To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

Chapter six: Obedience Lessons





Pippin giggled.

“Ssh!” hissed Boromir, “I want to hear!”

“That was an elf moaning, or I’m a troll.”

“Listen!”

“You, sir, are in no position to be giving me orders.” Pippin grinned. He gave Boromir’s hip a sharp slap. Boromir caught Pippin’s eye. He looked very much more like a bound wolf just now instead of a sheep. It gave Pippin a thrill to see the look in Boromir’s eyes. So, then, his warrior would exact a little payment for that slap. This promised to be interesting. It promised to be so interesting that Pippin, looking directly into those wolf-like eyes, gave Boromir’s hip another slap.

“You’ll pay for that, later.” Boromir said with a slow smile. He looked a bit like a warg baring his fangs, and again Pippin felt a thrill, so intense and complete it gave him gooseflesh.

“Oh, I hope so, boy. I truly hope so.”

“Boy? Oh, you are just dying for it, aren’t you?”

“Aye, I am,” Pippin grinned. His own grin was vulpine, and again Boromir was reminded of a little fox on the prowl. “But first, I’m going to have a little fun. You, boy, need obedience lessons.”

“Really? And how are you going to do this?”

“Oh, you’ll see. First, I’m going to need your hands. I’m going to untie the rope, but not the scarf. That gets left on. Defy me and you’ll sleep alone tonight, boy.”

Pippin, true to his word, untied the rope that bound Boromir’s wrists to the tree trunk over his head. Pippin had the little jar of ointment, and he took Boromir’s bound hands and applied the lubricant to his fingers. Straddling Boromir, Pippin took the bound wrists and guided them around his body so that Boromir’s arms encircled him. Pippin pushed them lower so Boromir could get his hands on his behind. Then the halfling once more stretched out on his princely bed and began to kiss Boromir hard. He pulled away. Pippin put his fingers in Boromir’s mouth and slid them in and out, in and out…

“Now, boy, use your hands on me. Open me up.”

Boromir locked eyes with Pippin as he let his fingers find their target. He didn’t start this time with a single finger, but with two. Pippin moaned and pushed back against Boromir’s bound hands.

“Deeper,” Pippin said. “Yes, like that. Yes, oh, yes…now another finger. Harder, boy, harder and faster…”

Pippin reached behind himself and felt for Boromir’s shaft. He found it standing proudly and growing in length and girth.

“Am I open enough, boy?”

“That’s your decision, Little Master.”

“I see you’ve caught on. Now take your fingers out. I’m tying you up again.”

Boromir raised his arms over Pippin and placed them correctly to be re-bound to the small tree trunk at his head. Pippin swiftly tied the length of rope around the scarf and the trunk. Then he slid his body back down and sat up, straddling his captive. Again, he locked eyes with his lover, and reaching behind him, guided Boromir into his body.

“Ah,” Boromir growled, “You’re so open, Little Master, so open…”

“You’ll see how open I am.” Pippin said, again grinning like a snarling little fox. He suddenly and almost violently lowered himself, so that Boromir found he had speared his halfling completely and instantly. Boromir cried out.

“Quiet!” Pippin said, “I want to hear.” He then began to make this command impossible to follow by riding his warrior hard and fast.

Outside of the enclosure, Aragorn sat with his legs spread wide, looking down at the golden head he held between his hands, guiding the rhythm and depth of the mouth that was devouring him. Legolas moaned around the ranger’s shaft. They could both hear Boromir’s groans of pleasure and Pippin’s little cat-like growls. Aragorn pulled Legolas’ face up to his own and with his hands firmly holding the elf’s head, he kissed the elf deeply, sliding his tongue home expertly. Legoals whimpered. Aragorn undressed Legolas slowly, never breaking their kiss. Legolas threw one leg across Aragorn’s hips, and unknowingly imitating Pippin’s actions, reached behind himself, grasped the ranger’s rigid staff and guided it inside with a hiss and a cry of “Ai!”

Now Pippin was grinding his hips in little circles, studying Boromir’s face. It was a face awash in pleasure. His jaw was clenched. He was dying for release.

“Don’t you dare come, boy, not yet.” Pippin said, his eyes now glazed over with lust and drunk with power. He rode his stallion harder than ever now, knowing he was making it almost impossible for Boromir to control himself. Faster and harder and deeper he rode until Boromir had begun to gasp, desperately trying not to lose control.

Not satisfied with the results, Pippin moved even more violently than before. “You like this, don’t you, boy?” he growled.

“Oh, yes, yes, I do…”

“You want to come inside me, don’t you?”

“Yes, more than anything.”

Pippin reached up over Boromir’s head, untied his hands and removed the scarf, then grasped Boromir’s shaft and let his bottom hover over the turgid flesh.

“Don’t you move.” Pippin said. “Don’t you dare move.”

Boromir quivered beneath him, biting his bottom lip. His eyes met Pippin’s in a silent plea. Pippin slowly lowered himself, once more taking Boromir into his body. Boromir moaned loudly.

Pippin knew he had Boromir right on the very razor’s edge. He once more began to ride his stud. He wanted to take his greatest pleasure, but not just yet. It was all he could do to hold himself back as he rocked back and forth, faster and faster, taking Boromir deeper and deeper.

Boromir began to whimper, then plead. “Little Master, I cannot bear it, please, please, I beg you, let me come?”

“Oh, you’ll come, alright. You’re going to come inside me, and I’m going to come with you. And I’m ready, now, so you’d better be, too. Do it! Do it, right now!”

Boromir’s body arched powerfully. Pippin tightened his legs around his mount as Boromir bucked beneath him with a roar like a lion. Pippin felt Boromir throb inside him, and that was the end for him. He could hold back no longer, and with the first sensation of that liquid fire inside him, he threw his head back and cried out sharply. His juices shot out in a powerful jet that splashed on Boromir’s belly and chest. He dug his knees into Boromir’s sides as if he were riding a wild pony and let his stallion buck beneath him, slamming his body down every time Boromir’s hips rose up.

At the same instant, both Boromir and Pippin heard grunts and cries of elf and man outside their enclosure. The two lovers inside the enclosure heard the cries and grunts, but these sounds were lost on them. Their bodies met almost violently. Their souls seemed to first clash, then mingle as they rode out the storm of passion until at last the storm quieted and the tide ebbed.

Pippin collapsed on Boromir. He seemed to be trying to burrow into the big body beneath him, and gasping, said, “You can move now, my sweet boy.”

Almost instantly, he felt Boromir’s arms around him, holding him gently but tightly. He could hear Boromir’s heart pounding in the big chest. Pippin forced himself to rise. He sat at Boromir’s feet and pulled off the big boots, untied the rope that bound Boromir to the trunk at his feet, then slipped Boromir’s trousers over his ankles. At last Boromir was freed. Boromir was freed, but Boromir was still captured, and he knew it. The stallion had been tamed, tamed by a stripling of a hobbit with a sweet bow of a mouth and the most beautiful, big green eyes and a spirit made for passion.


To Be Continued