Gray Haven

Galdor picked up the bottle of oil and poured a liberal amount into his cupped palm. Rhythmically, he began smoothing the sweetly scented oil on to his lean body while anticipating what possible delights awaited him at the hands of his master. His body was well trained by his master’s ministrations and his heavy penis already stood out erect from between his thighs, colored darkly as blood coursed heavily beneath the skin. As he coated his body with the oil, he stared curiously at a large table in the room's center. The table was long and crudely made, at least by elven standards, and stood about four feet off the floor. A willow frame covered by a fine gray sheet of silk sat atop the table.

With his body glistening, Galdor knelt on the floor with his arms behind his back with his wrists touching. He kept his back straight and his elegant neck arched as his master liked. Wisps of dark hair escaped the tight braid at the back of his head and clung to his skin. He kept his brown eyes down as, behind him, he heard the door open and he felt an instant tightening in his groin. When he'd come to Lord Elrond, kneeling before him for the first time, Galdor had not known what to expect. Many years later, he still did not know what to expect.

Lord Elrond walked past him, moving straight towards the table. The Noldo wore only black suede boots and white silk leggings that molded to his lithe body, exposing every ripple and bulge. The material was so sheer that Galdor could see the shadow of Elrond's skin beneath. Elrond lifted part of the frame, leaving a second frame still on the table. He set aside the top half and silently motioned Galdor forward.

Rising to his feet, Galdor kept his hands behind his back as he walked forward. At the table's edge, he peered down and saw that silk was stretched taut and attached to the wooden frame. At either corner, finely woven silk rope was tied in a slipknot with the cords passed through small holes drilled into the wood.

"Get in," Elrond commanded.

Galdor uneasily sat on the table and scooted around until he lay in the center of the soft silk. Elrond moved around him, taking up each of his feet in turn and placing them in restraints so that Galdor's legs were spread wide, nearly touching the edges of the frame. Elrond restrained Galdor's wrists next and Galdor lay spread eagle, staring at the stark white ceiling. A flicker of movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention and he tensed as the top half of the frame slowly descended. The silk touched his body, clinging to him as the oil on his skin saturated the cloth. Sweat beaded on the oil, dampening the silk further. The material clung to his body like a layer of skin, covered his nose, his mouth; molded to him like a shroud.

Galdor opened his mouth and tried to breathe evenly. His heart beat heavily in his chest while his stomach fluttered. His mind screamed and his lungs felt tortured, as if there was not enough air to fill them. Logically, Galdor knew he was not suffocating. His body--fueled by the irrational part of his mind--refused to believe. His body trembled in the bonds and the blood flow to his cock lessened, shrinking his member. Embarrassed, Galdor could only cringe beneath the light weight silk and hope his master forgave his body’s transgression.

Above him, he could see Elrond’s shadow as it moved around the table. Galdor tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone painfully dry, as if all the moisture in his body was now concentrated in the sweat trickling through the layers of oil. Warm hands stroked the side of his face, as if trying to comfort him. There was no comfort for Galdor as fingers smoothed the cloth over his face, pressing it closer. He forced back a distressed groan, knowing how it would displease his master. The hands moved down, smoothing the material down and away, removing every crease and wrinkle, outlining the beautiful body; until the counselor was sculpted in silk.

Galdor’s world was reduced to the weight of the silk. Although light, he felt as if the cloth weighed much more and pressed upon his lungs until his breath whistled and wheezed. Heated moisture engulfed his nose and mouth every time he exhaled. Touching his tongue to his lips, he tasted the peculiar musty tang of the loom and dyes. He gritted his teeth. Elrond would not truly harm him. His master was not cruel or insensitive. He knew all too well that Galdor was claustrophobic and the silk tomb was nothing more than a test. This Galdor told himself over and over again as he struggled to breathe, fighting the rising panic that threatened to cause him to say the one word which would release him from his prison.

He could not give that word for that would mean failure. Not just a failure within himself, but a failure of faith and trust in his master. Showing this weakness would destroy all that lay between he and Elrond. Never again, once that one word was uttered, would he pass into this special chamber or feel his master’s hands upon his needful body. And so Galdor clenched his jaw, ignoring the cloth trapped between his dry lips and tried to distance himself from his discomfort.

A delicate finger traced his cock and the organ remembered itself, recalled its master’s touch and will. As the nail traced over the underside, running the length of the large vein, the cock stirred. Galdor focused his attention on his cock, willing himself to think of the pleasure. His cock swelled more. A palm cupped his balls and squeezed, plying just enough pressure to make Galdor jump, before moving up along the thickening shaft. Gratefully, Galdor let himself sink into the sensation of silk stroking his body. He gave in and closed his eyes, giving himself completely into his master’s hands. The air still cloyed, still choked in his throat, but pride and love held him still, kept his tongue from betrayal.

Elrond stroked up the shaft slowly, felt the cock begin to respond and knew that Galdor had finally begun to relax. For a moment, when he realized that Galdor was no longer aroused, that the cover of silk over his face had truly unnerved the normally unflappable counselor, he’d despaired. He was not unaware of what the close covering of mouth and nose did to Galdor, but Elrond the healer recognized an irrational reaction of the mind. Elrond the master recognized a desire in himself to push his beloved slave to the very brink and watch as his slave tottered before stepping back from the edge. For one moment, both Elronds watched with baited breath and waited for Galdor to decide. He lowered his head and pressed his tongue to the under shaft and then withdrew. Elrond the healer was satisfied. Elrond the master had not even begun.

Galdor felt Elrond’s presence withdraw and he felt a sense of panic when his master left. There were no sounds in the room. The cloth was cold over his skin. Where was his master? What did he have planned next? Claustrophobia again set in as his focal point receded. Overhead was whiteness, unbroken by shadow or images of any kind. Galdor felt as if he were completely alone in the world; the last breathing creature on Arda. He gasped and his chest heaved, staccato like. His ears began to ring with the absolute silence. Where was his master? Had he left? Galdor strained his elven hearing, trying to listen past that dim hum, and heard nothing. His lips trembled, parted with a question clinging to them like droplets of water to a rose.

And he stopped. Faintly came the sound of laces sliding through silk. A whip-like sound that send a thrill up and down Galdor’s body. Galdor breathed deeply, trying to find his center and calm once more. His lord was close by, still testing and pushing him. Once more he’d passed.

The table creaked slightly and the silk covering him tightened imperceptibly. Then he felt warmth near him, a warm body pressing against his and the silk slid smoothly along his own body. Then his master’s weight settled atop him fully and he felt every line of Elrond’s body through the silk. He felt Elrond’s length laying against his stomach. Warm breath fanned over the silk near his lips for a moment and then he felt Elrond’s lips against his own through the cloth. At first he resisted, not because he did not enjoy the kiss, but because he could not get any air. As Elrond slid up and down Galdor’s body, raking his rigid cock over his slave’s thighs and stomach, Galdor hissed, disregarding his master’s demands of silence. The silk was so cool. So soft. And Elrond’s body was so hard. Hot. Heavy.

The hard body beneath his stirred to life at his command, filling Elrond with an overwhelming sense of power. He knew he was powerful; had commanded armies on a battlefield and still maintained one of the last elven refuges in Middle Earth by commanding one of the Rings of Power. He did not need Galdor’s reaction to feel powerful and in control. And, yet, at his core, he did need to possess, to own, to control. There lay the true reason behind all his pushing and manipulating.

The delicate silk between he and Galdor roused him even more as he rocked his body slowly against the counselor. What would Cirdan think of his friends if he could see them? A wicked grin spread over Elrond’s face as pictured the bearded shipwright’s reaction. He positioned his legs so that they were on either side of Galdor’s thighs and braced his hands beside Galdor’s head. The silk grew warm from Galdor’s body. His body. Figuratively. Literally.

Elrond glanced down and saw a damp spot where Galdor’s rigid cock lay pinned beneath the covering. He began to move faster, sliding the silk as he moved atop Galdor. He listened to Galdor’s ragged breathing, recognizing layers of fear and desire mixed. This aroused him more and he threw back his head, giving in to his own impulses. The silk against his cock began to grow hotter as he slid up and down and Galdor’s body grew more taut. With a grunt, he reached his climax and spilled his seed all over the thin gray silk.

Galdor could barely breath and his head felt light. Elrond’s weight pressed upon him, sending his sensing reeling. His skin was overly sensitive now, every inch brushed by silk, trapped between the hard table and Elrond. Silently he begged his master for release. When he felt Elrond’s hot semen splash over the silk, scorching his stomach, he felt a sense of relief. Soon, he thought, his master would give him what he needed. Instead, he felt Elrond lever himself off the table and heard his feet touch lightly on the floor. Galdor waited and his mind filled with thoughts as to what his master planned next.

After a moment, water splashed over him, saturating the silk beyond its ability to absorb. Rivulets ran over the table edge and splashed on the floor. The silk, now weighted with oil and sweat and water, grew heavier. And colder. More tomblike. Galdor inhaled and choked as water trickled into his throat and nose. The water, already cold, quickly grew colder and Galdor shivered under the combined weight of wet silk and fear.

Elrond poured the last of the water over the pile of shivering silk and elf. Even beneath the covering, he could see goose pimples rising on Galdor’s flesh. Part fear and part cold, thought Elrond. Momentarily his sympathies rose. He knew all too well what Galdor was suffering. With a slight smile, he set aside the pitcher and then placed his hands on Galdor’s thighs. The flesh trembled beneath his palms. He squeezed.

Something in Elrond’s touch triggered a deeper response in Galdor. His breathing calmed and, while he still shivered, the fear retreated, leaving behind a purely physical response to the wet and cold. He could no longer taste the metallic flavor of the dies thanks to the spring water and that, too, helped. Where his master’s hands rested, his skin felt warm. The silk no longer glided over his body, but rasped as Elrond messaged the long thighs. And his member, shriveled in the cold, stirred once more to life; responding to his lord in a way that he’d never responded to another.

Elrond watched as the heavy silk stirred in the area of Galdor’s groin and the healer in him smiled while the darker side of him did its own rejoicing. He'd taken his slave to the edge and that slave had not disappointed. He reached out and firmly clasped Galdor’s cock beneath the cloth and stroked it roughly from base to tip, pausing at the tip only long enough to give it a harsh squeeze. He loved toying with Galdor, producing different reactions. Galdor was a perfect slave, willingly allowing his body to be twisted and manipulated according to his master’s whim. He squeezed harder, twisting his fist around and around Galdor’s cock. He stretched it and pulled it. He felt it throb against his palm. He watched Galdor’s chest heave beneath the silk covering. He watched as his legs strained against the ropes. Elrond saw clenched fists and tightly clenched jaw and new how close to the edge he’d taken Galdor. For a moment, he considered removing the top of the frame. Then he felt how Galdor trembled at his touch and decided against it. Rather, he decided to take the elf as far as he could be taken and stroked harder up and down.

The sensation of cold and hot, hard and soft, drove Galdor crazy. On the one hand he was suffocating. On the other hand, the exquisite pressure on his cock left him little room to care. Trapped between two worlds, Galdor lay bound and helpless.

Lord Elrond released his hold on Galdor and began raising the top half of the frame. The wood and wet silk came up with a soft sucking sound. He made no comment as he heard Galdor gasp for air. The counselor was drenched in water and his skin was a bit shriveled from his dunking. But his cock remained erect and proud. Elrond concealed his smile as he worked lose the knots binding Galdor’s to the lower frame. He did not unbind Galdor’s legs. Taking his time, Elrond ran his hand slowly along Galdor’s chest, feeling the way the skin rippled beneath his touch. He ran his hand over a puckered nipple and then twisted it violently between his thumb and forefinger. When Galdor did not react, save for the uncontrollable twitching of his cock, Elrond released the nub. "You have done well," he drawled slowly, handing out praise in sparse doses. "I think, as a treat, I shall let you pleasure yourself."

Galdor watched his master. The breeches were once again laced, but the thin silk was wet on the front, causing the material to cling even more to the hard body. When Elrond granted his permission, Galdor did not hesitate. He reached down with one hand and wriggled his hand between his cheeks. He bent his knees as much as possible and shoved one finger deep in his own opening. The sting and the burn was delicious. The fullness was not as complete with only his finger, but it was nonetheless satisfying. Grasping his aching member with the other hand, he began working his cock in long, slow strokes that went from base to tip and back. He kept his eyes open and fixed on Elrond. His master remained still, impassive, as he began pumping harder, finding a comfortable rhythm between the finger inside him and the hands clamped around his member. All of his tension drained from him as his pleasure mounted; the misgivings, the claustrophobia; the doubts. Every one slowly withered and melted as the heat in his loins intensified. His breathing became harsh, ragged. Pre-cum leaked from his cock.

“That’s enough,” spoke Elrond at last.

Galdor’s hand immediately stilled. He extracted his finger with a soft popping sound. He placed both hands on his thighs and waited expectantly.

Quickly, Elrond untied Galdor’s feet, leaving the ropes dangling over the edge of the table. “Good night, Galdor.”