Lord of the Rings: Queen Beruthielbyjthserra©
The story is a fictional parody - it's not true, nor is it approved of by the celebrities named in the stories. Authors write these fictitious stories about famous people for the same reason that Larry Flynt made fun of Jerry Falwell, because they can. The Supreme Court of the United States, the country where this site is located, has ruled that parodies involving famous people are perfectly and totally legal under the United States Constitution. The specific case law on this was decided in the case of "Hustler Magazine, Inc. et al. v. Jerry Falwell" in 1988. No harm is intended toward the celebrities featured in these stories, but they are public figures and in being so, they must accept that they are fair target for parodies by the public. We believe in the first amendment, and more broadly, in the basic principle of free speech and this section may push the boundaries of that principle, but the United States Supreme Court has approved of this type of material. We believe that the Supreme Court was correct in their decision.
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"'Do not be afraid!' said Aragorn. There was a pause longer than usual, and Gandalf and Gimli were whispering together; ... 'Do not be afraid! I have been with him on many a journey, if never on one so dark; ... He is surer of finding the way home in a blind night than the cats of Queen Beruthiel.'" [The Fellowship of the Ring p. 325].
Adrift in a black sea, coursing past Umbar, Queen Beruthiel reached her hand to Drift, her single white cat, perched on a spar shelf near the ship's wheel. Her eight black cats covered the ship, from Artur on the bow to Zelot at the stern. Their movement in the light of a sickle moon cast odd shadows over the deck of the ship. One by one she spotted the others, Bella on the starboard side, Eudnot close behind, Camin walked the port railing and peeking down into the hold she saw Farga, Lipsis and Pierse asleep in a large bundle.
Running her fingers through Drift's soft fur she laughed at the lies her husband, King Tarrannon of Gandor, cast upon her. After years of a loveless and sexless marriage he called her before his court and accused her of foul and perverse acts with her cats. She was banished and cast adrift on this forsaken vessel for these perversions.
"The damn fool," she whispered to the white cat, "He could never understand what we have, of the information you have brought me." Feeling the odd rattle of the cat's breathing she felt him agree.
Nothing about her communication with her animals was sexual, by running her hands over their backs, by reading the vibrations she could understand them. The touch was intimate, but never sexual.
If the King only knew the truth, he'd consider her perversions were far more deviant than mere bestiality. No one knew where the Queen's true passions lay, for the longest time she hadn't known, cursed to frigidity, unable to even coax the tiniest response from herself.
It wasn't until she was overcome by the fragrance of the thistlewine blossoms that she first discovered arousal. Alone in the walled forest of Altrip, just east of Gandor, she breathed the heady fragrance and felt her body respond. Sexually alive, for the first time in her life, she removed her clothing, amazed at the feel of her skin as the cloth slipped away.
Her breasts, still firm, with fully erect nipples, responded to her hands, sending flashes of pleasure through her. She moved to a nearby thistlewine tree, a dormant ent actually, one that had not moved for years. Pressing her breasts to the soft, mossy bark she felt her breath quicken. Finding a smooth knob, she pressed her pussy against it, savoring the feeling of the knob pressing against her clit.
Moving slowly and deliberately she felt the knob slip between her lips and then leaned her weight onto it. Slowly the knob entered her, hurting her at first, but then after a sharp pain, she opened to it. The ent awoke to her motion just as his blossoms exploded in a cloud of pollen, coating the Queen in bright yellow. She ran her tongue down her arm, tasting the essence of the ent in the sticky, sweet emission that covered her.
Feeling a need course through her body, she withdrew from the knob and seeing a hobbit walking nearby, she ran and tackled the small soul, ripping open his pants and taking his thick stalk into her mouth. Sucking his organ, she ground her clit onto the changlings foot, bringing her to her first ever climax. She continued sucking until she drank the steamy cum from the now exhausted hobbit.
Finding no other sentient beings in the forest, Queen Beruthiel quickly dressed and returned to the castle. She longed for more, sitting in her chambers she considered the great races of Middle Earth. Funny she had picked an ent to be her first, but perhaps that was appropriate for they were the oldest of the races. The hobbit was a wickedly childlike endeavor, the way it wined when she first started and then moaned as she took the entire girth of his stalk into her mouth.
Humans, out of convenience, she made a human her next conquest, funny, he was actually a distant cousin of the great Lord Aragorn. Only a cousin, but he was definitely virile as she drank his copious white fluid in great gulps, tasting the bitter, metallic flavor as she swallowed.
Her elf was an aesthetic affair, hearing that the taste of their cum was influenced by the beauty they observed, so she went down on him in an art gallery, sliding on the floor as he moved from work of art to work of art. His long, thin elvencock quivering as he walked, he exuded his essence in gentle, melodic pulses into her hungry mouth. An ancient wooden dildo, which was part of the exhibit, filled her gaping opening as she licked the last of the elven flavor from her fingers.
The king finally caught her as she dallied with a dwarf, not just any dwarf, the head of her husband's guard. The dwarf was nuzzling her cunt, as she worked his monstrosity with her hands and mouth. He was splashing his buckets of dwarfmilk into her mouth when they heard the king climbing the stairs. By the time the king barged in, the dwarf had hidden and Queen Beruthiel was left on the bed, covered in dwarfmilk, her cunt dripping in her juices and saliva. Her cats were scattered about her, with one, standing on her stomach, sniffing the dwarf's gallon of cum.
Stunned at the sight, the king extracted his, now engorged cock and moved toward the queen, but her cats, all nine of them, fell upon him, scratching his face, arms and cock until he ran screaming from the room. The queen quickly got the dwarf out of her room and then dressed.
The next day she was called to the king's court and summarily banished. Now she floated aimlessly on a sullen sea, pondering her next taste, her next cock. During the day she read from her secret books, books banned throughout most human cities. She read of sordid tales of couplings between orcs and elves, trolls and dwarves, and unbelievably, balrogs and humans. Dreaming of sipping orc oil or sucking a troll trout she would walk to her cabin and select from the sculptures that adorn her bedpost.
Perfectly proportioned carvings of an ent knob, a hobbit stalks, a human cock, an elvencock and a dwarf dick were arranged in the order she first experienced them. Thinking of the story of the orc and elf, she grabbed the faux elvencock and wrapped her mouth over its tip. Moving the sculpture in and out of her mouth, she reached between her legs and touched her clit, imagining the twin snakes of an orcin cock.