Here I am again! Sorry I haven't uploaded in ages, was very busy in school, HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR EVERYONE!
Ok Tolkien didn't write much about Erestor, so I will take the liberty of happily inventing some of my own. Character torture and angst in this chapter.
Chapter 3:
"Get up, rat." snarled Lasrahir, kicking the prone figure in the ribs.
A strangled yelp followed by whimpering was all it took for the burly human's overly-quick temper. Large, frightened orbs widened in horror at the heavy metal chain that flew towards his shivering frame. No not again…thought Erestor, as he braced himself for the bone crushing force exerted by the chain, wielded by the only man he knew and the only man he hated, his father.
Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours. Erestor had long since lost track of the pain. Everything was a haze of excruciating aching through his whole body, the steady burn of the chain, tears and blood. Pain. How much the word meant to him. Pain in his heart, Why would my father do this to me. Pain of his physical body, tortured and abused each day. No square inch of his body was spared. He closed his eyes as an overwhelming mixture of physical and emotional pain coursed through his writhing body. He knew what was next. It had been like this for years. 4 years, 11months and 31 days. He winced internally, today was his 50th begetting day and his coming of age. Groaning slightly, he realized he had forgotten his own begetting day in his pain shrouded stupor. Suddenly the flogging stopped. Erestor curled up into a ball and squeezed his eyes shut. Though grateful for the stop of pain, he knew that what came next, he would gladly exchange for 200 lashes.
Cold hands snaked up his tunic. He stiffened whimpered. Fingernails scraped down his chest, catching his dusky nipples. Tears of utter shame ran in rivulets down porcelain cheeks as Lasrahir relieved Erestor of his tunic and leggings, leaving him a naked mass of quivering elflings on the cold stone floor. Hands were all over his body, bruised and marked from years of abuse. New scars covered old ones, marring Erestor's white skin. He felt a tongue on this ear. Erestor shuddered. A cold voice, dripping with sarcasm, spoke into his ear, sending chills down his back.
"Happy begetting day, Erestor. You'll get your begetting gift soon…just wait."
Wait. The word struck Erestor like lightning. This spelt doom.
Expert hands reached for his flaccid member, gripping it tightly. Erestor whimpered.
"Today you will get your gift…50 years old…how old…" the cheap wine-laced breath whispered in his ear. Strong hands lifted his small mass and positioned him on all fours. Erestor trembled, not knowing what was next. Lasrahir usually bid Erestor to suckle his rod or ordered Erestor to stroke himself and make himself cum. Lasrahir tore off his tunic and started at the bindings of his leggings, his straining member pushing against the fabric. He positioned his engorged member at Erestor's virgin entrance.
"Brace yourself, cunt." grunted Lasrahir.
A terrorized scream rung high into the cold autumn air.