis’ body. The wizard, more outraged raised his sword and castrated the Lord of the Nazgul.
The Witch-king of Angmar uttered an inhuman scream fleeing as the elf took aim again. Arrows impacted the marble wall narrowly missing the escaping nazgul.
The wizard rushed to the table and touched Faramir’s unconscious form while freeing the arms from the restraints. “No,” he screamed pulling the castrated organ from the young man’s body. “No. No.” Gandalf kept repeating as he examined the steward’s son before he removed his white cape.
“Gandalf, no! You cannot do this.” The elf shouted, realizing what the wizard was doing.
The wizard wrapped Faramir in the cape and lifted the young man into his arms. “No, no. Glorfindel.” Gandalf disagreed vividly, cradling Faramir closer to his chest if the gesture would protect the ranger from the elf. “It didn’t happen. The bonding wasn’t completed.”
“It was,” Glorfindel pointed to the castrated organ as evidence. “We arrived too late. You tried your best.”
Tears streamed down the wizard’s face. He could feel the blood seeping through the cape. “There was no semen.”
“None that you saw, my friend. Do we take that chance? If the Witch-king’s seed entered the human’s body, he must be destroyed. We cannot risk…”
“No. I will not abandon Faramir.” The wizard moved to the window and stepped on top of the sill. He took a deep breath, preparing to challenge the elf if Glorfindel didn’t accept his proposal. “We will take him to Rivendell. Elrond will know what to do.”
Tirion moaned and slowly climbed to his feet. The elf and wizard were quarreling over Faramir. Neither had reason to believe he wasn’t a victim too. “Please, help me,” he called getting their attention. “I…” Tirion’s eyes fluttered and then he collapsed to the floor.
Glorfindel hurried to the fallen human’s side, picked him up and carried him to the window. The wizard stared down at him waiting for an answer. The elf nodded. It was the least he could do for his friend. “We go to Rivendell. Lord Elrond will know if the bonding was complete.” The elf lowered his head, knowing the wizard’s feelings ran deep for the young human. “But Gandalf, if Lord Elrond discovers….”
“I know,” the wizard replied somberly. Turning his back to the elf, unable to face Glorfindel. For Faramir to survive the vicious assault only to lose his life. Gandalf closed his eyes, willing himself not to think the obvious.
If the worst happens, Faramir would die with dignity, not become the Witch-king’s host. Squeals broke the silent sky announcing the arrival of the eagles. “You always wanted to soar with the eagles, Faramir. If you can hear my voice. Open your eyes. That time has arrived.”
He tightened his grip on the young man and jumped out the window. The great eagle, Gwaihir swooped in and caught Gandalf. “Thank you, my friend,” The wizard stretched out his legs amazed how the eagle had the ability to position its wingspan to ease its passengers’ comfort.
Glorfindel waited for the correct moment and jumped. The Gondorian lieutenant opened his eyes and let out a frightening scream. The elf tossed him onto the back of Meneldor while he gracefully landed on Landroval.
He looked back at the tower. Elladan and Elrohir’s diversion had worked perfectly. The twins volunteered for any mission if it meant killing orcs
The eagles carried their passengers over the Mountains of Shadow through Ithilien and across the River Anduin, soaring gracefully until the city of Osgiliath appeared.
Finding the first open field close to the city, the large birds descended to land in the grassy field. Gwaihir lifted its head, heard a distant noise and squawked a warning to its companions.
Meneldor lowered itself close to the ground allowing Tirion to dismount. The lieutenant walked to the largest eagle, looked up at Gandalf and offered to take Faramir to Minas Tirith.
The wizard refused to release his charge. “Inform Lord Denethor what has happened. His son will be taken to Rivendell where he will receive….”
“Lord Denethor will not be pleased. Captain Faramir was…”
“Denethor’s feelings are the least of my worries,” the wizard shouted. Faramir remained unconscious, his breathing was erratic and the loss of blood worried him. If they didn’t arrive in Rivendell soon, it would be too late. Tears fell unchecked as Gandalf tighten the cape around Faramir’s body. “We are wasting time arguing. Gwaihir, Rivendell quickly, my friend. Time is of the most exigency.”
The three eagles took to the sky leaving the man standing watching as they flew away. He heard horses galloping behind him. A garrison was approaching from Osgiliath.
He franticly waved his arms getting the riders attention. Sauron would reward him for what he had planned. “Where is the Captain-general?” He shouted to the riders. “I have urgent news. The elves have kidnapped Captain Faramir.”
“Lord Boromir travels to Minas Tirith.” A soldier answered, turning his head to see the birds fading in the distance. “Elves? Lord Denethor trusts not the elves.“
Tirion climbed up behind a rider, fighting to keep the smile off his face. “Hurry, I have urgent news for the steward. It concerns the wizard Gandalf. He is in league with the elves.”
What happens next?
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