Dark Judgement 3

Dark Judgement

Part 3 - Melkor

Posted: June 1, 2007

*****

I lay prostrate before him as he walked around me. I knew the sound of his steps so well and it was as though our separation never happened. He said nothing, but I expected this. How many times had Melkor kept me like this when we were together? Never saying anything, just demanding my perfect obedience and silence by implicit right. How I longed for him and desired his touch and attentions. I dared not move even slightly; that would displease him. Remaining perfectly still, I breathed slowly so that my rising back would not offend him when my lungs filled with air. He walked around me many times while I lay relaxed with my forehead against the warm stone floor. For a brief moment, I wondered why the floor was not cool, but dismissed the thought when a heavy boot positioned over the back of my head and pressed down hard enough for my forehead to take on an imprint of the rough stone.

After a short while, the boot moved away from my head and roughly connected under my shoulder to flip my body over. I lay still with my eyes shut. This was a familiar scenario from long ago where I knew that to look upon my master’s face was strictly forbidden. Hearing the rustling of his robe as he knelt down, he was still able to surprise me when he ran his fingers lightly across my lips. Not daring to move, my breathing hitched with excitement as a hand stroked lightly down my chest to my hardness. A finger entered my mouth and I suckled greedily upon it all the while moving my face as little as possible. A hand slid around the back of my neck and I felt my master’s lips upon mine. He teased me. Slight touches and brushes of his tongue increased my excitement until I made the mistake of groaning. A small audible exhalation and then he struck me across the face and forced me to lie on my front again. He knew this would increase my excitement and he indulged me by placing his foot heavily on the back of my head again. The fool Manwë could not possibly know the sublime pleasure that I was feeling at this moment. I did not feel punished at all. Indeed, I considered myself rewarded.

The boot moved from my head and a hand cupped my throat whilst another held the back of my head. Swiftly the hands pulled me up to a standing position and held me there. All the time I moved as little as possible so that my master would not put me back on the floor again. I was eager for him to use my body as he saw fit and the excitement nearly drew me to completion.

I stood with my eyes shut, trying not to sway to the sound of his footfalls walking in slow circles around me. My master stopped and I felt his hands opening my robe. It fell away and I felt the material brush softly against the back of my legs on its descent. Something hard stroked my cheek, a startling counterpoint to the softness of the hand that now caressed one of my sides.

“Open your eyes.” I nearly wilted with suppressed bliss at the sound of his voice. So deep and rich, as if travelling from deep underground, yet not an echo rebounded, because for all its resonance he did not speak loudly. A black claw brushed at my cheek. I did not flinch, as this was a favourite device, designed to test my reaction. He was beautiful. Incredibly beautiful and I lost myself in his gaze. Many times, he told me I was beautiful, but that was long ago when he first seduced me, and I am not a fool; I could never compare to him. To look upon his face is to look upon cruel perfection, a merciless and exquisite excellence of form. I am inferior and not worthy of his attention and yet I still crave him, even though I know that he exceeds generosity itself in even acknowledging my existence.

Lips press against mine and his long tongue slides into my mouth and down my throat so that I cannot breathe. I feel the tip of his tongue in my trachea and the unfamiliarity of the invasion sends me rigid with panic. I cannot breathe and so I relax. To stay rigid means that his tongue will stay in longer to taunt me, to torture me. I know my master; this is what he would do. I smile inwardly as I recall the many times I did the same to Maglor, subduing his struggles as he fought for air until he passed out.

He draws back and looks at me with a small smile. Moving behind me, his hands pull me backwards on what seems to be a soft bed or padded platform. I know not, as there is nothing to see. An illusion, nothing more, and yet it feels as real as my own existence. Hands caress me and I am gently turned over onto my front. I lie waiting, legs apart and shivering in delighted anticipation. Feeling him behind me, his arousal nestling against my entrance, I sigh with happiness and await his gift.

Suddenly, searing pain shoots through my inner core and I scream, full blooded and agonised, like an elf being skinned whilst still alive. Panicking, I try to flee, but he holds me tight. His hands have turned to claws and they pierce my flesh. All is going wrong and I plead for him to stop. He has hurt me many times before, but never like this. Sharp pointed teeth bite into my flesh and chunks of skin and fat and muscle tear away. I watch as he spits them to the ground. My situation is so surreal that at first I do not register that my own flesh is being discarded. When I do, I yell and plead and beg. Warm fluid runs between my legs and pools below me, dripping through the illusory bed. Claws tear into the flesh of my chest and back and he continues driving his hardness into me, tearing my insides to shreds. I feel the loss of reality and consciousness and embrace what surely must be the end of my life, as the comforting warmth of peaceful darkness engulfs me.

I did not die. I awoke in pain and bleeding, the blood under my body congealed into a viscous jelly. Every part of my body was ripped from the claws. Feeling my face, I discovered that there were deep gashes all over and I nearly vomited when an exploratory finger felt through my cheek and touched one of my teeth. I had no time to reflect as my master picked me up by my hair and tied it to a hook that suspended from above on a chain. Looking up, the blackness was so complete that I could not see where the chain ended.

With my hands tied behind my back and standing with my toes barely touching the ground, I looked at my master, hoping for some show of feeling. There was none. He stood before me, and without expression, gently ran the fingers of one hand through my blood-matted hair, then held a writhing tentacled creature to my mouth with the other.

“NO…” I yelled and twisted, not knowing where he intended to use the creature, but not trusting him to take care of my welfare anymore. “Please…” The back of his hand swiftly slammed across my face and I lost consciousness. When I came to, I felt something warm, soft and slippery, pushing into my mouth with arms of white translucent flesh hugging my face to secure round the back of my head. My stomach heaved and although I tried to vomit, the creature maintained its grip, increasing the pressure and tightness as needed. Never on Middle-earth have I used a creature such as this to gag someone. It is an ingenious use for it, and I know that if such a creature had existed on Middle-earth, I would have done well to employ it.

If I relaxed, the creature stayed still, but if I struggled, it attacked me. Tentacles rammed down into my stomach and into my lungs so that blood erupted out of my nose. I tried to stay as still as possible with the foul taste of its bodily slime perpetually on my tongue and making me shudder. If I was convinced of Melkor’s love for me, I could have born this, but mentally he took me to a new place of terrifying and painful isolation and for the first time I feared. I could have continued to lie to myself and believed that Melkor still loved me, if only to make the ordeal more acceptable in my mind. However, it is a betrayal of the worst kind to deceive one’s self and so I forced myself to face the truth. He did not love me - perhaps he had never done so, and now he sought only to punish me.

I could not last forever and I knew that at some point, if I were lucky, I would die. I am not afraid of death, but I am afraid of living because I know there are worse things than dying; something I often told my victims.

He cracks the whip in the air to catch my attention and looks at me with hate in his eyes and a slight sneer on his lips. The creature shifts slightly and I override the urge to vomit when a tentacle slides down my throat. Do your worst Melkor, whip me until the flesh falls away from my bones and kill me. I am weak and have already lost a lot of blood. Just a little more and you will set me free.

The whipping begins.

*****

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