Faramir Fiction Archive

Nazgul's Prey (NC-17)

Written by Draylon

13 July 2005 | 7932 words

Pairings: Nazgûl / Shagrat / Faramir
Author’s Email: draylon@hotmail.com
Summary & warnings: The unpleasant episode between Uruk & Nazgûl from the story Captain of Mordor, following Shagrat’s failed romancing of Faramir. Rated for explicit sex, violence, worrying themes and general Orc-heavy content.

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The darkness was quite absolute, in the Black Pits.

The time Shagrat had spent in the underground dungeon was a matter of days rather than weeks, but the torments that had been inflicted on him by his fellow Orcs, and others, had quickly taken their toll, sorely weakening the Uruk Captain, in both mind and body. As a result he was not, by this stage of his imprisonment, properly conscious for much of the time, and he registered only dimly the blackness, and the stifling heat that surrounded him. He was even less aware of the painfully slow passage of time, for the endless, blank days were broken up only by occasional visits from his jailers, a malicious pair of garden-variety Snaga Orcs. They were the type of rank-and-file that Shagrat had always despised, and towards which he would, at the height of his military command, have dealt extremely short shrift.

With a damaged Uruk Captain at their mercy, the two Orc wardens could not be expected to show much restraint, and indeed they seemed to take great pleasure in repaying Shagrat, for every bit of painful ill-treatment that had ever been dealt them by one of their larger, stronger, Orcish comrades. Fear – chiefly of the other, powerful parties, who also had taken an interest in their captive – curbed their vindictiveness to some extent though, so that their dealings with Shagrat were generally kept to a minimum.

They had come to pay a call on their prisoner that day, however. The first that Shagrat knew of it was when he noted a change in the quality of the fetor in the air, as a foul draught gusted in through the standing dungeon door. The next instant, there was a clamour of Orcish cursing in his ears, and the flaring of his jailers’ fire-brand in his face.

After so long in the dark, the torch-light burned Shagrat’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. His jailers worked on him in silence for a few minutes, testing the tension in his bonds, checking that his restraints were securely fastened, and making other sundry adjustments, but they did not strike or injure him in any way. Slowly, it dawned on him that this time, they had not come to torment him, but were preparing him, for the attentions of some other person. This realisation brought him back to his senses immediately, sending his mind into a blank spiral of panic.

He did not have long to wait for his next visitor. It was a Ringwraith, one of the nine Nazgûl, and this terrifying entity had been appointed as Shagrat’s chief inquisitor. It did not, as such, have a physical form, and yet a near-palpable aura of malevolence and dread surrounded the fell creature, so that both Shagrat and the Orcs were well aware of its approach, long before it entered the dungeon chamber. It waved the two Orcish attendants aside as it passed, and they shrank back at once, grateful to be able to put some distance between themselves and the dead King. They cowered together beside the door, lying prone in supplication, their foreheads down against the floor; they were well aware of what would be happening next. As much as the pair relished the sight and the idea of an Uruk in torment, Shagrat’s current predicament was altogether macabrely too much, even for them.

The Nazgûl stood before Shagrat for a moment, fixing him in its long-dead gaze, appraising the Orc. He was in pitiful condition – naked, bleeding and bound, but the Wraith registered nothing, neither interest, nor apathy, on seeing his plight. At length it shifted out of his line of sight, and positioning itself directly behind him, began to make a painstakingly slow approach. Shagrat shivered as the Ringwraith moved closer and closer still. For a split second, his skin crawling with revulsion, he felt the deathly cold form pressed full-length against him. Then the icy taint of it began to undulate sickeningly against him, gradually working its way in, as it penetrated directly into the naked skin over his shoulders, buttocks and back. Shagrat forced his aching muscles to slacken, relaxing as best he could, so that he would be left open for the will of the Nazgûl, but once again, to his horror and seemingly of its own accord, his body began to struggle and fight. It was no use, of course, and as always, the Wraith’s appalling movement continued unabated. Shagrat was left convulsing helplessly, while he felt the Wraith’s incorporeal form sinking slowly, deliberately, into his battered flesh. The terrible invasion continued, until at last the dead creature’s outline roughly fitted inside – and through – the same space that was already taken up by Shagrat’s own, hanging body.

The freezing shock of it, when he had first been occupied in this way, had come close to killing Shagrat, but since then, the Nazgûl had become much more circumspect. A padded bit, for example, had been fitted between Shagrat’s jaws to prevent him from choking on his tongue, a thing that had almost happened on one of the first occasions when the Wraith engaged itself with him. In his more lucid moments the Uruk realised – feeling a kind of weary dread at the thought – that his Inquisitor had come to regard him a particularly favoured – tortured – pet. But the knowledge that he would in all probability survive his current ordeal was of little comfort to him. Ultimately, he knew there would be no escape.

The interloper, settling into its customary resting place behind his eyes, allowed Shagrat a brief moment of respite. He stared straight ahead at the plain dungeon wall in front of him, his mind half-fractured and blank, listening to his breath rasping in and out in shallow, hitching pants. Perhaps it was the Nazgûl’s influence, but on some level Shagrat registered, feeling a far-off, acid curl of disgust in his gut at the thought, that he sounded – well, he sounded absolutely bloody petrified.

This was not without good reason. Several days before, a much-valued prisoner had escaped from the Land of Shadow, and as a result of this Shagrat had immediately been arrested and delivered into the hands of the Nazgûl, for interrogation through torment. He was suspected of having assisted in the captive’s release, and this in a sense was true: Shagrat had indeed released the prisoner. In fact he had done so more often and in rather more creative ways than his Mordain masters had at first imagined, for the relationship between Shagrat and his captive had quickly assumed an intimate, sexual nature. This fact had however soon been noted, and come to be greatly appreciated by Shagrat’s main inquisitor, and the Wraith, seemingly, was now intent on nothing more than gleaning further salacious details from the Orc.

The escaped prisoner was Faramir, son of the Steward of Gondor, the country that bordered the Land of Shadow, and against which the bulk of Mordor’s military offensives had been directed for many years. Faramir’s worth as a hostage would have been incalculable to the legions of the Dark Lord – but the young man had concealed his identity from Shagrat when they first met. It was a simple deception, but the Uruk Captain lost his head over the young man, so that later, wherever Faramir was concerned, he had been utterly unable to keep his wits about him. The Orc had been dazzled by him – more than that, he had fallen for him, and fallen so completely that even after he’d realised who his prisoner was, Shagrat not only failed to deliver him to his masters for ransom, but actually chose to help the Gondorian in his escape. This had been, as Shagrat’s current position testified only too well, a ruinously bad decision on his part.

Obeying some unspoken command from the Wraith, the Orc attendant to Shagrat’s left stepped up, and working with some delicacy, he unbuckled the bindings that held the pad between Shagrat’s teeth, and removed it. Gasping feebly, Shagrat tried to spit, to rid his mouth of the foul taste of the Orc’s fingers and the bit. The Orc-warden looked on impassively, gauging Shagrat’s reactions. After a time it unfastened a flask from the belt at its waist and bade the prisoner to drink. The Uruk was obviously fading fast, but it was important that he should not lose consciousness, for the Nazgûl had barely begun to amuse himself as yet. The Orc-draught seared Shagrat’s parched tongue and throat, burning its way down to his empty stomach, which cramped horribly as the powerful spirit hit. The brew was drugged and the Orc knew, and Shagrat suspected, that it would soon have on him certain, undeniable physical effects. He gulped at it greedily, nevertheless.

The Nazgûl could speak well enough with its own voice, whether or not it happened to be occupying Shagrat’s body, but, more often than not, it chose to speak through Shagrat instead. This wasn’t necessary, for when the Wraith had insinuated itself into his body, Shagrat could sense its commands quite clearly, inside his head – just as he knew that it could in some way directly access his own thoughts and remembered experiences. Perhaps the Wraith judged that it added an extra dimension of helplessness and horror for a captive to hear an inquisitor’s voice issuing from his own lips, and if for no other reason than that, it spoke in this way now.

The Nazgûl’s hollow, windy tones sighed out of Shagrat’s mouth, reverberating unnaturally in the dead air of the chamber. “The first time,” it said. “Show it to me.”

Having little choice in the matter, Shagrat cast his mind back, and complied.

Night had fallen in the Tower, and Shagrat watched his new companion through the dark, admiring the young man’s face and form. As he gazed at him, it dawned on Shagrat that the Tark-boy was frightened; yes, he was ripe – simply stinking with it. This sudden realisation hit Shagrat, and with it came a near-irresistible surge of purest, white-hot lust. A jolt of energy surged straight to his groin, and immediately he felt his cock jerk itself upright between his legs. It was a sensation he had not experienced for quite some time and with that, Shagrat’s Orcish instincts momentarily overwhelmed him. Light-headed with anticipation, he shouldered the Tark back against the wall, and shoved his knee downwards, parting the young man’s thighs, and keeping him from closing them. With one hand he groped for the Tark-boy’s privates, and clutched at his own erection at the same time, pumping it frantically in his fist. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so painfully aroused, for these days, his sexual impulses were very few and far between. Quite literally, he could not even recall the last occasion on which he’d troubled to give himself release, but he wanted it now, desperately much, and hoped that for once, he would be able to achieve it.

Shagrat growled with pleasure as he felt the Tark’s member begin to harden under his fingers, gratified to find that his companion was coming into his heat too. The Tark moaned beautifully, sagging against him, and for a moment, the man’s chest, his skin hot and slicked with sweat, pressed itself against Shagrat’s face. He licked at the damp flesh, savouring the salty-sweet taste and aroma, relishing the fluttering pulse of the Tark’s heartbeat under his lips. The Tark moaned again, deep in his throat, stimulating Shagrat even further, but then, most unexpectedly, the young man spoke.

“Don’t,” he muttered shakily, his voice sounding as if it was coming through tightly clenched teeth, “don’t.”

Only two words, but it was like a draught of cold water flung on the kindling flames of Shagrat’s arousal, and he checked himself immediately, letting go of the Tark, and stepping away. He fingered his cock half-heartedly as he did so – though still erect it was softening, and the inclination to pleasure himself had dwindled abruptly, and had all but vanished. It was his old problem: Shagrat, in his day-to-day dealings was as easily as savage, ill-tempered and vicious as the next Uruk –he could not possibly have risen to the rank of Commander in the Black Army if he had lacked these traits. But in spite of this he had ever found difficulty in gratifying himself through the usual Orcish channels of cruelness and brutality, and for a servant of Mordor, this was a gravely debilitating limitation. Though Shagrat recognised his unnatural failing only too well, acknowledging it was of little use to him. Seething with disgust at his own weakness he snarled out frustratedly, ferociously, and withdrew.

There was silence in the dungeon for a time. Shagrat could vaguely sense the Nazgûl’s disapproval over the restraint he had shown, but for the moment he could tell that the bulk of its attention was absorbed elsewhere. The connection that had been set up between Ringwraith and Uruk was intended to allow the Nazgûl unimpeded access to his victim’s mental processes, but, by accident or design, there also seemed to be a certain amount of feedback in the system, which at times permitted Shagrat a little insight into the Wraith’s own state of mind. Though the dead King’s physical body had faded, it was clear that his fleshly desires had in some form persisted: in his disembodied state, perhaps all he had lacked, up until this point, was a suitable vehicle for expressing them. Apparently this particular Nazgûl was not yet completely filled with an all-consuming desire for the One Ring. It had clearly retained some vestiges of its former outside interests for at that moment it was engaged in savouring, through Shagrat, every nuance of the Uruk’s remembered lust.

The temperature in the prison chamber was several degrees uncomfortably above blood-heat, but despite this Shagrat shivered as he waited for the Nazgûl to finish rifling through his most private cache of memories. By this time, the Wraith had seen them all before, but forcing Shagrat to step through them, one by one, seemed to add extra piquancy for the Nazgûl, enhancing its vicarious thrill. The sensation was invasive and acutely unpleasant but Shagrat bore it as best he could. Realistically, he had no option but to submit.

At long last the Nazgûl spoke, questioning Shagrat about his runaway hostage, once again. “He was repulsed by your advances, was he not?”

It had been an unconventional, but surprisingly straightforward seduction. Shagrat, having been the instigator, could still not quite believe that Faramir had allowed him to do it. The Orc was down on his knees at the Gondorian’s feet, with the young man’s cock buried deep in his throat. Of course, he could not see his companion like this, but he knew from the delicious, helpless sounds that Faramir was making that he was close, extremely close, to reaching his orgasm. Shagrat, as he worked on him, was hopelessly aroused too, but with both hands occupied, and all his attention focussed on attending to the young Gondorian, the Orc could do little more than to try and give his own erection a fitful and occasional rub, up against the side of Faramir’s boot. He had only just moved into a position that allowed him to establish something close to a more satisfying rhythm, when suddenly, the young man shoved forwards violently into his mouth, ejaculating as he went. Faramir did not trouble to pull his stroke or hold back, and drove himself down the Uruk’s throat, hard enough to choke him. This was almost, it was very nearly enough to send Shagrat over the edge himself, and he concentrated desperately on the sensation of Goldilocks’ pulsing member filling his mouth, half-hoping that it would be enough to finish him off as well. But his companion pulled back immediately, allowing Shagrat to catch his breath, and after a time, when his head had stopped spinning from lack of air, he looked up, blearily, to meet the young man’s gaze.

Goldilocks was staring down at him, with horror and revulsion at what he and Shagrat had done clear to see in his expression. Shagrat felt a split second of absolute, horrified panic, wondering if he had not somehow coerced Goldilocks after all; forced himself on the young man, against his wishes. But he was sure that Goldilocks had wanted him to continue; he was certain of it. The unfairness of the young man’s reaction took Shagrat’s breath away, and then all at once, as if a switch had been triggered in his brain, a furious wave of rage and lust hit him, completely over-riding every one of his earlier good intentions. The temptation to do violence, to take pleasure by inflicting pain, were the thoughts that predominated, in most Orcs’ minds almost all the time, and for a single, hot-blooded moment, Shagrat embraced the familiar set of motivations. To hurt Goldilocks in return, repaying like for like was what he wanted more than anything else at that point; and yet he didn’t – simply could not – do it. Instead he jumped to his feet and forced himself to get out of the young man’s presence. Moving in a stumbling run, he hurried into one of the adjoining rooms in the Tower.

Quivering with barely-suppressed fury, Shagrat pushed his various layers of clothing out of the way, and laying his left hand flat against his groin, rutted savagely against it. It hurt him, this way, but worked at least to dispel a little of his pent-up, violent energy and he came rapidly enough, nonetheless. It had been a physical release, of sorts, but no more than that. The warm, appealing, scent of Goldilocks still filled his nostrils, was all over him in fact, and yet the taste of young man, and his seed, which had at first been delightful to Shagrat were now galling, and maddening to him. Shagrat, his chest and shoulders heaving with confused emotion, leaned heavily against the wall, resting his forehead against the cold stones, while he struggled to compose himself. He dashed the spatters and drops of wetness from his thighs, trying to convince himself, as he did so, that it hadn’t, really, been the young man’s fault – Shagrat supposed he could understand well enough why Goldilocks should feel he’d been polluted by an Orc’s touch. He was thankful to realise that the compulsion to crush, and maim, had abated after his orgasm, so much so that he felt almost, or very nearly able to face Goldilocks once again. Despite this, he wrapped his long arms tightly around his chest, and sat down on the floor where he was. He never could resist Goldilocks for very long at all, he knew that very well, and the Orc had no doubt that he would be returning to his companion soon enough. He would do that in a minute, perhaps, but not – not just yet.

Afterwards, the second time, and every time they came together after that, the Orc was careful not to observe the reactions of his companion too closely. Before his climax, Faramir would let Shagrat do whatever he wanted with him. But since Shagrat wanted above all else to please his beloved Goldilocks, there was more than a little overlap in their mutual inclinations, here. The young man was so wonderfully responsive and unrestrained in his passion that Shagrat was happy – and in an odd way felt secretly honoured – to be able to provide service for his physical needs. Later it occurred to Shagrat that perhaps the real reason for Faramir’s lack of inhibition around him was that Shagrat, being an Orc, was unimportant, and so far beneath Goldilock’s notice that he counted for really, very little. This thought seemed to Shagrat to explain a great deal and yet the strength of his feelings for Goldilocks had grown and developed – albeit into something close to being an addiction – to such an extent that by that time, he could not have kept away from the young man, even if he’d wanted to.

So, Shagrat would try not to think of any of it, afterwards, when he would take himself away to the neighbouring room – which, after the first time, he always did immediately, once Faramir had finished. The Orc’s aim was to bring himself off afterwards as quickly as possible, and he did it with mechanical efficiency, wasting neither time nor finesse on pleasuring himself.

That was food enough for thought for the Ringwraith, and it left Shagrat hanging, for an even longer interval. Eventually though, it spoke again.

“Show me – show me the last time.”

Feeling an odd, aching tightness across his chest – a comparatively slight, but acute and novel pain that seemed to have little to do with his existing injuries – Shagrat swallowed down a great, gulping breath. He blinked his eyes rapidly, and was distressed to note that they were watering freely again, something they never had done before his imprisonment, and yet he could feel the moisture drying on his face. One more thing that had gone wrong with his body, he supposed, to add to his ever-increasing list of physical defects.

The last time that Shagrat had seen Goldilocks was during the young man’s escape. Together they had fought and defeated an Orc-patrol that had been sent to apprehend the Gondorian, but in the heat of the battle, Shagrat had been pinned through the shoulder by the shaft of a cave-troll’s pike.

In horror, Shagrat stared at the handle of the weapon, which protruded obscenely from his upper chest. As yet there was little or no pain, although the air was cold and felt strange on the open wound. Dazedly he raised his head and saw that Faramir was on his feet, but had turned his back on him. “Goldilocks!” he gasped, “what are you doing? Help me, won’t you!”

“Help you?” Goldilocks said, incredulously. “I should kill you for saying that. By my honour – though I have all but forsaken that, at your hands, to survive! How could you have imagined there was anything between us?”

“But I thought that you and me were –“ Shagrat began, but the words caught in his throat. Exactly what he and Goldilocks had been to each other, if anything, he found he couldn’t say. Friends? Lovers? All at once it came to him that both those things were as unlikely as could be – from Goldilocks’ point of view at any rate.

The pain and humiliation he’d felt on realising how horribly wrong he’d been were almost physically debilitating to Shagrat at the time, and he still writhed with shame to think of it. Worst of all, even now, when it was clear that Goldilocks had played him for an utter fool he was absolutely unable to divert these crushing emotions into a more useful channel. Even the ability to work up a good head of self-righteous anger had been denied Shagrat, because he found he could not think about Goldlilocks – even as he had been, at the end – without longing for him with all fondness and yearning that his black heart was capable of, now that the young man was gone.

Shagrat, chained and naked in his dungeon, was dimly aware that somewhere the Nazgûl – insofar as these creatures were capable of expressing humour – was laughing its socks off at him.

“Not – that last time,” it told him.

Shagrat’s left arm was abruptly released from the manacle that held it above his head, and dropped under its own weight. The Uruk barked out a quick, agonised yelp as it slapped down against his chest and groin. Even with one hand unchained, it was unlikely that he would have been able to free himself, for left untreated as it had been, the pike-wound in his shoulder had suppurated. The whole the left side of the Orc’s body, from beneath his ribs up to his armpit had become a mass of agonisingly tender tissue, and the injured arm itself was dark and swollen with evil fluids. Shagrat lacked the strength to control his muscles but wouldn’t have been able to raise the limb in any case; he could barely move the fingers of his left hand. Even so, when his hand came to rest against his crotch, he noted with dull amazement that he seemed to be sporting a full, upstanding erection. Whether it was an effect of the Orc-draught, or the Nazgûl’s doing, he had no way of telling – but as he moved his fingers, there was no doubt that his cock was painfully erect. His hardened member throbbed in time with his heart-beat and felt unbearably tight and stiff.

Shagrat bit back a scream as his fingers, apparently of their own volition (for it was certainly not his own) closed themselves decisively around his erection. The pain in his arm lessened almost immediately, and was soon replaced by a quite different sensation, as under the Nazgûl’s influence, the hand began to work his shaft in a gentle, teasing rhythm. He shut his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nostrils, and try as he might, he could not prevent himself from responding to the pleasurable feelings, as they gradually increased. A rush of excitement from the Nazgûl followed that, and under its direction, the quality of the treatment that Shagrat was receiving suddenly changed. The hand at his groin immediately tightened its hold, and began tugging much more briskly, jerking roughly up and down, masturbating him with vigorous efficiency.

“Show me the last time,” the Nazgûl insisted.

Hanging by his good arm, while his other hand pulled relentlessly at his groin, Shagrat cast his mind about frantically, on the edge of panic. The Wraith would not stop until it had forced at least one orgasm out of him, that much was certain, but it was doubtful in the extreme that he would ever be able to climax from being handled like this. On Shagrat’s thighs and groin were a number of old, faded claw and tooth marks – the inevitable result of any kind of sexual contact between Orcs – and the skin over his genitals had been left in particularly poor condition. Because of this, the stimulation being dealt out by the Nazgûl was too much for him, and the sensations promised to soon become unbearably over-intense. In desperation, Shagrat spat onto his rapidly-moving fingers, trying to get some moisture down to his sore, abraded cock, but it was no use. His mouth was too dry and the angle he was aiming at was terrible.

At last one of the Orc-wardens came to Shagrat’s assistance. Picking itself up from the obsequious cower it had been holding near the dungeon door, it unceremoniously dumped a dollop of the thick, viscous fluid from its hip-flask onto Shagrat’s crotch. The alcohol in the brew evaporated rapidly, leaving a somewhat greasy residue, and despite the bite of the raw spirits on his flesh, there was an immediate lubricating effect. Shagrat groaned out audibly, his body sagging with relief. It was certainly not consideration for Shagrat that had prompted the Orc-guard’s actions but even so, it had granted him an interval of relief.

“The last time,” the Nazgûl demanded, with finality.

There was a rumour, in the officer’s mess-hall, that the Steward of Gondor’s son was concealed somewhere in Mordor, and was hiding under an assumed name. On hearing this, Shagrat, realising how he’d been tricked, and enraged by Goldilocks’ duplicity, had raced back up to his rooms in the Tower to confront his reluctant guest. He had been torn between his inclination to protect Goldilocks at all costs, and the conflicting inclination to tear, in a very real sense, the deceitful young Gondorian limb from limb. To Shagrat’s surprise however, Faramir, when challenged, had admitted everything at once, and he did so so humbly that the Orc, against his better judgement, had been moved into feeling something very like sympathy for him.

Their brief altercation had ended, as most interactions between Shagrat and Goldilocks invariably tended to, in a sexual tryst. This time, once Faramir was done, Shagrat rose to his feet, hampered slightly by his own considerable erection, which had not of course been given much attention as yet. He didn’t feel much inclination to deal with it himself, but he knew that without some kind of release, he would be unable to concentrate on dealing with Goldilocks’ predicament: that Shagrat was keeping a Tarkish companion in his chambers was common knowledge down in the Orcish barracks, and it would not be long before Faramir’s identity was revealed. With these thoughts weighing heavily on his mind, Shagrat began to make his way out, moving past his companion awkwardly, trying as he usually did at this point in their interactions to avoid eye contact with him; trying to avoid looking at Goldilocks at all. So he was shocked when Faramir reached for him, and for a moment was fully expecting an attack, but instead the young man stepped into his path and barred his way, so that the Uruk’s movement brought them close-up chest-against-chest. To Shagrat’s amazement Faramir did not recoil from him in disgust as he had been expecting, but tightened his hold, gently pinning his arms against his sides, and prevented the Orc from moving away.

Before this, Faramir had never shown much inclination to touch or handle Shagrat, but this time, insistently, he pulled the Orc down to sit beside him on the floor. Without speaking, he moved the folds of Shagrat’s clothing aside, so that the Uruk’s erection sprang free to stand up stiff and proud between them. Goldilocks moved in much closer, and seemed to be studying the dark, mottled shaft, while Shagrat, dizzy with a heady combination of bewilderment and lust, found he could not think, or focus on anything beyond the fleetingly erotic image he’d just glimpsed – of his own cock, obscenely thick and stiff with blood, contrasting starkly against the young man’s soft, tousled hair. When Goldilocks reached for him, the first touch of the young man’s hands on his member almost caused Shagrat to jump out of his skin in mingled surprise and panic. Though slightly calloused and rough, Goldilocks’ fingers were still much softer than anything Shagrat was used to, and yet it had been such a long time since he had allowed anyone to approach him as intimately as this, that he had all but forgotten how he should react.

Shagrat scarcely dared move, could not risk thrusting into the young man’s grip, but it didn’t matter. He came almost immediately – probably would have done from just the idea of Goldilocks wanting to lay hands on him, and shuddered out his release in a series of great, curdled spurts. The combined shock and intense pleasure of the experience made him light-headed, and he had to steady himself with one hand where he was kneeling. After that he stayed with his head held down. His emissions, he’d realised with sudden dismay, would of course be utterly repulsive to Goldildocks – it had been the gravest of mistakes for him to have given in to his moment of weakness, and he cursed himself inwardly for it. He was more than amazed, then, when a moment later, he felt Goldilock’s hands begin to gently blot at him, carefully wiping him clean. He simply didn’t know what to make of it. Not trusting himself to look at, or speak to Goldilocks, he darted a quick glance up and saw that the young man was watching him intently with the strangest expression on his face. Shagrat could not easily decipher what he’d seen, but he did not think it was a look of hate.

“We should lie together, you and I,” Faramir said suddenly. He spoke feverishly, his eyes burning over-bright, and his breath was hot against Shagrat’s cheek. “In the way of the Men of Númenor, in days long past.” His hands stroked at Shagrat, so clumsy with inexperience that they pinched him painfully, but not for the world would the Orc have had him stop. The young man continued: “And it’s said that in Ithilien, sometimes the Rangers there bed together too – men, with men. Do you know – do you understand that of which I speak?”

Shagrat understood his meaning only too well, and eyed his companion doubtfully. Yes, he had come to know that practice quite intimately, at the hands of his Orc- and Urukish superiors, in his younger days. But there had been little pleasure for him, either in the giving or receiving of that kind of contact, and he had no great desire to reacquaint himself with it.

Goldilocks, he was quite certain, had never lain with one of his own sex either; the trusting way in which he was gazing at Shagrat was proof enough of that. The young man clearly had no idea how much the act he was proposing promised to injure him, for Shagrat was unusually well-endowed, even for an Orc. His member was longer, its shaft was wider, and the rough, ridged texture of his sex was coarser than anything that would have ordinarily been found on a human male. Shagrat dared not think what damage his organ would be likely to inflict on his companion, being unaware that with only a little preparation, even Goldilocks could have accommodated him easily enough. Shagrat didn’t know that because quite simply, he had never been taken with care or consideration himself. The couplings he had experienced in the past had all been violent, degrading acts, and the Uruk quailed from the idea of inflicting such a torment on his beloved Goldilocks.

Goldilocks was watching him expectantly, and so at last, Shagrat muttered that they couldn’t do what the young man wanted, as he did not know how it was done. He was certain that with this shameful admission, Goldilocks’ strange and sudden interest in him would be bound to stop. “I don’t know how to do it, not properly, I mean,” he continued reluctantly, “it’d likely enough split you open, if I tried, and I don’t –“

“It’s all right,” Goldilocks interrupted quickly. He was arranging the bed-roll that he used to sleep in, spreading it out beside them on the floor. “That’s all right. We can do other things. When you use your mouth on me – I’ll do that, for you, if you’ll tell me what to do. I’ve wanted to, you know. I’ve wanted to do that to you for a long time.” Having laid out the bed-roll, he had started manhandling Shagrat out of his armour and tunic and chain-mail – the Orc was already stripped half-naked. Shagrat let him do it, watching his companion suspiciously all the while. Goldilocks was speaking much too quickly, over-excitedly, as he continued to undress him, but as far as the Orc could tell, the young man was not trying to deceive him. And Goldilocks did not seem to have lost his wits.

“Come on,” Goldilocks said eagerly, as he started to unfasten his own shirt.

Shagrat hesitated. It had grown darker in the tower chamber, but there was still sufficient light, he thought, for Faramir to be able to see him clearly enough. Under no illusions about his very limited physical appeal, the Uruk wrapped his arms about his chest quite unconsciously, drawing back. His ragged appearance would not have mattered to him if he had been with another Orc; with one of his own kind he would not have cared one jot about his many scars, or the scorched expanses that sunlight had burned onto his back and shoulders, or the years’-worth of dirt and grime that were ingrained so deeply into his skin, but judged by Goldilocks’ standards he knew he must have made a miserably poor showing, and suddenly he was ashamed. Like all Orcs, he was no more nor less than a living manifestation of his Master’s malice, the end-product of years of relentless, crushing cruelty acting on helpless flesh, and as his form had been perverted by the pitiless torments to which Shagrat, through his ancestors, had been subject, so had his mind been twisted by those same malign influences. The profound feelings of self-loathing and inferiority that had been bred into him were simply part of his Master’s system of establishing control over his Mordain slaves, but because of this, suddenly Shagrat knew without doubt that he had to be ashamed; ashamed of his looks, of the life he had led and ultimately, for the very fact of his Orcishness.

It was no use, Shagrat realised, it could never be any good, and in despair he began to turn away. But then suddenly Goldilocks’ hands were at him, caressing his face and smoothing through his dry, coarse, tangle of hair. Goldilocks pulled him into a clumsy embrace, seemingly reluctant to let Shagrat move too far away. The Orc found himself being pushed down onto Faramir’s bedroll, until he was lying on his back with the young man pressed close beside him. Faramir explored every inch of Shagrat’s body, smoothing his fingertips over the Orc’s muscular flesh and kissing him repeatedly over the skin of his throat, chest and sides. The bewildered Uruk could only lie back, compliant, quite overwhelmed by this fond assault.

Sex between Orcs was always such a fast, brutal affair that Shagrat had become accustomed to reaching his climax as swiftly as possible. What Goldilocks was doing, then, represented an entirely new type of experience for him. His clothes were off for one thing; he couldn’t think of a time when this much of him had last been exposed to the open air, and for another, he was completely unused to receiving this type of slow, sensuous treatment: the sensations he was experiencing were as utterly intoxicating as they were alien to him. At one point, he gasped out loud with pleasure and surprise, only to find his mouth stoppered with Goldilocks’ questing tongue, which forced its way past his lips, probing and licking insistently. Luckily, the jolt of astonishment he felt at this prevented him from biting down by reflex, because Goldilocks continued kissing him, working his mouth over Shagrat’s with passionate abandon. The Orc was shaken to his core by his companion’s conduct, secretly thrilled by it, but all the same, taken aback by the shocking intimacy of Faramir’s onslaught. This was not a thing that an Orc would ever dream of doing to another, and so for the first few moments he stayed frozen in place, not moving a muscle. Goldilocks’ ardour was not dampened by his partner’s lack of response, and so at last, very hesitantly, Shagrat began to return Faramir’s kisses, studiously imitating what the young man was doing to him. His arousal built steadily; the feeling of Faramir’s mouth against his was wanton and outlandish and unbearably erotic, and Shagrat would have happily continued, just as they were. He thought he could have kept on kissing Faramir for the rest of the night, but then, when Goldilocks sucked his tongue into his mouth, crooning deep in his throat with appreciation, that was enough to finish him. He ground his cock ferociously against Goldilocks’ body, and his hand shot up, gripping the young man round his neck and holding him in place. At that, Goldilocks’ muscles tensed for a moment, but he did not draw away. He pushed down onto Shagrat, shifting his weight so that he was straddling the Orc’s hips, and rubbed himself lasciviously against him.

Shagrat was as naked as the day he’d been spawned but Faramir was still at least partly dressed and through his clothing, Shagrat could feel the damp heat and hardness of the young man’s erection butting into his own groin. The idea that Goldilocks was also aroused by their contact was amazing to him, irresistible, and he snaked one hand inside the young man’s breeches, ready to stroke and fondle him. Goldilocks clutched at his fingers, muttering thickly that it was too much, and that he did not want it to be over yet. With a sinuous movement, he raised himself slightly and shucked his breeches off, still holding Shagrat’s fingers tightly against him. Lowering his body onto Shagrat once again, he deliberately rubbed their cocks and their hands together against his belly, making Shagrat’s whole body jerk with surprise. The Orc gaped up at his companion in confusion. Goldilocks was staring into his eyes in a way that was profoundly disconcerting, with a worried, intense, unfathomable look, a look from which every one of Shagrat’s instincts told him he should immediately try to hide. Digging the claws of his free hand into the bedroll beneath him, Shagrat bore the weight of it for as long as he could, before he had to quickly close his eyes. At this, Goldilocks sighed out a little, as if disappointed, but he continued moving his body against Shagrat’s, watching the Orc’s helpless reactions intently all the while, and greatly enjoying the effect.

So, Shagrat was quite unprepared when the young man suddenly shifted his weight off him, and he cried out when Goldilocks took the swollen head of his member into his mouth. He let out a ragged scream from the brush of the young man’s lips against his sensitive skin, from the heat and agonising pleasure, and from the sudden clutch of Faramir’s hand at the base of his cock. Goldilocks had clearly learned a thing or two from Shagrat, and he tightened his grip almost painfully, preventing the Orc from ejaculating on the spot. Shagrat, panting with the effort, pushed Goldilocks’ head away. He found he could not accept that from Goldilocks, could not let the young man degrade himself with an Orc in that way, and he pushed his hips once or twice upwards into the air instead, unable to stop himself. Not wanting his companion to misunderstand, he pulled Goldilocks up into his arms, and crushed him roughly against his chest. He stared at Goldilocks in wonder for a moment and the hesitantly, he reached up one heavy, Orcish paw and laid it carefully against Goldilocks’ cheek, cradling his face. In all the time Shagrat had spent giving service to Faramir’s pleasure, he had never, or rarely, dared touch his companion above his waist, although he’d dearly wanted to. Even now, he was not certain that the young man would allow it, but he did, and at that Shagrat felt a joyful new sensation rising in his breast.

This strange feeling of Shagrat’s had to be expressed, for with it came words, which he whispered into Goldilocks’ ear. He spoke flowing, mellifluous phrases in a language that his rough Orcish vocal cords were ill-equipped to produce, that he did not think he knew, and of which afterwards, he could not recall a single word. Goldilocks sighed with pleasure as Shagrat spoke, and rubbed his whole body against him, closing his thighs tightly around the Orc’s erection. And after a time Shagrat came like that, face to face with Goldilocks, with his arms wrapped around Goldilocks’ chest, and his face buried in the young man’s soft, sweat-damp hair.

Shagrat did not, could not have been expected to understand the sense or significance of what was said, but he’d meant it with all his heart when he said it, and he still did. Looking back, this one bright point in his memories of Faramir burned with greater intensity than all the rest, and at the beginning of his imprisonment, the Orc had struggled to keep this one cherished fragment from the Nazgûl, against everything else. He’d failed in that, of course, but soon found out that he needn’t have bothered. The Wraith was quite uninterested in knowing more about the trifling, mystifying finer feelings that had come so late in life to an Uruk-hai; it was not at all impressed by any of that. Ten minutes on his back with a willing – or perhaps unwilling – mate might not seem much to cling to, in a life that was as long and bleak, and as filled with darkness and depravity as Shagrat’s had been, but he treasured the memory of it, all the same.

The painful and mystifying constriction that was still affecting his chest made it hard for Shagrat, in his dungeon, to breathe, and with difficulty he choked out a couple of hoarse, strangled sobs. His left hand was still working on him, playing at his groin for all it was worth as it had been all the while, but by this time the Orc barely felt it. Distantly, he registered a familiar tightening at his scrotum and knew he would soon climax. Every bit of the Nazgûl’s attention was now focussed on this, as salaciously it strove to control the quality and direction of his orgasm. Even the jailer-Orcs, recovered from their fear, had their hands at their privates, and were masturbating in their alcove, snickering to one another as they watched him, too.

Shagrat squeezed his eyes shut, kept all his senses closed, against the smell of his blood and the filth and his fear, and the pain from his wounds and his hunger and thirst. If he concentrated, willed it with all his might, he would, perhaps for a moment, escape from the pit. Knowing it, he pushed down the distracting sensations of hopelessness and exhaustion that were trying to swamp him, and moments later, Shagrat’s voice rang in his ears as at his moment of climax he uttered – the Nazgûl uttered – a great full-throated roar. By reflex his spine jerked him hard into the back-board of the rack he was tied to, slamming his body against it again and again as he ejaculated out hot, black-streaked gobbets and ropes of semen. But by the time his hips had finished their mindless, mechanical jerking Shagrat was long gone.

When it was over, the Orc-guards, drying their hands on their flanks hurried up to lower Shagrat from the rack to the floor. The prisoner had fainted, and the Ringwraith disengaged itself from his slumping form, with almost fastidious haste. It had been a less than satisfying experience for the Wraith, for at the point of Shagrat’s orgasm, it sensed that its host had not been fully there accompanying him. It was intolerable that the prisoner should have found escape in that manner, and the Wraith could not conceive of how he could have accomplished it. At the end, in his mind’s eye, Shagrat had been together with Goldilocks again, alone with his beloved. The reality of Nazgûl, dungeon and jailers had fallen away, and he had fled through and past them, so that now the essence of him drifted, bathed in a brightness that did not burn, in a state not far from grace. This feat had taken little effort from the Orc at all, for what had brought him to it against everything else was a bitter-sweet simple memory, of Goldilocks’ first kiss.

THE END

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