The journey back to Isengard was stressful and dangerous- at one point, a band of wargs ventured close, jaws dripping fiercely – Curunír raised his Staff, and the wargs fled.
“I ought to have let them devour you.” he said conversationally to Mithrandir, who made no reply at all.
They continued on.
Curunír would toss him scraps of food, when the mood struck him.
And if he was in a very fine mood, he would even let Mithrandir have a drink or two from his flask.
They were now five miles from Isengard.
Curunír watched Mithrandir, who sat shackled and secured to a tree – just as he had been, himself- and mingled feelings of conflict and confusion began to trouble his mind – what was he feeling?
It was very confusing.
Curunír felt unfamiliar sensations – of arousal and emotion- and it made him very uncomfortable. Angry, actually.
What had Mithrandir done to him, anyway?
He had never felt these things before. He had always been satisfied to partake of fine food and wine- oh, he did love wine! He drank a little too much, perhaps.
But he had never been –so bothered- by that – thing down there.
There had been rare sexual activity with women - very rare, actually.
Most females were terrified of him.
And now- well, now, it ached frequently, and seemed always on the verge of stiffening.
Especially in close contact with Mithrandir.
Of course, he thought unhappily, since he is the one who cursed it in the first place!
Some curse, he mused. Painful- and yet- the promise of pleasure, strangely.
He looked back at Mithrandir again. **What have you done to me?**
The ache was beginning again. He could feel the throbbing, a sort of humming in the veins of it. It was getting very hard and engorged.
One hand strayed downwards to examine the situation more closely, sliding inside the white cloak, and then he realized Mithrandir was watching him in return.
“What are you looking at!” he growled, quickly withdrawing his long hand from his robes.
“Ah, Curumo, I am not judging you, or leering at you. There is nothing wrong with feeling arou- ” -his words were cut short by Curunír’s Staff, which shot a bolt of energy very close to him.
“Do not watch me like that! I know what you are thinking! This is all your doing!”
Mithrandir thought to himself, that Curunír sounded very confused, and perhaps if he could explain it to him- the sexual contact they had experienced together had done nothing to make it understood.
He knew Curumo had enjoyed it, no matter what he said now to the contrary- a male orgasm is impossible to feign! – but his mind was visibly spinning from trying to understand it.
That, and the torment from Sauron, was driving him crazy.
Mithrandir tried again:
“Saruman, listen to me, please – it is perfectly natural. You have just not – allowed yourself to experience it until now.”
The anger welled up now, and Curunír felt himself losing control of it.
How dare Mithrandir address him this way, and how dare he- how dare he – do what he had done earlier **but it was so pleasurable** - no, it was not alright, and it did not matter how good it had felt physically.
Mithrandir was his subordinate! His pupil – he, Curumo was the Master, the superior!
He must be brought back in line.
**I do not wish to kill him** But he must be forced to submit!
Slowly, like a waking dragon, Curunír rose up and went to Mithrandir, who watched him carefully – without speaking, Curunír went behind him and bent down and unshackled his bonds.
“Get up.” He said coldly. “Get over there – against that boulder.”
Mithrandir saw that the black Staff – now ever-present as before- was pointed directly at his heart – he did not doubt that if the fury took him, Curunír would kill him- perhaps to regret it later, but that would not matter.
He did as he was told, and walked over to the large boulder –
“Lie down over it!” Curunír ordered him-
Mithrandir had a very bad feeling about this, but to refuse would risk a reprimand from the Staff – his own Staff had, of course, swiftly been taken by Curumo and was now in an unknown location.
“Now.” Curunír fairly purred, “Now a lesson is in order, Olorin. I fear I must remind you who is giving the commands, and who is taking them! You seem to have forgotten, my pupil, just who is your superior! But I shall remind you. A good lesson, I think, is in order- and one that will leave no doubt in your mind.”
Mithrandir heard the Staff come down, a sort of obscene whistling sound, and then he felt the pain of the blow upon his back. But he made no sound.
If anyone had stumbled upon the scene, they would have been astonished to see the two of them, White and shining both, two figures engaged in some bizarre activity.
But there was, of course, no one around.
Curunír felt that uncomfortable- stiffening – starting to happen- and he was amazed. It was brought upon by the strangest things.
“Take off your cloak!” he told Mithrandir, who did so. He was now only clad in the under robe, as glimmering white as the overcloak – but a pitiful protection against the assault of the heavy metal Staff.
Curunír did not mind. The better to teach Mithrandir this very crucial lesson.
He again raised the Staff, and brought it down viciously on Mithrandir’s back, and then again, and again.
The pure white was becoming tainted now with an ugly spreading crimson, and Curunír felt his heart racing, his pulse galloping.
He was getting very excited, and it drove him on.
His cock was hard as the Staff itself now, he reckoned. It ached maddeningly, and every time he brought down the punishing metal, it seemed to throb all the more.
Throughout, Mithrandir had made scarcely any sound.
The Grey Wanderer might have been moved to cry out- but –this was the White. He was now composed of a far stronger substance, and he bore the blows with silence.
The beautiful white robes were now wet with blood on the back, and Curunír stared at it, fascinated, aroused to the extreme, and yet, somehow, he felt the slightest sense of unease.
**YOU MAY GO TOO FAR**
He shivered as he recalled the dire warning he had received from his subordinate.
But he threw off the last vestiges of sense and reason, and continued.
“Now – for the final point I need to make.”
Speaking in the authoritative voice of a badly wronged teacher, who truly loves his pupil but must bring him back in line ( for his own good ) – Curunír pulled off the robe totally.
Oh, how he ached now!
Moving with unearthly grace, and the confidence of one who never considers defeat – and no regard at all for the great ill he had just done to a Being who could, if he wished, blast him off the face of Middle Earth –
Curunír leaned in over Mithrandir, with a false appearance of affectionate closeness.
He pressed his swollen, hurting cock against Mithrandir, and with one searching hand tried to find the place he sought.
“Curumo.” Mithrandir forced the words out, through a shroud of agony- “ You do not need to force me. I will lie with you willingly. But there is a way- to do it- without force.”
He found what he was looking for, and began to push roughly in-
“Curumo – do not compound what you have already done!”
“Will you be silent, for the last time!” Curunír brought the Staff down hard against Mithrandir’s side, and he fell silent.
So this is what he felt, he thought dreamily, thrusting hard into the blissfully tight enclosure – ah, it is so sweet, I have never felt anything like this –
He was not trying to be brutal intentionally, he was far too immersed in pleasure to even think on that –but the shock and excitement of feeling Mithrandir like this was overwhelming, and he savored it, driving in with savage passion.
Mercifully, for the Istar under him, he could not last too long, the sensations were too strong, and in a few moments the waves of roaring ecstasy crashed in him, and he nearly passed out, half-collapsing on top of Mithrandir, who bore his pain silently as before.
He remained like that for another long moment, as the warm flood ran slowly out of his “pupil”.
Finally, he moved up off Mithrandir, and his well-satisfied cock slipped out, still flowing.
“Here.” He tossed Mithrandir his cloak casually, as if they had just finished tea together, and after Mithrandir had put back on his now stained garments, Curunír shackled him again.
“We are nearly home, Gandalf.” Curunír said, his voice thick and distant.
Before them, like a giant dark monolith, Orthanc reared up in phallic glory.
They were, indeed, nearly home.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.