Vicarious Lust

Hama refused to look up from the bearskin rug on which he stood with his feet slightly planted, as if awaiting a physical blow. Sweat trickled in rivulets from his shoulders and left wet marks on his tunic. Luckily, his armor hid the nervous stains. A clean, wet cloth had all ready erased signs of his nausea.

"Well?"

Hama brought his head up at last, his dark eyes flickering over the seated figure before him. Black, greasy hair hung limply over a face that had parted company with the sun many years before. Eyes that may have long ago parted with sanity met Hama's and he forced his curling lip back over his teeth. "I have done as bidden."

"I want details." The voice was low, smooth as river stones, and equally as hard. "I must tell the king what has been done so that he knows who is loyal to him."

Hama's lip again started to curl. "Are you not satisfied with the knowledge that the Marshal has been treated in a manner we do not inflict upon a dog?"

The dark eyes lit up from the inside and the scrawny body shifted in the chair, as if suddenly excited. Claw-like hands gripped the arms. "Do you defy the king, Hama?"

"Nay," Hama bit off the word as if it tasted foul.

The hands relaxed and slipped down until they rested on bony thighs.

Hama cleared his throat. "I entered the marshal's cell with the box given to me from your own hands. While guards stood in attendance, I ordered him to strip off his tunic."

"How did he react? Was he frightened? Angry? Did his limbs tremble?" Grima's own lips trembled and a thin line of spittle appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Hama finally allowed his mouth to move as it would and smiled. "He was calm. When I ordered him to strip, he complied easily, as though he expected such a thing. He handed over his shirt and removed his boots and breeches without question and when I told him to hold out his wrists, he did so. The marshal watched as I withdrew a leather cord from the box and said nothing at all as I bound his wrists. Behind him, one of the guards secured a piston to the wall. When all was prepared, I ordered them to leave us—I told them to lock the door and move to the far end of the corridor. Once they departed, I looped the cord over the stake to secure the marshal in place."

"Eomer. Say his name," demanded Grima in his sibilant voice.

"Eomer," repeated Hama shortly, "remained calm and quiet throughout; although, once or twice, his eyes narrowed on the box as if puzzled by the unrevealed contents. When I drew forth the whip, the instrument you instructed me to use first, his eyes glowered at me."

Grima's mouth opened and closed, as if searching for air or the right words. "He masters you."

"Eomer is a Marshal; a warrior. He is the King's nephew. If you mean by mastered that he has my respect and that I honor him, then, yes, I am mastered." Hama stared defiantly at Grima, knowing that if the advisor became annoyed, he could find himself in a cell adjoining Eomer's, and caring very little.

Grima's thin lips compressed into a fine dark line that pulled his lax facial muscles downward. His dark eyes sparkled with a promised retribution that he dared not yet deliver. Nonetheless, he was patient and bided his time. Soon, he would have all he desired. "Continue."

Hama shifted his stance and struggled to find the words he needed to explain the events in which he'd been a reluctant participant. "I swung the whip once or twice, to get the feel of it. Each swing whistled and snapped and Eomer's mouth drew tighter as I approached him. He seemed to know what was coming and braced himself as well as he could. His arms and legs tensed and his head drew back so that he stared down at me.

"My first stroke was hesitant, for I am unfamiliar with the ways of torture. The whip bit but lightly and Eomer's flesh rippled but that was the only outward sign I received from him. He did not ask any questions as I swung the whip again. I think perhaps he knew or..understood. The next stroke was more solid and connected with his chest, leaving behind a red welt. He drew a deep breath but fixed his eyes upon the door. Growing accustomed to my task, I kept the whip moving up and down his torso and his thighs. His flesh quivered and trembled with each taste of the lash, but he gave no voice to his discomfort. When his body was well marked, I stopped. Both of us breathed heavily. Sweat glistened on his skin and still Eomer said not a word. I placed the whip on the table and retrieved the next instrument from the box." Here Hama stopped to gather his thoughts. The instrument had sent shivers up and down his spine and nausea roiling through his stomach. He watched Grima for a moment, speculatively, as if suddenly thinking upon unrealized thoughts.

Wormtongue sat rigidly with his fists clenched on his thighs. His thin chest heaved and his lips were moist where his tongue continuously darted out. There was a noticeable tenting of his robe.

Hama swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "I went forward and Eomer finally reacted as I held up the device. His eyes widened and his head jerked back. Carefully, I unscrewed the first clamp and attached it to his nipple. The thin chain rattled softly as I moved to his other nipple and affixed the second clamp. The chain looped along his chest, connecting his nipples, resting in the hairs of his chest.” Hama remembered staring down at his large boots with a lump in his throat, but he said nothing of this to Grima. "I did not answer him as I returned to the box and withdrew the third of your torture devices. The leather band and clamp I was able to conceal in my hand until I stood before him. His eyes followed my hand and a frown appeared in his eyes as I slowly gathered his withered member into my palm and stroked it until it began to harden.’

Grima rocked backwards and forwards ever so slowly in his chair as his imagination conjured the image of Eomer, naked and chained, with his thick length straining in Hama’s heavy hand. He felt sweat trickle down the center of his spine, cool and hot at the same time.

Hama had paused, staring disconcertedly at Eomer’s hardening flesh and wondered why he felt an answering tension beneath his leggings. Revulsion filled him to the brim as he realized he was responding. Quickly, before he could think further, he’d slipped the leather cuff over Eomer's shaft and the small ring over his balls. Hama became increasingly aware of Grima's heavy breathing. He felt his skin literally crawl as he realized the depths of the advisor's depravation. A damp spot appeared on the front of Grima's robes and Hama longed to draw his sword. However, he dared no such action against the Théoden's counselor.

After a moment to compose himself, Hama continued. "I retrieved the lash and applied it again to his flesh in the manner you instructed. I paid particular attention to the inner thighs, whipping Eomer as close to his manhood as I dared."

"Did he cry out? Did he beg for mercy?" Spittle sprayed Grima's lips as he spoke. He gripped the sides of his chair until his pale hand turned nearly blue. His body began to tremble beneath his heavy robes as his own cock grew rigid and his scrotum tightened in response to Hama’s report.

"He neither begged nor cried," Hama blandly answered. No, he thought, he glared at me and moaned softly. His eyes bore into mine, asking me questions I could not answer. "When I deemed he had tasted enough of the whip, I set it aside again. He shall bear the marks of my handiwork for many months to come. I extracted rope next and pulled him down from the wall. He struggled a little, then, though he was weak and the resistance was minimal. I threw him down on to the bed and tied him with his legs spread and his arms laced over his head."

By this time, Grima began to keen softly and his eyes glazed. He barely heard anything Hama said as his imagination showed him the handsome, strong, and defiant Eomer tied spread eagle upon his narrow cot. He could easily imagine the proud warrior scored and marked by whip strokes. Desire flowed through him in waves and it was all he could do to remain seated. Sweat dripped into his blood-shot eyes and down his long, thin nose.

"And he is there now, tied as I instructed?" His voice lost its velvet smoothness as desire washed over him.

"Aye," Hama hissed. "He is bound tightly, but can see well enough, should any one enter his cell." He added that last little bit simply to warn Grima that the marshal would see if anyone came inside his cell. Hama suspected that the counselor would love to stand over Eomer and indulge in his bizarre fantasy, but that he wouldn't have the gall to do with Eomer staring at him.

"Excellent," breathed Grima as he struggled to his feet. The bulge in his robes became less pronounced as he stood, but his movements were awkward as he walked crab-like towards the door. "In the morning, I will have something new for you to share with Eomer." His bloodless lips twisted into a semblance of a smile as he closed the door.

He hurried from Hama's presence and sought his own chambers where he could indulge his whims and fancies in private.