Lord of the Rings – The restored tower

Fantasy, humiliation

Valinor was NOT the end of Frodo’s journey, as we discover.

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Lord of the Rings – The restored tower

As he stood listening to Bilbo, a shadow clouded Gandalf’s mind. In the ten years since they had arrived in the Elven paradise, Bilbo spent much of his time in a cottage the elves provided for him, tending to his new garden, and growing the vegetables and flowers he loved so much. But Frodo preferred to venture out on days; even weeks long excursions, walking through the deep woods and craggy landscape.

“How long has he been gone?” Gandalf asked.

“Nearly two months,” Bilbo replied.

“Two months?! Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

“Well he often goes for a week or more, and he said that he intended to follow the river to its source. He’s a strong lad so I thought nothing of it at first, but now…”


Without the darkness of Sauron, the land was without danger of man or beast, and Elves lived eternal in Valinor, the Undying Lands. But men and halflings – well, they were not immortal. Their spans were greatly increased in this mystical land, but they would eventually age and die. And they were not immune to injury. Not immune at all.


Gandalf beckoned Bilbo into his house. There were tomes and runes, and mystical objects scattered throughout, filling it with inscrutable clutter.

He picked up a small stone bowl the size of a birdbath, and placed it onto a table. He poured in water from a nearby ewer and sat in a stout wooden chair peering into the water.

“What’s that?” Bilbo asked.

“Pool of sight,” Gandalf replied. “Now quiet while I see what it has to show.”

He muttered some words and waved his hand over the bowl. The water glowed white, then its surface became perturbed as though the table was vibrating. Gandalf peered into the water intently.

“Oh no, oh no. This cannot be!”

He splashed his hand in the water as though to clear a vision he did not want to see. When the water had settled, he tried again, repeating the original incantations and gestures. He frowned.

“How can this be?”

He stood, his chair falling upturned to the floor by the suddenness of his movement.

“I must consult with Lord Elrond immediately,” he announced, striding towards the door.

Bilbo scurried along behind him worried.

“What did you see Gandalf? Gandalf what did you see?”

Gandalf said nothing and saved his breath instead for walking.


Three months later, he stood at the head of the valley of Nan Curanir in the southern part of the region known as Enedwaith. At the end of the valley lay the fortress of Isengard where Saruman had once built an army to serve his master Sauron, the great necromancer. The land was scoured and barren; the dam once again rebuilt. And above it all, stood the tower of Orthanc, standing like a great black finger, pointing at the sky. The Ents had left it intact as a monument to Saruman’s destruction of Fangorn forest. Gandalf saw it now, for what it was – a monument to the wizard’s immense ego.

It was to that tower that Gandalf was once again drawn. The home of his former master, whom Frodo had unceremoniously killed in the Shire.

Gandalf worked his way slowly nearer, dimming his radiant life force and keeping to the margins of the valley so that he could not be detected by anything that lay within. He passed through the vast gate, and then the iron door that lay deep within. Gandalf was not a man, and he did not experience dread, but as he progressed  deeper inside the fortress, climbing now up its vast spiral of dark stone steps, he experienced a growing sense of foreboding that had been building steadily since he had persuaded the elves to transport him back to Middle Earth from Valinor.

He pushed open a heavy iron door that lead to Saruman’s reception chamber. He and his former mentor had once fought a pitched battle there; a battle which Gandalf had lost. But that was back when he was Gandalf the Grey. Back before he had died and been reborn Gandalf the White. He was older now; wiser; much more powerful.

The chamber was empty now, abandoned like the rest of Isengard. Even empty, it was an imposing edifice. Made with ancient black marble and heavy oak. But something did not feel right. Gandalf’s senses had been fooled once before by the dread necromancer Sauron at Dol Guldur. The wizard stopped and looked around the deserted chamber. This was the room where Saruman held court; the place from which he had overseen his kingdom; the very seat of his power. Before he was defeated, and eventually despatched by Grimur back in the Shire.


Gandalf lifted his staff and brought the end crashing down against the dark marble. A wave of power radiated outwards. He muttered some incantations, lifted his staff and brought it crashing down again. As the waves expanded from the point of contact, momentarily he saw something else, like a mirage seen through a heat haze. But he could not make it out. One more time, he lifted his staff, and smashed it down into the marble, screaming his incantation with all his power. But still he could see no more. Then the room shimmered and disappeared, replaced by a different scene.

Before him sat Saruman on a heavy throne made of dark oak. The ancient wizard wore black robes that seemed to suck the light from around him, and tendrils of darkness emanated from him.

Around him was an entourage of human and non-human attendees, all looking towards Gandalf, chattering and moving excitedly.

“Calm yourself my old friend,” Saruman said. “I wouldn’t want you to over-exert yourself unweaving my glimmer.”

“You!” Gandalf said. “How are you alive?”

“Gandalf, you didn’t really think that I would allow Grimur to end me do you? A mere pawn? I’ll admit, I was… wearied by the war. I retired to somewhere more… private, and sent out a golem, a mere facsimile of myself in order to satisfy Middle Earth’s desire for victory. But now I am long-since returned, to reclaim my home and continue my agenda.”

“And what would that be?” Gandalf asked, noting the six giant uruk-hai that surrounded him. “Power? Domination over Middle Earth?”

Saruman chuckled.

“Oh no, nothing so tawdry. That was more Sauron’s hope. I seek nothing so base. What I seek, dear friend, is immortality, and transcendence over the many dimensions of existence itself.”

Gandalf stared at Saruman, trying to decide what to do.

“But that’s not why you’re here is it Gandalf?”

“No. I’m looking for a friend.”

Saruman smiled and looked over the right arm of his heavy throne. A small, pathetic creature crept out on all fours. Gandalf looked at the creature as Saruman stroked its straggly hair. It was Gollum!

Gandalf frowned.

“Gollum! But how is he here – he died in the fires of Mount Doom.”

“You’re here, and you died in Dimrill Dale, why should it surprise you that Gollum also can return?”

“I am Maia. Gollum is a mortal Hobbit. And his body was destroyed utterly.”

“Pah! A mere trifle to a skilled necromancer.”

“But Sauron was also destroyed.”

“Yes, but he was not the one to whom I referred.”

It took a moment for what Saruman had said to sink in.

“There is another?”

A smug grin spread slowly across Saruman’s face.

“You!” Gandalf said, shocked to his core. “But how?”

“Do you really believe Morgoth taught his skills to only one? That he would entrust his plans to a single acolyte?”

Gandalf leaned on his staff, literally staggered by the enormity of the news. He looked again at Gollum. The poor twisted creature who had once been a halfling – a member of the river folk, but now he was a pale, emaciated shadow of his former self. And now he was completely naked, having apparently foregone the last vestiges of his halfling birth. Saruman stroked his head with its few remaining strands of hair, as he would a pet. Gollum crouched on his haunches, and Gandalf could see that his genitals were massively disproportionate to his body. He knew that Stoor Hobbits were built much like those of the Shire. Fully grown Hobbits stood an average of three and a half feet tall and their genitals were proportionate to their small size; typically half the size of a human’s. But Gollum’s penis was as thick as his own arm, and over a foot long. The top six inches was much cleaner than the rest, which was dirt-blackened.

His testicles were the size of oranges and hung low in loose scrotum. Now that he crouched, with legs spread almost as though deliberately displaying his genitals, his testicles lay spread on the floor in his capacious scrotum, and his penis curled on the floor like a sleeping python. He smiled up at Gandalf with an expression that was more of a leer, as though he knew only too well that the white wizard would be disgusted by the lewd presentation of his genitals.

Gandalf looked away, returning his gaze to Saruman.

“What have you done to him?”

Saruman smiled slowly.

“I have simply allow him to become the being he always wanted to be. And now he has the body to match. But you spoke of another didn’t you? Old. Friend.”

He enunciated the words “old” and “friend” in mockery of their past relationship. Gandalf ignored the verbal goading.

“Yes, I seek Frodo. He has disappeared from…” Gandalf checked himself. He didn’t want Saruman to know where Frodo now resided just in case the Hobbit’s absence had an innocent explanation, although he very much doubted it.

“Ah yes, the young halfling that you were so fond of. The one who slit the throat of my golem, thinking it was me. He’s been hiding in Valinor with the elves. He thought that he had escaped my well-earned vengeance. But he was mistaken.”

Saruman turned to his left and snapped his fingers towards the rear of his wooden throne as though calling for a pet. Another humanoid creature crawled out on hands and knees. It too was naked, not as emaciated as Gollum but every bit as filthy and dishevelled.

Gandalf looked down at the creature and it looked up at him, sitting in the same pose as Gollum had adopted on the other side, displaying its own grossly enlarged genitals. Its hair was shaggy; once loosely curled, and it wore an expression of leering crudity on its face as it displayed itself to him. But there was something about its big dark eyes that Gandalf recognised.

“F… Frodo?” he asked.

The small man-thing’s grin spread but it said nothing. Saruman stroked its matted hair with his own dirt-ingrained fingers. The creature nuzzled towards the wizard’s touch. The two Hobbits hunched like lion statues, guarding their master. Saruman looked down at the thing that had been Frodo.

“Go on Frodo, have your fun.”

Frodo’s eyes lit up and he scurried over to Gollum, scampering on all fours like a monkey. He stopped in front of the creature that had been deformed by decades of cave living, and torture at the hands of Sauron’s minion, and lifted its penis in his fist. He pulled the long, loose foreskin back off its glans, then he lifted the head to his mouth and started licking the withered, dark brown head as though it was a delicious treat.

Gollum leered and looked at Gandalf with a “There’s not a thing you can do” expression.

“Frodo, what in the name of all that is sacred are you doing!?”

Gandalf was not concerned by same-sex love. Many of his elven friends were homosexual, and with the dwarves it was difficult to tell one sex from another at the best of times, but this was different. Gollum was so disgustingly filthy and his penis was vile. Yet Frodo sucked on it with rapacious vigour. Gandalf understood now why the end was so much cleaner than the rest. Frodo had clearly sucked it many, many times recently.

As Frodo knelt, his ass in the air towards Gandalf, the white wizard stared at the scene in horror, and he noticed that Frodo’s sphincter was hideously distended, with rings of overlapping red flesh extruding like the petals of a large flower.

“Frodo, my boy, what has he done to you?” Gandalf said, heartbroken by what he was witnessing. “Please, stop this. This is not who you are.”

As he spoke, Gollum looked towards him the whole time, leering to show the wizard that he knew what the man was watching would disgust his sense of propriety.

Frodo stopped sucking Gollum’s rancid penis for a moment and looked over his shoulder with exactly the same leer. His eyes met Gandalf’s and his sickly grin widened. Gandalf shook his head, then Frodo returned his attention to Gollum’s penis and continued sucking it with gusto.


Gandalf turned to Saruman.

“What have you done to him you vile beast?”

Saruman smiled.

“I have done the very thing that I knew would hurt you most Gandalf. You undid plans that took centuries to realise, and whilst I was not concerned by the death of Sauron, I admit that I was… irritated that you would presume to stand against me; to betray the one who taught you everything you know.”

“Your machinations led to the death of thousands and threatened to subjugate all Middle Earth. Could you really believe that you would go unopposed?”

“No, of course not, but without your, admittedly capable assistance, they would have fallen at Helm’s Deep, and I would have been decades closer to realising my ambitions.”

He made a dismissive gesture in the air.

“Still, not to worry, it’s but a trifle compared to the span of eternity. I simply thought that you would find it interesting to see on a much smaller scale, what your defiance has cost.”

He turned and looked at the two halflings. Frodo moved away from Gollum to reveal that the withered river Hobbit now had a fulsome erection and his penis stood up more than 18 inches long, like a powerful forearm between his legs.

Frodo turned until he was facing Gandalf, and Gollum moved in behind and used his hand to guide his penis into the younger Hobbit’s hole. Now Gandalf understood the strange rectal destruction he had seen. Saruman had allowed Gollum to turn Frodo; sweet, innocent Frodo, into his sexual plaything!

Gollum placed his hands on the sides of Frodo’s hips and shuffled closer in a low crouch, driving his enormous penis home.

“Stop this Saruman, for the love of all that is sacred!” Gandalf said.

Saruman sneered.

“All that is sacred? Do you honestly think that such pleas carry any weight with me Gandalf? Look at me. I am Saruman the Black. I walk in darkness and the beasts that dwell there hide from ME Gandalf. What use do I have with sacred?!”

Gollum started thrusting, looking down at Frodo’s rump as he pumped his meat club in and out of the once-pure Hobbit’s hole. When he had established a steady rhythm, he looked slowly up at Gandalf with the impudent, smug grin that told the wizard that Gollum knew he was defiling one of Gandalf’s closest friends; the one whose innocent virtuosity had made him the ideal ringbearer. Gollum fucked now, in brutal staccato thrusts, and with each one, his grin momentarily widened, his upper lip curling in a triumphant half snarl that told Gandalf he was powerless.

All around, orcs were clutching at their own foul penises. They had the long-wet, pointed cocks of canines, with engorged knots at the base designed to lock them to their mates.

Most had simply pushed the pouches of loin cloths to the side; others reached inside, whilst others still dropped their rancid groin-coverings to the floor altogether. This was a show that most had seen many times, and their lord Saruman always allowed them to enjoy the scene by participating.


“Frodo!” Gandalf said using his command voice to gain the halfling’s attention.

Frodo looked up slowly and the look of lustful pleasure on his face almost sickened Gandalf.

“Frodo, this is not you. What are you doing?” Gandalf pleaded.

Frodo’s look of pleasure slowly transformed into the dirtiest leer imaginable, making it clear to Gandalf that Frodo was now a totally different being to the one he had first approached in the Shire all those years ago. He was now a being that took pleasure from being defiled whilst his former arch-enemies masturbated and screeched excitedly around him.


“No, Saruman. This cannot stand. You will NOT corrupt this boy. You can NOT have him!”

Gandalf lifted his staff and pointed it at Gollum, ready to knock the pitiable creature back with a blast of mage fire. But instead of a ball of argent flame, a tiny puff of static and a pathetic wisp of smoke were all that appeared. Saruman smiled indulgently.

“You have no power here Gandalf. You were never more than a mere hedge wizard, and now, in this place; MY stronghold you are naught.”

Gandalf tried again, this time slamming his staff to the marbled floor in an effort to summon an orb of protection. A bubble no larger than a puffball came into existence, floated to head height then popped like a soap bubble.


The orcs screeched and cackled in amusement at Gandalf’s antics, still continuing to masturbate.

“Your magic is worth nothing here conjuror,” Saruman said in a voice dripping with contempt.

He spread his fingers then closed them into a fist. Gandalf’s staff, snapped into four pieces, then each of them splintered into matchwood, before disappearing into a tiny black-hole vortex that temporarily hung where Gandalf’s protection orb has disappeared.

Gandalf stared at the destruction with shock. He was not powerless without the staff, but it formed a focal point; a locus for the realisation of his magic. Without it, he was only a fraction as powerful.


Meanwhile, Gollum withdrew his swollen cock from Frodo’s hole and turned his fuck toy around again, before jamming his bloated meat back into the kneeling Hobbit’s mouth. He thrust rapidly, in short strokes. His penis was way too big for Frodo’s mouth, but Frodo opened as wide as he could, taking the glans and first three inches inside. He sucked and licked as best he could.


“You won’t be returning again Gandalf, so why don’t I give you a memory to take away with you?”

With a tiny gesture from Saruman, Gandalf’s clothes disintegrated; turning to dust and crumbling like the wraps of a mummy exposed to the air after 5000 years entombed. Beneath, he had the body of an 80-year-old man. Saruman made a lifting gesture with his fingers and Gandalf’s penis instantly hardened and raised. It was 8-inches long with a large purple head.

Saruman indicated that Gandalf should move closer, and Gandalf walked in, his body a mere puppet under the black wizard’s control. He jammed his outsized penis into what was left of Frodo’s hole. It was loose, reamed into a sloppy mess by Gollum’s far larger, magically-enhanced member. But the hole was hot. Gandalf didn’t want to feel like this raping the Hobbit he saw as like a son to him, but his body was fucking the kneeling halfling regardless of his desires, and worst of all, Gandalf’s body was enjoying it.


The orcs clustered closer, screeching and cackling excitedly at the spectacle, each still masturbating their huge, wet, dog-cocks. Gollum looked to Saruman with his eyebrows raised and the man nodded. Gollum thrust faster and then his cream was pouring copiously from Frodo’s mouth, leaking around Gollum’s cock. Saruman made the slightest gesture and then Gandalf also felt himself cumming, filling his young protégé’s hole with own cream. He was dismayed at how hard he came, and how much cream he gave to the boy.

“Hmmm, a perfect spit-roast,” Saruman said. “All it needs is basting.”

He nodded to the dozen or so orcs standing nearest and they all moved close, tugging at their misshapen cocks faster and harder. In moments, Frodo’s back was awash with a rancid torrent of foul-smelling yellow orc cum that looked more like pus than something that could give life.

Frodo licked faster on Gollum’s cock, slurping until he had sucked every last drop of cum from the near-bald creature’s horse-sized testicles, drinking as much down as he could swallow.

When Gollum could finally cum no more, he withdrew his cock, wiping the juicy head against Frodo’s grateful face in a final gesture of ownership. He looked up at Saruman happily and resumed his squatting pose by the black wizard’s chair, his hard cock slowly collapsing back to the floor before him.


Gandalf found himself moving back from Frodo. His cock was painfully hard, and it slapped up against his belly once freed from the confines of Frodo’s rectum. Without the stopper holding it in place, river of white cream leaked from Frodo’s reddened hole, confirming how much Gandalf had been forced to give.

“It seems that you enjoyed that Gandalf. Perhaps you have been harbouring such thoughts towards Frodo long before you came here?”

Gandalf scowled at Saruman. He knew that he was powerless before him, and he saw no benefit in further expressing his contempt or justifying the man’s taunts with denials.

He looked down at Frodo. The halfling’s back was completely coated with the putrid orc semen, and it even ran down his sides, dripping off to form puddles on the floor where it joined the sticky white liquid that he and Gollum had provided. Frodo looked down and lapped at the puddles like a dog drinking from a bowl on a hot day. When he was done, he returned to his position on the other side of Saruman’s chair and squatted once again, his enormous balls resting on the cool floor and his cock standing tall. He gripped it and began slowly masturbating, all the while, holding Gandalf’s horrified gaze with his own lascivious look that told the white wizard how much he enjoyed disporting himself for the man.

“It would be easy to simply end you now Gandalf,” Saruman said, “But I think that it will be more entertaining to know that your friend will stay here, entertaining us all, for the rest of his long, LONG, life. Farewell my friend. We will not meet again.”

With that, Gandalf suddenly found himself standing on the highest overlook of Minas Tirith in the land of Gondor. He was naked and still hard, but his only thought was for the small, corrupted Hobbit still masturbating in Saruman’s audience chamber in Isengard.

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