Deep within the Misty Mountains, far below the reach of sun or star, the darkness of Moria pressed in like a living weight. Stone upon stone, age upon age, the ancient halls smothered sound and swallowed light. Within the abandoned Dwarven guardhouse carved into the left wall of the Second Hall, behind a heavy door long untouched, a single cell lay hidden—windowless, bare, and lit only by the trembling glow of a glowing stone, a light stone.
The sound of tearing fabric cut sharply through the stillness.
Each rip echoed once against the cold stone, then vanished into the suffocating black.
On the floor lay the warm white crystal, cast aside and forgotten, its gentle glow pooling faintly across the dust. Not far away, Gollum crouched over the Elven maiden with restless urgency, clawing at her garments with twitching fingers. Fine silk and woven cloth gave way beneath his grip as he tore through layer after layer, searching feverishly for concealed blades, needles, poisons—any of the small, sharp, treacherous things Elves were known to hide.
"Where is it, where is it," he muttered, voice low and rasping.
"Gollum, Gollum, Gollum. Sneaky little Elves. Always hiding pointy things. Yes, yes. Must be here."
His rambling barely rose above the sound of tearing cloth.
And yet Tauriel heard every word.
Her eyes remained closed.
But she was awake—had been for some time now. The dull ache in her skull pulsed steadily where his blow had struck her, each throb a quiet reminder of her helplessness. This was not the meeting she had imagined for herself, not the way she had once pictured the first touch of the man who would claim her—but it would have to do.
So she did nothing.
She did not move.
Did not speak.
Her breathing stayed shallow and measured, lashes resting against flushed cheeks as she sat bound against the ancient wall. A single chain circled her neck, anchoring her in place, cold iron biting softly into skin worn smooth by centuries of stillness around it.
She was pretending.
Not from fear alone—though fear lingered—but because she did not know how to look at him. Did not know how to speak first. Shame and desire knotted tightly in her chest, locking her body into stillness.
She hoped that if she remained quiet, weak, helpless… then he would feel confident enough to act.
He would decide.
He would take control.
And that, more than anything else, was what she wanted, and hoped would happen.
To her, the single hard collar locked around her slender neck—and the lone chain fastening her to the stone behind her—was perfect. The restraint itself was almost incidental. What mattered was what it meant. The implication of it sent her pulse racing.
She was bound, yes—but more importantly, she was entirely at his mercy.
That knowledge thrilled her in a way she scarcely understood, stirring something deep and instinctive within her. It felt intimate, almost ceremonial, like the kind of trust exchanged between future husband and wife when one surrendered control and the other accepted it. Dangerous, yes—but honest.
The thought tightened low in her body, a slow, coiling heat that grew with every second she waited, every breath she held, every moment he did not yet choose to act.
She hoped—desperately—that he would not stop half way.
That he would not hesitate.
That he would simply take what stood before him and make the choice she was too afraid to voice.
The air was thick with him. His scent clung to the chamber—raw, warm, unmistakably male—so close she could feel it with every breath. It filled her lungs, settled into her skin, made her acutely aware of how near his body was to hers. Each rough movement of his hands sent a small shiver through her, anticipation rising despite her effort to remain still.
His strength startled her. She had expected violence, perhaps—but not this weight, this certainty. Fabric fell away beneath his hands in ruined scraps, leaving her exposed to the cool stone and the flickering light. She did not resist. She did not open her eyes.
She wanted him to see her like this.
Unmoving. Waiting.
He did not bind her wrists. Did not restrain her legs.
She understood the meaning at once.
He did not consider her dangerous.
And she wasn't—not like this. Not against him.
The realization made her heart hammer harder, heat blooming beneath the fear. She lay silent and bare beneath him, hoping he would close the distance, hoping he would do what Legolas hadn't—hoping he would finally do what she could not bring herself to ask.
And thus she didn't resist when his hands touched her. Did not struggle when he spread her legs apart with careless confidence, letting him see all of her. Letting him see her wet lower lips that hungered for something Tauriel didn't quite understand.
Then finally, the final piece of her torn shirt was ripped away, exposing her breasts fully to him. Her soft mounds of womanly pride laid bare before him, slowly moving up and down with each breath in the pure white light of the light stone.
She lay there, breathing shallowly, offering no resistance, her fate suspended in the silence between his ragged breaths.
However, to her great dismay, Gollum stopped, much like Legolas had.
He straightened slowly, crouched above her like some strange, half-forgotten statue, and then muttered words so simple and unguarded that they pulled an unexpected smile to Tauriel's lips.
"Wow… tits. Nice. Pretty. Round. Hard pink tops. So, so beautiful, yes. Gollum like. Gollum wanna touch, but should Gollum touch. Gollum doesn't know, Gollum, Gollum."
A flicker of panic stirred inside Tauriel.
Was that it?
Was he truly going to stop now—just stand there and stare?
Her body lay bare and waiting, heat pooling low in her belly, every breath a silent invitation. She wanted him to move. To decide. To claim her and end the unbearable pause stretching between them. The stillness gnawed at her nerves far more cruelly than his touch ever had.
Gollum, this strange, powerful creature of raw masculinity, only stared.
And yet—despite his simplicity, despite the fractured way his thoughts skittered and looped—he was no mindless beast.
He studied her with something dangerously close to reverence.
His gaze traveled slowly, hungrily, down the long lines of her toned legs, over the gentle flare of her hips—hips made for bearing life, hips that seemed to promise legacy and belonging. His eyes lingered shamelessly between her thighs, over the soft pink of her lower lips, before drifting upward to her flat stomach, the faint definition of muscle beneath pale skin. Again and again, his attention returned to her breasts, full and heavy, more than enough to fill his hands, more than enough to make his fingers twitch with restraint.
Her face held him just as firmly.
Long lashes shadowed flushed cheeks, lips parted as if mid-breath or mid-plea, a delicate nose above them. Even her hair—spilled across the cold stone like a burnished copper veil—looked impossibly soft. So soft that he had to curl his fingers into his palms to keep from touching it, from proving it real.
But it was her ass that truly stole the breath from his lungs.
She sat upon it helplessly, the flesh spilling just enough to make its fullness undeniable, its softness obvious even at a glance. The contrast only sharpened her narrow waist, made her body seem all the more unreal—crafted, perfect.
Gollum swallowed.
Before him lay a chained, seemingly sleeping beauty—something so impossibly perfect that it hurt to look at her. He had never seen such a thing before. Had never even imagined it in the dark corners of his mind, not in dreams, not in fantasies whispered to himself while fishing. She was too much. Too bright. Too soft.
A thin line of blood traced from the corner of her mouth, darkening her lips as it dried, and instead of marring her, it only made them richer. Riper. Like something bitten, claimed, already halfway his. The sight twisted painfully inside him, a sharp ache blooming deep in his chest and lower still.
His body betrayed him instantly.
His cock pressed hard against the threadbare fabric of his trousers, swelling fast and merciless, straining so badly it burned. It hurt—really hurt—but even the pain felt right, felt important, as if his body itself was screaming at him that this was real. That she was real.
Too real.
Too beautiful.
Gollum stood there, gulping shallow breaths, his body aching and trembling as he stared down at the most precious thing he had ever laid eyes upon.
"Gollum dick hurt," he muttered bitterly.
"Gollum feel frustrated. Gollum sad."
The words fell uselessly against stone and shadow. He spoke them to the walls, to the darkness pressing in around him—mostly to himself.
But Tauriel had reached her limit.
She would not be denied. Not again.
Slowly, with deliberate resolve, her lashes lifted. Bright blue eyes opened and found him at once. For a single suspended heartbeat she simply looked at him—and realized his gaze had never left her.
They held one another there in silence, measuring, searching. Something subtle passed between them then, something neither could name. Tauriel felt it like a loosening in her chest, a quiet certainty blooming beneath her fear—not merely desire, but the sense of a path unfolding as it was meant to. Being here, with him, felt right in a way she could not explain.
That feeling emboldened her.
"So… is that it?" she asked softly.
"Is that the best you can do, Gollum? Are you not going to search me any longer?" She hesitated, then forced the words out. "Who knows… I might be hiding something under my—my—large breasts."
He froze.
Heat flooded her face as she turned her head away, shame and defiance warring inside her. But she forced herself to continue, voice trembling yet proud.
"Or… or I might have something within… within my pussy. So search it, you beast. Show me what you are capable of—if you have the courage of a real man."
She said no more.
Her face burned red as her hair, her body slick with arousal she could no longer deny. She did not look at him again.
Gollum did not understand her.
No woman had ever spoken to him like this before. In the village, they rarely spoke to him at all—unless it was to mock him, to sneer, or to hand him some burden they did not wish to carry themselves. When they addressed him, it was never with interest, never with challenge, and certainly never with desire.
But when his gaze fell where she had directed it, his breath caught.
She was wet.
Wet like the Anduin in flood, glistening, overflowing. Heat and scent rose from her, pooling on the stone beneath her, and something inside his mind snapped loose. The sight, the smell—it pushed him past thought.
She was challenging him. Mocking him.
Did she think him a fool, as the others had? Broken? Useless?
Deagol's voice echoed in his memory, bragging, laughing, boasting of women and their hunger. Gollum's chest tightened with fury.
He roared.
"Don't mock me, she-Elf! Gollum is no fool! Gollum is not retarded! Gollum knows what women want—yes, yes! Gollum knows what slutty bitch wants! Gollum knows! Gollum makes, Gollum takes, and Gollum will name you his bi-bi bitch! Yes! Gollum strong! Gollum fucker!"
His voice echoed wildly through the stone, raw with wounded pride and savage resolve.
With sudden speed, Gollum tore his trousers loose.
The moment the fabric gave way, his cock sprang free—violent, heavy, and undeniable—swinging forward like some obscene weapon loosed from restraint. To Tauriel it looked like the hammer of Sauron himself, revealed in the candlelight. Her eyes widened, fixed helplessly on it, taking in every terrible detail of its length and girth.
This was her breaker.
A brutal rod of flesh thicker than her bicep, longer than her forearm could span. Thick veins throbbed along its length, pumping blood into it as if it possessed a heartbeat of its own. It twitched, alive, heavy—and then swung sharply to the side before snapping back and striking her across the face.
Smack.
Tauriel gasped, stunned, heat flaring through her body as Gollum threw his head back and laughed.
"Nah, nah, nah," he crowed. "Gollum cock strong. Gollum show how babies are made. Kiss it. Show lust for great size. Bigger kind maybe fit it in deep fleshy folds, yes yes! Gollum, Gollum!"
She barely had time to look at him before the thick weight of him was pressed against her face. His scent overwhelmed her instantly—raw, sharp, male. Her lips parted without thought, her voice slipping out submissive and unguarded.
"Yes… my love. My master."
Her mind felt distant, fogged, unreal. She extended her tongue and dragged it slowly along him, from the heavy middle to the swollen tip, before pressing her lips there and giving him her first kiss.
It was clumsy. Brief. Barely more than a peck.
Gollum did not let the moment pass.
With a sharp grunt, he seized a fistful of her hair and forced her forward, shoving his cock into her mouth without mercy. Her lips were stretched wide, her tongue flattened beneath the hot, intrusive weight. Her eyes flew open as her hands clutched at his muscular ass, fingers digging in as he forced deeper.
Her throat opened around him.
Her neck strained. Gurgling sounds escaped her as she began to choke, eyes rolling back as he pushed in hard.
Gollum did not stop.
"Take it deep, you bitch!" he snarled. "Suck it and love choking on it! Gollum, Gollum! No teeth can bite through this, no no—mahaha! Gollum!"
Slowly—cruelly—he pulled her back until only the tip remained between her lips.
Then, without warning, he slammed back in.
Dust rose from the stone as he thrust again and again, grunting up at the dark ceiling in pleasure. Tauriel choked helplessly beneath him, her body trembling, her strength fading as he drove deeper each time, until the darkness crept in at the edges of her vision.
"Argh—yes, yes," he hissed. "Gollum so close now. Yes, yes!"
He was close—achingly close—to a release he had held back for thirty-three years. But he resisted. The mouth was not where victory lay.
The true treasure waited below.
Besides, Deagol had always said it—mocking, laughing—that a cock needed to be slick, and a woman wet, if a man wanted to take her properly without ruining her too badly. Deagol had been an asshole.
But Deagol had been right.
Just as Gollum had dreamed it would be.
With a wet, obscene sound, Tauriel's lips finally parted from his cock as Gollum pulled away.
The Elven maiden—soon to be a maiden no longer—was dazed, her thoughts scattered and distant, as he reached down and slid his muscular arms beneath her thighs. With effortless strength, he lifted her from the stone.
"Kyaahh!"
The sound tore from her before she could stop it. For a brief moment he held her there, studying her face. Her lips were parted, swollen and glistening, her eyes unfocused. She looked as though she expected a kiss.
She did not receive one.
Instead, Gollum flexed himself deliberately, hardening further at will, guiding his cock with practiced control until it aligned with her lower body. The wet, pungent heat of her waited there. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered her down, and when her soft, pink lips brushed against him, her slender body trembled in helpless pleasure.
Her eyes flew to his, panic cutting through the haze.
"Wait," she gasped. "What are you doing? You'll split me in two with that. Please—just give me babies, okay? That's all I want."
Gollum stared at her, blinking, genuinely puzzled. Then he nodded to himself.
"Yeah," he said slowly. "That's the plan bit, bi-bi bitch. This is how Gollum does it. How man—real man—does it, right? Stick cock in wet hole, put seed there, and baby be made. Yes, yes. Then baby fight for Gollum's halls. Gollum knows."
Tauriel stared at him, awe replacing fear.
"Oh," she breathed. "Aha… now I understand." Her voice softened, steadied. "So that's it. Then fine—plunge yourself deep within my wet chasm. Do me as Sauron once did the Rings. Bend me to your will. Make me give life to your offspring, my love… my Gollum."
At those words, Gollum smiled in a way he never had before.
Especially as her body responded instinctively, her wet folds seeming to draw him in, the thick head of his cock disappearing between them. The sensation nearly robbed him of breath. For Gollum, everything felt impossibly right—overwhelming, powerful, perfect.
After the Ring. After Deagol. After murder and exile and darkness.
His life had turned.
He was beneath the world now, deep under stone and shadow—but he felt like a king standing atop it. At last, he was claiming a woman. Not just any woman, but a stunning Elven one, beautiful and willing, her hunger undeniable.
She loved him.
And Gollum, trembling with triumph, lowered her fully onto his rod and took what was his.
Tauriel clenched her teeth.
Her body burned with heat, yet panic fluttered in her chest all the same. She feared he would tear her apart—feared it even as she welcomed him, even as her body betrayed her eagerness.
Gollum lowered her slowly.
The thick tip of him pressed against her, battering insistently until it forced its way past her resistance. Then, without hesitation, he dropped her down onto his length. Her body took him all at once.
Her stomach tightened and bulged slightly, the brutal shape of him faintly visible beneath her skin. Her head snapped back, spine arching against the cold stone wall as her breasts shook freely. A cry tore from her throat—raw, broken, half pain and half ecstasy—echoing up toward the unseen ceiling.
"Ahhh—Vala—ahhh—gods—!"
Gollum was lost to it.
Her skin felt impossibly soft beneath his hands. Her inner walls clamped tightly around his thick, manly cock, gripping him with overwhelming force. And yet—he wasn't fully buried. He could feel it. The deepest part of her still waited for him.
He drew back.
A sharp, helpless squeal escaped her lips as he slammed into her again, driving deeper. Her breath left her in a wheeze, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes as her voice rang out once more, carrying through the open cell door and into the vast, echoing halls beyond.
To her it felt impossibly large—like being stretched beyond reason, like something far too much for her body to contain. And yet it was not a fist, not an arm—
It was all Gollum.
The size of him, the heat of him, the sheer force of his presence overwhelmed her completely. She clung to him, melting into his body, arms wrapping around him as he gave her what she had been aching for. In that moment he was perfect. Even the memory of his blow—of being struck down—only fed the heat twisting through her.
Gollum pulled back once more, close now to her deepest point—but not yet. He thrust again, roaring as he did.
"Praise your king, bitch!" he shouted. "Praise Gollum! Yes, yes—Gollum!"
His blue eyes gleamed as he watched her, no trace of hatred left within them. In his mind he was no longer beneath the world of stone and shadow—he stood in Valinor itself, gazing upon an Elf undone by him, her body trembling, her mouth slack as she drooled and gasped with pleasure.
She was lost to it.
And so he spoke again, voice thick with triumph.
"Gollum will make you praise him," he growled. "Me and my cock. Break you into being my precious Elf bitch. Gollum, Gollum, Gollum!"
The chamber filled with dull, muffled impacts as he drove into her again and again, the sound swallowed by ancient stone. Dust drifted through the air. He pressed his face close to her neck, inhaling her scent deeply before dragging his tongue along her slender throat in a slow, possessive lick.
She grunted as he drove into her, her hips lifted high as he slammed upward with the full weight of his bicep-thick cock. He used her body without restraint, turning her into a living tunnel of flesh. Yet even then the thrusts were shallow, their depth checked by his sheer girth and the tightness of her body.
That, however, was not a problem force could not solve.
Gollum pulled back—and then plunged forward with brutal intent, slamming himself even deeper than before. His heavy balls struck against her ass with a wet impact as he finally felt the end of her, and more besides. Now the tip of him pressed hard against her deepest barrier, using it as a yielding cushion, and the sensation only drove him to pull back and thrust again with greater violence.
Wet slaps echoed through the chamber as flesh struck flesh, growing louder as he picked up the pace. He hammered into her again and again, a feral grin twisting his face as he stared into her gasping, flushed features.
Their faces were closer than they had ever been, the moment strangely entrancing. King Gollum was powerful, thick with muscle and dominance, and she was stunning in her womanhood—her beauty unquestionable. Though he might have wanted to crush her into the stone and take her like Deagol had once boasted of taking women, the truth was she was too beautiful to be ruined like that.
A king did not waste his concubines.
The thought barely formed before sensation overwhelmed him.
He reached the peak of everything he had ever wanted. His cock throbbed violently, his balls tightening as his breath tore from his chest in a strained grunt. With one final, savage thrust, he drove himself down into her completely, hips slamming into her softness with undeniable finality. He bottomed out fully, roaring as he did.
He lifted her legs wide into a rigid M-shape, gripping her childbearing hips with crushing strength. His biceps bulged as he locked her in place, leaving not an inch between them as he prepared to spill himself inside her.
"Take my seed," he snarled. "You royal slut of Gollum. Yes, yes—Gollum takes and Gollum gives!"
The sound that followed was pure triumph. Every muscle in his body went rigid as he released himself.
Tauriel only moaned, lost in it, her body pinned helplessly against the wall as she felt him swell and pulse inside her. There was no escape, no resistance left—only the inevitable conclusion. So this is how babies are made, she thought distantly, just as heat burst inside her and sent her tumbling over the edge, her body convulsing as pleasure tore through her.
Gollum shuddered violently as his cock throbbed, unleashing forceful jets of seed straight against her cervix. He quivered as she took the full impact of it, her voice breaking into hoarse cries as the sensation overwhelmed her.
There was no stopping it.
Driven too deep, lodged firmly against her innermost barrier, his body allowed no other outcome. The sheer force and volume left no defense; her womb was flooded within seconds, overwhelmed by the relentless surge.
"Yes, yes—that's it," Gollum hissed. "Gollum, Gollum, Gollum."
He trembled as his cock continued to pulse, pouring warmth into her until nothing remained untouched. It flowed through her in heavy waves, filling her completely, conquering every space meant for life.
His swollen sack tightened with each throb, dredging up more, sending it through him in unending surges. It felt inexhaustible—an overwhelming, consuming flood—until at last his body began to still.
Yet still more came.
Their shared climax seemed endless, wave after wave rolling through him as Gollum groaned in dazed relief, pressing himself harder into her, spilling more of himself into her warmth. He clung to her as if grounding himself in the sensation, lost in the delirium of it. Neither of them knew how quickly her body answered him, how instinctively it reacted to his scent, to his presence—how life itself was already stirring within her, waiting, drowned beneath his seed.
For a long while Tauriel clung to him, arms locked tight around his back as he rode out the fading storm within himself. Eventually, her grip loosened. She shifted just enough to bring her lips close to his ear and whispered, soft but certain.
"Please… kiss me, my love. Make me your woman—now and forever."
Gollum pulled back slightly, startled. He looked down at her, at her parted lips and unfocused eyes, and the words slipped from him without thought.
"My… precious?"
Then he claimed her mouth.
The kiss was long and wet, tongues tangling together as his quickly dominated hers, taking control as naturally as breathing. When at last they parted, he was still buried deep within her. With a sudden motion, he turned her around and took her from behind, his hands roaming freely, striking and grasping her shapely ass, fingers sinking into warm flesh and making her cheeks tremble beneath his touch.
Tauriel offered no words—only moans. Her thoughts were scattered beyond sense, her hips moving back to meet him instinctively. Her body shuddered again and again beneath him, her pleasure cresting repeatedly, far outlasting his own release. He bent forward, gripping her breasts roughly, his large hands engulfing them as he squeezed and toyed with them without restraint, lost in the feel of her.
Their movements were frantic, desperate, driven by want and by something only they would have dared call love. Dust rose around them, swirling in the candlelight as wet sounds, gasps, curses, and hoarse cries echoed through the halls—into the second, the first, the third, and beyond. Later, coughing followed. Gollum dimly noted the mess; the place really did need cleaning.
Tauriel, however, had long since been satisfied.
Her needs were fulfilled. Her desire—to be filled, to be claimed—had been answered. By Elven custom, this joining bound her to him as surely as any vow. Now all that remained was to wait for what would come next.
Still, she did not protest as Gollum continued to use her, continued to take what he wanted, even as her body finally went limp in his arms. She welcomed it all gladly—for him, and for the dark pleasure she no longer tried to deny.
---
At the same time, far to the east, a white wizard fled across the vast plains of Middle-earth.
His white horse, Shadobane, thundered beneath him, foam flying from its mouth as it ran for its life. Behind them came the howling pack—Warg riders spilling across the grasslands like a living tide, their mounts snapping and snarling as they closed the distance. The wizard's robes, once pristine, were torn and soaked with blood, and his face—cut, bruised, and pale—was twisted with raw terror.
Nothing had gone as he and the two Blue Wizards had hoped.
The East was lost.
The Orcs had done the unthinkable: they had split the world in two. The Men of the East were driven ever farther toward the sea, herded like prey toward slaughter. The mountain passes crawled with Goblins. The ancient Dwarven holds lay silent and broken. Across the plains, Wargs patrolled endlessly, while cities burned under the banners of countless Orc legions.
They had tried. For centuries they had tried.
But in the long ages after the Second Age, something had changed. The Orcs and Goblins had multiplied beyond reason—breeding faster, organizing smarter. They had learned to farm. To refine tools. To feed their numbers with grim efficiency. Industry had crept into darkness, and it was winning.
The wizard had not seen him.
But he knew.
This could only be the work of Sauron.
Someone had to be warned. Someone had to act. He thought of Gandalf, paranoid and cautious to a fault. Of Radagast, lost among beasts and herbs. Neither would be enough.
Maybe Gondor.
Maybe the Elves.
Maybe.
Hope was thin—but it was all he had left.
He leaned low over Shadobane's neck and screamed into the rushing wind.
"Run, Shadobane! Run like the wind or we're dead meat! Run, you stupid horse, sack of shit—run! Fuck, fuck, fuck—where are my eagles when I need them?!"
The plains stretched on endlessly before him.
And behind him, the howls grew closer.