1323: Celebrian – Part TwoPosted: February 7, 2016
Author: A now-forgotten servant of Morgoth the Defiler
Topic: Lord of the Rings
URL: Part Two
Critiqued by KittyNoodles
*** WARNING: The following riff contains the beginning stages of the most horrifying rape scene ever encountered within the halls of this Library. If mutations, malformations, warty dicks, hairy dicks, lust potions, verbal abuse, sexism, or slavery bother you even a little bit, this riff may not be for you. ***
[We return moments after the previous riff. Tarak is fastidiously wiping a few last traces of blood from his hands with wet wipes provided by Kitty, who is also holding a trash bin up for him to toss said wet wipes into once he’s finished with them. Fury is sitting with his chin cupped in his hand and drums the fingers of his free hand against the arm of his chair… or appears to do so, at any rate.]
Kitty: So the cleaning bill may or may not come out of my pocket. Thanks.
Tarak: [tossing his last wet wipe away] I did what I deemed to be necessary.
[Kitty mutters something to the effect of, “story of your life,” as she puts the trash bin away.]
Tarak: I beg your pardon?
Welcome back, Patrons. Or not, as the case may be. You’ve found yourself in the middle of part two of my riff of Celebrian. In part one, Celebrían was brought before the goblin king (thankfully not the one from Jackson’s Hobbit adaptation), stripped, given a washcloth bath, and stuffed into silky bondage gear. For some reason she has purple nipples and labia. The goblin king’s dick shows signs of being infested with literally every STD and congenital disease ever to exist.
Fortunately, we were able to end the first part without reaching the first rape scene. Unfortunately, that means we’ll be diving straight into the first rape scene today.
As an aside, I came up with an appropriate moniker for our nameless servant of Morgoth!
Fury: She refers to the creature responsible for this abomination.
Kitty: [flapping a hand dismissively at Fury] Yes. That. In the tradition of Fëanor, I’ve decided they should be given a moniker in Old Quenya. I’ve settled on Daeum – DIE-oom. It’s the Quenya words for “very” (dae) and “bad” (um) squished together. If you say it fast enough (or with a Californian accent) and sounds kinda like “dayum!”
Kitty: At least now Daeum has a proper name to ridicule. Say your prayers, chiclets. We go.
To the orc on her left, the King made a twisting motion with his clawed hand. The orc twisted the horizontal band at Celebrian’s back, tightening the straps and fixed it with some sort of clasp. The action drew her breasts together and pushed against her genitals so that her labia protruded half an inch.
Tarak: I am having trouble visualizing what, exactly, was just done to the garment. Are the horizontal straps in fact a single piece which acts as a belt?
Kitty: I think so? Also, ow. I’m assuming Daeum is only referring to the inner labia, here… so, fucking ow. Your inner labia should not protrude that far as the result of pressure applied by a bondage costume unless they’re already of the more readily-visible variety.
Fury: Perhaps she will go numb and be spared some of what is to come.
Kitty: Actually, there’s some evidence that restricting the flow of blood to one’s ladybits can result in a prolonged and more intense climax. It’s not necessarily safe, mind, but it seems to work a bit like climax denial.
[Both of Kitty’s co-riffers stare at her.]
Kitty: All right, listen, you, just because I haven’t done it with somebody else doesn’t mean I don’t do research!
Fury: “Research,” she calls it.
Tarak: That is hardly an appropriate comment, Fury.
Fury: Be quiet, child.
“Excellent,” said the King.
Celebrian clenched her jaw at the indignity. She forced her mind to visualize her husband coming to rescue her. She had to endure. She could outlast this beast. He could degrade her with this scrap of clothing. He could even force himself on her but he would not have her soul.
Kitty: Because you’re getting ready to Fade, soon, right?
Tarak: Sadly, I doubt that is the case.
The king waved the two orcs away. He sat on his throne, running a hand up and down his shaft, around the prominent lip of his glans. His cock was so hard that the taut skin of his glans dully reflected the torch light. Every lump and mole on his shaft stood clearly defined.
Kitty: For starters, that’s gross. But I’m more bored by that passage than disgusted. The same euphemisms get used way too frequently and we really aren’t learning anything new about his penis except that, apparently, it was wrinkly even when it was at half-mast.
Tarak: Your mind must be a dreadful place to live.
Kitty: The sad thing is that I have the perfect comeback to that, but if I say it out loud I will die many times.
Tarak: Naturally the prudent thing to do in such a situation is to remain silent.
Celebrian’s body began to ache with the tension of holding perfectly still. What was the brute up to? Her heart filled with hope at the delay yet she knew it could not last.
Kitty: I hate to ping this one, but Celebrían should be smart enough to know that a few moments’ delay won’t do much for her. Help is too far away to save her at this point in time. If anything, the delay should be making the suspense worse for her.
“She is tired,” said the king. “Bring her a stool.”
Fury: Oh, lovely. I can only imagine what that stool might look like.
Kitty: Thankfully, not what you might think. Either Daeum didn’t think of it, or Daeum decided not to add a detail like a dildo-stool into the story this soon.
Tarak: My dear child, you almost sound as though such a thing would fit in quite well later on in the story.
[Kitty stares at him silently until his smile drops.]
A stool was placed behind her and she was pushed on to it. She could not help feel some relief at sitting but it lasted only the few moments before the king waved at her legs and an orc spread her legs apart so that the king had a clear view of her womanhood.
Kitty: And she let him? She’s not being held down by anyone else. Kick him, Cel! Kick him in his Orc-jimmies!
No matter. She could endure this too.
Kitty: Kick! Him!
“She is thirsty, bring her a drink.”
Tarak: Poison already? Goodness.
[Fury’s lip curls in the beginning of a snarl.]
Kitty: More like this fic’s version of Middle-earth date rape, but it doubles as a super aphrodisiac.
Tarak: As I said: poison.
[Fury growls and both of his co-riffers fall silent.]
Behind her she heard an orc uncork flasks and several liquids being poured. Hob-nailed footsteps approached and an orc hand reach out from behind her with a leather wineskin in his hand.
Kitty: This particular Orc’s name is Kronk.
“Drink,” said the king gesturing with his hands.
Tarak: This goblin king has not ceased his fidgeting once in all this time. I find it irritating.
Kitty: Sadly, you can’t kill it to make it go away.
Tarak: Mind your tongue, child, lest someone shorten it for you.
Something about his leer told her not to take the drink. She moved to bat it away but the orc stepped aside. A second orc then held her arms to her side while the first orc pried her mouth open and poured the flask down her throat.
Kitty: She really wasn’t being held down earlier. Good Eru.
Tarak: Are they forcing her to drink, or is this an attempt at waterboarding?
Fury: Why was it necessary to sidestep the swipe she aimed at the wineskin? Kronk must be a rather flinchy Orc, indeed.
The oily, thick liquid burned and gagged her. It smelled of rancid sex and sweat, tasted of strong liquor with a hint of salt. They emptied the wineskin in short bursts, holding her mouth closed between draughts so that she was forced to drink every drop.
Kitty: Uh, are they trying to make her drink, or are they waterboarding her? If she’s not drinking of her own volition, she’s going to be doing a lot of coughing and spurting and choking. Unless they’re literally stuffing the neck of the wineskin down into her gullet for each pour, I’m pretty sure they’re running the risk of drowning her.
She felt the heat of the liquid burn down her throat and into her stomach. She felt the back of her throat close shut in a gag reflex then slowly loosen.
The heat in her stomach moved to her nipples and clit. To her horror, her nipples stood small and proud. She could not see her clit but could feel the swell in her loins. Her labia protrude even farther and she knew that her clit, too, was erect and proud in its soft fold of lavender flesh.
Kitty: It’s disturbing how much Daeum knows about the anatomy of sex. On the other hand, I doubt either her labia or her clit are reacting to this extent since their blood flow is still severely restricted by the bondage onesie – as evidenced by the purple color.
Oh my god.
It’s purple because there’s no blood flow.
Fury: Her labia and nipples were already purple.
The king watched the liquid take its course with unmasked pleasure. His cock bobbed before him. His fists clenched at his side. His tongue danced over his meaty lips and yellowed tusks while his nostrils flared and his ears twitched with pleasure.
Tarak: Sit still, you great oaf.
Kitty: Why is his dick bobbing? What is he doing to cause that to happen? Male Patrons (since neither of these two prudes will tell me): Do your weewees mosh to the sound of their own death metal when you get excited, or do you need to waggle before they wiggle? Do your mansticks wag like the tails of happy doggies, or are they flagpoles that only wobble in high winds?
Fury: You are not allowed to drink any more Red Bull until this riff is finished.
“Not long now,” whispered the king.
He knew that the elf-bitch was lost in the pulse of her body and was no longer paying attention to him. A drop of clear liquid seeped from the tip of his cock and fell to the floor.
Kitty: Ew, he peed himself.
Tarak: That liquid is not urine and you know it.
Kitty: Shut up and let me dream.
How long Celebrian remained lost in contemplation of her awakening body, she could never remember. It might have been seconds or hours. Her head had grown foggy and her field of vision shrunk to no more than the king. She smiled at the warmth in her loins and raised a hand to flick a nipple, not hearing the grunt of pleasure from the king.
Kitty: I forgot to include hypnosis to the list of things this poison can do.
While rubbing her nipple between thumb and forefinger, she brushed her hair behind her ears with the other. The hall seemed dark to her except for the king on his throne.
Kitty: You know, I never realized how mindlessly repetitive this fic was until now.
Tarak: It would seem the Department are holding a funeral for their fallen comrades. How quaint.
Kitty: You need a tranquilizer. Or a rock to the head.
Fury: I prefer removing limbs as a form of punishment.
Kitty: Which is why your current vessel has oodles and oodles of PTSD.
[Tarak is visibly more interested in the exchange the minute “current vessel” is uttered.]
Idly her gaze traveled over his yellow eyes above the pig nose and tusk, no longer noticing the bold lear.
Kitty: No longer noticing, or no longer bothered by it? There is a damn difference, young Skywalker.
It moved down his bare, hairy chest and fixed on his great cock. His great, long magnificent cock, so unlike the small, smooth one of her husband.
Kitty: Excuse you, Lord Elrond’s gwib is at least six inches long and plenty wide enough for that length! And at least his doesn’t look like a fungus-ridden rotten log!
[Tarak pinches the bridge of his nose. Fury shakes his head and then hides his eyes with his hand.]
Her hand moved from her hair to her clit. She slowly rubbed both nipple and clitoris, feeling the wetness in her pussy and smelling her scent. All the while she stared at the cock in front of her. Her vision shrank further so that all she could see was that great, gray shaft and smooth head. Somewhere in the hair from which it sprouted, she knew there must be a pair of balls. Would they match the size of the foot-long rod before her, she casually wondered?
Fury: The goblin king’s penis is gray. Clearly we are looking at necrotic tissue.
Kitty: That explains the warts and hairs – she’s just misinterpreting the bumps and oozes that come with necrosis.
[pauses, then reaches for the trash can]
Pardon me while I vomit.
[Tarak reaches over and holds her hair back while she hurls.]
Fury: You do realize pandering to her will not make her change your backstory.
Tarak: I have no idea what you are talking about. I am only doing this out of the goodness of my heart.
Fury: You do not have a heart.
Tarak: [handing a now woozy-looking Kitty some wet wipes and patting her hair back into place] How hurtful of you to say that.
She worked her nipple and clit. Dull pleasure rolled in waves across her body. It had been a millennia since she last played this way with herself. Perhaps it had been too long because she could not bring herself to climax. A pout graced her small mouth at the frustrated desire.
Fury: If she is this far along already, how is she unable to bring herself to climax? Was this poison concocted in such a way that she can only achieve climax if an Orc wrings it from her?
Tarak: Do watch your language. You may upset the child again.
[Kitty glares blearily at Tarak.]
Unnoticed by Celebrian, the king stared at his elf-bitch in high heat. His balls ached for release, more clear drops dripped on the floor.
Tarak: He has not even touched the woman and already he lays claim to her.
[Kitty snarls and starts to lean forward, then pales and leans back again with her eyes closed.]
“These elf-whores just need a little push to awaken,” he said.
[Both male riffers growl. Tarak sits back slowly and interlaces his fingers atop his lap; Fury stretches his neck and rolls a shoulder. Kitty continues to focus on taking slow, shallow breaths and doesn’t open her eyes or move.]
He jiggled his cock drawing Celebrian’s attention to it. She noticed the liquid dripping from its tip and involuntarily swallowed. Yet, her throat balked at the attempt: the muscles were still loose from the draught.
Fury: I wonder if that bloated whale carcass he calls his penis made a sound when he “jiggled” it.
[Kitty audibly gags and squeezes her eyes shut more tightly.]
The cock called her. What would it taste like? What it would it feel like in her mouth?
[Kitty flings herself forward and retches into the trashcan again.]
Tarak: Perhaps you should not have eaten so much refuse before we began.
Fury: I disagree. Spicy food is her coping mechanism. We should be grateful for this.
[Kitty pukes and lets out something like a barking laugh as both of her co-riffers lean away in disgust.]
She had never taken Elrond into her mouth. That was not the elvish way despite the vulgar name for fellatio: “The Elvish Art.”
Kitty: [now sounding very hoarse] I actually have no trouble believing two thirds of that.
Fury: Two thirds?
Kitty: I still firmly believe Elves have some freaky-ass sex.
Fury: Fair enough.
Tarak: Savages, the pair of you.
Kitty: I’m sorry, you have how many children, sir? And all by the same woman?
[Tarak scowls and says nothing.]
She fell to her knees.
Kitty: Ouch! Don’t do that on what I’m assuming is solid stone! As far as we know there’s no rug or mat laid down. Be nice to your knees!
The great cock loomed before her, twisted and gnarled with its warts, bumps and pulsing veins except for the taut, smooth knob. It was beautiful. Rough and smooth, round and long. Oh, so long. She felt a pang in her loins, a desire to bury the rod in her loins. But the curiosity of her mouth won out.
Kitty: [consulting her phone again] You know, that fact that Celebrían lived in Lothlórien for around 249 years makes for a really terrible joke about dendrophilia.
Fury: To be fair, this… thing attached to the goblin king’s midsection is beginning to sound less like a reproductive organ and more like a highly diseased tree.
She rocked forward and extended her tongue to touch the tip of the glans. She caught a drop of liquid and tasted a not unpleasant saltiness.
Kitty: It’s only not-unpleasant because you’re tripping balls.
“No one touches the king without permission.”
Kitty: See? Now she’s talking to herself.
Fury: Celebrían is terrible at pillow talk.
The voice came as if from a distance yet she recognized it as the king’s voice, the owner of this magnificent cock.
Kitty: Shit, she really is tripping balls. Usually when something sounds like it’s coming from a distance, the character hearing it that way can’t immediately identify the source.
Patrons, I have extra credit for you: Knock yourselves hard on the noggin and attempt to accurately identify an unspecified noise within five seconds of hearing it. Report your findings to me for cookies.
She ignored it and reached a hand for the bulb.
Kitty: Is she fixing a lamp, now? Stop using the word bulb! You’re making your goblin king sound like a demented light fixture!
“No!” thundered the voice. “Not without permission.”
Tarak: The voice she has already identified as belonging to the goblin king. Daeum is dreadful at maintaining character point of view.
She withdrew the hand halfway, yet still poised, fingers open. She ached to feel it against her, in her mouth, in her twat.
Kitty: I also remain half-coiled in preparation to lunge at something. Usually it’s raspberry tea in my case, though.
“Ask, and you may touch.”
Kitty: Will you please attribute these lines of dialogue before one of us has an aneurysm from the sheer stupidity of trying to keep the un-secret secret?
Her mind was still clouded by the draught. Ask? Ask for what? She wondered.
“Oh, to touch it,” she said, thinking out loud. She did not notice the laugher of the king and his orcs.
“May I touch it?” she asked with a look of wonder and anticipation on her delicate face.
Kitty: Anybody else disturbed by the fact that this poison has reduced her mental faculties to those of a curious ten-year-old with the hormone imbalance of a teenager who just discovered porn?
“Celebrian. Celebrian asks to touch it.”
“Touch what, little bitch?”
Kitty: Said three random people from the deepest recesses of the Shapeless Void.
“Touch it. Touch your cock,” saying the word cock for the first time in all the ages of her long life.
Kitty: Okay, no, “Cock” traditionally refers to a rooster – or, more broadly, any male bird. She’s probably said cock many times before if she’s had any discussions about nature, pets, farm life, or food.
Especially considering her grandparents, great-uncles, and half-second-cousins were all horndogs and veiled euphemisms probably accompanied family dinners more frequently than side dishes.
[Tarak lets out a very beleaguered-sounding sigh.]
“Celebrian wants to touch the king’s cock?”
“And what does that make her?”
Kitty: A cock-toucher?
Tarak: A farmhand, naturally.
Fury: Perhaps his personal chef. Or butcher.
Make her? Why a whore.
All Three: Ah.
Yes, she thought, finding a strange pleasure in the thought. Celebrian is a whore. I am Celebrian; I am a whore.
She smiled and reached for the cock. The king’s hand grabbed her wrist, but gently so as not to break her mood.
Kitty: Gently and goblin king do not belong anywhere near each other ever. Least of all during a rape scene.
“Ask properly, ask like you mean it, elf-bitch,” he said, barely able to contain his own anticipation.
Kitty: We couldn’t tell.
She turned her tunnel vision to his face. The great pig noise, fat lips and tusks now seemed somehow attractive in a raw animal way.
Kitty: I think we need to do another inventory of what this poison is capable of doing in the span of… let’s say about a minute, maybe two minutes in-universe, here.
So far, in order of each symptom’s appearance, this poison has: relaxed the muscles in her throat; caused her to be extremely horny; made her unable to bring herself into climax unless she looks at and/or directly interacts with the goblin king; turned her into a dendrophiliac and potentially a necrophiliac; reduced her ability to clearly identify the sources of sounds around her; given her the mentality of a precocious ten-year-old; given her tunnel vision; and turned her into a furry fetishist.
Or whatever the hell you call somebody who’s into bestiality. I already had to read through a top twenty list for the medical word for tree fetish (because Google hates me and didn’t have the fucking Wikipedia article at the top of the search results.) I’m not researching the proper term for donkey-fuckers.
Staring into his yellowed eyes, she said, “Celebrian the whore wants to touch your cock. She wants to put it in her mouth. Please?”
She smiled a sweet little smile.
Tarak: I do not appreciate that Celebrían’s behavior reminds me of my niece as a toddler.
It took his complete will to keep from slamming her head onto his shaft. But he stilled himself. It was much better if she did it herself. Much better now and much better later. She was drugged but she was not yet broken.
Kitty: I see Daeum had something of a rape fetish. Or, as Wikipedia calls it, biastophilia.
[pocketing her phone again] Sometimes I hate the internet.
“By all means, cunt,” said the king.
“Thank you, my king,” she said politely.
Kitty: At least now the dialogue is being attributed again…
She turned her vision back to the cock. It was all she saw; it filled her mind.
[Three DRD agents come in, fling leftover funeral bouquets at Tarak, then flee back outside.]
Kitty: Aw, they like you!
Tarak: [picking flower petals out of his hair] Charming.
“Celebrian likes the big cock with its shiny head and bumpy shaft. Such a beautiful cock. So big and strong.”
Kitty: How can a penis be strong? Does he tow war wagons with it or something? I can’t imagine watching somebody else pull or lift heavy things with his junk is great for troop morale.
Fury: Perhaps this really is a chicken. A rooster’s fury is not to be underestimated.
Kitty: I need to write that story.
The king shuddered at the words. Never had an elf-bitch taken the magic potion so well before.
Kitty: He’s done this before? First of all, how many Elven women travel the Redhorn Pass? I thought it was treacherous; did it earn that reputation through multiple kidnappings, or is that just how the Elves keep outsiders from mucking up their hiking trail?
Secondly, how have there been no successful search-and-rescue parties sent for those other women? Did people not care? Did they have no relatives or friends who went, “Fuck you, I’m looking for my mother/sister/daughter/cousin/niece/good friend”? Nothing so far has made it apparent that the goblin king has ever moved his base of operations as the result of nearly being discovered. Even his willingness to flee at the first sign of danger is just as easily identified as symptomatic of him being a weasel.
Third, if he’s kidnapped other Elf-women, why isn’t there an active hunt for him going on right now? And why did news somehow fail to reach Celebrían in time to prevent her from taking the Redhorn Pass? Hell, why did she go visiting her parents with anything less than a full company of soldiers for protection? Or at all, if this guy’s been kidnapping multiple Elf-women?
Seriously, what the fuck is going on in this fic right now?
Tarak: Kidnapping, rape, and the mutilation of all that is good and pure in the world.
She grabbed the head of his cock with one hand. The heat surprised and pleased her. She ran her fingers over its smooth surface and around its lip. She cupped the glans in one hand and ran the forefinger on the other along its under side catching the liquid that had run down it as well as a fresh drop at the tip.
Kitty: This is like reading the script to a Nat Geo documentary about marine biologists. Except boring as hell and not safe for classrooms that host anything other than advanced psychology courses dealing especially with different forms of paraphilia.
She gathered the liquid on her fingertip and put it in her mouth savoring the salty tang.
Kitty: Firstly, commas are your friend. Second, get on with it, already!
“You must ask for my gifts,” gasped the king in pleasure. “Each… each… step. And name yourself all the names of a whore, slut-who-pleasures-the-king.”
Fury: I assume this means we are about to learn all the archaic synonyms for whore.
Kitty: Daeum forgot “cock” is a word for a rooster. I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. And, you know, alive.
[Fury slaps Kitty across the back of the head.]
Celebrian’s mind, though clouded, was still cunning. Word games, she thought, how fun. She rolled her tongue across her lips.
Tarak: Debasing oneself is a word game, now?
Kitty: [pulling out her phone again] I’m sure there’s a paraphilia for that, gimme a second…
“May Celebrian-who-loves-the-king’s-cock-drippings, touch the king’s balls?” she asked.
Fury: She is expected to come up with names like this off the top of her head? Quite an unfair requirement.
<b>Kitty:</b> I knew it was a thing. Erotic humiliation – which I prefer to call a degradation fetish, but hey, whatever floats your boat – “is the consensual psychological humiliation [of a participant] in order to produce erotic excitement or sexual arousal.”
Tarak: Humans are truly disturbing creatures.
Kitty: Says the genocidal maniac.
[Tarak slaps Kitty across the back of her head.]
The king grunted assent.
Celebrian ran a hand along the king’s shaft. The full cock filled her small hand. She felt the bumps of warts and moles pass pleasantly beneath her touch.
Kitty: Oh god, it’s written so descriptively that I can actually imagine the sensation. Help.
[Tarak and Fury both slap Kitty across the back of the head, sending her flying out of her chair. Both men watch her for signs of life, then check themselves for signs of vanishing from reality.]
Tarak: Thankfully, she does not appear to be dead. Otherwise we would no longer exist.
Fury: Unfortunately, I am not willing to continue this riff until she regains consciousness. Apologies, Patrons, but we shall have to end the riff here for now.