The chamber of Nargrothûl lay deep beneath the Ephel Dúath, its walls slick with the sweat of ages, its air thick with the reek of sulfur and spoiled milk. Galadriel, Lady of Light, stood clad in robes of shimmering samite, her voice like silver bells as she chanted spells of warding.
The chamber's foul air wavered, and for a moment, Galadriel stood again beneath the silver boughs of Tirion. The light of Telperion bathed her hair, its radiant gold a hymn to the Undying Lands. Celeborn's touch--gentle as mallorn leaves cradling dawn's first light--brushed her cheek. "Artanis," he whispered, his voice the echo of Cuiviénen's waters. But the memory frayed before the dread that coiled in her breast--for she felt it. The One Ring.
"Alcarinquë..." her mind whispered, recalling the star-kindled light she bore in the Undying Lands. But the Ring's call slithered through her fëa, a serpent of fire and honey. What grace could withstand the song of Power?
"Ash nazg durbatulûk..."
It came not as a whisper, but a roar.
Grishnakh the Defiler, Orc-champion of Morgoth's get, strode through the fractured archway. His armor, black as the Void, clattered with each step, but it was not the blade at his hip that held her gaze. Nay--it was the glint of gold encircling the base of his member, swollen and viridescent, its girth like the trunk of a young mallorn, its tip glistening with a dew that reeked of conquest.
"Thy master's trinket ill becomes thee, uruk," she hissed, though her voice faltered, melody marred by a breathless hitch. Nenya's adamant flickered--not with the light of Eärendil, but the sullen pink of a Morgul-blade's wound.
Grishnakh grinned, tusks glinting. "Aye, she-elf. Your pretty trinket sings to mine. Shall we duet?"
He gestured to the One Ring, now stretched and engorged around his shaft, and twisted.
Ash nazg gimbatul...
Galadriel gasped. Nenya burned, its light now the hue of a succubus' blush. A heat bloomed in her bosom--once modest as the slopes of Lothlórien--now swelling, firming into mounds that strained her silks.
"Cease this foul sorcery!" she cried, but her voice trilled upward, honeyed and breathy.
"Sorcery?" Grishnakh sneered, seizing her wrist. "Nay. 'Tis truth. You've hungered for it--to be filled, to be more than that icy bitch of the Golden Wood."
Her breasts burgeoned further, round and full, at once heavy and buoyant, her little pink nipples stiffening not with chill, but lust, jutting like twin spearheads against the fabric.
She clenched Nenya, its adamant now a throbbing rose, its chill replaced by a heat that mirrored the forge of Aulë.
Grishnakh tore her robes asunder. Galadriel's bosom, once modest as Lórien's hidden glades, swelled with a wet, organic rip. Silk tore as oversized alabaster curves heaved into view--twin orbs of marbled cream, their weight a mockery of the Nimbrethil's grace. Nipples hardened into candy-pink speartips, their rosined tips aching for touch and leaking silvery rivulets that pooled like Telperion's corrupted dew. The Orc squeezed one, his calloused palm engulfing the softness, and she shrieked, not in pain, but fury at the pleasure that speared her core.
"Thy light is but kindling for my flame," Grishnakh snarled, squeezing until her nectar dripped down his wrist.
"You dare--!"
"I do," he growled, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall. The One Ring pulsed with Grishnakh's cock, his hot breath against her neck, Galadriel arched her back and pressed into him as Nenya's pink glow seeped into her skin. She let out a sound between a moan and a shriek as Grishnakh's open palm made contact with her pert little bottom.
Memories of her lord's lips--soft as Lórien's evening breezes--clashed with the Orc's tusks tearing her neck. Celeborn had worshipped her body as Yavanna's sanctum; Grishnakh defiled it as Morgoth's midden. Yet her traitorous flesh burned hotter for the violation, her moans crescendoing as her ripened elven ass cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink under his ministrations, matching the glow emanating from her ring.
Ash nazg thrakatulûk...
Her waist cinched, then flared--a thunderous betrayal of elven grace. Her hips, once slender as a sapling, blossomed into curves ripe and jouncing at his touch, her tight little behind swelling into divine excess, hips rolling with the vulgar sway of Udûn's lava tides, her buttocks swelling into badonkadonk curves that clapped like war drums as Grishnakh smacked each cheek in turn, which clapped and rippled with the spanking, triggering corresponding squeals from Galadriel.
"Aiya!" she wailed, yet her traitorous body arched, presenting herself.
-
She sank to her knees, his cock--a monstrous, veined pillar of putrid green--brushing her lips. "Lick, she-elf. Lest I mold you into a quim for goblin-fodder."
Galadriel's lips--once hallowed by Quenya's sacred verses--half-reluctantly parted for Grishnakh's girth. The taste of him, iron and ash, was the taste of Orodruin's heart. Her tongue darted out, willing despite her spirit's scream. The flavor--salt, iron, dominance--seared her resolve. Compassion melted into submission as Nenya's stone flushed rose pink and her massive bimbo boobies bounced, nipples diamond-hard, grazing the Orc's thighs as she serviced him; dainty licks quickly giving way to sloppy kisses all up and down his throbbing shaft. The warm, liquid pool between her thighs close to overflowing. Her thoughts seemed distant and far away as her body responded to the big Orc cock in her mouth.
Suddenly, she felt herself being lifted into the air and flipped upside down, ass over teakettle, effortlessly. She began to cry out in surprise and alarm, but then the cock was back in her mouth and she mewled contentedly. The tops of her thighs rested on Grishnakh's shoulders, and her honeyed cleft exposed and bare right in his face. His tongue lashed between her folds, tasting her essence, making her squirm as he exploring Galadriel's secret nethers.
Her lips--which had once sung spells to ward the borders of the Golden Wood--parted in slavish response. The One Ring's heat seared her tongue as he plunged his length down her gullet, her lips swelling, throat bulging like a serpent that had swallowed a dwarven hammer.
Gluck. Gluck. Gluck.
-
She barely registered being lowered onto the stone dais in the middle of the room, her silvery hair hanging over the edge. Suddenly, the cock was gone from her mouth, her fuckswollen bimbo lips gasped for air, but in a moment his balls were in her mouth, and then his ass as he proceeded thrust his huge cock between her massive breasts, fucking the wet cleavage of The Lady of the Galadhrim's burgeoning bimbo boobies.
Tears of rage and degradation streamed from Galadriel's eyes and into her hair, yet her hands rose not to push him away, but to knead her own breasts, her hands sinking deep into her bouncy, buoyant mounds. Her heart filled with anger, her cunt filled with lust and her mouth filled with Orcish ass, Galadriel squeezed her absurdly oversized elven boobies around the silvermilk-slick, club-thick cock as Nenya glowed brighter and brighter. Suddenly, unexpectedly she moaned, muffled but melodious as the Orc hooked two fingers into her sopping quim and began to pump up and down, in and out. A wet squelching sound emanated from her nethers as she desperately tried to close her legs.
