In the Darkness Bind Them

by Henrika

Pairing: Gandalf/Sauron, Gandalf/various uruk-hai, Gandalf/Saruman

Rating: NC-17

Summary: AU; Sauron has regained the One Ring and won the war. Gandalf is trapped. Will the Istar be able to resist the Dark Lord's attempts to break him?

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. They belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I make no money of this.

A/N and warnings: This story is very dark and deals with disturbing matters like graphic violence, graphic rape, torture, humiliation and much more. If this is not your cup of tea, now is probably the time to turn back. You have been warned!

Archiving: My own site, Lord of the Rings - my Gandalf slash fiction and art and Meddling in the Affairs of Wizards (hopefully!) Others, please ask first.

Dedicated to: Nefertiti, for so kindly helping me with beta and suggestions. Without you this story would probably still be in a file somewhere in my PC. Many hugs to you, my dear!

Chapter 14

After delivering Gandalf his daily meal, Saruman headed for the kitchen area to make himself a cup of warm tea. Things were frosty between him and Gandalf. They rarely even spoke to each other anymore, and Saruman knew that it was due to his decision not to join with Gandalf in his attempt to break Sauron and take the Ring from him.

Doesn't he realize that I cannot do such a thing? Saruman thought. It would never work anyway. That fool! What does he believe he can accomplish? There can be no victory against the Dark Lord.

To be honest with himself, Saruman missed Gandalf's company very much. He had been alone for such a long time, and when it finally seemed as if he had someone, something this silly had put an end to it before it really even began. Now all he got from Gandalf were a few furtive, sullen glances and some short words without any feeling behind them. Gandalf was clearly angry with him, and although Saruman knew the probable reason for it, he couldn't quite understand why. How could Gandalf expect him to rebel against his Lord? Had he any idea what would happen if Sauron found out?

When he reached the kitchen, the kitchen slaves that worked there quickly left. Saruman knew that they did it every time he approached, and he tried not to care about it. Humans feared him, of course, despite the fact that his situation at Barad-dûr was no better than theirs. Or perhaps they felt disgusted by him? In either case, none of them wanted to stay in the same room as he more for than a few seconds.

He made himself tea and sat down by the table, holding the warm teacup in his hands. Saruman looked down into the yellowish fluid at his own reflection. Sauron had told him that not even his long hair could conceal his hidden ugliness, and Gandalf had said that he was handsome. Saruman was not sure what to believe anymore. Maybe Gandalf had lied just to make him feel better? If he asked him now, perhaps he would get a different reply.

Suddenly he heard steps quickly approaching him from behind, and before he even had a chance to turn around, he felt a large, hard, talon-like hand settling on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze before its owner removed it and showed himself.

It was Sauron. The Dark Lord smiled with obvious satisfaction written on his handsome face when he noticed Saruman's fear. The fallen wizard jerked and almost choked on his tea.

"My Lord..." he murmured, bowing his head to Sauron. He dared not look up in fear that maybe his thoughts were written over his face.

"So here I find you, all alone..." Sauron sneered. "What a surprise! I suppose the sight of your hideous face frightened all the servants away?"

Saruman didn't answer. What was he supposed to reply to something like that?

"Can I do something for you, my Lord?" he asked instead, still not lifting his gaze.

"Have you fed Mithrandir?" Sauron asked.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Is he recovering?"

Saruman hesitated. Gandalf was recovering; quickly, in fact, and that was evident enough just by looking at him. He was no longer coughing, his skin was regaining some of its glow, and the dark rings around his eyes were also disappearing. But what would happen to Gandalf if Sauron found out? Despite the split between them, Saruman did not want to see Gandalf abused once more.

"Well?" Sauron asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. "I asked you a question!"

"Y-yes, m-my Lord," Saruman stuttered, realizing that he couldn't lie to the Dark Lord. If Sauron wanted to find out, he could go anytime to check on Gandalf and see for himself.

Sauron smiled. "Good. I have been waiting for this. I think I will pay dear Olórin a visit this evening... I have something really special in store for the little wizard. I believe we can have a lot of fun..."

Saruman tried to stop his countenance from betraying his feelings. That was it. Sauron was planning to assault Gandalf; rape him, beat him, or maybe something even worse.

The Dark Lord grinned maliciously. "Oh, don't look so sad, Curumo," he said and took a lock of Saruman's soft, white hair between his fingers. "If I feel like it, maybe I can let you have him once I am done with him. I know you would really love that, would you not? If you behave, I will give it some thought."

Saruman felt like throwing up. He saw Gandalf, abused and bleeding, lying on the floor in a dark dungeon after being assaulted in every heinous way by Sauron, orcs, uruks, and Eru knew who else. Then Sauron would pull him in and offer Gandalf to him after everyone else, ranked above him, had had their share of the broken Istar.

"That is not necessary, my Lord..." he whispered.

"Oh, I know that," Sauron replied casually. "But I don't see that you have much of a choice if I want you to, Curumo. See it as a gift, and you might even enjoy it!"

Sauron's hand continued to twine the lock of hair it was holding, and he said, "I do like your hair, in fact. I almost regret I shaved Olórin's pate. It will take years for it to grow back to what it was."

The hold tightened until Sauron gripped a handful of hair and jerked the wizard's head back forcefully. Saruman grimaced.

"You do understand what I am saying, don't you, Curumo?" Sauron asked, and the look in his icy blue eyes pierced Saruman's heart like a dagger.

"I do, my Lord, I do..." the fallen wizard whispered.

Sauron's stern expression became a seemingly gentle smile instead. "Good. Then all is well," he said, leaving the kitchen as quickly as he had entered.

"Did you forget something?" Gandalf asked when Saruman entered his chamber for the second time that day. He gave Saruman a brief glance but nothing more.

"No," Saruman replied gravely and sat down on the chair next to Gandalf's bed. Reluctantly, it seemed, Gandalf turned his head to look at his fellow Istar. Nowadays Saruman only came by to deliver his daily meal. They didn't actually socialize any longer, so there had to be a reason why Saruman came back only a few hours after giving Gandalf his food.

"He is coming for you tonight," Saruman said.

The statement didn't require any further specification. Gandalf instantly knew whom he was referring to, and the realization made his blood turn to ice. Sauron.

Gandalf's sullen countenance was instantly replaced by dismay and naked fear. "How do you know?" he asked in a trembling voice.

"Because he told me," Saruman said. "I thought I...would tell you, so you... can at least be prepared for it," he added, looking down at his hands resting in his lap. He knew that telling Gandalf would do no good, but he still felt that he owed his fellow wizard that.

To Gandalf it felt as if the air had been completely knocked out of him. Sauron hadn't visited him in weeks, and he had almost begun to hope that the Dark Lord's interest in him had started to fade, but now his hopes were shattered like a porcelain vase against a stone wall.

What would Sauron do with him? He was fully recovered now, so there was no reason for Sauron to hold back any longer. Gandalf began to feel sick, and his stomach threatened to rid itself of the food he'd just eaten.

"Did he...did he say anything else?" Gandalf asked when he had been successful in fighting down the nausea that overcame him.

Saruman shook his head. "Only that he would pay you a visit this evening, and that he had... something special in store for you."

Gandalf sighed and buried his face in his hands. At that moment he actually felt like killing himself in the quickest possible way before Sauron could get to him. He just couldn't endure another horrible assault; either physically or mentally. Not again. He felt that this time he would break.

Saruman placed a clumsy hand on Gandalf's back in an attempt to comfort him, slowly caressing the length of his spine and rubbing his trembling shoulders. He fully understood Gandalf's dismay and was sorry that there was nothing more he could do to help him.

After a while Gandalf finally lifted his face and gently drew Saruman into an embrace. He couldn't be angry with him any longer. Not after this. Gandalf began to think that maybe he had been foolish to demand Saruman's help in something as ill-fated and risky as trying to take the Ring from Sauron. Saruman was but a weak servant after all, and one couldn't seriously expect him to have the courage to rebel against the Dark Lord after all he had been through.

"Thank you for letting me know..." he murmured, stroking his fellow wizard's hair.

"I am sorry, Gandalf," Saruman said truthfully.

"I know."

They finally pulled apart and looked into each other's grave, melancholy eyes. There was no fire in Gandalf's sky-blue eyes this time when he spoke.

"How did it come to be like this, Saruman?" he asked.

"I don't know," was the reply he got. "A series of unhappy coincidences, maybe? Who knows? In any case, there is nothing we can about it now."

"Can I ask something of you?" Gandalf asked.

"What is it?" Saruman asked hesitantly, fearing that it would again be something that could get him - or both of them - into trouble if he was caught.

"I cannot endure another assault now," Gandalf said, his voice weary and overcome with grief. "Give me something that will make me sick. Maybe he will leave me alone if I am sick. Please, do this for me... If you are my friend, I beg you."

"Gandalf... do you realize what you're asking?"

"I do," Gandalf said. "Please."

"Gandalf... This is Sauron. Do not expect him to take pity on you simply because you are ill," Saruman said, not liking the foolish suggestion at all.

"No, I know that," Gandalf informed him. "But I was thinking...maybe if I was sick, he'd be...disgusted."

"Even if he'd leave you alone tonight, it would only postpone the inevitable."

"I know..." Gandalf sighed. "But I value every second. Please do this for me."

"Alright," Saruman said, after some hesitation. "I'll fix you something."

It was past midnight when Sauron headed to Gandalf's chamber. He expected the wizard to be peacefully asleep in his bed and was looking forward to the shock and dismay which his nightly visit would cause. He hadn't yet decided exactly what to do with him. Just fucking him would be too conventional, and Sauron tried to think of something that would add some new excitement into it.

He entered Gandalf's small, spartan chamber with a smug, toothy grin on his face, but his face stiffened when he saw what was going on inside.

Gandalf was sitting up in his bed with the pillows propped behind his back, looking pale and covered in a thin layer of perspiration. He wasn't alone. Saruman was sitting on a chair next to the bed, with one arm behind Gandalf's back, urging his fellow Istar to drink hot brew from a large teacup he was holding to his mouth.

Saruman jerked and almost spilled the brew when the Dark Lord made his entry, and though Gandalf reacted, his response was a lot more restrained, probably because his mind was as fogged as it looked, judging from his state of health.

"My Lord..." Saruman murmured, desperately trying to feign surprise.

"What is going on here?" Sauron snapped harshly. "You said he was well!"

Sauron had noticed that there was a sour, acrid smell in the room, and saw that there was a bucket standing on the floor beneath Gandalf's bed, containing something that appeared to be vomit.

"My Lord, I did," Saruman began explaining, "and I was telling the truth, but this seems to have come swiftly. Gandalf has a stomach disorder and has been vomiting since early this afternoon. I...I would have told you before, but..."

One could detect a faint, red gleam in Sauron's blue eyes at the mention of their meeting in the kitchen earlier. His face hardened and a distinct scowl, which did not do a good job concealing his anger, formed over his handsome features.

Gandalf really looked miserable, so it was obvious to anyone that he was not trying to fake his illness. His face was pale, and his eyes were red, watery and fogged, clearly revealing that his body temperature was at least a few degrees above normal. Still, the fear that Sauron's menacing approach had stirred in him could not be misinterpreted.

"What caused it?" Sauron demanded to know.

"I'm not sure, my Lord," Saruman replied cautiously, avoiding his master's gaze. "Perhaps it might be due to food poisoning. No one can tell for sure."

"Oh, is that so?" Sauron replied with a pointy smile. He regarded the two Istari with narrowing eyes, and came to the conclusion that Gandalf's illness was genuine, but the way he supposedly got it was not.

"Food poisoning, you say? Is that accurate, Gandalf?" he asked, giving the diseased wizard a piercing stare.

"I know not..." Gandalf whispered hoarsely, and suddenly he felt lots of bile rise in his throat. He was almost happy for that. While Saruman was a good liar, he was not, and he knew that if anyone could give Sauron a believable account of their story, it was Saruman. He showed what was happening by clamping his hands over his mouth, and Saruman got out the bucket from under the bed just in time. Gandalf's stomach once again rid itself of its remaining contents.

Saruman had told him that this condition, unlike the pneumonia, was far from life-threatening, but it sure as hell made him feel sick! His head was spinning when he once again pulled himself into a sitting position, and Saruman had to support him with one hand behind his back to stop him from falling out of bed. His stomach threatened to revolt again, even though he had emptied it just a few seconds ago.

There was no sympathy in Sauron's eyes when he regarded the pair of wizards. He knew now what was probably going on, and only his adamant self-control stopped him from grabbing them both and wringing their precious little necks.

"Curumo, get out," he ordered, his eyes fixed on Gandalf.

"But..." Saruman objected without further thinking; it was an automatic reaction to the idea of leaving Gandalf alone with the Dark Lord.

"Don't make me tell you twice!" Sauron growled menacingly. "Get out, NOW!"

Saruman knew that objecting now would only earn him a blow to his head or something worse, so he silently obeyed, bowing to his Lord before timidly walking out through the door. Once he was gone, Sauron slammed it shut right behind his back.

The Dark Lord turned to Gandalf, and there was a fire burning in his eyes. Terrified of what was to come, the ill wizard tried to shrink back from the menacing, hulking frame of the Dark Maia as he started approached. He did, however, realize that pleading would take him nowhere, so instead he tried something else.

"I will vomit on you if you touch me," he said, trying not to sound too feeble.

Sauron paid no heed to the threat. When he was close enough, he simply raised his huge hand and slapped the smaller figure huddled in the bed with an open palm, sending Gandalf sprawling to the floor with a blood red welt on his cheek.

Gandalf's head was booming and he could feel blood dripping from his nose. In a panic, he tried to crawl down underneath the bed to escape Sauron's clutches, but before he could get anywhere, the Dark Lord's hand closed around his throat, and all he could do was gurgle and choke.

Sauron was what could be best described as furious. His face had become a stiff mask of pure anger, and his eyes were glowing with a menacing, red light. Gandalf wanted to look away, but Sauron's gaze held him captive.

"What did you take?" the Dark Lord snarled in the terrified Istar's face.

"Take...?" Gandalf sputtered, despite the fact that he had a pretty good idea what Sauron was referring to.

"Yes, he gave you something! What was it? What did that snake give you to make you ill?! Tell me, you worthless little rat!"

"Saruman didn't give me anything!" Gandalf cried. He feared for Saruman now and what would happen to him if Sauron found out what they had done.

"You lie!" the Dark Lord hissed, tightening his iron hold on the wizard's slender neck. He knew that a simple twitch of the wrist could break it like a dry twig, and more pressure would crush his larynx or at least damage him severely. He felt tempted to try it, but then he scolded himself for thinking such uncontrolled thoughts.

"No, I do not lie..." Gandalf tried. "Please, I cannot breathe...!"

Sauron clicked his tongue. "Somehow I just can't believe you're being completely honest with me," he said. "I know he did give you something, and now I'd like you to tell me what that was."

"No..." Gandalf sobbed. " wasn't Saruman's fault... I made him do it, I swear. Don't punish him for it, please... He did not want to, but I made him."

Sauron sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I knew I could make you confess," he said. "It didn't really take much."

He finally released Gandalf, who had gotten ugly, red strangulation marks on his throat from the ruthless treatment. The wizard gasped for breath and then started coughing. Bile was rising in his abused throat again, and he could feel the turmoil going on inside his stomach. Soon it would revolt again, and he would have to throw up.

A malicious grin spread over Sauron's face when he watched Gandalf's anguish, and the wizard became terrified of what might await him.

"No, don't rape me...please..." he managed to slur, while doing his utmost to fight down the nausea that threatened to make him vomit. Despite his earlier threat, he did not want to throw up on the Dark Lord, as it would hardly improve his situation.

"No, little wizard, I will not rut you now," was the reply he got. "Or well, I was going to, but you are currently looking gross and very unattractive, so I think I'll wait until your stomach is back in order."

Sauron stood up again and poked Gandalf in the belly with the tip of his boot. The wizard had to clamp his hand over his mouth to stop himself from throwing up.

"Goodbye, Olórin," he said and started moving away from the bed. "Now I have some important business to deal with, but I'll see you soon, little wizard. Until then..."

The Dark Lord smiled at the prone Istar, and blew him a kiss, as to say he was looking forward to their next meeting. Gandalf felt like spitting after him but didn't, only because such an action would probably cause him to vomit on the floor.

Sauron left, and Gandalf had no choice but to stay on the floor until the feeling of nausea had eased somewhat. When he started feeling better, he crawled back into bed and curled up in a foetal position. Falling asleep would be hard after this.

Saruman undressed and slipped into his nightshirt, making himself ready for bed. His simple, black robe - so very different from the imposing, intricate garments he had gotten used to during his time as the White Wizard - and a nightshirt made of grey fabric were the only pieces of clothing he now owned, besides his stockings and felt-boots.

His possessions were few, but he did own a comb, and every evening before going to sleep, he combed through his long, white hair to keep it from getting tangled. Not that he really cared about his appearance, but it had become sort of a habit.

This evening Saruman knew sleeping would be difficult, as he couldn't stop worrying about his fellow Istar. What had Sauron the Abhorred done to him? He felt sorry for Gandalf, and at the same time he cursed his stupidity. He, Saruman, had known their little trick would never fool the Dark Lord. He had been right, but still he had agreed to do it.

The wizard let his weary eyes wander over the gloomy chamber where he spent his nights and most of his days, too. He had begun to hate the place. He was not a prisoner in a technical sense, but his mind certainly was, and his body had started to feel like one, too. So what, if he had the freedom to move around in Sauron's dark keep? He could never leave this place, and even if he could, he had nowhere to go.

Having spent a few minutes sitting on the edge of his bed with his pale, bare legs stretched out in front of him, Saruman sighed and decided to try to get some sleep. At least his mind was free from worries while he was sleeping.

But Saruman never had time to go to sleep. A violent and unexpected bang of his door being forcefully thrown open made him start and almost caused his heart to jump out of his chest. Terrified, he turned to see who was bursting into his room this late at night and saw the Dark Lord himself, accompanied by one servant: a brawny, grinning uruk-hai.

"M-my...Lord...!" he stuttered, not sure what to think. "Why have you..."

"You, Curumo," Sauron interrupted him harshly, "have done something you shouldn't have done, and I am here to punish you, for you have angered me very much."

Saruman needed no further information to realize what his Lord was referring to. He had figured it out himself or forced a confession out of Gandalf. But in either case it didn't matter. Sauron knew, and his punishment would be cruel. The fallen wizard began to shake, but he didn't dare speak or move.

The uruk stayed a few feet behind, still grinning, while the Dark Lord continued to approach the Istar, who like Gandalf tried to shrink back from the talon-hand that reached out for him.

But Sauron would have none of it. He tangled his clawed fingers in Saruman's hair and threw the wizard down onto the floor with a murderous snarl that made the blood freeze in Saruman's veins.

"My Lord...please, have mercy....!" Saruman pleaded, struggling into an upright position, but Sauron's only reply was a blow to his head that knocked him back down to the floor and caused blood to trickle from his nose and mouth. This time Saruman did not attempt to rise or lift his head. Instead he curled up, trying to make himself as small as possible and clasped his hands over his head to protect his face from the additional blows that were sure to come.

It's just a beating... he tried to tell himself. You have lived through those before. Just try to endure it. It can't be worse than before.

"Look at me, worm," the Dark Lord ordered after a while, and Saruman obeyed. His eyesight was still a bit blurred from the blow to his head, but he could see enough.

"Do you confess, or do I have to force a confession out of you?" Sauron asked in an icy voice and reached inside his dark robes to pull out some kind of object.

Saruman, who had begun to fear this might cost him his other ear, almost went into screaming hysterics.

"No, my Lord, have mercy!" he cried. "D-don't cut my ear away! I confess! I did it! I gave it to Gandalf, because he asked me! I regret it now, and I know it was an idiotic thing to do, but please... I beg you, my Lord... I will do anything to make it up to you... I promise...!"

Sauron snorted contemptuously. "You are disgusting and pathetic," he said. "I do not want your services. I came here to punish you, and that I will do. Now, take off your clothes."

Now Saruman could see that what Sauron was holding in his hands was not a dagger but a whip. He knew what was awaiting him, but despite the pain it would undoubtedly cause him, he would welcome a whipping. He exhaled loudly in relief. Just a whipping... Could he be that lucky?

"Yes, my Lord..." he murmured, struggling out of his nightshirt. That was all he wore, so when he had taken it off, he was naked. The feeling of the Dark Lord's scrutinizing, contemptuous eyes on his body made him feel uneasy, but it was a small price to pay in a situation like this.

"Bend over," was Sauron's next command, and Saruman complied without hesitation.

Sauron raised his hand and struck the whip across the Istar's exposed back, making Saruman cry out with the sudden and searing pain. The whiplash left a long, bloody welt on his back, and the pain of the first brutal strike had not even started to fade before Sauron struck him a second time. The wizard screamed again. His instincts told him to crawl away, but his conscious mind told him that such an attempt would only anger his Lord more, so he stayed still, biting down on his tongue to endure the horrible pain.

The Dark Lord repeated the procedure seven times. By the time he was finished, Saruman's back was marred and bloodied with crisscrossing wounds that would take weeks to heal. The wizard almost didn't dare to believe that it was over. His body was shaking, and his face had become a stiff mask of pain. When he finally allowed his jaw muscles to relax a little, he could taste coppery blood in his mouth, realizing that he had bitten into his own tongue. His breaths came out in short gasps. The pain was intense and burning, but all he felt was release when no more lashes struck him. It was over! He had lived through it, and now it was finally over!

At last Saruman lifted his head and gazed up toward the Dark Lord, who loomed over him menacingly. It was obvious that the whip had played its part in this tale, but why did Sauron stay? He couldn't have anything more in mind, could he?

The relief he had felt only moments ago was replaced by despair.

"No, not my ear..." he whispered. "I beg you, my Lord... Spare me that."

Sauron did not answer, but the cold look from his pale blue eyes brought Saruman no comfort. The uruk was obviously getting impatient, and he now stepped forth and asked his Lord a question in the Black Speech, which Saruman could not understand. Sauron answered him in the same language, giving the foul creature a harsh order to step back and await his orders. The uruk obeyed but couldn't help giving a frustrated growl.

"No, Saruman, I will not cut off your ear," Sauron said slowly. "But your punishment is far from over yet."

"Then w-what will y-you d-do... my Lord?" Saruman stammered out, regarding the Dark Lord with large, apprehensive eyes.

Instead of giving a direct answer, Sauron now turned to the uruk and said something in the Black Speech. The foul creature gave a toothy, sharp grin and looked questioningly at his Lord. Sauron nodded curtly.

The uruk began to advance toward Saruman, and although the wizard's instincts told him to recoil, he did not feel real terror until the creature began to open its leggings.

"No, my Lord, please, no!" he cried, realizing the next part of his punishment was to be raped by the uruk.

Sauron paid no heed to the plea. He had gone to stand a few feet away to regard the scene, leaning casually against the wall, arms folded across his chest. His face was impassive, and his cold eyes showed no feelings at all.

Despite the pain in his back, Saruman wobbled to his feet and made a feeble attempt to reach the door. He did not get far. The uruk was too fast for him and caught him before he had taken more than a few steps. With an angry growl, the creature pressed him down and hit him across the face, splitting his lower lip. Sauron had obviously not ordered it to hold back.

Saruman's mind was in a whirl. He tried to fight the creature, but he was not physically strong, and the uruk easily overpowered him, slapping him down every time he tried to rise. After a few blows he no longer tried to resist but instead curled up into a ball to protect the more vulnerable parts of his body. The uruk raised its hand and hit him once more, just in case. Or just for fun. There was no way to tell which.

The wizard sobbed desperately, now knowing exactly what it had been like for Gandalf when they had done this to him. A large, coarse hand grabbed his hair and jerked his head backwards. One eye had swollen almost shut and was beginning to darken, and blood was pouring from his nose and split lower lip. There was no more resistance left in him.

The uruk flipped the Istar onto his back, spread his legs, and entered him fully in one single thrust. The pain Saruman felt was excruciating. He cried out in sheer agony, and this only seemed to excite the creature further. The second stab into his abused body was even more violent than the first, and his reply to it was another pained scream. It just hurt so much! This was a lot worse than the whipping. The monstrous brute lying over him was grunting like a pig while thrusting fiercely into his violated back channel, now lubricated by his own blood.

Saruman thought that it would never end. He thrashed a little at first, but after discovering that thrashing only made it hurt more, he simply lay still and waited for the assault to end. The uruk finally came with a feral growl, shooting its seed deep inside the abused wizard's bowels. The hot liquid made Saruman's insides burn, but despite the pain he was actually relieved.

It was over. Finally, it was over.

The uruk collapsed on top of him when it had spent itself and lay over him while waiting for its strength to return. A few seconds and some heavy breaths later the uruk rose, pulled out, and grinned down at the violated, semi-conscious figure on the floor.

Sobbing, Saruman curled into a ball and hid his swollen and discoloured face in his hands. He simply waited for his rapist and the Dark Lord to leave. Had he been punished enough now? Saruman didn't believe he'd be able to handle much more.

He opened his one good eye again to see what was going on, and to his dismay he could see that the uruk was stroking its organ, which again stood erect and huge. The creature leered down at the wizard when it saw his dismay and turned to its Lord to ask for further instructions.

"Go ahead," Sauron said, a cold light flickering in his eyes.

This time the foul beast wanted fellatio and thrust its blood- and come-smeared cock down the wizard's throat. Saruman couldn't help it. He was not experienced in this field, and it had been difficult enough with Gandalf, who had been beyond gentle with him. The vile taste and the pressure to his throat triggered his gag reflex, and he vomited.

Growling ferociously, the uruk pulled back and slapped him. While using the wizard's long hair to wipe his messy cock, the creature snarled menacing threats to Saruman, swearing to tear his throat out if he did anything like that again.

Saruman had wanted to explain that he hadn't done it on purpose, but he didn't get a chance before the uruk got impatient and thrust its cock back into his mouth. This time he didn't vomit but simply tried to relax and waited for the foul creature to finish.

It took a few minutes, and hot, burning liquid spurted down his throat. The uruk pulled back, and this time it actually tucked its spent member back into its leggings and stood up.

Saruman sighed. That had to mean it was over. He was still coughing and tried to spit most of the seed out of his mouth. He didn't think he'd ever tasted anything with such a vile, putrid taste. Gandalf's seed had been slightly bitter, but compared to this it had been honey.

The uruk spat at him before it finally withdrew, and Saruman hoped that it was over now. Still, he didn't quite dare to believe it.

After having watched impassively, the Dark Lord approached the broken Istar, and when Saruman heard the advancing steps, he began to tremble with fear and dismay. No, not Sauron as well! He couldn't take more!

"Please..." he managed to sputter, his split lip making his speech unclear.

"Oh, don't worry, Curumo; I won't touch you," came Sauron's contemptuous reply. "Just so you know, I would rather mate with a viper than you. I only came to ask if you have learned your lesson."

"I have... my Lord..."

"Good. I hope so indeed. For if you ever do anything like that again..." Sauron crouched beside Saruman's curled frame, " won't just be one."

The Dark Lord rose again and turned around to leave, beckoning to the uruk to follow him. Saruman could hear the sound of the door banging shut, and then they were gone. He remained on the floor for some time with the irrational fear of being slapped down every time he tried to rise fresh in his memory. When he at last realized that it would not happen this time, he struggled into a sitting position and winced when he felt the stabbing pain in his nether regions.

His thighs were covered in the uruk's vile seed and his own blood, and his hair was a complete mess, the stench being almost unbearable. And his back...

Saruman believed that he would faint when he made an attempt to rise, and he had to lean against the bed for support.

I have to clean myself, he realized. And tend to my wounds. But when? I don't feel I have the strength to go anywhere now. What if I faint? Or worse, what if I encounter Sauron?

Saruman pondered his choices for a while and finally decided to head for the kitchen. He needed to clean himself and his wounds, and he also needed something for the pain. The wounds caused by the whiplashes were still bleeding, and he didn't want to stain his one and only nightshirt. Instead of putting it on, Saruman wrapped a simple blanket around his shoulders. The material grinding into his wounds made him clench his teeth in pain, but he decided not to pay any attention to it and silently left his chamber, stooped and limping, because his violated rear did not allow him to walk erect.

The fallen wizard slowly made his way to the kitchen area. It was night-time, so no other servants should be there. The walk was a long one in his current condition. Many times Saruman had to lean against the wall and close his eyes to stop himself from fainting. His head boomed, and the pain in his body seemed to pulsate in time with his heart. He was happy that he did not encounter anyone on his way to the kitchen.

As he'd predicted, the kitchen was empty and dark. Saruman managed to light an oil lamp with trembling fingers and hang it on a hook by the entrance.

Slowly, and with hands still shaking, the Istar dropped the blanket and began to clean his wounds and his hair with soothing, cold water and a damp cloth. He could not reach all the wounds on his back, but instead of using the cloth, he simply let the water run over them. That soothed the burning ache, at least for a little while.

Saruman managed to find a small mirror in one of the cupboards - surely it belonged to one of the kitchen slaves, as Sauron did not allow mirrors in any room save his own - and got a chance to regard his own abused face. His right eye was swollen shut by now, and his lower lip had grown to twice its normal size. Nothing seemed to be broken or fractured, however, and that alone was a good sign. He'd been beaten before, so superficial injuries like bruises and swellings didn't bother him that much.

The rape did. It hurt as never before when he tried to sit down, and he was almost afraid of touching his rear now, even just to check how bad it was. He had to do it, of course, and discovered fresh blood on his fingers when he brushed them over his swollen, violated opening.

Why did that beast have to be so brutal? he thought. He hit me even though I was already lying down. Why? Did Sauron order him to do it?

What had been done to him now clouded the memory of the wonderful experience he'd shared with Gandalf. Gandalf, who had been so gentle. Would Gandalf want to touch him again after this? Of course he would. It had been done to him too, several times. Saruman had not truly understood the concept of being raped until now. It was really one of the most vile things that could happen to a living being. A strange kind of anger began to well up in the fallen Istar's heart, and that anger was directed towards the Dark Lord who was responsible for this. Until now, fear was the only emotion Saruman had felt when he thought of Sauron, but when he thought about him now, he felt hatred as well.

I did not deserve this! he thought. He might say so, but I did not! Nor did Gandalf.

Hoping to stop the bleeding and soothe the searing pain, Saruman cleaned his rear using cold water and alcohol and then smeared some healing salve on his wounds. It did not ease his pain much, but he hoped that it at least would keep infections at bay.

But he needed something for the pain as well and knew only one thing that could help him. The wizard limped to a more secluded area of the kitchen and opened the cupboard where Sauron kept his drugs. One bottle contained a clear solution, and he lifted it down from its place on the shelf. Carefully, he let a few drops of the solution slip into his teacup.

I mustn't take too much, he reminded himself. That will hurt me more than it will do me good.

Slowly Saruman drank the tea, mixed with a few drops of laudanum, and then waited for the narcotic drug to take effect. This time it had been necessary.