Gay Science Fiction or Fantasy Author: Grizhnakh-Snaga
This is a work of fanfiction in the Tolkien creative franchise, bookverse but alternative universe. The author has a lasting love for Tolkien's written works and characters and this piece of grisly homoerotica and visceral humour is designed to provide a foil to Tolkien's restraint and coyness on matters of the flesh. I hope you enjoy.
...
"Yes my preciousss" echoed among the sharp damp rocks of the Emyn Muil.
Ever since Moria, when the strange mixed company had blundered through the West Gate, he had smelled the precious. So close. So close! A stroke of luck. And now it was close again.
Back then, he had been lurking amongst the dusty dwarf bones, picking over strips of long dried flesh. His mouth parched, hiding in the darkness amongst the corpses, looking for a way out. He had instantly been able to pick the bearer, for the the Ring was a beacon that seemed to make the bearer glow. And in the dim light from a safe distance, he had spied the Baggins's features and a shockwave went through his taut frame. For several hours he was reduced to even more of the gibbering mess than he normally was. It was all he could do to contain his wail of terror in the dread silence, before panting and gurgling delightedly deep in his throat out of earshot.
For this new Baggins carried an uncanny resemblance to one from Smeagol's lost past. A face which had haunted him for over five hundred years. The face of poor Deagol.
His old love Deagol. Happy had been their youthful days together, fishing, wading, holding handses... rolling in the mud together. Grinding in the mud together. Screeching, hooting and grunting their ecstasy together, far from home. The happy days before the precious. His loins had stirred in memory as he had peered with lamp like eyes at the company surrounded by the warm glow from the wizard's staff.
But the last memory also intruded. The once happy face he had last seen amongst the banks of Iris. Squeezed purple, eyes bulging, kicking, before it stiffened and went silent, far from home.
He had found he wanted to burrow into damp pine needles and leaf mold, to find worms and frogs and slugs to eat to blot out the memories. For this Baggins, this new Baggins had made his loins stir.
But there had been no comforting leaf mold in the dry Black Pit. Oh no. Not there.
And neither was there here in the Emyn Muil.
"We remembers we does. Hmmm. Hmmm, yesss. So juicy sweet! Before the precious. When everything tasted wonderful."
He shed a tear, reached into his loincloth, groped about, slid two fingers into his rank foreskin, brought them to his nose, sniffed and then jammed them inside, tongue swirling, his eyes closed in old memory.
He crept on all fours along the edge of the sharp wet rocks, the cold wind whistling. It was high time to be clambering down into the steep ravine.
"Down to the Baggins and the fat one. Oho, yes the fat one. Won't he squeal and squawk when Smeagol becomes master. Oooh yessss. But first the Baggins. What has it got in its pocketsas? Oooh hoooh, yesss, we guesses we does."
A long wet tongue appeared, licked his few broken teeth, flicked up to his nostrils, poked inside and gave them a good wetting. He sniffed again and listened, craning about, his head turning from side to side nearly full circle on his long neck.
Finding toe holds, Gollum reversed his ankle and wrist joints, clambering down the rocks, wheezing and whispering, gurgling in anxiety and anticipation.
It was uncanny. He had forgotten how quiet his own folk had been all those ageseses ago and just like them, the two hobbitses were eluding him. He sniffed again, found himself unable to move. With a wail, he curled himself up like a spider and tumbled 15 feet onto the rocky ground below.
Instantly, he found himself grappled. He fought back like a watch spring, but under the cold light of the White Face, he saw two grim faces staring at him with bright nassty bladeses. One held a bright sword and it pricked his throat. He looked like Deagol sure enough, but older and much wiser. Smeagol went limp like a fish. Then the terrible pain of the rope caught his body as Sam tied it on. "It hurts us, it hurts us!" He shrieked.
Then there was the interminable torture when they would not take off the nassty elf rope. It was as if Deagol had stepped into Smeagol's horrible secret future with a new friend to get his revenge.
We will swear to do what he wants, yes, yess,' said Gollum, twisting and grabbling at his ankle. It hurts us.'
`Swear?' said Frodo.
Sméagol,' said Gollum suddenly and clearly, opening his eyes wide and staring at Frodo with a strange light. Sméagol will swear on the Precious.'
Frodo drew himself up, and Sam was startled by his words and his stern voice. On the Precious? How dare you?' he said. Think! One Ring to rule them all and in the Darkness bind them. Would you commit your promise to that, Sméagol? It will hold you. But it is more treacherous than you are. It may twist your words. Beware!'
Gollum cowered. `On the Precious, on the Precious!' he repeated.
`And what would you swear?' asked Frodo.
To be very very good,' said Gollum. Then crawling to Frodo's feet he grovelled before him, whispering hoarsely: a shudder ran over him, as if the words shook his very bones with fear. Sméagol will swear never, never, to let Him have it. Never! Sméagol will save it. But he must swear on the Precious.'
No! not on it,' said Frodo, looking down at him with stern pity. All you wish is to see it and touch it, if you can, though you know it would drive you mad. Not on it. Swear by it, if you will. For you know where it is. Yes, you know, Sméagol. It is before you.'
For a moment it appeared that Frodo had grown and Gollum had shrunk: a tall stern shadow, a mighty lord who hid his brightness in grey cloud, and at his feet a little whining dog. Yet the two were in some way akin and not alien: they could reach one another's minds. Gollum raised himself and began pawing at Frodo, fawning at his knees.
Down! down!' said Frodo. Now speak your promise!' We promises, yes I promise!' said Gollum. I will serve the master of the Precious. Good master, good Sméagol, gollum , gollum!' Suddenly he began to weep and bite at his ankle again.
`Take the rope off, Sam!' said Frodo. Reluctantly Sam obeyed. At once Gollum got up and began prancing about, like a whipped cur, whose master has patted it.
...
It was a long time since Smeagol had spent time amongst people like hobbits. Everything smelled different. Not like orcses. But he could smell them. Oh yes, the tricksy hobbitses had secret smells too. He peered at their midriffs and seeing their untrusting gazes, moved his away, humming to himself. It was after they closed their eyes that he had crept closer, his lip curling for a long sniff and a keen look under the westering White Face.
The Baggins looked uncannily like Deagol in the darkness, even down to the ample contents of his breechclouts. And the fat bottom of the other hobbit was also noticeable.
He looked at them holding each other in the darkness under the last light of the white face and knew longing. And jealousy.
...
It was when they were crossing the rotten fens of the Dead Marshes that it happened. Gollum had known just the path to bring the hobbits. It was the only way through and here there was no help. Frodo and Sam were well aware of the fact and had had wary whispered discussions whenever Gollum was out of earshot.
But the candles of corpses were lit and more than once, Sam had to pull Master away from the fetid water. He stood in the middle of the fen, up on a damp hummock, gazing transfixed into the mid distance, having seen dead faces, first horrified, then revolted, now vacantly staring, slack jawed, his saliva beginning to dribble.
Sam looked at him gravely concerned. "Mr Frodo, what are you doing? Gollum says you musn't stare at things here in the Dead Marshes, and for once I agree with him.".
But Frodo reached into his shirt and drew out the Ring, unstrung it from the chain, his hand firmly clasped around it.
"Sam, I know what I have to do now", he said.
Frodo reached into his trousers and fumbling around slipped the ring inside. In a few moments he felt the band expand its breadth in his hand and dropped his testicles through it, pulling his cock through as well. Sauron's Ring was now firmly secured around his genitals, pressing gently, stimulating his nerve endings. It didn't make him invisible this way. In fact it made him feel very visible indeed. Particularly his cock. It began to swell in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Frodo dropped his breeches and stepped out of them, raked his jerkin over his head, drew off the mithril shirt, dropped it like a puddle onto the elven cloak at his feet. Then planting his hairy feet in the damp mud nearby, he stood hands on hips as his cock filled with blood and began to extend out heavily in front of Sam's and Gollum's astonished faces.
"Come to me." he commanded.
There was no denying this command. It coiled out from his ring-encircled cock and descended on them like a thunderclap. They couldn't have resisted if they had tried.
Gollum was there first. He tenderly reached out with dirt-ingrained fingers and snaking down the foreskin revealed the embedded caked cheese. He sniffed it joyfully and began licking and slurping, using his remaining three teeth to carefully scrape the curds into his mouth, rolling them around on his tongue until he swallowed them all in satisfaction, leaving the veined throbbing erection as slimily clean as it could be, gleaming under the grey sky.
Sam was agog. He stood worshipping Frodo, his face adoring him, his hands caressing Frodo's face, chest and buttocks. Sam was in some awe of the disgusting chore that Gollum was performing with such obvious enthusiasm and familiarity. He could feel every twinge, every twitch, every searing swoon of his beloved Master.
But Gollum was not only practiced at this kind of cleaning service, having spent too much time in the company of orcs, he was also fully under the spell of the ring and Frodo was using it for all it was worth.
He came back for more. Just before he dived in again, Frodo stiffened and forced more blood into his cock. It grew appreciably, but instead of retreating to normal erect size it stayed flushed and fatter, the great ring pulsing and seeming to will his cock to get bigger. He repeated the exercise. It worked again. Bigger. It hurt, badly, but in moments his cock was beyond pain and Gollum's and Sam's eyes were filled with nearly ten inches of throbbing veiny cock that oozed bright jewel-like beads of sweet hobbit nectar.
Gollum could not stop himself if he had tried. "Oh the precious, the precious!" he moaned over and over as he eyed the mesmerising phallus.
Being uniquely bound to the Ring, in moments he was mewling and gagging, panting and pawing, wrapping his skinny dirty fingers around Frodo's hefty balls, fingering the golden band, dragging the sack downward, squeezing the testicles, his throat now stuffed with all he could get down.
Sam could see Smeagol's throat muscles working, the long tongue lashing about inside his mouth, sometimes slipping out to wrap around the root before withdrawing to the fat purple head and suckling; the tongue now flicking in and out.
Sam was more than surprised at himself, for enjoying what he was seeing being done to Frodo, what Frodo was doing to Gollum... and to himself for that matter. But in his clouded mesmeric state of erotic daring, Sam still had enough plain hobbit-sense to know that there was no way he was going to touch the long thin grey cock that was slapping up against Gollum's belly and chest. Not unless Frodo, Ring Master coerced him to. He knew in his heart he would never choose to go anywhere near the fish-stinking slimy cheesy cock of the hobbit-like monster who had lived deep under the mountains for centuries eating blind fish and goblin imps... and more lately the babies of woodman. Obscurely, he wondered if there were any Smeagol babies which had grown up in those mines in the northern mountains, fathered on sleeping goblinhags with an invisible prick.
Sam looked up at Frodo warily, hornily, but hoping desperately that Frodo would not command him to do anything against his own inmost desire.
But Frodo was not looking like he was remotely thinking of doing any such thing. His hands were on Gollum's bony head, fondling it in benediction, looking down on the crawling creature, gently rocking his gargantuan prick into Gollum's ravenous almost toothless mouth.
"Good Smeagol, good Smeagol", he was saying. "I will reward you for your good work".
Gollum continued his feverish ministrations on all fours. His revolting cock fucking the soft mud hummock, had begun to plunge in and out of the damp stinking earth, making loud squelching noises. And every time he came up for air, his fleshless bony buttocks revealed his puffy rectum. Marsh gas oozed out filling their noses further with dizzying effect.
Sam coughed. Frodo's eyes snapped open. "Help me Sam", he said his voice hoarse.
Through the Ring induced cock haze, Sam could not do anything else. Watching Frodo's stance shift, he could see Frodo's feet were wider apart now, legs bent. He thought he knew what was called for.
Quickly, reaching into his pack, he pulled out a little bottle of precious mustard oil. Slathering it on his fingers he got behind Frodo and reached in and parted his buttocks. Frodo's moist pucker eyed him dumbly and before he knew it, there were three of his fingers firmly clenched in the damp fusty ring. Frodo moaned. Waves of rectal odour rose and Sam's cock went rigid.
"Sam, help me, I can't hold on much longer."
"I'm here Mr Frodo, I'm here!".
Sam hastily worked more oil on his cock and without thinking further he grasped Frodo by the hips and pushed himself gently in. Frodo needed no time to adjust it seemed. Sam could feel the ring open to him with ease. Immediately Frodo pushed back hard, whilst the sound of Gollum mewling and glubbing out front continued.
Sam began thrusting, matching Frodo's backward push whilst Sam reached around, squeezing and stretching Frodo's long hobbit nipples, causing Frodo to start keening. Sam's own nipples raked Frodo's back sending further shivers of pleasure through them both.
Gollum's squeaking and grunting was getting more and more frantic and his humping of the damp squishy ground made more obscene noises. Then, just as Sam began to feel his own limits reached, Gollum pulled off Frodo's cock and with a look of utter delight began frantically licking the underside and around the frenulum whilst watching the flaring head and gaping piss hole longingly with bloodshot eyes. Sam continued slamming in Frodo's muscular buttocks fleshy and pillow-like against his thighs. Sam was on fire, gasping, his stumpy cock with its big head was finally up where it had wanted to be for years. He didn't care if the Nazgul found them. They were invincible.
Then Frodo gave a keening moan and an ululating bellow that echoed across the dismal fetid marsh.
Gollum continued licking, watching frantically as the meatus flared open and a bead of semen bulged before a hot geyser sailed upwards in an arc over Gollum's shoulder. But Gollum was ready and arching his neck and flicking his tongue sideways, as only a Gollum can, collected the blast before diving back down, working Frodo's cock for the next three, five, seven, no nine spurts as Frodo stiffened in the throes of his extended ecstasy. He was almost glowing with power.
Sam was beside himself. He had considered saying "I'm coming Mr Frodo, I'm coming!". But as his cock was clenched and milked by Frodo's arse, spurt for spurt, contraction for contraction, he had become speechless and incoherent. He bucked and panted, moaned, roared and farted, before letting out an almighty gurgle and collapsed on Frodo's sweaty back.
Gollum continued nursing for a few minutes until Frodo could take no more. Suddenly, Sam felt himself being pulled off Frodo's back and to his lasting astonishment, he saw Gollum dive in to extract his leavings. Frodo was blithering and bucking back more so Sam went round to him and held him close their heads on each other's shoulders for a moment before they began a long, long kiss, one they should have had years ago, whilst Gollum munched away, working his long tongue right inside, cleaning Frodo's arse better than it had been cleaned in months, Frodo keening into Sam's moist pungent mouth, tongues tangling.
...
Galadriel drew back from her mirror, clutching her heaving stomach. The surface was clouded now, not with Saurons' shadows or Saruman's mists, but the remains of this morning's millet porridge, sheep milk and honey. It spread and swirled obligingly, obliterating the nauseating scene.
Some time later she met the guards in silver and white at the base of the Great Ladder, who sprang to attention as she approached but looked at her wide eyed with shock once she got closer. Her languid confident stride was replaced with a palsied totter. Her creamy complexion was blotched and there was the added slick of cold sweat. As she passed, the reek of vomit snaked its way into their nostrils. They offered assistance but she waved them aside as she swallowed convulsively and began to climb unsteadily.
They stepped away, giving the ground immediately under the ladder a wide berth. No use in tempting fate. One blew briefly on a silver horn to warn of her approach.
Some interminable time later, the Lady of Light climbed shakily onto the topmost talan of the Great Mallorn. She was met by Celeborn, who looked at her startled. He had not seen her this shaken since their daughter had been taken by Orcs.
She clutched and leaned heavily on him, breathing raggedly.
"The Ringbearer has... bonded a new... servant to him for... the remainder of his journey." She took a few deep breaths, forcing her breathing to steady again.
Celeborn gave her a double-take, raised his eyebrows and then frowned. "Do you know who it is?
"It is the Gollum creature".
"Gilthoniel! A Elbereth!" exclaimed Celeborn, horrified. "Mithrandir hinted at such a pass, but so soon? It is only a little over two weeks since they departed!"
"Yes, but the tides of fate are still flowing, the Ring-bearer has made a choice and the Dead Marshes are now working their own spell."
She gagged again. Celeborn wiped her brow with his sleeve and looked enquiringly at her, eyebrows raised. He knew better than to panic but it was unprecedented that she should be this affected by one of her "bird-bath scrying sessions" as he teasingly liked to call them.
She continued. "His method was... troubling in the... extreme. And I am sure it will work. But in doing this abominable thing, he has used a hidden power in the Ring, one we were not aware of, one I have no doubt now that Sauron put into it for his own pleasure and entertainment. I fear what this could unleash on Middle-earth. I especially fear Frodo let the Gollum creature get too close to the Ring, too close to its seductive power again. I fear he will now dwell on it far too closely and even more longingly. That he will now want to learn even more of its secrets for himself and find some way to take it, by stealth, if not by force. Rather than subdue him to the Ring-bearer's will, I fear it shall only further awaken the Ring. And then the Ring-bearer may be forced to employ this, err... approach, more frequently and more forcefully in order to keep his new servant's loyalty. Samwise is another matter of course. He may be our only hope now."
Galadriel sat down heavily on the nearest chair, her head between her knees, long tresses pulled back behind her ears, breathing through her mouth, moaning softly.
She added, "And any who wield one of the three, nine or seven must also have felt the power. I had to remove Nenya lest I too was subjugated by the spell. Even now, the dregs are still with me. I have fought it now this past half hour. Elrond and Mithrandir must also have been so moved." Her tender husband was all concern. He could not help but notice a dangerous glint in his wife's eyes that he had rarely seen as they flicked across his midriff and she licked her lips. His curiosity was aroused.
"By what method did the Ring-bearer bond his servants to him?" asked Celeborn curiously, "if it bothers you so much."
Galadriel's gaze became lascivious momentarily before her cheeks puffed as her stomach wrenched again.
"Do not ask me, if you value your life", she rasped, clutching his arm, her nails desperate, "please... just bring me a hot infusion of mallorn bark... and the sick bucket. I must rid myself of the spell."
She flung the Ring of Adamant from her, with a look of revulsion, where it rolled under a chair. There let it lie.
It was going to be a long afternoon..