Half the Distance

Title: Half the Distance
Series: Innocence Stripped Away
Chapter: Fourteen : Bloody, Broken
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: soultornasunder@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Beta: Alex Cat
Warning: Rape

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Imladris, Spring, Third Age 2086

Erestor pulled his trousers on, lacing them quickly.

He was late.

He'd been late a lot lately.

Glancing out his window, he noted how high the sun had already risen. Cursing quietly, he began to plait his hair. All he needed to do was pull on his robes, tug on his soft boots, and then he could--

"Erestor."

His stomach roiled. That damned *voice*! Would it never cease to leave him alone?

"Erestor. I want to play."

Erestor closed his eyes, trying to remember to breathe. "No." His hands trembled as he tied back the last plait.

"What?" the voice asked in a clipped, annoyed tone.

"No," Erestor repeated, reaching for his robes. The whip marks on his back pulled, reminding him just how dangerous of a situation he was in. "I do not want to 'play'. Not with you. Not ever again." He walked to the foot of the bed where his boots were, his robes hung over his arm; Erestor tried to remain calm, but his heart was in his throat.

"I do not believe I gave you a choice," the voice sneered.

Erestor bent over to pick up his boots and found that he could not stand up again. A weight was pressing down on his back, holding him bent over. Another weight on his legs pushed him forward against the bed.

"Ah, yes. This is how I like you," the voice was saying. "Bent over and presenting yourself. But these trousers are simply too much in the way. Take them off."

His stomach lurched. "No! Get off of me!" Erestor struggled against the weight on his back, tears springing to his eyes. Not again! This was never supposed to happen again! He had made certain of it. He was *dead*, for Eru's sake!

"Temper, temper. You have grown some backbone, I see. Very well, we can do this the hard way." A sharp slap stung across Erestor's backside, followed by another on the other side. The weight pressing on his back seemed to shift, centring itself over one of the whip marks. It was as though fingers were pressing into the cut itself. "Remember this one? You so adored it once. And you did not seem to mind being on the giving end of it either, to judge by that gorgeous little slave the other night."

"Liar!" he screamed, his face flushed with shame. "I never--" The words stuck in his throat, smothered by the helpless sob that rose. Erestor could even *smell* him. That smell of linseed oil, iron, and cedar. He never stepped foot into the forge or the linen hall due to the harsh sense memory of *him* they brought to the surface.

Another stinging slap rang across his ass. "You could not keep secrets from me before; what makes you think you could hide your thoughts from me now?" Erestor was shoved harder against the edge of the bed. A sudden pressure at his entrance blossomed into a column of discomfort along the passageway. "Oh my word, you are tight. And that was just a finger. It has probably been such a long time for you, though, has it not? Well, we will take care of that for you now, shall we?"

It had been a *very* long time since he bottomed to anyone -- and for this very reason. All control, gone. All choice, taken. Erestor was at the mercy of the beast who shoved him down, who took without thought for the feelings of the one beneath him.

Which, he suddenly realised, was what exactly what he had done to Teledan.

Erestor buried his face in the coverlet, trembling with terror. "No," he groaned, begged. "Please, no..."

"I like that. I like it when you beg, Erestor. It never does you any good, but I still like it." The discomfort inside him eased, but only for a moment before being replaced by an even sharper pain, pressing deeply into him, stretching him to limits he'd not thought to ever feel again.

The cry that issued from Erestor was full of anguish. He screamed into the mattress, the long-forgotten habit of muffling all sounds to keep his secret hidden easily remembered. His hands clenched, fruitlessly seeking purchase, a way to turn and kick his assailant away from him. But, of course, there was no running from him. There never had been. When he did, *he* found him. And the punishment for hiding--

Erestor's pleas stopped as he merely wept, bore the brunt of *his* lusts as he had many times before.

*****

Elrond sat at the head of the council chamber's table and stared at the door while the others assembled stared at *him*. It was unlike Erestor to be so late to a meeting. And while he had to admit there were a number of things Erestor had been doing that were unlike him, none of them had affected his duties. He'd been acting so strangely lately that Elrond couldn't help but be concerned.

He seemed to notice the other Councillors watching him for the first time and frowned severely. He was too distracted to worry about the petty disputes and budget squabbles that these meetings inevitably came to. He stood up suddenly and started for the door.

"My Lord Elrond," one of them began, but Elrond waved a hand dismissively as he passed.

"Save it for next time," he rumbled, throwing open the door and heading for Erestor's room.

*****

A true cock thrusting into him would mean a brief easing of the pain as it withdrew before pressing forward again. But this was a nightmarish parody of reality, and the pain, the sense of being filled, never ceased. It only moved from less intense to more and back again. And again. He could feel tissue tearing as the phantom intrusion continued to push more deeply inside. The feeling of fingers on his back returned, pressing into the whip tracks until fresh rivulets of blood began to flow from them. A hand in his hair shoved his face into the bed, and the thrusts grew faster and harder.

There was nothing Erestor could do but go limp under the presence that forced itself upon him. It was all he had ever been able to do, give in and flow with the pain. Fighting it only meant it would last longer, that it would be much worse than if he just acquiesced. To challenge him, Erestor had learned the hard way, meant to be incapable of sitting or walking for days. He silently begged the Valar to speed the act, to let it *end*, because he couldn't fight.

He never could.

"Yes," hissed the voice from somewhere above and behind him. "The fight is fun at first, but this is what it always comes down to. You giving yourself to me." The thrusting feeling became pounding, slamming him forward into the footboard of the bed. "Do you want me to finish?" it asked. This was a common thing, then, the question being asked of Erestor. The shaft inside him would continue to impale him until Erestor asked for the completion, asked for *his* release. He'd withheld that answer once, thinking that he could deny the satisfaction, but he'd been wrong. His master had had amazing stamina, and had kept up the pace for over two hours, never ceasing, never slowing, until Erestor finally sobbed out the response he was expected to.

"Do you want me to finish?" the voice repeated. "Tell me you do or you know what will happen."

It had always made him feel dirty, and it did the same now. The words that formed on his lips, sobbed out into the coverlet, made him want to vomit. "Yes," he said. "Yes, please... finish. I--I want to feel..." He swallowed around bile. "I want to feel your release," he said quickly. His whole body ached, his head throbbed, and he just wanted his master to be through with him for the night.

*****

Elrond knocked on the door to Erestor's suite of rooms. When no response came back, he knocked louder and tried the knob. The door was bolted from the inside, but Erestor still did not respond. Elrond pounded on the door and called out, "Erestor! I know you are there. Open the door."

He pressed his ear to the door just in time to hear a muffled scream of anguished pain. Elrond stepped back and kicked the door, but Imladris was sturdy, and the door didn't budge.

*****

The pain inside Erestor swelled further, until the Elf felt he was being torn in two. He could feel the phantom shaft pulsing with its orgasm, feel the hot liquid filling him in spurts. And then, finally, blessedly, he felt the hasty withdrawal of a passion-spent erection already beginning to wilt.

*****

"I need this door opened. *Now*," Elrond directed two of Glorfindel's soldiers. He stood back as the Elves braced their shoulders against the door, nodded to one another, and slammed into it. It took three more attempts, and the hinges gave way. "I want you to go to the House of Healing and have one of my journeymen bring a mandragora tincture. Then I want you to find Glorfindel and have him meet me at the House of Healing."

The soldiers instantly set off, each heading in a different direction, and Elrond entered Erestor's suite.

He quickly passed through the main sitting room, his eyes intent on the bedroom door. When he stepped inside, his eyes swept the room, seeking its occupant. The bed was in disarray, and it looked to Elrond as if blood was smeared across the coverlet. His heart leapt when he heard a muffled sob; he walked around the bed and found Erestor huddled in the corner. His back was to the wall, his knees drawn up tight to his chest, and his face hidden in his folded arms.

Elrond slowly approached his half-clothed friend, and reached out a hand to touch one of Erestor's shaking shoulders.

Wide, fierce eyes looked out at him from behind the curtain of midnight Erestor's hair created. Red-rimmed and terrified, they searched first Elrond, then the room.

"Where is he?" Erestor cried. "Did you see him?"

Elrond's brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "See who, Erestor?"

"He-he just left, Elrond. I heard the door slam! You must have seen him!"

"Erestor," Elrond said calmly as he knelt before him. "There was no one. The door was bolted from the inside. We had to break the hinges to enter." He swallowed. "You were alone."

"He was here," Erestor whispered insistently.

Elrond reached for him a second time, wanting to examine Erestor for injuries. Erestor flinched away, shaking his head.

"No! Do not touch me!"

Elrond withdrew his hand and, instead, looked Erestor over. His eyes saw fingerprint bruises on Erestor's shoulders, arms, wrists. Then his gaze travelled lower, and he noticed a small stain of blood on the flagstones under Erestor's backside. The trousers were black, intact, and so Elrond couldn't be certain, but...

A journeyman of Elrond's entered the room, a small bottle in his hand. "Master Elrond, you requested the mandragora tincture?" The Elf looked at the Chief Councillor with wary eyes.

"Yes," Elrond said, holding out his hand. "Erestor, I want you to open your mouth and lift your tongue. I will not touch you," he promised as he drew some of the clear fluid into a glass pipe. "I just want to put a little of this in your mouth."

Erestor regarded him with trepidation.

"Do not make me have them restrain you," Elrond said softly, his grey eyes dark and serious.

That made Erestor's choice simple. He did as Elrond instructed, wincing at the sourness of the fluid placed under his tongue. His mouth went numb. "What have you given me?" he asked, his words slurring.

"A mandragora tincture," Elrond said as he stood, giving the bottle back to the journeyman Elf. "A sedative."

Under his tongue, the fluid rushed quickly into Erestor's body. His eyes fluttered, the room blurred, and then he slumped forward. Elrond watched him for a moment before bending to lift Erestor into his arms.

"A troubled path you now walk," Elrond said to the sleeping Elf. "But, you no longer walk it alone."

TBC...