Breaking The Stallion

Breaking The Stallion

Posted: February 2, 2007
Title: Breaking the Stallion
Sequel to: The Mithril Chain
Author: LadyHawksShadow
Type: FCS
Characters: Boromir/Elrond
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story is written for entertainment purposes only.
Beta: None.
Warnings: kink, fetish, m/m, graphic sex
Author’s Notes: The Mithril Chain was written for the Slashfest challenge, however, so many people asked for more that I had to oblige. I suppose this constitutes a series, but just like Faramir’s Wicked Adventures, I have no idea how long it will be or even if it will continue.

Summary: Boromir accepts Elrond as his master and continues to wear the mithril chain.

*****

Dawn crept into the room, softly illuminating the shadows and turning the air a warm, rosy color. Boromir glared out of the window and bared his teeth at the sun. His face was pale and his body sweat-soaked. The sheets of his bed were huddled on the floor, where his thrashing had finally landed them.

His cock lay rigid and heavy across his stomach. At any time during the long hours of darkness, he could have stripped off the chain and tossed it aside as casually as he’d tossed aside his sheets. He could have given himself the much needed release.

Yet he did not. Instead, he’d spent the night in agony, twisting and turning, sweat glistening on his skin. His body aching with a need he’d never had before. His mind churning with thoughts and images that were as alien to him as orc speech. Inside his mind, he waged a battle in which there were neither winners or losers. A battle he’d never before waged.

A soft knock at his door brought him upright in the bed and he struggled to find the covers for modesty. He barked permission to enter and drew the disorganized sheets up to his chin like a maid on her wedding night.

An elven woman entered, slim and doe-eyed with hair flowing like honey down to her waist. She held a tray of tea and biscuits and fruits that she placed on the table next to the same chair in which Boromir had sat the night before. She offered the Man a bold smile, her single dimple showing. If she hoped for an invitation into the Captain-General’s bed, she was due for disappointment.

The Man barely noticed her at all. His thoughts were turned toward the small, white square of paper nestled beneath a pear and she let herself out the way she’d come. And when she’d gone, Boromir leapt from the bed, his cock slapping heavily against his thighs and the fine mithril chain tugging at his sack, and retrieved the note, ignoring the food.

His eyes scanned the note. Elrond’s script was elegant. His words were terse, commanding.

Boromir dressed, no thoughts of declining or defiance to hamper him, and followed the note’s instructions. He exited his chamber and moved quickly down the corridor until he found a door that led to the gardens. At the fountain, he turned left and followed a narrow rock path until he came to a wrought iron gate. Pushing past the gate, he entered a small grotto filled with potted flowers. In the middle of the garden was a small, stone hut without windows. He opened the tall, white door and entered.

The hut was a single room with little furniture. A tall wardrobe. A table. Single chair. A small chest. All of it pushed against the walls. Candles lit the room, dripping bee’s wax in their metal sconces. In the chair sat Elrond. On the table sat a decanter and a single crystal goblet. The elf’s head turned as Boromir entered the room, but otherwise, he did not move.

Boromir, too, did not move. He stood framed in the door with the early morning light behind him. He wondered why he’d come. Why he’d chosen to wear the chain. Why had he ignored the elven maid’s obvious invitation.

Lord Elrond slowly rose to his feet, his lithe body unwinding from the chair, his gray eyes deep and mysterious. The pale fingers pressed together inside his long sleeves. His robe rustled as he moved.

Boromir closed the door and stepped into the room. He knew why he’d come. Why he’d worn the chain, tormented himself all through the night with erotic images. Although his body remained rigid and his mind still at war, his soul had already capitulated.

“You may remove it, if you wish,” Elrond said as he approached Boromir. His voice was soft, smooth, and calm, as though speaking to an unbroken stallion, coaxing it to his hand. “The chain is only to remind you of your commitment. If you chose to, you can change your mind and leave. Always, the choice belongs to you.”

The image of Elrond nestled between his knees, stroking his erection, flitted through Boromir’s mind. He wanted to feel those warm, strong hands upon his flesh. To do that, he knew he must keep the chain wound about his cock. Although the elf never said so, the implications were there. He shook his head ever so slightly and felt the pull of the chain tightening against his skin.

“And so the lessons continue,” spoke Elrond as he moved behind Boromir. His breath fanned the nape of the Man’s neck. He’d wondered if Boromir would come. He’d wondered if he’d pushed too hard, too soon. The risk was always there, but it was one that he had to take in order to fulfill his own needs. There had been those who were unwilling. There had been those too willing. And then there had been the Boromirs.

Unbreakable. Bending only because it suited them. Rarely did it take them long to discover who was in control of whom. “Undress.”

He stood back as Boromir’s clothes came away, one piece at a time. The tunic, without undershirt, the breeches, the boots without socks. Until only the mithril chain remained. Boromir’s body belonged to a warrior. There was no softness anywhere. The skin stretched tightly over honed muscles. The bones were long and straight. Elrond shivered. While lacking the perfection of an elf, Boromir had twice the appeal for the small imperfections: a battle scar here, a bruise there. Fine hairs on his chest, trailing down his flat belly and lower still. His cock, thick and full, straining against the chain, plum- colored with unspent seed.

When Boromir was completely nude, Elrond moved around toward the chair and picked up a small pillow. He tossed it to the floor. “Kneel.”

Hesitantly, Boromir went to the pillow and lowered himself upon it, settling back on his bent legs. His mouth felt dry and his hands trembled slightly. He didn’t know what to expect from this being who suddenly held so much control over him. He tried to dredge up his pride and outrage, but could find neither. Elrond had said he was in control and that the choice was his. Already, he’d chosen and, from this moment forward, he’d continue to chose this.

To his surprise, Elrond opened his robe, revealing his own body to Boromir’s gaze. His body was lean, well-toned, and smooth. His cock rose proudly from a nest of black curls that extended upward to his navel and no further. The columns of his legs were strong, thighs rippling with muscles used to hard work and exercise.

Elrond placed one hand on Boromir’s head and grasped the base of his cock with the other. Holding the Man by his hair, he lightly hit him in the face with the tip of his cock. He struck the Man’s chin, lips, cheeks, and eyes. Little drops of his essence splattered Boromir’s face.

With the first slap, Boromir grunted and his face screwed up with a surprised grimace. His eyes flashed angry humiliation. His shoulders tightened and his neck stiffened. The mithril chain pulled against his cock. He stared into Elrond’s gray eyes. He ground his teeth, reminded himself that he had chosen this, and forced his shoulders to relax. He swallowed and willed his mind blank.

Slowly, he began to enjoy the odd punishment. Flecks of the elf’s pre-cum glistened on his lips and his tongue darted out to lap them up. His head lolled, supported only by Elrond’s hand in his hair. There was no pain. The humiliation was only in his mind. Once he accepted that this was what he wanted, he submitted.

Elrond continued whipping Boromir about the face and throat. He noted the flush creeping over the bronzed skin. He said nothing as the Man’s eyes glazed with pleasure. The elf knew, then, that he had but to bridle his stallion in order to ride him. He held his cock still and placed it against Boromir’s lips and the Man’s mouth immediately opened to him, taking in his length, swallowing him to the root. His cheeks puffed out and his tongue cleaved to the underside of the cock, pressing against the single, throbbing vein. Elrond clamped his lips firmly together, biting back the soft moan of pleasure rising up from his chest. He forced his body to stillness.

Boromir, on his knees before Elrond, could think of nothing beyond the pleasure of servicing the elf. He slid his tongue up and down the hard flesh in his mouth. He lathed the tip, tasting the elf, pressing the flat of his tongue against the tiny slit. He pushed his head down until his nose pressed against the tight curls of the elf’s groin and he swallowed. He felt the throbbing in his mouth and he hummed beneath his breath. His world reduced itself to that one instant of pleasure, to his master’s pleasure.

A sharp tugging on his scalp brought him out of himself and he blinked at Elrond, confused and uncertain. The wet cock nudged his chin and he tried to reach it again with his lips, but Elrond’s hand in his hair prevented him. His own cock throbbed and ached between his thighs and he thought he might die from the unfulfilled need. With his eyes, he told Elrond that whatever he wanted, he could simply take.

With a command from Elrond, he dropped to all fours, head hanging between his arms, chain slack beneath his belly. His body trembled as cool sweat beaded along his back. He did not know what to expect and the anticipation of what might come sent chills arching through his groin. When the cool fingers pushed into him, he arched his hips. Never before had he allowed another to penetrate him, thinking such things beneath a Lord of Gondor. Now, he pushed back and back, driving the fingers deeper into his body, silently begging for everything Elrond could or would give to him. Long fingers brushed the sensitive nerves deep within his body and lights exploded behind Boromir’s closed eyes. His mouth opened in a long, low moan, risen deep within him, unbidden and never before uttered. The fingers continued to stroke him, alternately pushing against and then gently messaging his prostate.

His whole body trembled and strained. His head came up, pulling the chain tight. His cock throbbed. His balls ached. The veins on his neck stood out in sharp relief. His fingers dug against the bare floor. A third finger stretched him wider. Pressed down on the nub inside his body, hard and inflexible, grinding against the nerves until Boromir could stand it no more. His thighs bunched as he pushed back and he cried out, begging for mercy, release, and fulfillment.

Something heavy and thick replaced the warm fingers and Boromir whimpered softly, partly from pleasure and partly with fear. Inexorably he was stretched open and completely filled. He gasped, breathing through his mouth, as that same spot was again rubbed. The delicious friction continued to build with each thrust of Elrond’s body against his. Faster and faster the elf moved, sliding the Man off his cushion, forcing his hips lower. Boromir felt himself on the brink and sliding quickly over. His cock bobbed and bounced and the small slit flexed. Boromir jerked his head up and the mithril chain tightened, cutting off the flow of his essence. He gasped and shuddered, release once more denied him.

Elrond withdrew, his head lowered and sweat beading his brow, and sat back on his heels. He curbed his own needs and desires. Later, perhaps, after the Man was more fully broken in, would they take pleasure together. For the time, however, both would remain unfulfilled.

He stared at Boromir’s back, finding pleasure in the flushed and sweating skin and the trembling of the muscles. “When you are ready,” he said as he rose and closed his robe, “I will give you your third lesson.”

*****

THE END

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