"Stealing Mushrooms" starring Frodo and Sam (Score:-1, Troll) 
by Anonymous Coward on 08:57 AM February 5th, 2003 (#5227458) 
"Trespassing and stealing again, you little rascal! You'll pay for those mushrooms with your hide this time."

Frodo woke with a start. It took him a moment to remember where he was; in bed with Sam. In Rivendell. Funny that he should be dreaming about Farmer Maggot's mushrooms here. He lay for awhile listening to Sam's gentle snoring next to him. He wanted to go back to sleep himself, but he was wide awake now, restless. And for some reason, extremely tense. He tried to relax and let the night sounds of Rivendell quiet him: the soft wind in the branches of the trees, the chirping of insects, the ever present song of rushing water. Nope, not working.

"What's the matter with me?" he thought. He and Sam already had a nice round of love making that night. Yes, very nice. It was always 'nice.' Still there was this insistent nagging in his groin. He wasn't restless, he was frustrated. He was missing something.

He hated to think that. Making love with Sam truly was precious to him. He had wanted it for so long, and it had been such a blessing to finally get to a place where they could explore their love in a physical way. But still, Frodo couldn't help but think that something was missing. Sam was just so...gentle. It wasn't a bad thing, but he was just too careful, like he thought Frodo might break if his touch ever went beyond a light caress. But there was an ache in Frodo's skin that Sam just wasn't reaching.

And Frodo wasn't at all sure that he could ever ask Sam for what he really wanted.

He rolled over, putting his back to Sam, and letting his mind drift back to the dream that woke him. Rough hands seizing him by the arm, gruff voice threatening his tender skin. He began rocking back and forth slightly as the heat in the pit of his stomach crept steadily down his thighs. "Stop it, stop it, stop it," he chastised himself.

But it was no use. The dream had brought down the dam, and Frodo's mind and memory were flooded with images of every thrashing he had ever been subjected to as a child.

He had developed a taste for it at an early age, becoming a connoisseur of sorts. The mere sound of the whistle and snap of a switch, or the hardy crack of a strap cunningly handled was almost enough to send him over the edge. They were his first taste of the erotic, before he could fully understand the feelings of fire smoldering in his belly and groin.

He preferred switches to straps, birch being the switch of choice. Sure they stung more at first, but switch welts tended to heal faster than strap bruises. Farmer Maggot had used his belt - Frodo hadn't been able to sit for a week, even though Maggot had whipped him through his pants.

Frodo's reputation for being "one of the worst young rascals in Buckland" was in part due to his willingness to take the blame for things he didn't even do. It all depended on who was dealing out the punishment. Some of Brandy Hall's matrons did a fine job of it, but Frodo found that he much preferred the rough hands and sturdy arm of a seasoned Gaffer. If one of them was calling for a confession of wrongdoing, Frodo almost always gave himself up. His younger cousins and friends all thought him terribly brave and loyal. If they only knew.

Frodo had even made up a game to play with them, Stealing Mushrooms - a form of tag. Whoever was 'It' got to be Farmer Maggot. And whoever he caught got thrashed. Most of his playmates would only give out a few half-hearted thwaps. But Wilibald Brandybuck could really lay it on thick. Wili seemed to enjoy being 'It' and would set to his victims with hearty gusto. One time, he had cornered Frodo behind an old woodshed and actually made him take his pants down before he laid into him with a stick. Good old Wili. Of course, Frodo had pretended to be angry with him for it. It wouldn't do at all for anyone to suspect his secret passion. Besides that, he had needed a reason to beat a hasty retreat back home. Masterbation was increasingly becoming a necessity for him after a sound thrashing.

Bilbo had only beaten him once. Well, one could hardly even call it a 'beating.' Frodo had just entered his 'tweens' when he went to live with Bilbo and immediately began to carry on his reputation as a rascal. But none of his exploits had gotten him whipped, until the day he used the Widow Boffin's washing for target practice. Her clean white sheets blowing on the line in a light June breeze had simply begged to have dirt clods hurled at them. And Frodo was only too willing to oblige.

The Widow Boffin caught him and hauled him up the steps to Bag End by his ear. She hammered on the door. When Bilbo opened it, she shoved Frodo in and proceeded to give Bilbo an earful of strident advice on the proper raising of children.

"It's that Brandybuck influence on the boy, I'll warrant. Uncivilized. You'd better put an end to his hijinks once and for all. If I see him near my yard or my washing again, I'll have old Gamgee thrash him to within an inch of his life."

Poor Bilbo. He had been so flustered. "Now, now. That won't be necessary. Yes, I'll see to it. Yes, I'll take care of it. Of course. Of course. Good day to you, Widow."

Bilbo said nothing to him. Just walked past him into the study, and left him standing in the hall. Frodo wondered what Bilbo was going to do. He was such a mild mannered hobbit. No matter what Frodo did, he never raised his voice or even seemed cross with him. Frodo began to regret besmirching the Widow's laundry, if only for the very disappointed look it brought to dear Bilbo's face. He fidgeted and began to wonder if he shouldn't go find him and apologize. Or something.

Just then, Bilbo called to him. "Frodo my lad, come in here a moment, would you?"

Frodo's stomach knotted. This was decidedly not the fun sport it had been back in Brandy Hall. Slowly he shuffled into the study. Bilbo was seated in a chair facing the open window. The curtains shifted slightly in the breeze and the afternoon sun shone in brightly. It was altogether a cheerful room, and Frodo's favorite room in the hole. But now, it may as well have been a slot leading to a dragon's den for all the reluctance he felt in entering it. Slowly he sidled up to Bilbo, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor.

"See here, my lad." Bilbo began haltingly. "This sort of thing...well, it's just not proper. Behavior I mean. Not for Hobbiton folk. And...well..I suppose you ought to be punished." Bilbo paused a moment before he said, "Alright then...down with them."

"What?" Frodo's face was burning with embarrassment and shame.

"Your trousers. Come on, down with them."

Frodo gawked. Ugh, this was horrible. His hands shook as he unbuttoned his trousers and let them drop only just far enough to expose his backside, keeping a firm hold on the front of them so as not to expose anything else. He glanced uneasily at the open window, hoping with all his might there was nobody out in the garden who might look in.

"I'm going to be sick," he thought.

Bilbo grabbed and pulled him face down over his lap. Then the first crack of his hand came down on bare skin. Frodo's nausea was suddenly overcome by the desire to giggle. He was using his hand? Bilbo was punishing him with a spanking? What, did he think he was 6 years old? Ha!

Bilbo's hand came down on him a second time. This time, the giggles were gone. He bit his lip, hard, to suppress a groan. No, he could not be aroused by this. He tried not to squirm, that only made it worse.

The third smack came, and Frodo's mortification was complete as his penis started to get hard against Bilbo's leg. "Please oh please oh please let this be over quick," he thought.

Just then, Bilbo hauled him up. "Well...I guess that's it then." He jumped up from the chair, then busied himself flipping through papers, rearranging stacked books, avoiding Frodo's eye. "I suppose you've learned your lesson?"

"Yes, Bilbo," Frodo managed to say, quickly buttoning his trousers.

"And you'll behave yourself from now on?"

"Yes, Sir." Oh yes oh yes oh yes. Good as gold from now on.

"Good, good. Well then...just you run along to your room until I call you for supper." Bilbo coughed and fiddled with some more papers, still not looking at Frodo.

Frodo bolted from the study, thankful that Bilbo had relegated him to his room for at least the next hour, where he could relieve the guilty bulge in his pants in private.

And that really had been the last time he was punished for anything. He had never wanted to be in that position with Bilbo again, so he behaved himself admirably from then on. And besides that, even if Wili Brandybuck had been around Hobbiton to play with, he supposed he was getting a little old for games of tag. Or "Stealing Mushrooms."

Even remembering the shame and discomfort of the Bilbo incident was exciting Frodo now. He rolled over and began instinctively rubbing his erection against Sam's leg. Sam's snoring was interrupted. He turned to Frodo and nuzzled his ear.

"Sam?" Frodo whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Let's play a game." 

 
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