Faded Light

(For additional notes and disclaimers, please see top of Chapter 1.)

--This is probably the raunchiest scene I will ever write...if you are likely to be bothered by that kind of thing, by all means skip ahead. I promise the second half of the chapter is totally non-offensive.--


Chapter 7

Nights

He no longer knew how long it had been going on. He’d already had at least five other customers earlier that night and was now servicing four more at the same time.

Caked in dried saliva, semen, sweat, and even blood, by now, he knew come morning he would be covered in bruises and he would not walk well for some time.

He still recalled vividly the first time he had been taken like this, serving so many at once. It had nearly been too much; he had wept in pain the entire time, though the Men had not seemed to notice, and he had hurt for many days.

But he had had a great deal of practice perfecting his skills in all the years since.

Straddling the one beneath, he slowly slid his wet, slackened passage up and down the large member; while vigorously pleasuring a second with his mouth, running his tongue up and down and underneath the thick length. And two more Men took turns behind him, thrusting alongside the organ already embedded deep within, stretching him beyond what his body should have been able to sustain.

Pulling away slightly, he licked his lips and gazed up with a lewd, shameless smile, the Man immediately pulling his face closer for a deep bruising kiss. The young Elf groaned into the delving mouth, as one of the two behind pulled out to be immediately replaced by his larger companion.

Reaching back with one hand, as the human callously forced himself inside, he gripped the Man's hip, pulling him closer and forcing his resisting body into compliance.

After several moments, the one in front ended the kiss, letting his friend beneath Dafi take his turn with the soft Elven lips. Soon a warm tongue was wandering over the youth’s chest, biting into his neck while the one behind him ran a hand through his hair and began pressing noisy kisses over his back and along his spine.

Leaning forward again, he took the member back into his mouth and rolled his hips in such a way that made both Men groan. He could tell by the intensity of their thrusts that both were nearing their climax again and pushed back and downward with abandon, to meet each ruthless intrusion.

A hand came around then and found its way to the slave’s lax, unexcited Elfhood and began fondling, obviously trying to force a reaction.

He gasped weakly through the member in his mouth, at the unwanted sensations, cursing practiced hands, that could elicit a response, where no desire had ever been attached, as another moved over his abdomen, his hip, and lower still.

Most did not care whether the slave became aroused or not, concerned little with a whore’s pain or obvious lack of desire when sating their lust...after all, he was no more than a plaything, a body trained for their amusement. And mutual pleasure was seldom required.

But occasionally there were some who were disinclined to lie with one whose body remained unmoved.

It had taken him a long time and much punishment to learn how to bend his will enough to give in to this. And even with a partner who was more gentle than usual he was unwilling to answer it with more than his whore’s act.

Long since had he come to believe that any ability for passion he might ever have possessed was dead, as the rest of him...and was glad for it, for in feeling nothing, he somehow felt less cheap.

A low whimper, escaped him again, as the mouth on his neck moved away, leaving a wet trail down to the small of his back...one hand working on his hardening flesh, whispering endearments of the beauty of the former prince’s body, the other on his waist pulling him close which each thrust.

Suddenly, the Men’s grip tightened, and he felt them both convulse deep inside him, releasing enough of their seed to spill onto his inner thighs and down his legs. The one behind him and the one in his mouth pulled out, and still panting he found himself rolled onto his back; the one he had been straddling still impaled in the slave.

Two fingers touched his lips, then, coated in a bitter tasting substance which he dimly noted, as one by one, he eagerly began sucking on each digit. The substance was a widely used herb; he had taken it before, and knew the imagined euphoria and loss of inhibition it could bring for a short time.

He closed his eyes, letting the herb begin to work on his mind, as the hand moved away, and waited for the insatiable Mortal in him to finish, already feeling the cruel flesh hardening once more, as the Man roughly continued kissing and stroking the youth.

Finally, he had spent himself for at least the third time and, breathless, rolled off the slave.

But the others weren’t finished yet; one of the Men who had not yet reached their climax quickly pushed his legs back up and replaced his erection at the slave’s raw, dripping entrance.

Dafi gasped as lips found his semi-hard member, determined this time to undo him.

When this time he felt the Man release his hot essence, Dafi came with him, almost sobbing with the force of this infrequent climax, despising them all the more for it; for the shame and self-loathing that remained when it was over, as the fourth turned him onto his stomach and mounted him in one brusque move...but it was finally too much for the young slave, and he welcomed the temporary oblivion he felt beginning to overcome his senses...

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“Every year, it is the same futile torture,” complained Ruthlagor, looking around the Elvenking’s feasting hall, “all of us celebrating the Begetting Day of one who is no longer here. While Thranduil spends his night alone, drinking himself into a stupor and staring at that portrait of Legolas in his rooms.”

“Would you risk letting yourself forget, if it were one of your children?”

“Surely neither his nor anyone else’s memories will fade because the king for once fails to mark this day.

“This is morbid, Saelbeth. We all stand here and listen to Legolas’ favorite music, everything decorated according to his tastes...as if we’re just waiting for him to come down the stairs...

“Forgive me,” he said, rising with a look of deep weariness, “but this once I cannot endure it. And it is not as if the king will miss my presence. If you will excuse me, I think I will follow his Majesty’s example this night and mourn in my own way.”

“Why is it so hard for you,” Saelbeth stopped him before he could finish turning away. “It is almost as hard for you as it is for Thranduil; even though we all know you were not particularly fond of the prince.”

“You know, Saelbeth,” said the advisor angry now, “I often wish I knew who ever began that story. Why should I ever have had anything against Legolas? He was my prince and the nephew of my wife. We sometimes disagreed, but that does not mean there was some sort of ill will between us.”

“And yet?”

“And yet, I know that what happened was my fault.”

“How can you say that? Legolas was killed by Men; by the marauders who harried our borders then.”

“It was not I who disliked the prince, Saelbeth," he admitted with deep regret. "It was he who never forgave me for his mother dying. And for...”

He sat down again heavily. “I failed them both, and one day Thranduil will fade because of it.

"I should never have returned from Lorien.”

“Long have I known you to be one of the most arrogant Elves to grace the Greenwood, Ruthlagor. But I did not think you would want to take credit for all of the problems of the world.

“You could not have stopped any of it. And this self-pity will help no one.”

TBC...