The Corruption and Degredation of Mary Sue
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
42
Views:
1,646
Reviews:
46
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
42
Views:
1,646
Reviews:
46
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Even Nazgûl Get Lonely And Need to Find a Crack Addled Whore to Piss On
Chapter 38: Even Nazgûl Get Lonely And Need to Find a Crack Addled Whore to Piss on
Celebelen sat on the ground in her tattered clothes, smoking crack on her own. After her misguided attempts at cheerleading, she had been well and truly shunned by all except bin Laden, who occasionally summoned her to repeat her pep routine at a minion who had incurred his wrath.
For the most part the orcs avoided her, except for the few who enjoyed the uses of female flesh other than hacking it up to throw into a stewing pot. Celebelen found it good to know that even here she could still whore herself out to fuel her crack habit.
She watched on vaguely as Saddam Hussein stood atop a boulder and commanded that his troops march around saluting him to further inflate his bloated ego. Aside from the commotion, the Nazgûl stood, seemingly watching over the foolishness. He moved and seemed to regard the girl, then began to stalk over, silent in spite of the armour he wore.
“Was I that pitiful as a human?” hissed the Nazgûl at Celebelen, pointing at Saddam shouting and getting all excited as he began to deliver a somewhat Hitlerian speech to a hoard of bemused and fed-up looking orcs.
Celebelen stared vacuously at the imposing black figure and felt cold. “I dunno,” she replied.
“Oh yes. Of course. You’re from some far-off place like those two morons I’m meant to oversee.” The Nazgûl groaned and leaned against a boulder. His gauntleted hand reached inside his robe and produced a cigarette. Using his robe to shield a match from the wind, the cigarette hovered at lip level as he lit it, then inhaled. Celebelen giggled at the sight of smoke being inhaled into the hood.
Glowering at the source of the irksome giggles, the Nazgûl regarded Celebelen, pathetically slumped on the ground. A wave of nostalgia hit the nefarious shade, reminding him of a time before his own ring had claimed him as a minion of Sauron. Then he had a harem of women bound to serving him. It was definitely one of the perks he missed in his new role as one of the Nine Black Riders. All previous human emotions had pretty much been overwhelmed by new urges to wreak malicious havoc, a willingness to serve his evil master, and also a strange desire to stomp around and flap his robes to scare mortals. The same went for all the Nazgûl. Most of them spent their free time posing and trying to fashion the most sinister visage with which to appear in public.
He suddenly realised that Celebelen was the first female company he had been in for centuries. He glanced around, then shrugged. “Want to go somewhere quiet?” he asked quietly, half hoping the human hadn’t heard him. This was slightly embarrassing and it was a damn good thing his brethren weren’t around or he’d never hear the end of it if they saw him. to get it on with some bedraggled wreck of an exceptionally annoying female.
Celebelen stared at the wraith, then nodded. He was clearly powerful, if if he was evil. Her heart was still geared towards a high school mentality, and she began to realise that if she couldn’t be popular amongst the good characters of her childhood tales, then perhaps she could ally herself wihe Ehe EVIL ones. Besides - They had crack. “Sure,” she said, trying not to sound too giddy with optimism that her fate was about to take a turn for the better.
Surprised and slightly let down by the fact that there was to be no melodramatic coercion of Celebelen to come with him, the Nazgûl sighed gently. He was after the sort of dramatic image akin to that of a mustachioed villain tying a young maiden to the tracks of an oncoming train. He began to lead them away from the camp towards a secluded clump of trees and shrubs.
“So are you, like, the Lord of the Nazgûl?” asked Celebelen hopefully. The wraith regarded her, but what he was thinking she could not tell.
“Yes!” he finally said after a while. Maybe THAT would get the human to act in distress. How could she resist the melodrama of that statement.
“Wow. So you’re like rich and powerful?” inquired the human hopefully.
“Beyond your pathetic dreams, human,” he replied nastily. Celebelen looked slightly hurt, which pleased the Nazgul slightly.
Reaching the secluded trees, the Nazgûl glanced around, just to make sure nobody would see him degrading himself by wallowing in these base human urges that still lingered long after his body had faded into shadow. He began to remove the heavy gauntlets that defined his hands, dropping them to the ground. Celebelen stared at the empty space where his hands should have been and shivered. She began to open her mouth to ask something stupid, but found the weight of an unseen hand suddenly clapped over her mouth.
“You’re bad enough with your mouth shut,” he hissed. “I’m feeling cheap enough right now without listening to your drivel.” ‘Still, poontang IS poontang,’ he added in his head, pressing the human up against a tree and leaning against her. The flesh felt alien in its warmth to the wraith as he moved his hand over Celebelen’s neck.
The strange heat of a living human body stirred ancient memories in the creature’s mind. It occurred to him he could barely remember the last time he had pressed his lips to those of living and breathing woman (dead women were a diffe mat matter that we won’t go into right this moment). Forgetting what he was, he leaned in and kissed the human for about half a second before things turned rather bad.
Celebelen let out a hideous hacking noise and pushed the black robed wraith aside before turning a pale green colour and slumping to the gr. Th. The Nazgûl smacked himself.
“FUCKING BLACK BREATH!! ARGHH!!” he shouted, kicking a tree. He’d forgotten about the lethal gingivitis that came along with the disappearance of teeth into the shadow world. He glared at the unconscious human who was still breathing shallowly, but would probably remain comatose for the next twelve hours.
Amidst the irritation, a memory of a favourite old fetish of his came to light. Looking down at the limp body of Celebelen who was occasionally twitching in the grasp of hideous nightmares, the Nazgûl smiled to himself. Pausing first to retrieve is gauntlets, he stood over Celebelen and began to unbutton his rather fetching tight leather trousers. Starting to giggle to himself, he extracted the length of his wraith-hood and unleashed an arc of steaming Nazgûl piss over the unconscious human.
As the last drop splashed onto the wretched girl’s hair, the Nazgûl felt quite pleased with himself. Indulging in such blatant crudeness was exactly the break he needed from the daily pretension it was to storm around and look like an archetype of stylish evil. He wandered back to camp, happily doing up his trousers as he went, and for the first time in a while actually enjoying himself as he swaggered malignantly, instead of feeling as if he were merely going to through the paces.
“I accidentally blasted the human wench with the black breath. Go fetch her in case that bearded madman needs to torture someone,” he casually remarked, passing by a pair of orcs sharing a cigarette. They scurried to do his bidding, disconcerted by the close presence of their superior.
Celebelen sat on the ground in her tattered clothes, smoking crack on her own. After her misguided attempts at cheerleading, she had been well and truly shunned by all except bin Laden, who occasionally summoned her to repeat her pep routine at a minion who had incurred his wrath.
For the most part the orcs avoided her, except for the few who enjoyed the uses of female flesh other than hacking it up to throw into a stewing pot. Celebelen found it good to know that even here she could still whore herself out to fuel her crack habit.
She watched on vaguely as Saddam Hussein stood atop a boulder and commanded that his troops march around saluting him to further inflate his bloated ego. Aside from the commotion, the Nazgûl stood, seemingly watching over the foolishness. He moved and seemed to regard the girl, then began to stalk over, silent in spite of the armour he wore.
“Was I that pitiful as a human?” hissed the Nazgûl at Celebelen, pointing at Saddam shouting and getting all excited as he began to deliver a somewhat Hitlerian speech to a hoard of bemused and fed-up looking orcs.
Celebelen stared vacuously at the imposing black figure and felt cold. “I dunno,” she replied.
“Oh yes. Of course. You’re from some far-off place like those two morons I’m meant to oversee.” The Nazgûl groaned and leaned against a boulder. His gauntleted hand reached inside his robe and produced a cigarette. Using his robe to shield a match from the wind, the cigarette hovered at lip level as he lit it, then inhaled. Celebelen giggled at the sight of smoke being inhaled into the hood.
Glowering at the source of the irksome giggles, the Nazgûl regarded Celebelen, pathetically slumped on the ground. A wave of nostalgia hit the nefarious shade, reminding him of a time before his own ring had claimed him as a minion of Sauron. Then he had a harem of women bound to serving him. It was definitely one of the perks he missed in his new role as one of the Nine Black Riders. All previous human emotions had pretty much been overwhelmed by new urges to wreak malicious havoc, a willingness to serve his evil master, and also a strange desire to stomp around and flap his robes to scare mortals. The same went for all the Nazgûl. Most of them spent their free time posing and trying to fashion the most sinister visage with which to appear in public.
He suddenly realised that Celebelen was the first female company he had been in for centuries. He glanced around, then shrugged. “Want to go somewhere quiet?” he asked quietly, half hoping the human hadn’t heard him. This was slightly embarrassing and it was a damn good thing his brethren weren’t around or he’d never hear the end of it if they saw him. to get it on with some bedraggled wreck of an exceptionally annoying female.
Celebelen stared at the wraith, then nodded. He was clearly powerful, if if he was evil. Her heart was still geared towards a high school mentality, and she began to realise that if she couldn’t be popular amongst the good characters of her childhood tales, then perhaps she could ally herself wihe Ehe EVIL ones. Besides - They had crack. “Sure,” she said, trying not to sound too giddy with optimism that her fate was about to take a turn for the better.
Surprised and slightly let down by the fact that there was to be no melodramatic coercion of Celebelen to come with him, the Nazgûl sighed gently. He was after the sort of dramatic image akin to that of a mustachioed villain tying a young maiden to the tracks of an oncoming train. He began to lead them away from the camp towards a secluded clump of trees and shrubs.
“So are you, like, the Lord of the Nazgûl?” asked Celebelen hopefully. The wraith regarded her, but what he was thinking she could not tell.
“Yes!” he finally said after a while. Maybe THAT would get the human to act in distress. How could she resist the melodrama of that statement.
“Wow. So you’re like rich and powerful?” inquired the human hopefully.
“Beyond your pathetic dreams, human,” he replied nastily. Celebelen looked slightly hurt, which pleased the Nazgul slightly.
Reaching the secluded trees, the Nazgûl glanced around, just to make sure nobody would see him degrading himself by wallowing in these base human urges that still lingered long after his body had faded into shadow. He began to remove the heavy gauntlets that defined his hands, dropping them to the ground. Celebelen stared at the empty space where his hands should have been and shivered. She began to open her mouth to ask something stupid, but found the weight of an unseen hand suddenly clapped over her mouth.
“You’re bad enough with your mouth shut,” he hissed. “I’m feeling cheap enough right now without listening to your drivel.” ‘Still, poontang IS poontang,’ he added in his head, pressing the human up against a tree and leaning against her. The flesh felt alien in its warmth to the wraith as he moved his hand over Celebelen’s neck.
The strange heat of a living human body stirred ancient memories in the creature’s mind. It occurred to him he could barely remember the last time he had pressed his lips to those of living and breathing woman (dead women were a diffe mat matter that we won’t go into right this moment). Forgetting what he was, he leaned in and kissed the human for about half a second before things turned rather bad.
Celebelen let out a hideous hacking noise and pushed the black robed wraith aside before turning a pale green colour and slumping to the gr. Th. The Nazgûl smacked himself.
“FUCKING BLACK BREATH!! ARGHH!!” he shouted, kicking a tree. He’d forgotten about the lethal gingivitis that came along with the disappearance of teeth into the shadow world. He glared at the unconscious human who was still breathing shallowly, but would probably remain comatose for the next twelve hours.
Amidst the irritation, a memory of a favourite old fetish of his came to light. Looking down at the limp body of Celebelen who was occasionally twitching in the grasp of hideous nightmares, the Nazgûl smiled to himself. Pausing first to retrieve is gauntlets, he stood over Celebelen and began to unbutton his rather fetching tight leather trousers. Starting to giggle to himself, he extracted the length of his wraith-hood and unleashed an arc of steaming Nazgûl piss over the unconscious human.
As the last drop splashed onto the wretched girl’s hair, the Nazgûl felt quite pleased with himself. Indulging in such blatant crudeness was exactly the break he needed from the daily pretension it was to storm around and look like an archetype of stylish evil. He wandered back to camp, happily doing up his trousers as he went, and for the first time in a while actually enjoying himself as he swaggered malignantly, instead of feeling as if he were merely going to through the paces.
“I accidentally blasted the human wench with the black breath. Go fetch her in case that bearded madman needs to torture someone,” he casually remarked, passing by a pair of orcs sharing a cigarette. They scurried to do his bidding, disconcerted by the close presence of their superior.