Bree Games 1
Title: Bree Games
Author: Claudia
Pairing: F/A, F/everyone else
Rating: NC17
Summary: There are some roads Frodo should never have
taken?
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money
from them.
Story notes: More fluff? This is probably my ultimate in
Frodo filth. Prostitution, graphic sex, other crimes to
Tolkien, mpreg? Heh. Not yet, but I'm open to it. I mean,
I'm RILLY going to Tolkien Hell for this one.
Frodo did not know what had gotten into him the first time he sold himself for coins in Bree. He only knew now that he was in quite a fix because the good villagers of Bree were fed up with the whores and ruffians and other ill-reputed folk. They had actually commissioned the hated and distrusted Rangers to help them by posing as ruffians willing to rob old women and folk willing to pay for a night of pleasure. Frodo had unknowingly propositioned a
Ranger by the name of Strider, and now he was in this
Ranger's custody awaiting trial.
Strider had asked him how a decent gentlehobbit from the quiet Shire had gotten himself into such an embarrassing position. Frodo would not talk to Strider, but he privately blamed Bilbo. Frodo had originally gone to Bree in hopes of finding information about Bilbo since Gandalf had been rather secretive about it.
Frodo had been sitting in old Butterbur's inn, sipping ale and feeling small and uncomfortable, when a Man sat beside him. Frodo found that odd because the Men and Hobbits of
Bree kept to their own kinds. There weren't many Hobbits in Bree, and there were actually only about three in Butterbur's inn that evening. They had not invited Frodo to sit with them, and Frodo thought it was most uncouth of them, a sure sign that hobbits of the Shire were much more refined.
"You from the Shire?" the Man asked. Frodo bristled. He hated it when people could perceive that he was out of place.
"No," he said sullenly.
"Could have fooled me." He touched Frodo's cheek. "You're a pretty little thing."
Frodo inched away, feeling trapped. Bilbo had warned him of strange dangers in the world Outside, but Frodo had never dreamed of this. "Please leave me be."
"You sure?" A large hand slid over Frodo's bottom, making the hobbit squirm. "I've got a room upstairs. We could have some fun. I'd pay you a pretty price."
Frodo gave him as disgusted a look as possible. "No thank you." He could not believe that man had just treated him like a common whore! Frodo swallowed in revulsion. "Please leave me alone."
"Have it yer way then," the Man said with a chuckle, moving away. "But if you change your mind, I'll be around."
It was getting late, and Frodo decided he should ask
Butterbur about settling into one of the hobbit rooms. He reached in his breeches for his coins and found none. His hand froze.
The Man had no doubt robbed him while feeling his bottom!
Frodo swallowed with rage. Well, now he had no way to pay for his ale and the huge meal he had consumed. He had already seen one Man get turned over to the lawmen this evening. He didn't want to be the next victim. He hated to do it, but the only thing he could do was slip out as quietly as possible and find a place outdoors to sleep.
When he got home, he could send Butterbur the money. He was an honest hobbit, after all.
Heart thudding, he slipped along the wall, headed for the door. Just as he was nearly out the door, Butterbur blocked his way.
"Hoy, there, Halfling. Aren't you forgetting something."
If Butterbur hadn't been so fat, Frodo might have been able to slip past him, but as it was, he had no choice but to face up to what had happened. He began to tremble. He had never been in so helpless a position before.
"I am sorry," Frodo said, his eyes filling with quick tears. "I have been robbed. A Man, he came to me-“
"You have no intention of paying me for my ale?"
Butterbur's voice was fierce as he gripped Frodo's arm.
Frodo covered his face with his hands. He could not bear looking into the innkeeper's face. Nothing like this had ever happened to him.
"Now, now," Butterbur said, his voice softening. "You know
I don't like to do this, not to a rare visitor from the
Shire…here now, don't shake so…I'm not going to hurt you."
Butterbur led Frodo to a bench and sat beside him, keeping a firm arm around him, tugging gently but unsuccessfully at Frodo's hands that covered his face.
Frodo was truly frightened. He didn't know what would happen if Butterbur called the lawmen in for him. He had never seen a jail before, and he could only imagine how cold and damp and full of miserable, hard criminals it would be. And nobody from home knew where he had gone. He had told Sam he was visiting at Brandy Hall.
"I don't know what to do," Frodo said, his voice cracking.
He furiously wiped a few tears away before covering his face again in embarrassment. He was a gentlehobbit, come of age, and there was no excuse to weep in public, especially not in front of Men, who saw such expression of emotion as a weakness. "He took all I had. I can't go to jail, Mr.
Butterbur, it will kill me."
Frodo hadn't meant it literally, but Butterbur didn't know enough about hobbits to understand that. The innkeeper rubbed Frodo's back in a soothing manner. "There now, I can't in good conscience do something that would kill you. Stop shaking, Halfling. I'm not an ogre, and I'm not going to call the lawmen. What you can do is work for me…wash cutlery, sweep the floor, take orders. You can sleep in one of the bottom rooms. I'll pay you half a coin a day. When you make up your bill, which was eight coins, then you are free to go. Understand?"
Frodo nodded, relieved to have been let off the hook so easily. He dropped the hands from his face and smiled up at Butterbur through his tears. "Thank you, sir. Thank you kindly."
***
Working for Butterbur was much harder than Frodo had imagined. The dish water scalded his hands, and the customers were often rude. Some grabbed him or pinched his bottom. A drunk Man pushed him to the ground while he was carrying a tray of ale. Butterbur had not been happy with the broken cutlery and spill that had resulted, and Frodo had cut his hand while cleaning it up.
By the fourth night, he was stumbling with exhaustion. He had worked since the sun rose that morning, and now it was close to midnight. He could not accuse Butterbur of being particularly cruel to him, since the fat innkeeper worked just as many hours as he did. But Frodo was not accustomed to such hard labor, and as he carried another tray, heavy with bowls of soup and ale, his feet stumbled, and the tray slipped from his hands. Frodo watched through blurred eyes as soup filled with chunks of mushrooms and chicken trickled through the floorboards. The Men in the vicinity laughed cruelly. All Frodo could think about was that he had to clean it up.
Butterbur lost patience and grabbed his arm, yanking him around to face him. His normally kindly face was red with anger. "That has just been added to your debt."
"I'm sorry," Frodo whispered. His stomach sank. He would never pay him off now. Never.
"Clean it up." Butterbur shoved a sopping mop in his hand and stomped off. Frodo's throat filled. Butterbur was not usually so short with him.
At the corner of his eye, he caught view of the Man who had stolen his coins sitting in the back of the tavern. Frodo felt a fury spread over his chest. Without staying to pick up the pieces, he stalked across the room until he was standing eye to eye with the Man, breathing in quick enraged gasps. The Man, sitting on a wooden chair, his legs spread out, chuckled and grasped Frodo around the waist, pulling the hobbit toward him.
"You stole my coins!" Frodo pointed in the Man's face, not caring about the consequences. The Man could break his neck with his bare hands if he wished. "Give them back to me!"
The Man laughed uproariously. He apparently found it amusing to be holding an enraged halfling around the waist.
"Would you like to earn them back?" the Man asked with a sardonic grin.
"What?" Frodo asked, flushing. "What are you talking about?"
"Do you remember what I proposed the last time we met?" The
Man winked and let one of his hands slide to Frodo's bottom again. Frodo flinched, but between his rage and his exhaustion, he felt a strange warmth spread between his legs.
"I'll have Butterbur call in the lawmen," he said, shifting his legs uncomfortably, hoping the Man would not catch sight of the growing bulge in his breeches. "They will get my coins back from you. You're nothing but a thief!"
The Man squeezed Frodo's bottom. "I believe that you are the thief, halfling. So, I ask you again. Would you like to earn the coins back? I'll pay you two coins for a night."
"That's all?" Frodo said in a gasp, using any ploy to keep the Man from looking down at his breeches, but as soon as he spoke, the Man's grin faded, and Frodo swallowed, thinking perhaps he had overstepped his bounds.
"You think you are worth more than two coins, halfling?"
"But I've never…” Frodo began to tremble all over. He could not understand why the Man's stroking of his bottom was making him so hard. Fear and exhaustion, perhaps. "I've never done as you've suggested." He cast his eyes down, blushing furiously.
"Never?" The firm arm curled around Frodo's waist, pulling him even closer, forcing Frodo to look into the muddy eyes of the Man. "Never done this? I find that difficult to believe. What a waste, I say. There is but one way to find out. Tell you what, Halfling." His voice dropped. Frodo saw a growing bulge in the Man's groin. "I'll take you up for a tumble in the bed. If what you say is true, then I will pay you three coins. Three coins, Halfling. That is six days of work for Butterbur. What say you to that?"
Frodo thought about the cutlery that he would need to clean, the floors to scrub, and all this still before he went to bed.
The Man's hand slid under Frodo's shirt, snaking up to rub over his nipples. Frodo gasped, having never felt such pleasurable sensations. "When your work is done, come to the first room to the left at the top of the first flight of stairs."
The rest of the evening went by in a blur.
"You look right exhausted," Butterbur said, patting Frodo's shoulder at the end of the day. "Go ahead and sleep a little later tomorrow. You need not come in until noon. I am not a slave driver and will not see you ill from hard labor."
Frodo nodded. "Thank you," he said softly. He glanced toward the stairs, and something stirred in his groin again.
***
Frodo knocked on the first door on the left side at the top of the stairs. He could not believe how excited he had become. He was far from tired. His skin tingled, and he shivered, though he was not cold. Most pleasant of all, his groin throbbed as the memory of the Man's hand tweaking his nipple surged through him. His face felt flushed, feverish.
The door creaked open, and he was beckoned inside by a hulking figure that sat on the edge of the bed, his legs spread out as they had been in the tavern. The Man smiled wolfishly at Frodo, and this time he stared at Frodo's hardness in open appreciation.
"Take your clothes off," he growled.
"What's your name?" Frodo asked as he unbuttoned his vest with trembling fingers. Never would he have thought he could do such a thing. He remembered many a whispered conversation at the Green Dragon about lasses from bad families who had run off to Bree to become whores, never to be heard from again. It had sounded like such a horrid life, the worst that could happen to a respectable hobbit.
"My name's not important," the Man said with a dangerous smile. "And it's not your place to ask questions."
Frodo flung his vest on the floor and began to unbutton his shirt. He unclipped his braces, and his breeches fell around his ankles.
"Look at you, you're as hard as a rock," the Man said with a slow chuckle. "I think you may have lied to me about this being your first time, but no matter."
"It is,” Frodo said, stepping out of his breeches and peeling off his shirt, balling it up and throwing it in the pile.
"Then at least you're clean," the Man said. "Come here."
Frodo walked cautiously to him. He surged with such excitement that he barely felt it as the Man gripped his upper arms and roughly swung him onto the bed. He gasped in delight when his hardness pressed up against hot skin.
"What shall I do?" he asked.
The Man leaned over him, pinning Frodo's arms to the bed, staring into him. "I want to be inside your tight heat, halfling, but first I want to watch you writhe a bit."
Frodo looked at him in confusion.
The Man's rough hands clamped around Frodo's quivering, hardened member, emitting a harsh gasp from Frodo. Frodo thrust up into his grip, feeling dizzy with wanting, unaware of anything else. The inn could be on fire, but he would be unable to move until this itch was taken care of.
"You like it dirty and hard, don't you?" The Man said through clenched teeth, squeezing harder, clearly satisfied by the unadulterated pleasure on Frodo's flushed face.
"Yes!" Frodo gasped. "Yes!"
With an unbearable surge, like a crushing hot waterfall, he burst with a final thrust at the Man's tight grip. Though his member became flaccid, he continued to throb, gasping for breaths, and the Man released him and rubbed his sticky wet hands together. Suddenly, a cold sticky finger probed the cleft of Frodo's bottom, causing Frodo to gasp and flinch.
"No," he gasped.
"Shhhh!" The Man stuck his grubby finger inside, probing and twisting. His probing grew more insistent, and Frodo felt more pleasurable heat spread over him. If this was how it was, then why did not more hobbits come to Bree to make their fortune? There was no dishonor in something that made people so happy! Something inside him knew this was not fully true, but now he did not care. He was riding a wave that he never wanted to end.
"Come on, loosen up, halfling. I need you bigger than this to fit inside." The Man's hands yanked Frodo's cheeks wider and another finger was jammed inside. "Oh, my," the Man said with an amused chuckle. "This really is your first time." He leaned down and captured the delicate skin on Frodo's neck with his teeth, nipping gently. His tongue sought out Frodo's neck, ran along his jaw. "So sweet and fresh, you dirty little thing."
A scorching pain filled Frodo then, and he gasped, staring at the ceiling. What had he gotten himself into? This didn't feel good at all. It hurt badly. He squirmed in the Man's grip, but to no avail.
"No, get out," he cried, hitting the Man's muscled arms.
"Please, it hurts!" He could barely breathe with the Man's full weight on him.
"Shhh," the Man said, kissing Frodo's full lips. "Remember the coins, halfling. You like it like this, remember?
Quick and dirty, whore." A quick bite on Frodo's ear made him jump, and the movement sent a reverberation of intense hot prickling down his member. The engorged hardness began to fill him instead of tearing him and stretching him beyond belief, and it became like a globe of pleasure, bobbing inside him, seeking pin prickles of bliss.
"Oh," he breathed, and ceased his struggling. He never wanted it to end. "Yes, yes, yes!" he gasped in rhythm to the Man's thrusts.
"I want to feel your filthy hairy feet on me. Rub them up my legs, halfling."
Frodo could barely breathe, much less move, but somehow he moved his legs up and down the Man's own rather hairy legs.
Suddenly it was over with an explosion of heat and more wet stickiness. Frodo's muscles went limp, and he wanted to lie in languid, sticky peace in the arms of the one who had awakened such new and amazing sensations inside his body, but instead the Man jumped out of bed and pulled his breeches on. He grinned at Frodo in hard amusement.
"You're one of a kind, halfling. One of a kind. I ain't cleaning you up, though, and if you bleed on my sheets,
I'll hurt you, so you better get up and get dressed."
Frodo rolled off the bed, dizzy and spent. His inner thighs and bottom hurt dreadfully and he couldn't imagine how sore he'd be in the morning. He reached cautiously with trembling finger in between his thigh and his finger came away with some blood. He shivered pleasurably, thinking he'd clean himself up in his own room later. After he was dressed, the Man handed him three coins. Frodo looked at them in dazed shock. He had just been given coins for doing something he would do again in a heartbeat.
"I can't afford this every night," the Man said, shaking his head. "But I'll tell my friends about you." He winked, shuttling Frodo out the door of his room.
***
Frodo was horribly, dreadfully sore. When he walked, it felt like cruel knives were jabbing into his bottom. Well, pleasurable experience or not, that was the last time he would allow anyone to enter him in such a brutal way. Not if he was going to feel like this the next day.
Behind the bar, Frodo loaded a tray with a bin of bread and three ales. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and he jumped. Butterbur hovered over him, looking concerned.
"Are you hurt, halfling?"
Frodo shook his head. "No. No, not really. Well, just a little sore." He fumbled to think of an excuse for it. "Yesterday, a man knocked me to the ground, and I am a little bruised." With alarm, Frodo wondered if Butterbur would take it upon himself to examine him. He added hastily. "That is all; it is nothing."
"I see," Butterbur said, pursing his lips in annoyance.
"Would that my customers behaved more civilized like. I'll keep you mostly in the back with the cutlery. No sense getting you hurt like that."
"No, no, it is all right," Frodo said, dismayed. Washing cutlery was much worse than waiting on customers, who might end up being as interesting as the Man last night. "I like visiting with the folk of Bree. So different from the Shire and all."
Butterbur nodded. "You be careful then." He scowled as he wiped a wet cloth over the counter. "There's been some rough folk as of late-whores and thieves. I'd argue to keep you in the back more, but I need the help."
"Why can you not hire real help?" Frodo asked.
Butterbur let out a tired chuckle. "Frodo, this inn is in trouble. I can barely afford to pay myself, much less someone else. I had a hobbit assistant like yourself but I had to let him go just last month." He wiped his brow and shook it, looking sad.
"I see," Frodo said.
"Well, we should both get back to work." Butterbur nodded toward the back of the tavern. "There's some fellows placing coin bets on a card game in the back. They'd sure like some ale. If they're playing a fine game, they'll order all night and that will do us both good. Why don't you go take care of them?"
"That I will," Frodo said.
He limped to the back of the tavern. A group of five men hovered over a game, intent on it.
"Excuse me," Frodo said. "Would any of you like an ale?"
The men looked startled to see him, and Frodo warranted that they were not from Bree at all and were unaccustomed to seeing hobbits.
"Oh, one of them halfling folk," one of the Men said, squeezing Frodo's arm.
"Leave him be," another at the table said. He smiled at Frodo. "And yes, I would like an ale. In fact, what's your name, little one?"
"Frodo," Frodo said, swallowing, wildly attracted by the Man's green eyes. He imagined the Man thrusting against him just as the three-coin Man had last night.
"Frodo." The Man nodded dramatically with a small smile.
"Bring us all ales. I am buying the first round."
"Ah, Vik's being generous for once," one of his friends laughed.
"For once?" Vik laughed, and Frodo liked the richness of it. His hand gripping his cards looked masterful yet controlled. "I'd watch your tongue if I were you."
Frodo ducked away, flinching at the pain in his bottom.
Why was he thinking such thoughts about Vik? Well, they wouldn't have to do everything like he had done the night before. Vik seemed a decent enough fellow. He might agree to a lesser price for less action. Frodo smiled privately as he loaded the ale onto the tray. As almost an afterthought, he took off his vest and threw it behind the counter. He unbuttoned his shirt just enough so that if a
Man so chose, he could catch sight of a pink nipple on a smooth, pale chest.
Now if he could manage to bring the men their ales without dropping the tray.
When he reached the table, his heart dropped and then began to pound fast. The Man who had paid him three coins for his service last night was now sitting at the table with the card players. He was whispering in Vik's ear and they were both looking in Frodo's direction with grins on their faces. Frodo flushed as he passed around the ales.
"Frodo," Vik said quietly in his ear when he reached his side of the table. "I wonder if you might be able to show me to the privy."
Frodo pointed to a back door. "It's away out that door and-
"
"No, no," Vik said, clearing his throat. "Personally." He glanced at Frodo's chest, and Frodo's cheeks grew warm. He had not even had to make an effort.
"Yes." He placed the tray on an empty table and led Vik out of the Common Room into a dark corridor. Vik clasped his arm firmly but not painfully. He whispered, "I am not certain what to ask of you, I only know that I am much intrigued by you and Falon says you are…that you are trying to pay off a debt to the landlord here."
Frodo breathed quickly and leaned against the wall, looking up at Vik. "That is all true, and Falon…I enjoyed being with him immensely, but I wonder…you seem like a kind man and, well, I am very sore from--"
Vik laughed, but it was a kind laugh, and Frodo found himself smiling with him. "I have no doubt you are sore. No, I would not ask that of you."
"But I would ask but a coin for anything else…" Frodo glanced toward the Common Room. "Keeping in mind that I am expected back soon."
"Fair enough," Vik said. "I've never done this sort of thing myself." He handed Frodo a coin, and Frodo put it in his pocket. "I want to watch you pleasure yourself."
Frodo looked at Vik in uncertainly. "Pleasure myself?"
"Yes. That is all." Vik swallowed, looking abashed. "For now. I will be in Bree for a few weeks."
Frodo let his breeches fall to his ankles again, but this time he did not step out of them. Vik dropped to his knees in front of Frodo and kept his hands loosely on Frodo's bare hips. He looked down intently as Frodo clasped his member which quickly hardened under his own touch. "Are you sure this is all you desire?"
Vik nodded. "Please…continue."
Frodo stroked himself, leaning against the wall. He stared at the ceiling, panting in desire as he sagged into Vik's grip. His face heated, flushing with painful heat, and he groaned, rubbing his hips desperately against Vik's
calloused hands until with a final gasp, he climaxed into his own hands. He shuddered, sliding down the wall until he was seated.
Vik cupped Frodo's warm cheeks and kissed him firmly once on the lips. "Thank you, Frodo." He climbed to his feet.
"Are you certain?" Frodo asked. "A whole coin for only that?"
Vik grinned. "I am the captain of lawmen in my village of
Thrushwood. I am not hurting for coins." He noticed the worried expression on Frodo's face and laughed. "Do not fear. I will not tell the local law about you. You are far too intriguing for that."
"Thank you," Frodo whispered.
Vik helped Frodo to his feet before leaving him to go back into the Common Room.
***
Frodo was cleaning behind the counter the next evening.
His bottom was much less sore, though it still hurt to sit or move sharply. A lass entered the inn, and she caught
Frodo's eye because the inn seemed to be a place frequented almost entirely by Men (and occasional hobbits). The girl looked around the room, assessing, taking in the scene with her keen eyes. Frodo had never seen a girl with her face painted before, and he found himself staring. He wondered if she, too, worked for coins, and thought it likely.
One of Bree's lawmen had come in just a few minutes earlier, stepping in for a break on his patrols. When he had entered, Frodo had made certain that his shirt was buttoned all the way. No sense in getting into worse trouble than he already was.
"There's one of them whores now," Frodo overheard Butterbur say in disgust to the lawman. "I can't seem to keep them out of here. I get rid of one and another takes her place.
And." His voice dropped. "It's not just the lasses. A few good looking lads, usually slender-like, have been doing the same type of thing. What's this village come to, that's what I'd like to know? Was a time when things were proper and nice here."
Frodo could not understand the fuss. The lass probably enjoyed doing what she did, just as Frodo had the last two nights. Why was it considered such a lawless action?
"Do you wish us to arrest the whore?" the lawman asked in a bored voice.
"What's the point? There's no proof she's doing anything now. And they know all you fellows so it's nigh impossible for you to pretend to want service and then arrest them. And what? They get one night in jail. Hardly enough to make an impression, I'd say."
Frodo scuttled off at that point, unable to listen to more.
Butterbur thought kindly of him now, and he could not bear to think about what Butterbur would do or think if he knew what his hobbit servant had been up to the last few days.
An arm grabbed him, causing him to gasp. "Hoy, halfling."
Frodo looked up into a large Man with mean dark eyes. His hair was unkempt, and he smelled bad, as if he had gone months with no bath.
"Oh, I am sorry if I ran into you. I'm afraid I'm not watching where I'm-"
"You are available for coins?"
Frodo's stomach sank. He did not want to lie with a fellow like this. This man did not have Vik's kindness or even
Falon's willingness to gently initiate. He looked rude and rough, and Frodo was not sure he was ready to handle a Man like that. "Yes…well…normally, yes, but perhaps not this evening."
Fingers dug into his arm, cruelly clamping, and they hurt.
"Since when do you harlots get to decide when and with whom?" He shook Frodo a little. "See that lawman over there? I can easily turn you in. I know all about you.
You're not from around here, and they'll let you rot in jail." He let out a harsh laugh. "I'm just asking for a few minutes. Surely the landlord can spare ya?"
Frodo shook all over, but he was stuck. If he refused, this man would turn him into the law, and he had no doubt that if Butterbur knew the truth, he would let him be taken. "All right. But I can't…I'm very sore," he whispered miserably.
"I don't want to bang you, if that's what you think. Yer probably crawling with disease despite your pretty face."
The Man led Frodo out of the Common Room, and into a parlor just off the corridor from the Common Room. There was no bed, just a table and chair, harsh wooden floors, and a dark unlit fireplace.
The Man plopped on the chair, pulling Frodo to him. "I'll give you a coin to do all but that final thing."
Frodo swallowed. A coin was far too little to endure this disgusting Man. If only it was Vik again. He would do anything with Vik, even risk hurt to himself by allowing him that final act.
He kept his eyes down. "Falon paid me three."
A sudden blow to his cheek knocked him to the floor on his backside. Frodo looked up through tearing eyes. Nobody had ever hit him before. If this Man decided to seriously beat him, nobody would hear his cries for help.
The Man deliberately stood up, grabbed Frodo by the front of his shirt, and yanked him back to his feet. He then kneeled in front of Frodo so that they were eye to eye.
"One coin. Understood?"
Frodo nodded, his ears ringing. He trembled with shock that not everyone was kind like Vik or tolerant of hobbit
pertness like Falon. The Man handed him a dirty coin.
"Now you're mine." The filthy Man greedily unbuttoned
Frodo's shirt, luckily not ripping the buttons off. He slid a heavy arm around Frodo's waist and pulled him to him, clamping his foul-smelling mouth over Frodo's and kissing with angry violence. Frodo gagged, gasping for breath.
The Man bit Frodo hard on the neck, and Frodo muffled a cry of pain. This was utterly repulsive, and now he wished he had refused. Surely Butterbur would have believed him over this scoundrel.
The Man wrenched Frodo's hands together and forced them down his breeches. Frodo was now blindly grasping for a thickening member that was huge and clammy. The Man groaned loudly and released Frodo's waist long enough to pull his breeches down. He then yanked Frodo's down.
"You're not hard," he said in a snarl.
Frodo swallowed, feeling cold and frightened and not at all pleasured. He should have thrown the coin back at him and bolted, but now it was too late. "I'm sorry, I'm-"
"No matter." The Man moved back from Frodo and settled on his back, his hardness poking straight up, unbelievably huge. Frodo breathed a sigh of relief that the Man didn't want to be inside him. He doubted this Man would be gentle. "Lick me."
The idea of that Man inside his mouth made him gag even more, but he swallowed in determination. His cheek throbbed where he had been struck earlier. If he didn't cooperate, he might get beaten or even killed. Or worse. The Man would change his mind and take him harshly and with no mercy.
For seemingly hours, though it was probably in reality just a few minutes, Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and took the
Man in his mouth. The Man thrust into his mouth until he was sure he would choke and he knew the back of his mouth would be bruised. Then suddenly Frodo was on his back with the huge Man on top of him, and the Man's hardness was grinding against his cleft, though thankfully not penetrating. The Man clamped Frodo's arms so tightly that
Frodo could no longer feel them. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the Man would expend himself soon.
After an interminably long time, the Man finally shuddered, groaning, and a mass of warmth soaked Frodo's belly.
Frodo wanted to beg the now limp Man to move because he could barely breathe, but he did not dare. Finally the Man lifted himself up, climbing shakily to his feet. Frodo could not move just yet. He was trying to catch his breath.
Without warning, the Man's bare foot slammed into Frodo's side, and Frodo yelped in shocked pain, grabbing his side.
"That was for not getting hard for me, you little rat." The
Man stomped away from him to find his breeches. "I've half a mind to steal my coin back from you. But I might want you again, so I won't. Next time you better be ready for me or
I'll beat you within an inch of your life."
Frodo curled on the floor, afraid to move or respond. He had been wrong. This was not fun or easy. He had been lucky with Vik and before that, Falon, neither of whom had wished him harm. But he warranted that most Men who would take pleasure from him were more like this fellow, violent and mean, more likely to use their fists than their heads.
He released a shuddering breath. How could he have allowed himself into this mess? He had just been lucky that this
Man had not wanted him in the way Falon had taken him. If he had, Frodo thought he might be dead now.
After he left, Frodo dressed, shaking wildly, barely able to breathe for the pain in his side. Once dressed, he limped to a full-length mirror and stared. The side of his face was swelling, and blood had smeared over his lip. How was he going to explain this to Butterbur?
***
Frodo stumbled into the Common Room and made his way directly to the bar, behind which Butterbur was standing, still talking to the lawman. Frodo's ears rang, and every step was agony in his side, in his bottom again, and his face.
"Oh…oh, no!" Butterbur exclaimed when he saw him. "What happened? Oh, who did this?"
Frodo could not think of anything to say so he covered his face and sank to the floor behind the counter so that none of the customers could see him. He did not weep, for his eyes were utterly dry. "I'm sorry," he said several times, though he was not sure why he was apologizing.
"Oh, no," Butterbur said, kneeling down beside him, trying to get a better look at the hobbit's face. The lawman peered over the counter in curiosity. "I can't with good conscience have you working out on the floor if this is going to happen." He clasped Frodo's arms, and Frodo cried out in pain.
A determined look on his fat face, Butterbur, pulled Frodo's left sleeve up. He clicked his teeth in dismay when he saw the angry bruising in the shape of fingerprints on Frodo's upper arms.
"What is the matter?" the lawman asked. "Is he all right?"
"It appears he has been beaten," Butterbur said. "Come now, Frodo, let me take you back to your room. I'll get you set up with some ice on that welt on your face. What nasty brute did this?"
"No, no," Frodo said, looking up at the innkeeper in sudden fury. "Don't be kind to me. I don't deserve it."
"There now," Butterbur said, clearly confused by Frodo's outburst. "You're hurt and upset, but I've got to get back to work, so--"
"Could I assist?" The lawman looked kindly, like Vik, and
Frodo scrunched his eyes shut, picturing the man's eyes changing to cold rocks when he found out what Frodo had done. "I could accompany him back to his room."
"No, no," Frodo said, shaking Butterbur's hand off his arm.
"I am all right. I will go right back to work."
"Would you not point out the brute who struck you?" the lawman asked, shaking his head in disgust. "I find it utterly repulsive, how anyone can hit on someone half their size like that."
"No, no," Frodo said, swallowing in frantic nervousness.
"He is gone. Please…let me be. I will be all right."
Butterbur nodded. "If you are all right, there are plenty of folk out on the floor that need refreshing. But if someone beats on you, you holler next time, you hear? I'll not stand for that."
Frodo nodded.
"Thank you," he whispered before walking back into the crowd. When men caught sight of his swollen face, he averted his eyes. Most were kind enough not to mention it, though a few chuckled and made rude jokes about tavern brawls.
"Pardon me." Frodo cringed as a Man sitting alone at a table gazed at him appraisingly. Frodo's stomach sank.
This Man looked as unappealing as the Man who had struck him. "A moment of your time, if you please?"
Frodo nodded and stood before him. "Yes?"
"That's quite a mark you've got on your face."
"Not everyone is kind," Frodo said, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Tis a pity to ruin such lovely skin as you have," the Man said, letting his stubby fingers run over Frodo's cheek.
"Now here's what I can offer you. My friend and I…neither of us have had a halfling before, and Falon told us 'bout you…said you were lovely and a rare find that enjoys it.
We'd be willing to pay you three coins if you would spend some time with us."
"Us?" Frodo asked uncertainly. "What do you mean?" He looked nervously behind him at the bar. Butterbur was staring at him, and he did not look happy that Frodo was not hurrying.
"Both of us. Together. Name's Kelin. My friend's name is
Ferny. Bill Ferny."
"I…I don't know…Butterbur, he is getting suspicious of my absences…"
"After hours." Kelin winked. "We'll be waiting in the second room at the right at the top of the second flight of steps. Are you willing?"
Frodo closed his eyes. He was so sore. And his last experience had made him wary of Men. But three coins. If he had not dropped so much cutlery, that would be enough to pay off his debt completely.
"All right then. I will come," he said quietly and walked away without waiting for a response.
Another voice, much more wanted, spoke his name as he passed the darkest corner of the inn. Frodo turned with a soft smile. Vik! But Vik's glad smile faded when he saw
Frodo's bruised face.
"Who did this to you?" The Man asked, pulling Frodo close to the wooden bench he sat on, and putting a gentle finger under Frodo's chin to examine the bruising.
"It doesn't matter," Frodo said, his heart leaping in joy that Vik seemed to care. "It is over." He could not believe his luck that Vik had returned so soon.
"Come sit with me a moment."
"I can't." Frodo looked warily at the bar. At the moment,
Butterbur appeared to be distracted by some customers who were bantering with him. "I am supposed to be working."
"If your landlord comes, I'll explain that it is official business. Come, sit."
Frodo sidled into the bench beside him, feeling happy warmth as Vik's arm slid around his waist.
"Now," Vik said. "I understand you're a well-to-do halfling from a good family, only caught here by unfortunate circumstances."
"How do you know?" Frodo asked, amused. Vik's hand slid down and rubbed his thigh affectionately. Frodo felt himself harden. He wished he could go into a room alone with Vik instead of the two he had agreed to pleasure later that night.
"Your clothing, your demeanor. Well, it doesn't matter. I just want to warn you that there's beginning to be more talk about you, and that means you must be wary. You are considered quite a jewel. Do you know what most whores in this village make for a tumble in bed?"
Frodo shook his head. "Two coins? Three?"
Vik laughed before he dropped his voice and became serious.
"Try one quarter of a coin."
Frodo stared at him, awestruck. "Then why…how?"
"You are beautiful, and everyone, even the dumbest of ruffians, can sense that you do not belong in this life.
Your eyes…I can tell you from experience that they leave one breathless and dizzy. I could go on." Vik swallowed and gripped Frodo's thigh, obviously distracted, and Frodo noticed how full of pain his green eyes looked.
"What is it, Vik?" Frodo asked softly.
"The lawmen of this village are considering making the penalty for what you are doing much harsher than it ever has been before. I do not wish to see you lashed in public or left to rot in a jail far from your green home."
Frodo managed a smile, though he felt tears threaten at the mention of his home. "Why are you so kind? You hardly know me."
"May I buy a kiss from you?"
Frodo's heart sank. He had begun to think that Vik had taken a personal interest in him, but he still considered him an object to be bought.
"You may have one for no charge," he said faintly.
"No, not yet," Vik said, his eyes hardening. "Not until you are free." He slipped a coin into Frodo's hand and kissed the hobbit deeply. He pulled back abruptly, and they both looked up to see a furious Butterbur hovering over them.
TBC
Go on to next part
Author: Claudia
Pairing: F/A, F/everyone else
Rating: NC17
Summary: There are some roads Frodo should never have
taken?
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money
from them.
Story notes: More fluff? This is probably my ultimate in
Frodo filth. Prostitution, graphic sex, other crimes to
Tolkien, mpreg? Heh. Not yet, but I'm open to it. I mean,
I'm RILLY going to Tolkien Hell for this one.
Frodo did not know what had gotten into him the first time he sold himself for coins in Bree. He only knew now that he was in quite a fix because the good villagers of Bree were fed up with the whores and ruffians and other ill-reputed folk. They had actually commissioned the hated and distrusted Rangers to help them by posing as ruffians willing to rob old women and folk willing to pay for a night of pleasure. Frodo had unknowingly propositioned a
Ranger by the name of Strider, and now he was in this
Ranger's custody awaiting trial.
Strider had asked him how a decent gentlehobbit from the quiet Shire had gotten himself into such an embarrassing position. Frodo would not talk to Strider, but he privately blamed Bilbo. Frodo had originally gone to Bree in hopes of finding information about Bilbo since Gandalf had been rather secretive about it.
Frodo had been sitting in old Butterbur's inn, sipping ale and feeling small and uncomfortable, when a Man sat beside him. Frodo found that odd because the Men and Hobbits of
Bree kept to their own kinds. There weren't many Hobbits in Bree, and there were actually only about three in Butterbur's inn that evening. They had not invited Frodo to sit with them, and Frodo thought it was most uncouth of them, a sure sign that hobbits of the Shire were much more refined.
"You from the Shire?" the Man asked. Frodo bristled. He hated it when people could perceive that he was out of place.
"No," he said sullenly.
"Could have fooled me." He touched Frodo's cheek. "You're a pretty little thing."
Frodo inched away, feeling trapped. Bilbo had warned him of strange dangers in the world Outside, but Frodo had never dreamed of this. "Please leave me be."
"You sure?" A large hand slid over Frodo's bottom, making the hobbit squirm. "I've got a room upstairs. We could have some fun. I'd pay you a pretty price."
Frodo gave him as disgusted a look as possible. "No thank you." He could not believe that man had just treated him like a common whore! Frodo swallowed in revulsion. "Please leave me alone."
"Have it yer way then," the Man said with a chuckle, moving away. "But if you change your mind, I'll be around."
It was getting late, and Frodo decided he should ask
Butterbur about settling into one of the hobbit rooms. He reached in his breeches for his coins and found none. His hand froze.
The Man had no doubt robbed him while feeling his bottom!
Frodo swallowed with rage. Well, now he had no way to pay for his ale and the huge meal he had consumed. He had already seen one Man get turned over to the lawmen this evening. He didn't want to be the next victim. He hated to do it, but the only thing he could do was slip out as quietly as possible and find a place outdoors to sleep.
When he got home, he could send Butterbur the money. He was an honest hobbit, after all.
Heart thudding, he slipped along the wall, headed for the door. Just as he was nearly out the door, Butterbur blocked his way.
"Hoy, there, Halfling. Aren't you forgetting something."
If Butterbur hadn't been so fat, Frodo might have been able to slip past him, but as it was, he had no choice but to face up to what had happened. He began to tremble. He had never been in so helpless a position before.
"I am sorry," Frodo said, his eyes filling with quick tears. "I have been robbed. A Man, he came to me-“
"You have no intention of paying me for my ale?"
Butterbur's voice was fierce as he gripped Frodo's arm.
Frodo covered his face with his hands. He could not bear looking into the innkeeper's face. Nothing like this had ever happened to him.
"Now, now," Butterbur said, his voice softening. "You know
I don't like to do this, not to a rare visitor from the
Shire…here now, don't shake so…I'm not going to hurt you."
Butterbur led Frodo to a bench and sat beside him, keeping a firm arm around him, tugging gently but unsuccessfully at Frodo's hands that covered his face.
Frodo was truly frightened. He didn't know what would happen if Butterbur called the lawmen in for him. He had never seen a jail before, and he could only imagine how cold and damp and full of miserable, hard criminals it would be. And nobody from home knew where he had gone. He had told Sam he was visiting at Brandy Hall.
"I don't know what to do," Frodo said, his voice cracking.
He furiously wiped a few tears away before covering his face again in embarrassment. He was a gentlehobbit, come of age, and there was no excuse to weep in public, especially not in front of Men, who saw such expression of emotion as a weakness. "He took all I had. I can't go to jail, Mr.
Butterbur, it will kill me."
Frodo hadn't meant it literally, but Butterbur didn't know enough about hobbits to understand that. The innkeeper rubbed Frodo's back in a soothing manner. "There now, I can't in good conscience do something that would kill you. Stop shaking, Halfling. I'm not an ogre, and I'm not going to call the lawmen. What you can do is work for me…wash cutlery, sweep the floor, take orders. You can sleep in one of the bottom rooms. I'll pay you half a coin a day. When you make up your bill, which was eight coins, then you are free to go. Understand?"
Frodo nodded, relieved to have been let off the hook so easily. He dropped the hands from his face and smiled up at Butterbur through his tears. "Thank you, sir. Thank you kindly."
***
Working for Butterbur was much harder than Frodo had imagined. The dish water scalded his hands, and the customers were often rude. Some grabbed him or pinched his bottom. A drunk Man pushed him to the ground while he was carrying a tray of ale. Butterbur had not been happy with the broken cutlery and spill that had resulted, and Frodo had cut his hand while cleaning it up.
By the fourth night, he was stumbling with exhaustion. He had worked since the sun rose that morning, and now it was close to midnight. He could not accuse Butterbur of being particularly cruel to him, since the fat innkeeper worked just as many hours as he did. But Frodo was not accustomed to such hard labor, and as he carried another tray, heavy with bowls of soup and ale, his feet stumbled, and the tray slipped from his hands. Frodo watched through blurred eyes as soup filled with chunks of mushrooms and chicken trickled through the floorboards. The Men in the vicinity laughed cruelly. All Frodo could think about was that he had to clean it up.
Butterbur lost patience and grabbed his arm, yanking him around to face him. His normally kindly face was red with anger. "That has just been added to your debt."
"I'm sorry," Frodo whispered. His stomach sank. He would never pay him off now. Never.
"Clean it up." Butterbur shoved a sopping mop in his hand and stomped off. Frodo's throat filled. Butterbur was not usually so short with him.
At the corner of his eye, he caught view of the Man who had stolen his coins sitting in the back of the tavern. Frodo felt a fury spread over his chest. Without staying to pick up the pieces, he stalked across the room until he was standing eye to eye with the Man, breathing in quick enraged gasps. The Man, sitting on a wooden chair, his legs spread out, chuckled and grasped Frodo around the waist, pulling the hobbit toward him.
"You stole my coins!" Frodo pointed in the Man's face, not caring about the consequences. The Man could break his neck with his bare hands if he wished. "Give them back to me!"
The Man laughed uproariously. He apparently found it amusing to be holding an enraged halfling around the waist.
"Would you like to earn them back?" the Man asked with a sardonic grin.
"What?" Frodo asked, flushing. "What are you talking about?"
"Do you remember what I proposed the last time we met?" The
Man winked and let one of his hands slide to Frodo's bottom again. Frodo flinched, but between his rage and his exhaustion, he felt a strange warmth spread between his legs.
"I'll have Butterbur call in the lawmen," he said, shifting his legs uncomfortably, hoping the Man would not catch sight of the growing bulge in his breeches. "They will get my coins back from you. You're nothing but a thief!"
The Man squeezed Frodo's bottom. "I believe that you are the thief, halfling. So, I ask you again. Would you like to earn the coins back? I'll pay you two coins for a night."
"That's all?" Frodo said in a gasp, using any ploy to keep the Man from looking down at his breeches, but as soon as he spoke, the Man's grin faded, and Frodo swallowed, thinking perhaps he had overstepped his bounds.
"You think you are worth more than two coins, halfling?"
"But I've never…” Frodo began to tremble all over. He could not understand why the Man's stroking of his bottom was making him so hard. Fear and exhaustion, perhaps. "I've never done as you've suggested." He cast his eyes down, blushing furiously.
"Never?" The firm arm curled around Frodo's waist, pulling him even closer, forcing Frodo to look into the muddy eyes of the Man. "Never done this? I find that difficult to believe. What a waste, I say. There is but one way to find out. Tell you what, Halfling." His voice dropped. Frodo saw a growing bulge in the Man's groin. "I'll take you up for a tumble in the bed. If what you say is true, then I will pay you three coins. Three coins, Halfling. That is six days of work for Butterbur. What say you to that?"
Frodo thought about the cutlery that he would need to clean, the floors to scrub, and all this still before he went to bed.
The Man's hand slid under Frodo's shirt, snaking up to rub over his nipples. Frodo gasped, having never felt such pleasurable sensations. "When your work is done, come to the first room to the left at the top of the first flight of stairs."
The rest of the evening went by in a blur.
"You look right exhausted," Butterbur said, patting Frodo's shoulder at the end of the day. "Go ahead and sleep a little later tomorrow. You need not come in until noon. I am not a slave driver and will not see you ill from hard labor."
Frodo nodded. "Thank you," he said softly. He glanced toward the stairs, and something stirred in his groin again.
***
Frodo knocked on the first door on the left side at the top of the stairs. He could not believe how excited he had become. He was far from tired. His skin tingled, and he shivered, though he was not cold. Most pleasant of all, his groin throbbed as the memory of the Man's hand tweaking his nipple surged through him. His face felt flushed, feverish.
The door creaked open, and he was beckoned inside by a hulking figure that sat on the edge of the bed, his legs spread out as they had been in the tavern. The Man smiled wolfishly at Frodo, and this time he stared at Frodo's hardness in open appreciation.
"Take your clothes off," he growled.
"What's your name?" Frodo asked as he unbuttoned his vest with trembling fingers. Never would he have thought he could do such a thing. He remembered many a whispered conversation at the Green Dragon about lasses from bad families who had run off to Bree to become whores, never to be heard from again. It had sounded like such a horrid life, the worst that could happen to a respectable hobbit.
"My name's not important," the Man said with a dangerous smile. "And it's not your place to ask questions."
Frodo flung his vest on the floor and began to unbutton his shirt. He unclipped his braces, and his breeches fell around his ankles.
"Look at you, you're as hard as a rock," the Man said with a slow chuckle. "I think you may have lied to me about this being your first time, but no matter."
"It is,” Frodo said, stepping out of his breeches and peeling off his shirt, balling it up and throwing it in the pile.
"Then at least you're clean," the Man said. "Come here."
Frodo walked cautiously to him. He surged with such excitement that he barely felt it as the Man gripped his upper arms and roughly swung him onto the bed. He gasped in delight when his hardness pressed up against hot skin.
"What shall I do?" he asked.
The Man leaned over him, pinning Frodo's arms to the bed, staring into him. "I want to be inside your tight heat, halfling, but first I want to watch you writhe a bit."
Frodo looked at him in confusion.
The Man's rough hands clamped around Frodo's quivering, hardened member, emitting a harsh gasp from Frodo. Frodo thrust up into his grip, feeling dizzy with wanting, unaware of anything else. The inn could be on fire, but he would be unable to move until this itch was taken care of.
"You like it dirty and hard, don't you?" The Man said through clenched teeth, squeezing harder, clearly satisfied by the unadulterated pleasure on Frodo's flushed face.
"Yes!" Frodo gasped. "Yes!"
With an unbearable surge, like a crushing hot waterfall, he burst with a final thrust at the Man's tight grip. Though his member became flaccid, he continued to throb, gasping for breaths, and the Man released him and rubbed his sticky wet hands together. Suddenly, a cold sticky finger probed the cleft of Frodo's bottom, causing Frodo to gasp and flinch.
"No," he gasped.
"Shhhh!" The Man stuck his grubby finger inside, probing and twisting. His probing grew more insistent, and Frodo felt more pleasurable heat spread over him. If this was how it was, then why did not more hobbits come to Bree to make their fortune? There was no dishonor in something that made people so happy! Something inside him knew this was not fully true, but now he did not care. He was riding a wave that he never wanted to end.
"Come on, loosen up, halfling. I need you bigger than this to fit inside." The Man's hands yanked Frodo's cheeks wider and another finger was jammed inside. "Oh, my," the Man said with an amused chuckle. "This really is your first time." He leaned down and captured the delicate skin on Frodo's neck with his teeth, nipping gently. His tongue sought out Frodo's neck, ran along his jaw. "So sweet and fresh, you dirty little thing."
A scorching pain filled Frodo then, and he gasped, staring at the ceiling. What had he gotten himself into? This didn't feel good at all. It hurt badly. He squirmed in the Man's grip, but to no avail.
"No, get out," he cried, hitting the Man's muscled arms.
"Please, it hurts!" He could barely breathe with the Man's full weight on him.
"Shhh," the Man said, kissing Frodo's full lips. "Remember the coins, halfling. You like it like this, remember?
Quick and dirty, whore." A quick bite on Frodo's ear made him jump, and the movement sent a reverberation of intense hot prickling down his member. The engorged hardness began to fill him instead of tearing him and stretching him beyond belief, and it became like a globe of pleasure, bobbing inside him, seeking pin prickles of bliss.
"Oh," he breathed, and ceased his struggling. He never wanted it to end. "Yes, yes, yes!" he gasped in rhythm to the Man's thrusts.
"I want to feel your filthy hairy feet on me. Rub them up my legs, halfling."
Frodo could barely breathe, much less move, but somehow he moved his legs up and down the Man's own rather hairy legs.
Suddenly it was over with an explosion of heat and more wet stickiness. Frodo's muscles went limp, and he wanted to lie in languid, sticky peace in the arms of the one who had awakened such new and amazing sensations inside his body, but instead the Man jumped out of bed and pulled his breeches on. He grinned at Frodo in hard amusement.
"You're one of a kind, halfling. One of a kind. I ain't cleaning you up, though, and if you bleed on my sheets,
I'll hurt you, so you better get up and get dressed."
Frodo rolled off the bed, dizzy and spent. His inner thighs and bottom hurt dreadfully and he couldn't imagine how sore he'd be in the morning. He reached cautiously with trembling finger in between his thigh and his finger came away with some blood. He shivered pleasurably, thinking he'd clean himself up in his own room later. After he was dressed, the Man handed him three coins. Frodo looked at them in dazed shock. He had just been given coins for doing something he would do again in a heartbeat.
"I can't afford this every night," the Man said, shaking his head. "But I'll tell my friends about you." He winked, shuttling Frodo out the door of his room.
***
Frodo was horribly, dreadfully sore. When he walked, it felt like cruel knives were jabbing into his bottom. Well, pleasurable experience or not, that was the last time he would allow anyone to enter him in such a brutal way. Not if he was going to feel like this the next day.
Behind the bar, Frodo loaded a tray with a bin of bread and three ales. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and he jumped. Butterbur hovered over him, looking concerned.
"Are you hurt, halfling?"
Frodo shook his head. "No. No, not really. Well, just a little sore." He fumbled to think of an excuse for it. "Yesterday, a man knocked me to the ground, and I am a little bruised." With alarm, Frodo wondered if Butterbur would take it upon himself to examine him. He added hastily. "That is all; it is nothing."
"I see," Butterbur said, pursing his lips in annoyance.
"Would that my customers behaved more civilized like. I'll keep you mostly in the back with the cutlery. No sense getting you hurt like that."
"No, no, it is all right," Frodo said, dismayed. Washing cutlery was much worse than waiting on customers, who might end up being as interesting as the Man last night. "I like visiting with the folk of Bree. So different from the Shire and all."
Butterbur nodded. "You be careful then." He scowled as he wiped a wet cloth over the counter. "There's been some rough folk as of late-whores and thieves. I'd argue to keep you in the back more, but I need the help."
"Why can you not hire real help?" Frodo asked.
Butterbur let out a tired chuckle. "Frodo, this inn is in trouble. I can barely afford to pay myself, much less someone else. I had a hobbit assistant like yourself but I had to let him go just last month." He wiped his brow and shook it, looking sad.
"I see," Frodo said.
"Well, we should both get back to work." Butterbur nodded toward the back of the tavern. "There's some fellows placing coin bets on a card game in the back. They'd sure like some ale. If they're playing a fine game, they'll order all night and that will do us both good. Why don't you go take care of them?"
"That I will," Frodo said.
He limped to the back of the tavern. A group of five men hovered over a game, intent on it.
"Excuse me," Frodo said. "Would any of you like an ale?"
The men looked startled to see him, and Frodo warranted that they were not from Bree at all and were unaccustomed to seeing hobbits.
"Oh, one of them halfling folk," one of the Men said, squeezing Frodo's arm.
"Leave him be," another at the table said. He smiled at Frodo. "And yes, I would like an ale. In fact, what's your name, little one?"
"Frodo," Frodo said, swallowing, wildly attracted by the Man's green eyes. He imagined the Man thrusting against him just as the three-coin Man had last night.
"Frodo." The Man nodded dramatically with a small smile.
"Bring us all ales. I am buying the first round."
"Ah, Vik's being generous for once," one of his friends laughed.
"For once?" Vik laughed, and Frodo liked the richness of it. His hand gripping his cards looked masterful yet controlled. "I'd watch your tongue if I were you."
Frodo ducked away, flinching at the pain in his bottom.
Why was he thinking such thoughts about Vik? Well, they wouldn't have to do everything like he had done the night before. Vik seemed a decent enough fellow. He might agree to a lesser price for less action. Frodo smiled privately as he loaded the ale onto the tray. As almost an afterthought, he took off his vest and threw it behind the counter. He unbuttoned his shirt just enough so that if a
Man so chose, he could catch sight of a pink nipple on a smooth, pale chest.
Now if he could manage to bring the men their ales without dropping the tray.
When he reached the table, his heart dropped and then began to pound fast. The Man who had paid him three coins for his service last night was now sitting at the table with the card players. He was whispering in Vik's ear and they were both looking in Frodo's direction with grins on their faces. Frodo flushed as he passed around the ales.
"Frodo," Vik said quietly in his ear when he reached his side of the table. "I wonder if you might be able to show me to the privy."
Frodo pointed to a back door. "It's away out that door and-
"
"No, no," Vik said, clearing his throat. "Personally." He glanced at Frodo's chest, and Frodo's cheeks grew warm. He had not even had to make an effort.
"Yes." He placed the tray on an empty table and led Vik out of the Common Room into a dark corridor. Vik clasped his arm firmly but not painfully. He whispered, "I am not certain what to ask of you, I only know that I am much intrigued by you and Falon says you are…that you are trying to pay off a debt to the landlord here."
Frodo breathed quickly and leaned against the wall, looking up at Vik. "That is all true, and Falon…I enjoyed being with him immensely, but I wonder…you seem like a kind man and, well, I am very sore from--"
Vik laughed, but it was a kind laugh, and Frodo found himself smiling with him. "I have no doubt you are sore. No, I would not ask that of you."
"But I would ask but a coin for anything else…" Frodo glanced toward the Common Room. "Keeping in mind that I am expected back soon."
"Fair enough," Vik said. "I've never done this sort of thing myself." He handed Frodo a coin, and Frodo put it in his pocket. "I want to watch you pleasure yourself."
Frodo looked at Vik in uncertainly. "Pleasure myself?"
"Yes. That is all." Vik swallowed, looking abashed. "For now. I will be in Bree for a few weeks."
Frodo let his breeches fall to his ankles again, but this time he did not step out of them. Vik dropped to his knees in front of Frodo and kept his hands loosely on Frodo's bare hips. He looked down intently as Frodo clasped his member which quickly hardened under his own touch. "Are you sure this is all you desire?"
Vik nodded. "Please…continue."
Frodo stroked himself, leaning against the wall. He stared at the ceiling, panting in desire as he sagged into Vik's grip. His face heated, flushing with painful heat, and he groaned, rubbing his hips desperately against Vik's
calloused hands until with a final gasp, he climaxed into his own hands. He shuddered, sliding down the wall until he was seated.
Vik cupped Frodo's warm cheeks and kissed him firmly once on the lips. "Thank you, Frodo." He climbed to his feet.
"Are you certain?" Frodo asked. "A whole coin for only that?"
Vik grinned. "I am the captain of lawmen in my village of
Thrushwood. I am not hurting for coins." He noticed the worried expression on Frodo's face and laughed. "Do not fear. I will not tell the local law about you. You are far too intriguing for that."
"Thank you," Frodo whispered.
Vik helped Frodo to his feet before leaving him to go back into the Common Room.
***
Frodo was cleaning behind the counter the next evening.
His bottom was much less sore, though it still hurt to sit or move sharply. A lass entered the inn, and she caught
Frodo's eye because the inn seemed to be a place frequented almost entirely by Men (and occasional hobbits). The girl looked around the room, assessing, taking in the scene with her keen eyes. Frodo had never seen a girl with her face painted before, and he found himself staring. He wondered if she, too, worked for coins, and thought it likely.
One of Bree's lawmen had come in just a few minutes earlier, stepping in for a break on his patrols. When he had entered, Frodo had made certain that his shirt was buttoned all the way. No sense in getting into worse trouble than he already was.
"There's one of them whores now," Frodo overheard Butterbur say in disgust to the lawman. "I can't seem to keep them out of here. I get rid of one and another takes her place.
And." His voice dropped. "It's not just the lasses. A few good looking lads, usually slender-like, have been doing the same type of thing. What's this village come to, that's what I'd like to know? Was a time when things were proper and nice here."
Frodo could not understand the fuss. The lass probably enjoyed doing what she did, just as Frodo had the last two nights. Why was it considered such a lawless action?
"Do you wish us to arrest the whore?" the lawman asked in a bored voice.
"What's the point? There's no proof she's doing anything now. And they know all you fellows so it's nigh impossible for you to pretend to want service and then arrest them. And what? They get one night in jail. Hardly enough to make an impression, I'd say."
Frodo scuttled off at that point, unable to listen to more.
Butterbur thought kindly of him now, and he could not bear to think about what Butterbur would do or think if he knew what his hobbit servant had been up to the last few days.
An arm grabbed him, causing him to gasp. "Hoy, halfling."
Frodo looked up into a large Man with mean dark eyes. His hair was unkempt, and he smelled bad, as if he had gone months with no bath.
"Oh, I am sorry if I ran into you. I'm afraid I'm not watching where I'm-"
"You are available for coins?"
Frodo's stomach sank. He did not want to lie with a fellow like this. This man did not have Vik's kindness or even
Falon's willingness to gently initiate. He looked rude and rough, and Frodo was not sure he was ready to handle a Man like that. "Yes…well…normally, yes, but perhaps not this evening."
Fingers dug into his arm, cruelly clamping, and they hurt.
"Since when do you harlots get to decide when and with whom?" He shook Frodo a little. "See that lawman over there? I can easily turn you in. I know all about you.
You're not from around here, and they'll let you rot in jail." He let out a harsh laugh. "I'm just asking for a few minutes. Surely the landlord can spare ya?"
Frodo shook all over, but he was stuck. If he refused, this man would turn him into the law, and he had no doubt that if Butterbur knew the truth, he would let him be taken. "All right. But I can't…I'm very sore," he whispered miserably.
"I don't want to bang you, if that's what you think. Yer probably crawling with disease despite your pretty face."
The Man led Frodo out of the Common Room, and into a parlor just off the corridor from the Common Room. There was no bed, just a table and chair, harsh wooden floors, and a dark unlit fireplace.
The Man plopped on the chair, pulling Frodo to him. "I'll give you a coin to do all but that final thing."
Frodo swallowed. A coin was far too little to endure this disgusting Man. If only it was Vik again. He would do anything with Vik, even risk hurt to himself by allowing him that final act.
He kept his eyes down. "Falon paid me three."
A sudden blow to his cheek knocked him to the floor on his backside. Frodo looked up through tearing eyes. Nobody had ever hit him before. If this Man decided to seriously beat him, nobody would hear his cries for help.
The Man deliberately stood up, grabbed Frodo by the front of his shirt, and yanked him back to his feet. He then kneeled in front of Frodo so that they were eye to eye.
"One coin. Understood?"
Frodo nodded, his ears ringing. He trembled with shock that not everyone was kind like Vik or tolerant of hobbit
pertness like Falon. The Man handed him a dirty coin.
"Now you're mine." The filthy Man greedily unbuttoned
Frodo's shirt, luckily not ripping the buttons off. He slid a heavy arm around Frodo's waist and pulled him to him, clamping his foul-smelling mouth over Frodo's and kissing with angry violence. Frodo gagged, gasping for breath.
The Man bit Frodo hard on the neck, and Frodo muffled a cry of pain. This was utterly repulsive, and now he wished he had refused. Surely Butterbur would have believed him over this scoundrel.
The Man wrenched Frodo's hands together and forced them down his breeches. Frodo was now blindly grasping for a thickening member that was huge and clammy. The Man groaned loudly and released Frodo's waist long enough to pull his breeches down. He then yanked Frodo's down.
"You're not hard," he said in a snarl.
Frodo swallowed, feeling cold and frightened and not at all pleasured. He should have thrown the coin back at him and bolted, but now it was too late. "I'm sorry, I'm-"
"No matter." The Man moved back from Frodo and settled on his back, his hardness poking straight up, unbelievably huge. Frodo breathed a sigh of relief that the Man didn't want to be inside him. He doubted this Man would be gentle. "Lick me."
The idea of that Man inside his mouth made him gag even more, but he swallowed in determination. His cheek throbbed where he had been struck earlier. If he didn't cooperate, he might get beaten or even killed. Or worse. The Man would change his mind and take him harshly and with no mercy.
For seemingly hours, though it was probably in reality just a few minutes, Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and took the
Man in his mouth. The Man thrust into his mouth until he was sure he would choke and he knew the back of his mouth would be bruised. Then suddenly Frodo was on his back with the huge Man on top of him, and the Man's hardness was grinding against his cleft, though thankfully not penetrating. The Man clamped Frodo's arms so tightly that
Frodo could no longer feel them. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the Man would expend himself soon.
After an interminably long time, the Man finally shuddered, groaning, and a mass of warmth soaked Frodo's belly.
Frodo wanted to beg the now limp Man to move because he could barely breathe, but he did not dare. Finally the Man lifted himself up, climbing shakily to his feet. Frodo could not move just yet. He was trying to catch his breath.
Without warning, the Man's bare foot slammed into Frodo's side, and Frodo yelped in shocked pain, grabbing his side.
"That was for not getting hard for me, you little rat." The
Man stomped away from him to find his breeches. "I've half a mind to steal my coin back from you. But I might want you again, so I won't. Next time you better be ready for me or
I'll beat you within an inch of your life."
Frodo curled on the floor, afraid to move or respond. He had been wrong. This was not fun or easy. He had been lucky with Vik and before that, Falon, neither of whom had wished him harm. But he warranted that most Men who would take pleasure from him were more like this fellow, violent and mean, more likely to use their fists than their heads.
He released a shuddering breath. How could he have allowed himself into this mess? He had just been lucky that this
Man had not wanted him in the way Falon had taken him. If he had, Frodo thought he might be dead now.
After he left, Frodo dressed, shaking wildly, barely able to breathe for the pain in his side. Once dressed, he limped to a full-length mirror and stared. The side of his face was swelling, and blood had smeared over his lip. How was he going to explain this to Butterbur?
***
Frodo stumbled into the Common Room and made his way directly to the bar, behind which Butterbur was standing, still talking to the lawman. Frodo's ears rang, and every step was agony in his side, in his bottom again, and his face.
"Oh…oh, no!" Butterbur exclaimed when he saw him. "What happened? Oh, who did this?"
Frodo could not think of anything to say so he covered his face and sank to the floor behind the counter so that none of the customers could see him. He did not weep, for his eyes were utterly dry. "I'm sorry," he said several times, though he was not sure why he was apologizing.
"Oh, no," Butterbur said, kneeling down beside him, trying to get a better look at the hobbit's face. The lawman peered over the counter in curiosity. "I can't with good conscience have you working out on the floor if this is going to happen." He clasped Frodo's arms, and Frodo cried out in pain.
A determined look on his fat face, Butterbur, pulled Frodo's left sleeve up. He clicked his teeth in dismay when he saw the angry bruising in the shape of fingerprints on Frodo's upper arms.
"What is the matter?" the lawman asked. "Is he all right?"
"It appears he has been beaten," Butterbur said. "Come now, Frodo, let me take you back to your room. I'll get you set up with some ice on that welt on your face. What nasty brute did this?"
"No, no," Frodo said, looking up at the innkeeper in sudden fury. "Don't be kind to me. I don't deserve it."
"There now," Butterbur said, clearly confused by Frodo's outburst. "You're hurt and upset, but I've got to get back to work, so--"
"Could I assist?" The lawman looked kindly, like Vik, and
Frodo scrunched his eyes shut, picturing the man's eyes changing to cold rocks when he found out what Frodo had done. "I could accompany him back to his room."
"No, no," Frodo said, shaking Butterbur's hand off his arm.
"I am all right. I will go right back to work."
"Would you not point out the brute who struck you?" the lawman asked, shaking his head in disgust. "I find it utterly repulsive, how anyone can hit on someone half their size like that."
"No, no," Frodo said, swallowing in frantic nervousness.
"He is gone. Please…let me be. I will be all right."
Butterbur nodded. "If you are all right, there are plenty of folk out on the floor that need refreshing. But if someone beats on you, you holler next time, you hear? I'll not stand for that."
Frodo nodded.
"Thank you," he whispered before walking back into the crowd. When men caught sight of his swollen face, he averted his eyes. Most were kind enough not to mention it, though a few chuckled and made rude jokes about tavern brawls.
"Pardon me." Frodo cringed as a Man sitting alone at a table gazed at him appraisingly. Frodo's stomach sank.
This Man looked as unappealing as the Man who had struck him. "A moment of your time, if you please?"
Frodo nodded and stood before him. "Yes?"
"That's quite a mark you've got on your face."
"Not everyone is kind," Frodo said, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Tis a pity to ruin such lovely skin as you have," the Man said, letting his stubby fingers run over Frodo's cheek.
"Now here's what I can offer you. My friend and I…neither of us have had a halfling before, and Falon told us 'bout you…said you were lovely and a rare find that enjoys it.
We'd be willing to pay you three coins if you would spend some time with us."
"Us?" Frodo asked uncertainly. "What do you mean?" He looked nervously behind him at the bar. Butterbur was staring at him, and he did not look happy that Frodo was not hurrying.
"Both of us. Together. Name's Kelin. My friend's name is
Ferny. Bill Ferny."
"I…I don't know…Butterbur, he is getting suspicious of my absences…"
"After hours." Kelin winked. "We'll be waiting in the second room at the right at the top of the second flight of steps. Are you willing?"
Frodo closed his eyes. He was so sore. And his last experience had made him wary of Men. But three coins. If he had not dropped so much cutlery, that would be enough to pay off his debt completely.
"All right then. I will come," he said quietly and walked away without waiting for a response.
Another voice, much more wanted, spoke his name as he passed the darkest corner of the inn. Frodo turned with a soft smile. Vik! But Vik's glad smile faded when he saw
Frodo's bruised face.
"Who did this to you?" The Man asked, pulling Frodo close to the wooden bench he sat on, and putting a gentle finger under Frodo's chin to examine the bruising.
"It doesn't matter," Frodo said, his heart leaping in joy that Vik seemed to care. "It is over." He could not believe his luck that Vik had returned so soon.
"Come sit with me a moment."
"I can't." Frodo looked warily at the bar. At the moment,
Butterbur appeared to be distracted by some customers who were bantering with him. "I am supposed to be working."
"If your landlord comes, I'll explain that it is official business. Come, sit."
Frodo sidled into the bench beside him, feeling happy warmth as Vik's arm slid around his waist.
"Now," Vik said. "I understand you're a well-to-do halfling from a good family, only caught here by unfortunate circumstances."
"How do you know?" Frodo asked, amused. Vik's hand slid down and rubbed his thigh affectionately. Frodo felt himself harden. He wished he could go into a room alone with Vik instead of the two he had agreed to pleasure later that night.
"Your clothing, your demeanor. Well, it doesn't matter. I just want to warn you that there's beginning to be more talk about you, and that means you must be wary. You are considered quite a jewel. Do you know what most whores in this village make for a tumble in bed?"
Frodo shook his head. "Two coins? Three?"
Vik laughed before he dropped his voice and became serious.
"Try one quarter of a coin."
Frodo stared at him, awestruck. "Then why…how?"
"You are beautiful, and everyone, even the dumbest of ruffians, can sense that you do not belong in this life.
Your eyes…I can tell you from experience that they leave one breathless and dizzy. I could go on." Vik swallowed and gripped Frodo's thigh, obviously distracted, and Frodo noticed how full of pain his green eyes looked.
"What is it, Vik?" Frodo asked softly.
"The lawmen of this village are considering making the penalty for what you are doing much harsher than it ever has been before. I do not wish to see you lashed in public or left to rot in a jail far from your green home."
Frodo managed a smile, though he felt tears threaten at the mention of his home. "Why are you so kind? You hardly know me."
"May I buy a kiss from you?"
Frodo's heart sank. He had begun to think that Vik had taken a personal interest in him, but he still considered him an object to be bought.
"You may have one for no charge," he said faintly.
"No, not yet," Vik said, his eyes hardening. "Not until you are free." He slipped a coin into Frodo's hand and kissed the hobbit deeply. He pulled back abruptly, and they both looked up to see a furious Butterbur hovering over them.
TBC
Go on to next part