West of the Moon

A Tolkien Fanfiction Archive



All's Well
Sam must rescue Frodo from a dangerous situation: his virginity. Or possibly a well. Humor.
Author: Mariole
Rating: NC-17


This story was written for the hobbit_smut Livejournal Community "Silver Scream" Challenge.

Sam threw down his hoe and dashed for the woods. He was sure that was a call. True, Mr. Frodo had been on his mind a lot more than usual lately. Today, for instance, Sam had seen him wearing naught but a thin shirt and an old pair of breeks. Sam knew what that signified: Mr. Frodo meant to go swimming. There are few things in the world Sam would have liked to see more than his dear Mr. Frodo, all gleaming wet and lounging upon a towel on the shore, one knee cocked and his gaze fixed upon Sam, with a come-hither look in his eye.

Not that that would ever happen. Mr. Frodo always behaved properly around Sam, more's the pity. He might shed his clothes in front of Sam to take a dip, thinking naught of it, even if Sam did. But that enjoyment would be short-lived. As soon Mr. Frodo hit the water, Sam knew that, if he was there, he wouldn't be thinking about the water curling round Mr. Frodo's sleek skin and his free-floating bits (or not much). No, Sam would be all in a-bother worriting about Mr. Frodo drownding himself. If that happened, Sam would never get a chance to come to him at all, come-hither look or no--and that were too miserable a thought for Sam to bear.

Now all those worries vanished in a flash. That were a cry for help. Faint though it were, there was no mistake: Mr. Frodo was shouting for him.

Sam sped down the path that led to the Water, that being the way he'd seen Mr. Frodo pass earlier. He weren't but partway down it when he realized the call was coming from somewhere off to the right, from farther into the woods. Confused, Sam slowed his steps. He struggled to master his harsh breathing, and listen.

The call was repeated, certainly from the woods. It were faint, but hoarse as if from shouting. It was most definitely Mr. Frodo.

Sam changed course and raced for the sound. "Coming, Mr. Frodo!" he cried.

He burst through a thicket of willow sprouts, growing rampant in the sun, to find himself at the edge of an abandoned well. It were a great wide one, mayhap seven feet across, ringed with a waist-high stone wall and nestled in a pool of overgrown grass. He'd seen the well off and on, ever since he were a lad; the previous tenants to the Twofoots had dug it. But it were let go after Mr. Bilbo had installed a proper pump on the Hill. The wooden roof was decayed and the stone rim crumbling, but the winch was still in place; a rotted piece of rope with a frayed end hung from it.

"Sam!" The cry echoed up from the depths of the well.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam rushed to the edge and peered over, prepared for whatever calamity.

What he saw weren't all that frightening, fortunately. He'd imagined Mr. Frodo forty feet down, his legs twisted in knots and broke into a thousand pieces. What he saw was Mr. Frodo mayhap ten feet down, balanced on a narrow stone ledge that ran the circumference of the well. His shirt flapped loose, but otherwise he looked fairly normal, save for a smudge of dirt on his nose. The air smelled fusty, but not wet.

Mr. Frodo saw Sam peering down at him, and relief flooded his face. "Sam, thank heavens! I had no idea if anyone would ever hear me down here."

"That I did, right enough. Have you been trapped here long?"

"Long enough to get desperate. I'm so glad you finally heard me!"

"Well, I've got to get you out." Sam looked round. "There's plenty of rope still round the windlass. I could lower some down to you."

"I'd rather not try it, Sam. That's how I fell in."

"Oh?" It occurred to Sam that no bucket hung from the rope. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, how did you fall?"

"Pure foolishness. I was on my way back from the Water. It was quite low today, and it suddenly struck me that this well might be dried up. I thought I'd take a look."


Mr. Frodo gave a crooked grin. "Ages ago, Pippin and I were dropping things into the well. Rocks and sticks and so forth. And... I dropped in Bilbo's old cane that I had brought along as a walking stick, just to see the noise it made." He smiled sheepishly. "It turned out, the cane had been a gift from his Aunt Belba. I was so terribly embarrassed when I found out that I never admitted I knew what had happened to it. I thought, if the water was low enough today, I might find it again."

Sam furrowed his brow. "Well, it were sweet of you to worry, but how's old Mr. Bilbo to know you even found his cane, unless he comes back one of these days?"

"I know, Sam. I said I was foolish. Anyway, the well looked dry. There was a clutter of sticks at the bottom that I couldn't quite make out. I grabbed onto the rope holding the bucket, leaned out..."

"And the rope snapped," Sam finished. "Mr. Frodo, you're lucky you didn't break your head!"

"I am, Sam. Very lucky. Fortunately, the rope frayed apart rather than snapping outright, so I was able to swing to the side of the well and slide down the crumbled part of this wall." He winced. "It was rather rough, I'm sorry to say. I fear my old breeches took a beating."

Sam eyed the coils round the shaft that extended across the well. They were encrusted with dirt; obviously they'd not been unwound for some time. "If this rope's unsafe, I can run back to the shed for a fresh coil."

"Well, it's such a short reach. Relatively short reach. I thought..." Sheepishly, he held out his hand. It took Sam a moment to understand the Mr. Frodo was holding out his bracers. That's why his shirt were flapping loose; Mr. Frodo had removed his bracers for some reason.

"They should be long enough, don't you think, Sam?" Mr. Frodo asked hopefully. "I'll toss you one end, and hold onto the other, and you can pull me up."

Sam frowned. "I'm not too sure about this, sir. If those bracers can't take the strain and rip, you could be in a sight worse fix 'n you're in now."

"Yes, I know. It's just... I hate to mention it, but this ledge isn't terribly stable."

Fear sprang into Sam's heart.

"It's been shifting and groaning the longer I stand here," said Frodo. "I've tried moving to one side, but it seems every step I take only makes it worse. The whole thing is quite decayed. I fear--"

"Say no more, Mr. Frodo, I'm coming!"

Sam circled the well until he was standing directly above Mr. Frodo. Cautiously, he leant over the edge. The top of the wall was mayhap a hand-span wide, smooth on top, although the stones that made up the sides of the wall were rougher cut. Well, Sam needn't put his weight on the jagged edges. The mortar was cracked, but the stones felt solid enough, if one didn't push too hard against 'em. Sam had no intention of pushing. The spot next to him, where Mr. Frodo had slid down, was crumbled and broke; Sam didn't want that to happen here. Likely, they'd both end up in the well.

Placing his belly carefully on the rim, Sam reached down as far as he could. "All right, sir. Throw me the bracers!"

Mr. Frodo threw, keeping hold of his end. The other end slapped Sam's palm, and he grabbed it. "Ha hah!" He tightened his hand triumphantly, just as Mr. Frodo uttered, "Blast!"

Sam blinked. "What is it, sir?" As far as he could see, the plan was working. The bracers were stretched between them, in a taut line from hand to hand; all he had to do now was pull.

Mr. Frodo looked uncomfortable. "Sam... Remember how I told you my breeches had taken a beating on the way down?"

Sam stared. "Yes?"

"What happened was, the bracers had torn off one side and the buttons had popped. The breeches... weren't staying on. So I took off my bracers to make a kind of belt to hold them up. Then you showed up."

"Yes, sir?" Sam still wasn't following the problem.

"Well, when I threw the bracers up to you just now, the breeches... fell down."

"Down," said Sam.

The white face, surrounded by its flapping white shirt, nodded up at him.

"Just now," said Sam.

"They're in a pool about my ankles," Mr. Frodo said. "I can't take a step this way, and I can't bend down to reach them without letting go of my end of the bracers. I'm afraid I might not be able to reach them again if I let go."

Considering how tautly the bracers were stretched, Sam doubted it, too. "Well, Mr. Frodo, it strikes me as you're best off stepping out of your breeches afore you begin the climb."

"Just... step out."

"It's not as if they can be repaired," said Sam. "Just pick your feet up careful, step out, and up you come."

"Yes, I suppose that's best. All right, I'm going to kick my left foot a little." Some wiggling, masked by the flapping shirt, occurred down below. "Very good, one foot's free." The tension on the bracers changed as Mr. Frodo shifted his weight. The stones beneath Sam gave a little grinding grumble of protest. Mr. Frodo shook his leg. "And now the other foot."

Sam saw a dark blue thing drop into the depths of the well. It hit bottom a few seconds later with a slight flup. The well sure sounded dry. There were no question of them drownding, only perhaps bashing themselves to death against the bottom. Sam swallowed and tightened his grip. "You'd best climb up now, Mr. Frodo. We can't have you falling in. You'll break something for sure."

"All right, Sam. Here I come."

Sam braced himself, as Mr. Frodo put his full weight on the bracers. He swung out a little, to place one foot against the wall. "That's it, Mr. Frodo. Just keep coming."

The stones beneath Sam complained more loudly. He gritted his teeth. "Don't stop, sir. Keep going." Mr. Frodo took another step.

The stones buckled. They didn't fall, just shifted suddenly towards the collapsed area so that Sam jerked to one side. Almost instantly he recovered his balance--to find there was no one at the other end of the bracers.

"Mr. Frodo!" he yelled, gazing downward in panic.

His master had managed to grasp the side of the well when the bracers slipped, and had slid back down to his ledge. He clung to the wall of the well, looking up.

"Sam." Something serious in his master's voice made Sam's skin crawl. "You'd better get a rope down to me, quickly."

Even as he spoke, the ledge upon which Mr. Frodo stood made a cracking noise and shifted.

Energized as if by lightning, Sam leaped up and raced for the windlass. He didn't bother to crank it, just unlooped roughly four ells from the shaft that stretched across the well as quick as he could manage. He tested the rope for soundness as he did, running it through his hands before dropping it down the well. Apparently the part holding the bucket, being more exposed, had decayed faster than the rest. This part seemed sound enough to hold him. Sam tugged on the rope to make sure it would hold, then grasped the top of the line near the shaft. He rested his bottom on the rim, then eased his legs over. He swung out into space, hanging by his hands from the rope.

It occurred to him then that, if he slipped, he'd be at the bottom of the well and Mr. Frodo would likely join him. But Sam could never think clear where Mr. Frodo was concerned. Maintaining a chokehold on the rope, and clutching it farther down between his feet, Sam slid downward in short spurts, like a spider on a fat strand of web. The mossy-damp coolness rose around him with the shadows, and the confined air closed about him.

He didn't have to slide far to reach Mr. Frodo. He were across from him in moments. Mr. Frodo clung to the side of the well, watching Sam's progress over his shoulder. He looked pale, his eyes great dark spots in his face, with his white legs sticking out naked beneath the billowing shirt. Sam judged the distance to the wall, and swung himself over. He hit the ledge just left of where Mr. Frodo was standing, exactly where he was aiming. He grinned, then offered the rope to Mr. Frodo. Mr. Frodo smiled and reached for it--just as his part of the ledge cracked.

Mr. Frodo's eyes went wide as he started to fall. Sam dropped the rope and grabbed for him. The rocks under Mr. Frodo fell away, but Sam seized him round the waist with one arm, yanking Mr. Frodo's back towards his front as he groped for a fingerhold in the jagged rock behind him. He found one just as Mr. Frodo fell heavily against Sam's arm. Lacking support, his master bent from the waist, looking down into the blackness of the well. His feet scrabbled furiously for a foothold, finally finding purchase on a bit of ledge to either side of Sam. The fallen rocks clattered onto the invisible rubbish far below. Then everything went still again.

Sam found they had ended up this way: Sam was holding onto the rock wall with his right hand, with Mr. Frodo leaning over his left arm, bent at the waist and facing downward. His legs had splayed wide to catch a foothold to either side of Sam's feet. His bum was pressed right against Sam's crotch. Well, not his bum, exactly. More like what's inside the bum when it's spread wide like that. Warmth from his body radiated into Sam's. And Sam's body soaked it up, that particular part of it fitting exactly into the, er... gap.

"Oh, bother," said Mr. Frodo.

Bother, indeed! Sam was getting bothered, all right. It weren't everyday he had his master's bum... his master's spread-open bum... pressed up against him like that. Sam looked a little closer at the rumpled shirt that had ridden up his master's hips during the excitement. Sam's... gap-filler swelled a little at the sight. Was that a patch of bare skin, peeping out from 'neath the shirt?

Sam cleared his throat. "Mr. Frodo, sir?"

"Yes, Sam," said Mr. Frodo, towards the bottom of the well.

"You ain't got no linens on underneath that shirt, have you, sir?"

Mr. Frodo paused. "No, Sam, I haven't."

Sam swallowed hard.

"I'm terribly sorry," he continued. "I was swimming, you know. I don't wear underthings when I swim. I just pull on my old breeks when I'm done and air dry on the way home."

"Yes, sir." His bare bum, Sam thought. He had his master's bare bum pushed against his groin, and there were naught between Sam and his uttermost fantasy but the cloth making up the front of Sam's breeks. Sam's body got busy right away on filling that cloth with a bit of heat of his own.

"So what do we do now?" asked Mr. Frodo of the well bottom.

"Well, sir, we--" Sam looked up. He had let go of the rope in order to grab Mr. Frodo. It hung from the middle of the shaft, swaying gently--just out of reach.

Sam stared. "I don't know, sir."

Mr. Frodo's head lifted; clearly, he was looking at the rope as well. He stretched out an arm. Sam held him tight, lest he fall. Mr. Frodo strained forward. Mercy, that put a delightful pressure just where Sam wanted it most. Sam smothered a whimper.

Unfortunately, Mr. Frodo's fingers fell a couple of inches short. He sagged back against Sam--who was not joining in on the sagging at the moment. Far from it. Sam blushed furiously. He was certain Mr. Frodo could feel that... great log of Sam's between his legs. Plus he were putting out heat like a noon sun. Sam wondered how he'd ever be able to face his master again.

"I can almost reach it," Mr. Frodo said.

That was good; keep your mind on business. Do like your master's doing, Sam Gamgee, and you'll be all right.

"I think if..." Mr. Frodo shifted. He wiggled his hips--Don't wiggle! Sam mentally cried. But Mr. Frodo didn't heed him, just gradually inched himself up Sam's groin. "I think," Mr. Frodo puffed, "if I can get a little... higher, I can reach it with my hand."

Oh, this were agony! Clearly, Mr. Frodo must be aware of what he was... wriggling against. But he just kept doing it, intent on moving himself higher. Sam started as Mr. Frodo hooked his feet round Sam's shins.

"Sorry, Sam." Mr. Frodo said it like he meant it. "I need just a little more height. Now, hold tightly to my middle. I'm going to stretch."

Oh, Sam would hold tight, all right. This was more than a dream; it defied belief! Mr. Frodo had his feet hooked round Sam's legs, and his bottom, his bare bottom, pushed hard against Sam's rigid front, while Sam's arm pillowed that lean, silky-skinned body as it stre-e-e-e-tched...

"Got it!" Mr. Frodo cried jubilantly.

Mr. Frodo eased towards his previous position. Torturously, that bare bottom slid over Sam's hard front, moving downward. The furry tops of Mr. Frodo's feet released their grip and felt for their former hold on the ledge. Sam bit his lip and commanded himself not to twitch from teasing and delight.

When it were over, Mr. Frodo leant forward, holding the rope with both hands, probably for balance. An ell or so of length dangled free beneath his grip, the frayed end at the bottom. "I'm not sure I can stand up straight."

"I'll help you," Sam started to say, and moved his arm. His intention was to shift his grip higher on Mr. Frodo's chest, and use his hand to pull his master upright. What happened was, as Sam's arm moved, the loose shirt, already riding high, slipped sideways. Something silky and hard and very hot brushed over his wrist as it flopped free of the shirt. Sam gave a little jump of startlement, then froze. Mr. Frodo did the same. The blood beat loud in Sam's ears in the silence.

Typically, Mr. Frodo recovered first. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Oh," Sam murmured.

"It's, er... something about the position, I think."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not trying to suggest anything," he said.

"No, sir. Nor would I."

"Well, that's all right then. All we need do is take the next step."

Sam gulped. "And what might that be, sir?"

A dozen next steps occurred to Sam. Here he was, armed with a blazing erection, holding his master splay-legged against him, who was similarly equipped. If they weren't one step away from falling into a well, Sam could certainly think of a few steps to take. Aye, and a few more, after that.

"Well," said Mr. Frodo, "we need to get up somehow. I mean, get out of the well. I have the rope. Surely you must have had an idea for using it."

"Yes, sir. That is," Sam struggled to get his mind off what was between his legs--not to mention Mr. Frodo's--and back to their task. "I thought we might use it to walk up the wall."

"Like we were going to do with my bracers," said Mr. Frodo.

"That's right. Just turn around, and walk up."

"Turn around," said Mr. Frodo glumly.

"Yes, sir."

"Turn around and face you."

Sam paused. "I don't see how it would work any other way."

"You want me to face you. When I'm..." He trailed off, breathing raggedly.

Sam blushed on Mr. Frodo's behalf, even as he grew a little bit harder thinking about what was hanging, ripe and ready, on the underside of the glorious creature that was currently bent over his arm. Why, if he turned over now, a lovely plum-colored shaft would pop right through those shirttails, sure as Sam's name was Gamgee. Certainly Mr. Frodo knew that, too.

Mr. Frodo mumbled to the bottom of the well, "This is getting embarrassing."

"Oh no, sir; this has been embarrassing for quite some time."

"I can't turn about, Sam. Not like this. I just need a moment to... calm down."

Mr. Frodo sounded so distressed. It weren't right, him being so nervous when Sam... well, when Sam was the farthest thing from calm himself. He couldn't think of aught to comfort Mr. Frodo, save one thing.

"Mr. Frodo," said Sam softly, "I want you to hold tight to that rope."

Mr. Frodo freshened his grip. "All right, Sam. I'm holding on."

"Good. Now, I'm taking my arm away."

"Sam!" Mr. Frodo's belly sagged as Sam removed his support. His bottom jerked against Sam's lap in his sudden fright--a movement Sam wholly approved of.

"Just brace yourself against me," Sam said. "Lean right back."

Mr. Frodo did. His body stretched out, his hands moving away to provide the leverage for his bottom to push more firmly into Sam's lap. Gently, Sam returned the pressure from his hips, pushing his swollen cock steadily against that most enticing spot.

Sam said softly, "You feel that, Mr. Frodo?"

Mr. Frodo said nothing, but his breathing quickened.

Sam did it again, pushing slowly into the delightful warm cleft that beckoned to him. "That's what this is doing to me. It ain't just you, sir; it's both of us."

Mr. Frodo's breaths deepened. He pushed slightly back, experimentally pressing his body into Sam's. Sam burst into a grin. He rocked his hips in response. "You see? There ain't naught to be ashamed of. It's the same for us both."

"I... I..."

"Hush." Sam licked his palm, and then leaned forward. "I'd like to help you with that," he murmured. He reached round, and found what he was looking for peeping between the tails of the shirt. He closed his fist about it.

"Sam!" Mr. Frodo jumped at the contact. Slowly, Sam moved his hand up and down the satiny surface. Mr. Frodo shivered, then gradually eased into the touch. He bowed his head, hanging from the rope, breathing in time with Sam's movements.

"That's it, Mr. Frodo," Sam crooned. "You just relax, now. Sam will take care of you."

Mr. Frodo groaned. His hips bobbed against Sam's lap; oh, if only Sam had three hands, and could get his breeches down! But this were right nice, for all his frustration.

"See, what we need to do, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, paying attention to his stroking, "is walk on up... " he pulled the loose skin right over the tip, "that wall." He rubbed backward and forward a few times. Beneath the satiny cover, Mr. Frodo felt hard as a rock.

"But first, you will have to turn round." Sam twisted his hand slowly. Mr. Frodo moaned, and his breath hitched. "Then take one step up the wall," he moved his hand up, "and then another," he moved the hand back. "And one... and another, but you'll have to do it quick," he increased the pace of his hand, "because we ought to get off this-here ledge afore too much longer. You'll have to move quite sprightly, once you're feeling more relaxed. Don't you think, Mr. Frodo?"

Mr. Frodo panted. His hands gripped the rope; his back bowed as he gave himself over to Sam's increasingly urgent rubbing. His bottom whapped, whapped, whapped against Sam, in time with every other stroke.

"'Cause we want to get out, don't we?" Sam squeezed the tip of master's captive cock; then he peeled back the foreskin, and swiped his thumb over the sensitive head. Mr. Frodo hissed and shuddered. "You'd do anything, wouldn't you, to get free." He did it again, swirling his thumb about the slick tip slowly. Mr. Frodo growled and bucked. Sam went back to moving double speed. "'Cause we can't last much longer, can we, sir? Perched as we are like this, on the brink."

"S-S-S-S-Sam," Mr. Frodo sputtered, gasping as Sam took him vigorously in hand.

Sam pressed his cock against that sanctuary of tight muscle and heat. He moved his hand even faster. "Come, Mr. Frodo," he whispered. "Do what you must. Do it for your Sam."

"Sam!" Mr. Frodo cried. He arched hard, and went still. His cock pulsed in Sam's hand; then spasmed in great, rippling waves. Sam closed his eyes, marveling at the magic his held in his hand. A sharp, rich tang wafted through the musk of the old well. Far below them, thick wet droplets pattered to earth.

Mr. Frodo sagged. His arms were extended, hanging weakly onto the rope. His torso twitched in the aftermath of climax, sending shocks of ecstasy through Sam's enflamed shaft. Sam continued to hold his master's spent cock, gently enough for comfort, but using his fist to provide some support until Mr. Frodo should recover.

"There now." Sam watched Mr. Frodo's chest heave as he caught his breath. "I told you it would be all right. What do you say, sir? Can you turn around now, and face your Sam?"

Slowly, Mr. Frodo drew himself up. Sam supported him, sliding his arm upward to help draw his master upright. Mr. Frodo's feet shifted round, finding a fresh grip on the ledge. With Sam's aid, Mr. Frodo at last turned round and faced him.

His eyes looked huge; his face was dazzlingly beautiful with a rapturous look. Before Sam could say a word, Mr. Frodo lunged forward and devoured Sam's mouth with the deepest, wettest, most passionate kiss Sam had ever had thrust upon him in his life. His arm that had helped to support Mr. Frodo now moved over his back, pulling his master in even closer as their tongues twined and their breath intermingled. Sam's cock pulsed in a steady, excited thrill.

"Oh, Sam!" gasped Mr. Frodo, breaking off the kiss. "That was the most amazing, wonderful--"

"It were, Mr. Frodo," Sam answered, almost as breathless. "But just at this moment, we'd best not press our luck with this ledge, if you see what I mean."

"Of course." Mr. Frodo laughed, and his eyes shined. "Oh, Sam. Think of all the time we wasted!"

Sam grinned back. "Well, we won't waste it no longer, sir. Starting now."

"Now." Mr. Frodo's pupils shrank a little from his happy daze. Then Sam's meaning seemed to sink in, for he abruptly looked at the rope in his hands. "Yes, now. Right. So all I must do is keep a hold of this and climb up."

"Just climb up," Sam confirmed.

"I won't be a moment."

Mr. Frodo kissed him again, to Sam's delight. Quickly, Mr. Frodo adjusted his feet against the wall. Sam had rather hoped that Mr. Frodo might climb over him. He had already decided to give in to temptation, risky as it might be to take a lick of his master as he walked straddled over Sam's face. But apparently his master had decided that an over-the-Sam method would be too distracting, and planted his feet just to the left of Sam. Once set, he marched straight up the wall, moving hand over hand up the rope whilst Sam boosted him from below. There was some fiddling about at the top as he tried to ease his legs over the rim--an interlude that Sam quite liked, as the white shirt belled about his hips, leaving an extremely attractive white bum to wiggle naked over Sam's head. Then bum, shirt, and the rest disappeared over the wall.

His master's upper body reappeared a moment later, as Mr. Frodo leaned back over the well to grab the rope that was now hanging free from the shaft. He guided it within reach of Sam. In seconds, Sam had duplicated Mr. Frodo's moves (well, except for the bare bum part). He swung his feet over the top of the wall, then scooted forward to rest upon the rim of the well.

Mr. Frodo stood just in front of him, smiling, his loose white shirt again concealing those interesting bits that had just formed a new relationship with Sam. "Thank you, Sam," he said.

"My pleasure, Mr. Frodo."

"Not yet."

Sam was thrown. "What?"

Mr. Frodo nodded towards the well. "Lean against that post there."

Sam glanced beside him. One of the supports for the roof was just to his right. "Sir?"

Mr. Frodo smiled. "I wouldn't want you to fall in again."

Sam knitted his brows, rising to stand near the post. "Fall in? Why should I fall in?"

"Because I am going to show my appreciation to you for rescuing me. In fact, I'm feeling so very grateful," Mr. Frodo licked his lips, "that I should like to show my appreciation on my knees."

"Your knees." A bolt of lightning zipped from Sam's groin through his heart. On seeing his master's teasing smile, he stepped hurriedly to put his back to the post.

Only just in time. When Sam moved, Mr. Frodo did also. Sam barely put his back to the wood before his master was in front of him. On his knees, as promised. Unbuttoning Sam's breeks.

A rush of desire nearly choked him. "Sir!" he protested weakly.

Mr. Frodo's fingers moved lickety-split. The next moment Sam's too-teased prong tumbled out. It barely had a moment to enjoy the free air, before it slid nearly to its base into Mr. Frodo's open mouth.

Sam wailed. He'd never felt aught like it before, never! Mr. Frodo latched onto him hungrily as a calf at its mum, bobbing his head and grasping his hands round Sam's hips, to draw him in closer. His tongue were busy and his lips moved upon the surface, nuzzling and rubbing. Sam slid a little down the post, his legs splaying wide. He braced against the upper rim of the well, his eyes shut hard and pure heaven going on between his legs.

"Oh, Mr... Mr..."

Mr. Frodo suckled harder. Sam bucked. Ah, that one felt like it took him halfway down Mr. Frodo's throat! Twitching and whimpering, Sam lowered his head and peeped.

Mr. Frodo's eyes were closed. One hand grasped Sam's cock near the root, pumping it enthusiastically with rapid, short strokes. The other hand continued to pull Sam's hips towards him. Mr. Frodo looked like an angel, those long lashes laying dark on his cheeks, and his full lips--those luscious, beautiful lips--moving eagerly over Sam's skin, as if keen to sample every part of him. Sam groaned. He'd never seen such a sight, though he'd imagined it many a time; Mr. Frodo, mouth wide, mutely demanding that Sam fill him. And Sam's thick cock, flushed and impatient, handily performing that service, disappearing inch by inch between pink, lust-swollen lips. Inside, the restless tongue lapped around him, then flickered lightly over his ridge.

"Frodo!" Sam's head slammed back against the post, as wave after wave of fulfillment burst from him, pumping strongly into such a haven as he'd never dreamed to find.

His knees buckled, and he slid to the ground in stages. Mr. Frodo moved with him, holding him as before until he sat wide-legged on the ground, panting hard. Mr. Frodo's hand stroked once more, making him jump. Then slowly, maintaining suction, Mr. Frodo pulled his mouth off. Sam hissed as the air met his tender cock. He twitched as his master gave one final lick, then released him to drop free. Sam breathed heavily, face turned blindly towards the sun.

Mr. Frodo flopped down next to him. When Sam finally opened his eyes, he saw his master watching him, smiling. Then Mr. Frodo leaned in and kissed him gently. Sam's cock gave a jump, as he tasted himself on his master's tongue, pungent and tart.

Mr. Frodo pulled away, leaving him breathless. His master's eyes were dark with lust; his smile mischievous.

Sam said, as soon as he could, "That were the most spectacular thing what ever happened to me."

"Turnabout is fair play. "

Sam grinned weakly, too staggered even to chuckle.

Mr. Frodo sighed. "Well, Sam. It seems we've been hiding secret desires from one another for years. But one thing is abundantly clear."

Sam felt the world begin to grow steady again. "What thing is that, Mr. Frodo?"

"We are neither of us hiding very much right now."

Sam widened his eyes in surprise, then followed his master's gaze. Sam's spent member lay upon his lap. Mr. Frodo's shirt covered his essentials--barely--but the dark curls were clearly visible through the thin cloth.

Sam jumped to fasten his breeks. "Excuse me, Mr. Frodo!"

"No excuses needed, Sam. I shall expect to see you out of those trousers before the day is much older."

Sam colored. "What do you mean?"

"I can't return to the smial like this." Mr. Frodo indicated his very inadequate attire. "So here is what I should like for you to do. Go into Bag End for me, and find a pair of trousers. Any will do. And then I want you to bring a blanket. And oil, Sam. Plenty of oil."

Sam swallowed. "Oil?" he managed.

"Certainly." Mr. Frodo captured him with his gaze--always an easy thing for him to do. "After pressing my bum against your cock for the last ten minutes, you don't expect to escape without seeing that through to its proper conclusion. There is only so much teasing a hobbit can take, Master Gamgee. I expect you to come back and, shall we say, make good on your promise."

Despite his recent release, Sam began to tingle with excitement. "Oh, yes. Yes, sir, anything you say!"

"After all," said his master, with a curious drawl. "I have already practiced the position."

Mr. Frodo dropped forward, until he was on his hands and knees. Keeping his eyes locked on Sam's, and his bum pointed away, Mr. Frodo sank down on his forearms, lower and lower, until his chest was upon the grass and his bum right in the air, with his legs spread wide below it. He looked up at Sam and smiled.

Sam had never made the trip to Bag End so fast in all his days.


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