Faramir Fiction Archive

What Next? (NC-17)

Written by Faramir_Boromir

29 October 2004 | 6949 words

What Next?
(a continuation from The Unknown Room. Happy birthday, scribal1)

Pairing: Faramir/Boromir
Rating: NC-17, bondage
Disclaimer: Characters by Tolkien, in situations he would never have dreamed. All fiction, but I own nothing, I swear.
Summary: Faramir and Boromir continue their exploration of the hidden rooms in Minas Tirith.

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As Faramir bent to unshackle his brother’s ankles from the steel rod, he wondered what, precisely, they might find in the rooms down the hall. But he had little doubt that if this room and corridor were excluded from the maps he and Boromir had, then the rooms were probably all used for a similar reason. Forced encounters—between whom? Were they built at Castamir’s command? And who had repaired the fittings so recently? Castamir was long dead, a thousand years in the past, but Faramir was certain that the cuffs and locks he saw had been put in working order sometime in the last 150 years. Were they used with women, or with men? Faramir shook his head, not knowing the answers to these questions.

Boromir looked down at his brother’s head, shaking back and forth as he opened the locks restraining his ankles. Gently, Faramir stroked the marks that showed where the cuffs had bitten into Boromir’s skin, easing their redness. “Why do you shake your head, Faramir? I am not injured.”

“I see you are unharmed, brother. No, I shake my head thinking about who was the most recent user of this room, and of the other rooms in this corridor. Father cannot have known about them, or he would not have let us come down here. And Grandfather? I have a hard time imagining Ecthelion here, either: too honorable.” Boromir nodded his agreement. “It makes me wonder about Great-grandfather, and whether he brought men or women here. These rooms were purpose built, Boromir, and the fittings not just custom made, but recently repaired,” he said, tapping the bar that had held his brother’s legs firmly apart only moments before. “There is a blacksmith in Minas Tirith whose grandfather held a mighty secret about our family, brother.”

Boromir’s face clouded, thinking along the same lines as Faramir. “I barely knew our grandfather, Ecthelion. All Father says is, Ecthelion was man worthy of being Steward. That does not sound like something he would say if he knew about these rooms either. As for Great-grandfather Turgon….he died before I was born, but many evil things happened while he was Steward: Sauron returned to Mordor, and rebuilt Barad-dûr. That’s when Mount Doom began to smoke and flame as well. Other evils may have flourished under his care, I suppose,” and with that Boromir gestured towards the chains on the walls, his meaning plain: perhaps Turgon had used the rooms for torture as well as other perversions. Boromir continued, “I do not think anyone knows about them, except for us, now. And perhaps it should stay that way, brother.”

When he finished speaking, Boromir waited for Faramir to look up at him. When Faramir raised his eyes to meet Boromir’s, he saw something new there, some emotion he did not immediately recognize. Rising from his crouch, Faramir put a hand upon his brother’s shoulder, and struggled to understand Boromir’s intent. Then a flash of recognition told him.

Boromir wanted to continue using the rooms for their own pleasure. More than wanted, though. He seemed…eager for them to do so. The emotion in his brother’s eyes was a mixture of carnal desire, fear of the unknown, and the desire to be challenged. Lust tinged by fear and courage both.

Faramir paused, waiting for his brother to pick up the discarded clothing, lying on the floor at Boromir’s feet. But his brother, for once, did not hurry to dress himself. The room’s very location, levels below any passage used by others, had made him grow bold. Nay, wanton. Boromir wrapped an arm around Faramir’s waist and drew his brother into a bone-melting kiss, strong yet tender.

When Boromir released him, Faramir slowly opened his eyes to look at his brother once more. “We tell no one, then. They remain our secret.” And the two brothers nodded in silent agreement. “Shall we ration them? Like meals in the army? Surely it would prolong our pleasure to learn about them slowly, over time, rather than all at once.” Faramir’s question raised an issue his brother had not considered, but Boromir slowly nodded again, the sentiment one he shared instinctively. “You are right, little brother. We will look at one more today, then no others for at least a week. But we can come back to use these again, yes?” And a mischievous smile crossed Boromir’s lips.

“Yes, brother. You may stretch me here and devise new ways to pleasure us both, this very day if you prefer it.”

“I’ve already thought of what I might have you do here, but no, not now. I suggest we inspect the room across the hall. And this time, remember, it is your turn.”

“Yes, Boromir. I haven’t forgotten.” And the two men bent together, gathering tunics and belts from the floor, then Faramir replaced the keyring on the hook next to the door. Each man took a torch from its holder, and they walked out through the doorway, leaving the room behind in darkness.

In the hallway once more, Faramir sucked in a quiet breath. Whatever is in this room, I must remember that Boromir would never hurt me. He would not. Confidence restored briefly, Faramir pushed against the door, and it swung back upon its hinges. He and Boromir entered the room and began to look at its contents. In the room, there were three tables, built from solid timbers and topped with tile.

Boromir moved to inspect the first table. There were cuffs embedded into the top of the table, surrounded by the tiles. The first set of cuffs were vertical, at the very edge of the table top. To hold ankles, again. The second set of cuffs lay flat horizontal on the table, only a little distance away from the first set. ‘Twould be a very short person, then, to fit between these restraints. Lying next to the second set of fetters was a short rounded stick, with a leather thong attached to both ends. The stick held bite marks. No guessing, then, what Great-grandfather used that for. To prevent screaming.

Meanwhile Faramir had gone near to the table in the middle. A relatively short table, perhaps only as long as man’s torso in length, and like its companions, covered with a tile top. A series of rings surrounded the table edge, and frayed rope dangled from several of the rings, as if the table had seen service only a few moments ago. The ropes near the top of the table were covered partly by soft leather. For hands? The restraints to left and right likewise were ropes covered with leather padding, but the ropes this time were much more stout and thick. Legs? And one final, peculiar device lay on the table top: a circular ring of leather, with two pieces of fine fabric attached to small metal hoops on its side. The leather ring looked quite small, and the inside was worn smooth, a different color from the outside that looked as if it had never been used. The fabric attached to the metal rings was actually quite strong, Faramir discovered when he pulled on it—very strong—and there was several feet of the cloth coiled near the leather ring. Faramir began to think about what this might be used for, and a little smile began to play over his lips.

Boromir had moved past his brother to the third table in the room, and played his torchlight over the tile surface. This table was shaped differently from the others—like an X—and at each corner there were padded restraints tied to rings embedded in the table’s edge. Lying on the table was two circular leather rings with metal rings attached to each side, like the one Faramir had found on the second table. And piled next to one of the leather rings there was a stack of strange metallic objects piled, all looking vaguely like spiders. Boromir did not even know how they might be used, although he picked up one of the leather circles and began to twist it in his hand; he was surprised, then, when the metal ring in the side came out in his hand, and the leather band suddenly opened. Looking more closely, Boromir realized that the ring actually anchored a pin that kept the leather in a loop: pull away the ring, the pin came out, and the leather no longer made a circle.

Boromir turned to find a torch holder in the room, and deposited his light in the iron ring near the door. He dropped his tunic, belt and other clothes in a pile near the door also, then moved to stand next to his brother. “So, Faramir, which table would you like to be the first to try?” And Boromir threw an arm over his brother’s shoulder, imparting some of his warmth to Faramir’s skin, which had begun to chill.

“Either of the ones that you looked at, brother. This one, in the middle, I wish to see you upon, the next time we come here.” Faramir turned, and gave his brother a sly smile. Boromir smiled back, though the smile was a trifle forced—he did not know so readily, as Faramir had done in the previous room, how each of the tables was meant to be used. But he bluffed: “I choose the third one, over there, then. Come, brother, I think it is time you leave aside the rest of your clothes.”

Faramir stepped out his breeches and boots, and stacked them near his brother’s, at the door. He placed his torch in the wall bracket, then moved to stand with Boromir in front of the third table. Leaning forward to look at the leather rings and the stack of metal objects, he turned to Boromir and said, “Slow torture for both of us then, Boromir. I never would have guessed you to want this, brother. But these are new to both of us, so I should not try to anticipate what you would or would not want.”

And with those words, Faramir climbed on to the table, and stretched out face down, his arms and legs extended to the ends of each table’s extension. Boromir moved quickly to secure his brother’s wrists and ankles with the rope-leather restraints, tying them firmly but not too tightly. When he came back to the space between his brother’s legs, he noticed that Faramir’s swollen flesh dangled off the table: indeed, the table’s design dictated that any man strapped face down to the table would have his manhood swinging off the table’s edge.

“Go ahead, Boromir. You probably should attach mine first, though.” At this point, Boromir did not know exactly what to do, though he had a pretty good idea. Pulling the anchor pin out of one of the leather hoops, he took the length of leather and wrapped it around the base of Faramir’s slowly hardening flesh. Joining the two ends of the leather together again, he reinserted the pin, creating a hoop of leather around the bottom of his brother’s tensing erection. Suddenly he realized what the metallic objects were for; he decided to wait and use them later. Taking the other leather ring, he repeated the process around his own stiffening flesh, creating a tight circle of constricting leather around the root of his erection.

Walking over to the first table—with some difficulty, for it felt as if an invisible hand now held his hard flesh in a circular vise, a pleasant tightness but a bit strange at first—Boromir picked up the rounded wooden stick with the leather thong, and returned to where his brother remained patiently stretched in four directions. He went around to the top of the table, where Faramir’s head lay to one side. “For this, I’d rather not hear you talk, brother. For years, I’ve listened to you speak of love whenever we touch each other, and for once, I would prefer your silence. Just as you give your body to me in submission, you can give me quiet.” With those words, Boromir slipped the wooden stick into Faramir’s mouth, and passed the leather thong under and around his head, until the stick was firmly lodged in his brother’s mouth. The startled expression in Faramir’s eyes actually pleased Boromir. I will not have to listen to you tell me how wonderful a lover I am. I can simply use your body, for once. No need to think of what I will say to you in response. I may be as quiet as I wish while I take you.

Boromir retrieved the small container with the healing ointment from inside his brother’s tunic pocket, and smeared some of it on his firm flesh and on to the leather ring as well. That explains the different color on inside and out, I suppose. Then he took some of the salve and spread it around his brother’s rear opening, and pushed a little of it inside. But for once, he did not spread it deep within Faramir using his fingers, nor did he caress the tender inner flesh of his brother’s opening, as he usually did. But he did stop long enough to fondle his brother’s blood red erection, which was straining against its confinement in the leather ring. He brushed his own taut flesh against his brother’s, bringing the leather of his ring to rub against his brother’s silky skin. Even with his mouth cinched close, the movement drew a deep rumbling sigh of contentment from Faramir’s chest. Boromir paused, then repeated the movement twice, three times more. Each time, he watched the flare and twitch of his brother’s hardened flesh, heard his brother groan with pleasure. On the last pass, however, he ran his fingers roughly up Faramir’s erection, then gave a slight twist to the head. With his erection so hard already, the twist brought a stifled moan of pain from the younger man. I’m going to do that again, but not right now, Boromir thought.

Boromir moved closer to the table, and slid his hardened flesh up and down the cleft of Faramir’s buttocks. He felt his brother squirm beneath him, try to raise his hips in invitation. And he accepted that invitation—with a slow movement, Boromir slid his taut erection partway into his brother’s opening, to the depth of the crown but no farther. Then he withdrew until his arousal was all the way free of his brother’s opening, then he repeated what he had done earlier, repeated the motion each time, sinking himself deeper and deeper into his brother’s flesh. Until finally he was buried in the opening as far as he could go. The leather ring at the base of his erection brushed against his brother’s flesh, and the metal hoop on its side touched Faramir as well. Boromir saw Faramir’s buttocks clench and unclench when his flesh sensed the leather and then the metal attached to it.

Taking his hands from his brother’s waist, Boromir reached forward and placed his hands upon the two handles, embedded in the table to each side of his brother. They were placed precisely where Boromir wanted them; strangely, the exact length of his arms, such that he could begin to thrust and withdraw by pulling upon the handles. Only his hard erection now touched his brother’s flesh—the removal of his hands from Faramir’s body was also a novelty: Boromir could not remember a time when he had ever taken Faramir in this fashion without actually running his hands over his brother’s body. The handles permitted him to use whatever rhythm he preferred, and he fell into a quick pattern of thrust and withdrawal, thrust and withdrawal, so regular that he closed his eyes and began to sway in a near-trancelike state.

Faramir no longer knew what to expect. Forced into silence, he could hear the grunts and shifting weight of his brother behind him, but their usual close contact seemed…different somehow. He realized that he had no awareness of what his brother intended to do next, because his brother was no longer touching his skin using hands. He thought about the first room, and how he had relied upon gripping Boromir’s waist to provide the leverage both men needed to reach their fulfillment. But on this table, Boromir need not touch him, and this lack of contact was strange. I cannot tell when he will enter me, or how firmly he will push, or how long he will stay within me. And Faramir found that he enjoyed this lack of information: he tried to lean back into the next thrust of his brother’s erection, never knowing when it would come.

Boromir strained forward again, using all his strength to pull upon the handles, to drive himself deeper into Faramir’s tender flesh. The leather ring around his swollen erection was surrounded now, as the skin of the erection had engorged until it swelled over the top edge of the leather circle and was firm, rock hard to the touch. Half the leather was gone from view, as Boromir’s stiff flesh overflowed its top and partly spilled over the sides. Withdrawing himself from his brother, Boromir reached down to touch his stern member. He had never seen it so thick, so toughened in his life, and the experience was incredibly arousing. The blood that had flowed upwards into the erection was held firmly there by the leather collar, and that engorged the shaft until Boromir felt it must explode with the slightest touch. Yet, for some reason, no matter how he touched the flesh or used it to pleasure his brother, the swollen skin did not come to the final moment of ecstasy. A few drops of pearly liquid bubbled to the head, but no release followed. Boromir began to understand what his brother meant about ‘slow torture for us both.’ Until he released the pin in the leather hoop, there would be no spurting of his white treasure. And Boromir smiled, a wide-eyed smile, as he considered how Faramir’s erection was held in the same bondage. Surely we could take these back to our rooms, they are small enough and easily concealed? Faramir knows them, ask him what he knows…but he is gagged. And Boromir began to ponder how they might be used elsewhere: would Faramir wear one for him whenever he asked? Would he wear one all the time? To know that he is hard and ready for me, always…. Boromir’s eyes shut, a delicious chill running up his spine as he thought about the hours of pleasure that he could have, if Faramir’s shaft were bound tightly like this every day. Dear Eru, we might use nothing else. Faramir, I love you so much, please tell me you like these.

Boromir walked around the table to its top, bent over—carefully, for his own erection made such movements slightly painful—and whispered into his brother’s ear, “You knew what they would do. I’m going to take the gag out, and I want you to answer my questions. Don’t tell me anything else except what I ask you for.” And Boromir worked the leather thong loose, so that the round stick could be taken from his brother’s mouth. There were new marks upon the stick, where Faramir had bit into it.

“Tell me, Faramir, have you ever worn one of these leather rings before?”

“No.”

“Then how did you know what they would do?”

“Beregond showed me one once, and explained what it did.”

“Is there any harm in them? Will they hurt us, if used too much?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Do you like wearing one, Faramir?”

A little too quickly, “Yes.” Then more slowly, in a deeper voice, “Yes, Boromir. I like it. Very much.” Faramir’s eyes found his brother’s, and it was clear that the brothers were each excited by the leather rings, aroused on some deep level that both could sense. Boromir smiled, and Faramir smiled back more broadly. I’m so glad, Faramir, that it is not just me who wants to wear one.

Boromir had one last question. “Is yours too tight? Mine is very snug.”

“They are meant to be tight. And no, mine is fine.”

Boromir replaced the leather thong and rounded stick, so that his brother could no longer speak freely. “I am glad to hear that you enjoy wearing one, and that yours is not uncomfortable. For you will be wearing it the rest of the day. I intend to take mine off, eventually, but yours will stay on. And you will keep it on until I say otherwise. Nod if you understand me and agree.”

A slight hesitation, as Faramir’s eyes went a little wide. Then he swallowed hard, and nodded his agreement. He means to make me wear it when we go back to our rooms!

“Good. I intend to have you pleasure me many times later today. Here, in your bed, in the library, anyplace I wish. Perhaps we shall establish some sort of record. But for now, I would give you a reward for your good answer. It was the right answer, Faramir.” And Boromir walked back around the table, to position himself between his brother’s legs, and began to pump himself into Faramir’s opening over and over again, making the table shake with the violence of his exertions. He knew that Faramir relished being taken quickly and forcibly, and so he continued the motion a long time, pulling out then pressing into his brother as hard and as swiftly as he could. He heard Faramir moaning and moaning, with each thrust, and the sounds sent a thrill through Boromir: he loved what he could do to his brother.

He slowed, a little, when he heard Faramir moaning in what seemed to be pain. Looking down, he saw a small trail of blood seeping from his brother’s puckered flesh. Removing his reddened shaft, he noticed the blood came from a tiny cut at the base of his brother’s opening that must have happened from too much abrasion. Boromir retrieved the healing ointment and spread some of it both inside and outside the opening—the movement of his fingers over the wound brought a groan from behind Faramir’s gag—and he smeared more onto himself for good measure. Then he returned his taut flesh to its favored position: within his brother, buried to the very root of his erection until only the leather ring showed once more.

Boromir leaned forward, so that he could speak softly to his brother. “I appear to have gotten a little careless of your comfort, brother. I apologize, Faramir. I can only plead that you have the tightest most attractive bottom, and I can barely restrain my eagerness to be inside it all the time.” A small sound escaped from his brother, what sounded like a moan of pleasure. Boromir went on, “When I see you with no clothes on, brother, all I can think of is how I will take this short sword of mine and prove my valor at arms. By making you die a thousand deaths each time I pierce your flesh.” Another thrust, another moan, and Boromir could see Faramir’s eyes drift shut.

A few more quick hip thrusts, then Boromir leaned forward to whisper to his brother, “I seem to have become a babbler, with you silent. Shall I tell you what I see spread before me?” Boromir looked down the table, and began plunging into Faramir’s sweet entrance again, as he described his brother’s beauty. “The muscles of your back are coated with a little wetness now, and they have bunched in knots between your shoulders because of how your arms are confined. I love you arms, brother: so strong, so hard. Your hair is matted against your face, with sweat holding it close. And your eyes, those blue eyes that seem to see through me—did you know that when I’m with the army, I dream of your eyes, Faramir? Looking at me, with love, with desire, with concern. You seem to know everything, see all. But perhaps I can surprise you now, just a little.”

Faramir tried to see what Boromir began to do, but Boromir concealed his actions so that his brother could not see what he accomplished. Boromir withdrew his stiff flesh from his brother, and reached over to the pile of metal objects that lay on the table of the corner. Each one was small, shaped like a tiny spider, yet there were hoops and hooks that allowed them to linked together. Snapping them together, in two sets of links, Boromir arranged them so that all the miniature spider ‘legs’ pointed in the same direction, then he took the topmost hook, and inserted it through the metal ring on one side of the leather collar encircling his brother’s erection. The tiny spider legs began to swing against the side of Faramir’s swollen flesh, lightly grazing the flesh. Then Boromir bent and attached the other chain of metal spiders to the metal pin on the other side of the leather ring.

Now Faramir’s erection was brushed on two sides by the little metal prongs. Boromir had been careful to see that the metal could not hurt Faramir: there would be no cuts from the hard objects. Boromir returned his gaze to Faramir’s face, and took his accustomed place, once more pushing his erection into Faramir’s rear entrance. The force of the exertion caused the two chains to swing back and forth against Faramir’s purple-red hardness, and Boromir knew that, with every movement he made against his brother’s opening, the dangling chains would sweep up and back along the erection. The very thought of what his brother must be feeling, even now, made Boromir shut his eyes in imagined ecstasy. Then he began to pump once more, making the table shake, and his brother began moaning in what was obvious pleasure.

Suddenly, Boromir could not stand it any longer. He had to hear his brother’s voice, hear the words falling from his lips as they shared this moment. Boromir pulled his hard shaft out once more, and circled the table to his brother’s head. He paused to stroke Faramir’s hair, and leant down to kiss his cheek, before he took the thong and stick away. As he pulled the round stick from Faramir’s mouth, he could see many rows of bite marks, where before there had been only one new set. The knowledge that he had caused his brother such pain brought mixed feelings: he revelled in knowing that he had given Faramir a new experience, and he rejoiced that the bites were probably both from pleasure and from pain. But his brow furrowed when he thought of the blood he had seen at Faramir’s entrance. I must be more careful. He whispered next to Faramir’s head, “I’ve taken this off because I want to hear you speak. Actually, I want to hear what you feel for the next few moments. Don’t tell me that you love me. Don’t tell me what kind of lover I am. Just tell me what your body is feeling—that’s all I want to hear about.”

And Faramir replied, “Yes, Captain-General,” as he looked up into his brother’s eyes. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes. Boromir knew he had to reinforce the command: he repeated, a little more sternly, “I mean it, Faramir, I only want to hear about what your body is feeling. Tell me nothing more.”

“Or else what?” Faramir challenged. His mind flew back to the reassurance he had given himself before entering the room for the first time: I must remember that Boromir would never hurt me. He would not.

“Or I may be forced to…punish you for your…disobedience.” And Boromir’s voice was no longer so gentle, the kindly voice he used whenever he spoke to Faramir. There was a hard edge when he said the word “punish.”

Faramir’s eyes opened wide. Would Boromir really hurt him? Punish him? How? And at the back of his mind, Faramir thought, I’d like to have him punish me, just a little, to see what it would be like. But Faramir decided that that might wait for another day. “I’ll behave, my Captain, and follow orders.”

“Good. See that you do.” And Boromir started to circle the table, to return to his position between Faramir’s legs. So the question Faramir asked him was a surprise.

“What sort of punishment would I get if I was…disobedient?” Boromir’s eyes flew to his brother, and he stopped in his tracks. Then he went back to the top of the table so that he could look in Faramir’s eyes and Faramir could clearly see him. When he got there, he found he could not read his brother’s expression clearly.

“Repeat the question, Faramir.”

“I said, what sort of punishment would I get if I was disobedient? I want to know.” And suddenly Boromir could see that Faramir was planning to be disobedient, just to see what Boromir would do. So you would test me? Challenge my authority? Very well.
Boromir strode around to the foot of the table, behind his brother’s rear and now very raw-to-the-touch opening.

“I think it is appropriate to let the punishment match the infraction. So if you decided to speak out of turn, I might gag you again. Perhaps I might keep you gagged for quite some time. But I am beginning to believe that other rooms on this corridor might provide some alternative punishments that would also be appropriate. It would be better for you not to break the rules.”

“It seems that you make all the rules, Boromir. How will I know if I’ve broken one?”

“I make the rules while you are the one who is bound. You make the rules while I am bound. That seems fair. For now, I say that you are talking too much about irrelevant matters. What counts is this…” And Boromir abruptly shoved his erection once more into Faramir’s puckered opening, drawing a groan of pleasure from the younger man. “And this…” And Boromir withdrew himself in the most slow, lingering manner, eliciting another groan from Faramir. “And this.” Another thrust. “And now, I command you, tell me what you are feeling in your body.” Boromir’s pumping had started the small metal chains swinging once more, and Faramir’s taut erection was caught between them.

“Unnnh, the things you….aaah...attached are…hard…for me to…describe. Oh, Boromir, do that again.”

“Silence. You get no choices here. I will take you” and here Boromir plunged hard into his brother’s opening, “or leave you” and with that Boromir withdrew just as quickly, “as I see fit. You are only to speak of what you are feeling.”

“Yes, my lord. The things strike me slightly, and…aaaah,” another hard thrust, “when they do I must tense, I cannot help the reaction. Mmmmh, yes. It is like a brush drawn…nnnnh...over the skin delicately. It tickles and then I burn harder. Aaahh, yeesssss.” And Faramir’s eyes shut again, clearly in ecstatic pleasure.

Boromir thought of the effect his brother described, even as he withdrew his thick shaft once more. Completely withdrawn, he looked down at his brother’s form, and how his manhood, now stiff and straining, dangled between his legs. I could make them swing against him some other way, I suppose. He would enjoy that. One last time, Boromir circled the table, and stood above his brother. This time, Faramir looked up at his brother, questioning, but he said nothing.

“I am going to gag you again brother. And before long, I intend to take this leather collar off, to take my pleasure from you completely.” Faramir’s eyes shut again, in anticipation. “But after I gag you, I intend to show you one form of the punishment you may know if you are disobedient. You asked, so I will show you.” And Faramir’s eyes flew open at the word ‘punishment’ and remained locked on his brother’s. Boromir replaced the round stick and leather thong, this time twisting the thong so that the stick was pressed as far back into his brother’s mouth as possible.

Moving to the side of the table that Faramir could not see, Boromir grasped the closest handle and used it to steady himself as he leaned over his brother. With his free hand, he placed the fingers at the cleft in his brother’s buttocks, and started to roll his weight up and down, such that Faramir’s rear began to sway. The motion would have an obvious effect: the chains dangling against Faramir’s erection would also begin to move. Glancing quickly at his brother, Boromir saw that his eyes had rolled shut, and he was moaning again, in pleasure. Boromir then lifted his hand from Faramir’s buttocks, and began to slap the flesh with his palm. With each stroke, he hit a little harder. By the tenth strike, Boromir was causing the flesh of Faramir’s flesh to turn pink. By the twentieth blow, Boromir was hitting his brother’s rear with as much strength as he could muster.

The cheeks began to burn a bright pink. And the moans of pleasure now seemed to waver, sometimes mingled with a hint of whimpering. Yes. That is it. As he continued to strike Faramir’s tingling flesh, Boromir let go of the handle he had used for balance, and reached down between his own legs. Somewhat unsteadily, he stroked the hard erection, finding a rhythm that matched the blows he landed on his brother. Ohhh, yesss.

Boromir stopped hitting his brother, and rounded the table quickly, taking up a stance between Faramir’s legs once more. He thrust one last time into his brother’s sweet opening—oh, how I love you Faramir—and slid back and forth a few more times, until he heard Faramir’s whimpering return to groans of pleasure. Now. Still buried within his brother, Boromir felt down to the base of his stiff member, and pulled out the ring-pin, releasing his shaft from its leather confinement.

Aaaaaaah. The loss of tension practically caused his knees to buckle, but Boromir wasted no time. He leaned over his brother and grabbed Faramir’s shoulders in his hands, and used all his strength to pump deeply into his brother. The one motion was enough. Stars burst behind his eyelids, as his juices flooded out, a feeling that was almost painful. It was as if his entire body had been full, and in a second, it was suddenly hollow. Boromir knew, just before he blacked out, that he had never experienced such intense feeling. With his last breath, he gasped out, Faramir!

The collapse of his brother’s full weight over his body frightened Faramir. The force of his brother’s blows within him had been the most extreme he had ever known, giving him pleasure of a sort Faramir had never before felt. But Boromir’s voice, calling his name, followed by total silence, scared him. Faramir sensed, from his brother’s breathing, that Boromir was still alive. But he had lost consciousness, Faramir thought. With his hands bound, there was nothing Faramir could do but wait.

Long moments passed. The waiting drove Faramir nearly mad. But eventually, Boromir roused himself, and began to move. “Sorry, brother,” were the first words he said, as he slowly levered himself off of Faramir. Boromir shook his head rapidly, as if to clear it from some fog, then gained his balanced footing once more, and slowly withdrew from his brother’s opening at last. The movement brought a single moan from behind Faramir’s gag. Boromir knelt to grasp his brother’s erection with one hand. Another sound of pleasure. Boromir carefully unhooked the metal chains on each side of his brother’s taut flesh, and with a last touch, reached forward to give the erection one gentle twist at the head. This brought a single whimper from Faramir.

Boromir placed his own leather binder and pin on the table, and slowly began to unbind his brother’s legs from their rope bindings. Moving up to Faramir’s arms, Boromir stopped, and leaned down to kiss his brother’s hands, which had clenched and unclenched so many times that there were nail marks in the palms. He turned, and bent over to kiss Faramir on the forehead with tremendous tenderness. “My brother, you fulfill me.” And Faramir sighed into the gag, his eyes still closed.

Boromir continued, “Do you remember what you agreed to before?” Blue eyes opened, and looked up into green ones that were still hazy with desire attained. Faramir nodded, slowly. Boromir then said, “I will hold you to our agreement, but only for the rest of this day. And I promise you, the release you will have at the end of the day will make the leather restraint well worth the pain, and the trouble.” Faramir nodded again, looking up into Boromir’s face, seeing the afterglow of his brother’s rapture still painted there. Faramir wondered, Will I lose consciousness, when my time comes as well?

Boromir untied his brother’s hands, and moved to massage Faramir’s shoulders, which were tense from the unrelieved stretching they had undergone. Faramir simply lay on the table now, eyes shut, enjoying at last the feel of Boromir’s hands touching him with love. The slow pressure and kneading untied the knots that had formed, and soon Faramir was relaxed and able to move his arms without pain. At last, Boromir stopped the massage, and untied the thong and stick that still restrained his brother. When he took the stick in his hand, he saw that the bite marks went very deep in some places. “Lay still, brother.” With those words, Boromir rounded the table one last time, and stood behind Faramir, then placed his hands upon his brother’s waist. With his hands, he massaged Faramir’s lower back, and then rubbed each of his legs, helping his brother relax and regain the use of his limbs. But Boromir carefully avoided touching Faramir’s buttocks, which were still a bright pink from the beating that he had administered. A little shamefully, Boromir thought about how hard he had hit his brother.

Hands once more upon Faramir’s waist, he said quietly, “Stand up, brother. I’ll help you.” And as Faramir slid his legs off the table, he was grateful that Boromir steadied him. He swayed slightly, but then found his balance once more. Moving was difficult, for his erection was still firmly held in place by the leather cuff. “Stay here, Faramir.” And Boromir went to the door, gathered the brothers’ clothing and returned to lay them on the table. He helped Faramir put his tunic on, sure that his brother might catch a chill without it. Then he put on his own, and cinched the belt around his waist before reaching for Faramir’s breeches.

Pausing to consider for a moment, Boromir rapidly began to unlace the breeches all the way down to the first matched set of holes. He then relaced the ties, so that, instead of crossing the breeches’ opening, the ties now ran upwards in parallel fashion, through several sets of holes on each side. Then he helped Faramir step into the breeches, and he drew them up over his brother’s calves, knees and thighs. When he slid the breeches up to Faramir’s crotch, he gently pulled his brother’s erection and fleshy parts forward, so that they would hang outside the breeches’ opening. The movement caused Faramir to wince slightly, but then he saw Boromir’s plan: to leave enough of an opening in the breeches at their base, to keep the erection exposed at all times. Drawing the two sides of the breeches together, Boromir then began to relace the ties cross-fashion above the erection. When he was done, Faramir began to laugh. “I look like a….”

“Like what?”

“I don’t even know what. Do you really want me to go around like this for the rest of the day?” And Faramir gestured down to his purplish erection, surrounded on all sides by the leather of his breeches, bound still with the leather ring around the root of his taut flesh. The top of the erection bounced slightly with Faramir’s laughter.

“Yes. Most emphatically, yes. Brother, I want this.” And Boromir tugged down the edge of Faramir’s tunic, to conceal the erection from plain view. Only a slight bulge could be seen now, pressing out the fabric of the tunic.

“So what now, Boromir?”

“Well, after I finish getting dressed, we go investigate one of the other corridors on this level. And then…we go up to dinner with Father.” Boromir’s eyes brightened as he said the last few words. Faramir simply looked at him, dumbfounded.

“You’re serious.”

“Absolutely. And we will sit side by side, as we always do.” And a mischievous gleam crept into Boromir’s smile.

“Fine.” Faramir squared his shoulders, and picked up the leather ring that Boromir had discarded onto the table. “Just don’t forget yours, brother.” And pressing it into his brother’s hands, Faramir began to walk gingerly from the room. Boromir stared down at the circle of leather, took in a deep breath, then walked out of the room.

[To be continued in “Dinner and Dessert”]
A/N: Boromir’s thoughts on Turgon are derived from the account of Turgon´s stewardship in HoME XII p. 206. With thanks to gladio for the reference!

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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