1508: Celebrian – Part SevenPosted: August 20, 2016
Author: A now-forgotten servant of Morgoth the Defiler
Topic: Lord of the Rings
Critiqued by KittyNoodles
*** WARNING: The following riff contains some of the most horrifying rape scenes ever encountered within the halls of this Library. If dendrophilia, biastophilia, erotic humiliation, sadism, masochism, narratophilia, teratophilia, salirophilia, cum inflation, kidnapping, sexism, slavery, or victim shaming/blaming bother you even a little bit, this riff may not be for you. Also, there’s some discussion of mutilation early into today’s section, as well as in-fic backlash against Celebrían. Step lightly, okay guys? ***
[*incoherent gurgling* – Lyle]
[The Booth has been transformed into what is best described as a blanket-and-pillow lair. Fluffy pillows have been tossed around the floor and on top of and underneath all of the chairs, and big, soft, fluffy blankets have been draped over everything that does not have buttons to push or levers to pull. Kitty has claimed one vaguely circular pile of blankets and pillows and is swaddled in a few extra blankets; when she shifts, a thick, black nylon cord becomes visible around the base of her neck before she readjusts the blankets. Fluffy the Tiger is buried in the Kitty-cocoon and only his ears are visible. Fury is standing just above the floor and looks resigned to the mess he’s helped Kitty make of the Booth.]
Kitty: Do you think we have enough blankets? And pillows?
Fury: We have raided every room likely to have bedding material within a two mile radius of this room. I do believe we are sufficiently equipped.
Kitty: Very true.
Do you think Ithalond will want any stuffed animals? Or candy? Or maybe some stiff alcohol?
Fury: I do not believe an elvish warrior will want any stuffed toys or candies, post-traumatic stress disorder or none. And I refuse to go hunting for alcohol.
Patrons, I hope you all brought comfort objects of your own, because we’re all going to be needing them this time.
In our last installment, we were introduced to Ithalond, an elvish warrior from Elrond’s rescue party, who was ostensibly captured when his party ran into what must have been either a very large group of orcs or a few extremely skilled scouts.
Fury: Perhaps Ithalond himself was a scout?
Kitty: Ooooooo could be.
Ithalond’s hands have been lopped off at the wrists and his front teeth have been knocked out, but like a good, loyal warrior of Imladris, he is most concerned for Celebrían’s wellbeing, and has so far spent all of his lines trying to console Celebrían despite having already broken down into tears over his missing hands.
After that, the orc king decided to drag Celebrían out to sit in front of him for a while to… I guess look pretty while he listened to reports from his scouts.
Jabba the Hutt is not best pleased about the unsubtle shout-out.
“Celebrian, your husband harries my guards but know that he can never reach you. My lair is protected by an impenetrable maze,” said the king. Celebrian knew that he lied. “But hope if you wish. Hope all you want as long as you do your duty.”
Kitty: First of all, how in the world does he know who Celebrían’s husband is? Did he have that information beaten out of Ithalond, or is he just guessing that Celebrían’s husband is probably in the hunting party?
Second, what kind of self-respecting Orc tells a captive to hope for anything other than a swift death or a life of enslavement? You’re an Orc, you idiot! Crush her spirit! Stomp her hopes into the dirt! Break her down and then laugh in her face! You suck at being evil!
What was he thinking, she wondered? He had not forced the draught on her. Had he forgotten? Or could he really believe her would pleasure him without its fire in her belly?
Kitty: Oh, hon. You have no clue.
She looked into his thick, pig-like face. She could not read his beady eyes. But it did not matter, she was in command of herself.
Kitty: And that’s actually part of what makes what’s coming so awful, for multiple reasons. First, she’ll have absolutely nothing – no drug, no altered state, nothing – to buffer her from what she’s going to have to do. Second, by doing what she’s going to do without first having to be drugged, she’ll give everybody – including Daeum – a clear shot to claim she did it willingly and enjoyed it. Third…
Well. She’s actually still going to end up enjoying herself. Despite not being drugged. She’s still going to wind up enjoying being with King Big, Hairy, and Pencil-Dicked.
Buckle up, buttercups.
“Your companion, how do you find him?” he asked.
Fury: Maimed and despondent, yet still remarkably compassionate.
Kitty: Also, I’m sorry, but is the orc king an Orc or an extremely deviant Man? Orcs don’t talk like this. At all. They speak Westron; that doesn’t mean they speak it well.
“Ith—” she said, almost speaking his name. “You have treated him cruelly.”
Kitty: Okay, I would understand not using Ithalond’s name if the orc king or anyone in his “court” were powerful spellcasters, but so far we’ve seen no proof that they wield any magic at all besides the potion – which doesn’t count because it’s a beverage that’s likely been made ostensibly from plants, spices, and other otherwise natural ingredients by some messed-up shaman or something. Names are pretty powerful things in a lot of fantasy settings, including Tolkien’s legendarium, but not to run-of-the-mill brutes like the orc king and his entourage. Unless they like, mock the name itself or use it to mock Ithalond while they torture him. Even then it’s kinda… paltry, considering they’ve already maimed him.
“He is but a work in progress. Next he loses his feet.”
Kitty: That’s all we see of her reaction? Really?
Fury: Yet again, her stark horror simply oozes off of the page.
“Then his cock, but not his balls. His balls can remind him of his lost manhood. Then the nose comes off followed by the ears. Teeth next. And tongue, although perhaps I will leave that for your use,” he said with a sneer.
Kitty: Daeum is mauling everything good and funny in this world. I hope he got run over by a semi truck shortly after publishing this.
It was too much. Her mind started to blacken. How could this happen to a great warrior, a warrior who had risked all to rescue her?
Kitty: Orcs. And evil. And plot.
Fury: To be fair, this is one of the very few times that Celebrían has had a reasonable reaction to anything she has heard or seen.
“But, of course, you can perhaps delay his torment. Maybe even prevent it. It is in your power.”
Kitty: No, we’ll be doing that. But do continue; it’s the only way to get through this part.
A flush of anger tinted her checks. Of course, she thought, he means to force through this threat. She would be strong, the poor warrior was dead anyhow.
Kitty: Put your checkbook away, woman, this is no time to worry about your finances! And how does one “force through a threat?” Is that anything like how he somehow couldn’t get that pencil penis of his up your arse a few days ago?
Fury: Ithalond is not dead yet. He was still alive when last you saw him. Though I suppose it is fair to assume that he is presently being beaten to death, these being Orcs and all.
“You would not help your fellow elf?” said the king, noticing her resolve. “How like an orc.”
Kitty: More like an orc than you, mister. Fess up, you’re really Sauron in disguise, aren’t you? No Orc speaks like you do. At all.
Fury: No, he is something far worse than Sauron. He is the author insert.
Kitty: That’s horrifying for far too many reasons to list here.
She felt a sting at that. How like an orc. Indeed, it was heartless, like an orc. But could she do otherwise?
KItty: You have “heartless” confused with “pragmatic.” Not a difficult mistake to make, really, but still.
She recalled cradling Ithalond through his delirium and after, in his fear. He was helpless. She alone could aid the maimed warrior. Very well, she thought. What does it matter? I have done it before for my own pleasure, now I do it for a greater cause.
Kitty: I mean, he can still kick and headbutt anybody who gets in range. And elbow them, for that matter. And frightened people can sometimes be some of the most unpredictable to deal with, particularly in a situation where they’re injured and in enemy custody. Plus, Ithalond is an elvish warrior. Unless he’s a very young elvish warrior, I’m pretty sure he’s well equipped to work through copious amounts of pain, fear, and general dismay.
She knelt before the king and reach for his cock beneath his loin cloth.
Kitty: Honestly, where else would it be?
Fury: Under the rug, perhaps?
Kitty: Well, it’s kind of under a carpet already…
“No, bitch. You know the rules. Name thyself.”
Kitty: Old English just wailed in agony.
Fury: No Orc would use a term such as “thyself.” Daeum is becoming steadily more transparent as this goes on.
She stared at the cruel king. Then slowly and deliberately, she named herself.
“Cock-sucker. Ball-licker. Cum-drinker. Cock-lover. King’s-sheath. Dick-sucker.” With each name, the king’s cock twitched beneath his loin cloth. Soon the warty member protruded free of the cloth. She shuddered at what she must do with the thing. But her nipples also hardened and her pussy grew wet.
KItty: Aaaaaand this is where Celebrian begins to lose all resemblance to her canon counterpart.
Really? Drugged twice in a row and then given roughly one to two weeks to recover and tend to a fellow Elf – during which time you are not spoken to at all except by the Elf, who certainly does not insult you in any way – and somehow you’re already hardwired to arousal at the sound of your own degradation? I’m not sure that’s how the Pavlovian Response works, Daeum. You fail at life.
The king nodded to her. She reach her hands to his cock and felt his warts in her grip. She stroked slowly up and down the shaft for a time, bringing the rod to its full length and hardness. She bobbed forward and extended her tongue to the head of the shaft. She worked her tongue around the glans then opened her mouth to take in the pulsing cock. Deliberately, she begin to work up and down the great shaft.
Kitty: Pornography has never been so freakishly boring. And it’s made all the more so now that we know that the orc king’s penis isn’t even as thick around as an average cucumber when fully erect.
With each stroke, she took him deeper into throat. She noted coolly that her throat was use to the king, even without the draught: she did not choke or gag.
Kitty: If you choke on that tiny thing, you probably don’t eat a lot of dishes with noodles. Or anything particularly chewy or crunchy, really. A liquid diet must be such a trying thing to endure.
She began to pick up speed. Without realizing it, her hands moved to the king’s balls and felt the familiar weight and warmth of their mass. She now dove with eager, wet slurps on the glans at the beginning of each stroke.
Kitty: Again, she was drugged into compliance twice in a row and then left alone other than having the world’s most unsatisfying series of dildos inserted into her every now and then over the course of at most two weeks. She should not be conditioned to respond well to any of this. Human minds don’t work that way, and since Tolkien’s Elves were essentially an allegory for his vision of human perfection, I’m pretty sure Elvish minds are even stronger against suggestion and tampering. I admit, I’m not a psychology nut, but to already be this readily turned on by debauchery at the hands of an Orc would indicate to me that she already had this kind of deviation in her.
This isn’t Celebrían. This is a substitute who is becoming steadily less convincing and steadily more difficult to sympathize with.
When the cock quivered with impending explosion, she pulled it from her throat so that she could catch his gush in open mouth. For a moment, she stared at the smooth glans, stared into the hole that promised the cum. Then the king errupted.
Kitty: Is Daeum just filling out a bingo card of horrifying ways to describe male genitalia now?
The flood was greater than any before it. It immediately filled her mouth to overflowing. It splashed up her face, into her nostrils. It poured down her chin and slid and thick, gooey mass under her gown and between her breasts. The cock continued to spasm, sending more bursts into her open mouth. She swallowed as fast as she could but could not hope to keep up with the flow.
Fury: I see my lecture on the basic processes of swallowing and choking went unheeded.
Kitty: Don’t feel too bad. This whole thing was already written and published well before we ever started riffing it.
When the cock started to go limp, she worked it hard with her hands. Then she stood, lifted her gown above her waist and presented her anus to the king. She guided his great cock to rest against her sunken orifice. She wiggled backwards to force it in but she need not have bothered. The king stood and force it in himself.
KItty: We just watched Celebrian go from “I’m only grudgingly complying to save a friend’s life” to “put that thing up my ass right now or I’ll rip it off and do it myself.”
This doesn’t even come off as wanting it over with as quickly as possible. This reads like she really needs something to fuck her right now or she’ll kill someone.
There was no pain. The dildos had prepared her well for the cock’s girth.
She felt only warmth and pleasure in her pussy while the cock probed into her innermost reaches. Unlike her pussy, no cervix barred the way. With some assisting thrusts of her own she helped the king seat his rod to its full depth in her body. Impaled on his rod, it felt like his cock reached her lungs.
Kitty: Apologies for the… [snorts] …small size of the gif.
The king begin to pump his cock into her depths. She rocked in concert with his thrusts. As he came to climax a second time, she mewed loudly with pleasure. He plunged deep into her with the final spurt of his load and left her impaled on his dick, unable to bend with the stiff rod in her gut.
Kitty: Once again, I’m unable to show you guys what that should look like. Basically, either she should be dead or dying, because at this rate he’s stuck his dick completely through at least a couple of internal organs. If Daeum isn’t using hyperbole, he seriously fails hard at anatomy and should lay off the hentai.
She realized she had closed her eyes for most of the ass-fuck. She opened them and took in the gaze of the jeering crowd of the king’s orcs. Bent over, hair falling around her face, cum from her blow-job still dripping from her face, her gown heavy and wet with jizz caught within its folds, impaled on a 12 inch cock fixed into her ass, she could not help but smile in triumph. She had accepted the challenge and survived her own battle. She was a warrior of a sort and her actions had aided a fellow elf. Of course, the cock felt exquisite in her ass, too.
Kitty: So she’s wearing a self-satisfied smile after having successfully ceded all dignity to the orc king, is openly admitting that she enjoyed herself in the process of doing so despite two weeks ago having been horrified by the notion of enjoying herself with the orc king, and is somehow bent over despite having a foot of penis rammed into her anus up to the hilt.
In other news, the exact of dimensions of the orc king’s penis when erect are twelve inches long by two inches wide. And that’s the more generous interpretation of “two inch shaft.”
She’s basically impaled on something as long as and only a bit wider than a standard American ruler.
Daeum fails at life and was probably very new to the porn scene when he wrote this.
Then she saw Ithalond. He was tied and gagged. But he was positioned to the side so that he could everything. And the horrible shock in his eyes told her he had seen everything.
[Kitty leans forward and makes a long, high-pitched sound at the back of her throat, looking extremely unhappy as she does so.]
Fury: You will be able to hug the poor Elf after we have evacuated him.
She shrieked and fainted.
Fury: That response would make more sense were it not so sudden.
When she awoke, she was still in the stinking gown, crusty in places but still mostly damp. She could still taste the king’s semen in her mouth and knew that her face and hair were still coated. She raised herself to a sitting position. She was back in the cell.
Kitty: So it’s been, what, maybe an hour or so? Shouldn’t she be a bit achey after having twelve inches of penis somehow shoot all the way up into her lungs from her butt?
Ithalond sat against the wall staring at her. Staring in disgust.
Fury: I imagine the stench is terrible.
Kitty: And, in his defense, while it’s plausible he was the thing she heard get dragged into the room prior to her going down on the orc king and therefore overheard their conversation, Ithalond also saw her smiling and reacting in obvious pleasure. On one hand, he probably definitely knows that she did it with the intent to barter her dignity for his life, but on the other, she just willingly boinked an Orc and enjoyed herself in the process.
For, might I add, an Elf with no hands. Maybe Ithalond doesn’t want to spend his days being a pitied cripple. At least Maedhros still had his left hand after being cut down from Thangorodrim.
“Ithalond, I did it to spare you,” she cried.
He shook his head. She tried to explain about the draughts. Told him how much she had loathed what she had down to save him. Finally, he replied.
“You took him willingly. You enjoyed it. I saw. How could you? Why didn’t you resist?”
KItty: Honestly, that’s not a bad point. She didn’t even voice any objection. She launched straight into it with what might at best have looked like a second’s hesitation to Ithalond, who could not have been privy to her very quick mental deliberation.
Also, you weren’t given any draught this time and Ithalond, like me, probably remains unconvinced that they could so completely condition you to enjoy submitting to the orc king after two back-to-back uses followed by a week without any draught or any sexual interaction beyond the dildo stuff.
Fury: You have already decided to save Ithalond. Need you defend him to the Patrons? You do not do so for Tarak.
Kitty: They don’t really know a lot about Tarak.
Fury: Certainly they have seen enough to guess at how horrible he is. And if you would invite Avis to help–
Kitty: I would literally rather give myself organ removal surgery without any painkillers than invite Avis to help me with anything short of digging his own grave so I didn’t have to do that part after I beat him to death with the shovel.
Fury: And he is your own original character.
Fury: And you write fanfictions that involve the psychological torment of World of Warcraft characters you claim to adore, with storylines peppered with grisly descriptions of the undead.
Fury: I believe the Patrons will overlook a little harsh judgment from Ithalond. I believe also that you will stop caring relatively quickly if they do not.
She burst into tears and hung her head in her arms.
Kitty: Kinda like I want to.
When the orcs came later with food, water and cloths to wash with, they also returned her ass-dildo. She did not resist as they removed her gown and restored the dildo to her ass. They left it with the laces untied. Ithalond watched the entire process with undisguised disgust.
Fury: Both her lack of resistance and the process itself are justifiable causes for his disgust. I find Ithalond to be the most reasonable and most likeable character we have encountered thus far.
KItty: Now who’s defending him?
When they left, she began to clean herself. It took a long time, but it gave her something to focus on. She did not remove the dildo.
Kitty: Okay, see, if you would take the thing out, I think his opinion of you might improve, since you would then be actively rebelling against the Orcs’ treatment of you.
She could feel Ithalond’s eyes burning into the back of her head. She could sense his disgust like a dark cloud in the room. She was alternately torn between self-pity and self-loathing. She had given so much for nothing.
Kitty: Not nothing. Ithalond is still alive enough for us to save.
[hopping up from the floor]
Fury, Im’ma go get our Elf buddy.
Fury: By yourself.
Fury: You will enter the fic and then the cell in which Ithalond and Celebrian are being held captive – and where Orcs may reappear – alone and unarmed.
Kitty: I never said I was going unarmed.
[Kitty pulls on the thick cord around her neck, causing the sheathed gut knife strung on the cord to come out from under her shirt.]
Fury: Where did you get that?
Kitty: [looking and sounding very much like a happy five-year-old] Grampa got it for me. Never been used before. Although I think I need to rethink wearing it on a cord around my neck; it’s a tiny bit heavier than any of my necklaces.
Fury: Only a “tiny bit?”
Kitty: Tiny being relative. [takes the cord off her neck and unsheathes the knife] Admittedly, I’ll probably fight like a drunk back-alley brawler with this thing, and it’s probably not the ideal weapon to fight with, but hey! Sharp and hooky!
Plus, I’ll be fighting with the power of sheer rage. If I get into a fight at all, which I won’t, because I’m the chick that scored a 0.01 on the Exploratorium’s “How Quiet Can You Walk” gravel pit. In sneakers.
I’m all set!
[Kitty sheathes the knife again and trots off towards the door. Fury watches until she’s out of the room and the door has closed behind her again, then sighs and “sits” among the blankets.]
Fury: I suppose we should continue until she returns with Ithalond.
When the orcs came again, she let them lead her away quietly. She paid little attention to the orc warrens as she passed by them, although the orcs were particularly raucous about the dildo straps hanging from her bottom.
Fury: She has not been shown to struggle much at all throughout this sordid ordeal. Why is it suddenly worth noting that she is not resisting her handlers? Is this meant to be some shallow attempt to garner sympathy from your readers, Daeum?
At the king’s throne, she meekly fell to her knees before him and waited for his command. An orc-female sat in his lap. She was naked. Her hairy, red twat was at Celebrian’s eye-level. She could see that weights had been fixed to her labia so that they hung half a foot. The she-orc’s breasts were each as big as the great king’s head. Celebrian could have wrapped her hand around a teat and still not covered its full length.
[Fury looks extremely calm.]
Fury: [quietly] How charming.
“Give the elf-bitch her draught,” he said.
Fury: [still extremely calm and quiet] Might I ask why that is necessary?
She wondered why the draught was necessary. She would do what ever the king command. She no longer had the will to resist.
[Fury blinks very slowly and appears to take a long, silent breath through his nose.]
When the orc brought the wineskin, she took it from him and drank it. She looked for oblivion in its powerful warmth.
Fury: My dear Patrons, I do believe I should attempt to follow Kitty and assist her in her rescue mission. I am dreadfully sorry to cut our time together short, and sincerely hope you can forgive the rather abrupt end I am bringing to this installment.
I suggest you all go and cleanse your minds by watching cartoons designed for the entertainment of small children.