Title: Primal Lust 2
 
 
Author: Isabelle Ringing  
 
 
Author's Email: bigtoothed@yahoo.com (Feedback is fun.) 
 
 
Pairings: Frodo/Boromir (What other pairing would be present in one of 
my stories besides Frodo/some random man?)  
 
 
Rating: A major NC-17; this one’s pretty nasty, guys. 
 
WARNING: RAPE (more details in this one, believe me or not), Non-Con 
(duh), Bondage, H/C in this part, Cheesy Writing, 
Cheesy Ending, PWP, Unoriginality  
 
 
Summary: The setting is post-Frodo’s getting stabbed, pre-council. 
Boromir gets super-horny in Rivendell, and who better than my favorite 
little hobbit is to be used and abused to satisfy Boromir’s “primal lust?”
 
Author’s Note: I keep going back to my ‘Primal Lust story, hoping that I 
would’ve either made it better or added more, pre- or post-this. So, here’s 
what I’m coming up with. Bleh. This may even turn into a series, like my 
‘The Taking of Innocence.’ I recently read this inspiring (to me) lonf piece 
of fiction in which Frodo’s (you guessed it) raped in Minas Tirith and 
eventually gets over it with Sam’s help. I’ve forgotten the link, but if you 
desperately want to know it, just email me and I’ll make a point of finding 
it again.
 
I stayed awake until probably 1:00 AM writing this thing, 
my brain was driven by cookies and diet pop, and I still cannot believe 
that I wrote this garbage. I mean, come on. This story is utterly awful. It’s 
plotless and irrelevant. It’s brain-damaging and offensive. It was also 
inspired, in a little way, by Claudia’s “Splinter,” which can be found in 
Branduin’s Hobbit/Interspecies fic site and is also a story in which 
Boromir “has it out” with Frodo… so to speak.
 *giggle* If you like this 
one, you’ll like that one. I cannot *believe* that I wrote this…
 
*
 
Frodo screamed partly out of fear, partly out of humiliation, and partly out 
of hope for some passerby to hear and come help him, but mostly out of 
the searing pain that spread through his bottom. 
 
Boromir was panting heavily, his leggings around his ankles as he 
continues to fulfill his fantasy of violating the small, blue-eyes hobbit. 
“Come on,” the man grunted out as he grasped underneath the hobbit’s 
two knees with each of his hands. The pain of the man’s shaft fully inside 
of his small hole caused Frodo to become weak and disoriented, and so he 
was forced to comply when his legs were spread and jerked upward. 
Boromir bent down a little more, being careful of his position inside the 
halfling, and he pushed the thin legs up. Frodo’s ankles were far apart and 
now rested awkwardly on each of Boromir’s shoulders, his furry feet 
dangling. 
 
Frodo’s screams faded. The man had stopped moving inside of him, at 
least, and the muscles in his legs were aching from the odd position. The 
hobbit only groaned as loudly as his remaining strength would allow, 
shaking his head slowly from side to side pitifully.
 
“Mm, I love you, halfling. You know it.” Boromir leaned down and 
whispered hoarsely, and was sure that Frodo had heard based on the 
sudden higher pitch in his pained groaning. “After I’m finished with your 
tight ass, you could become a harlot and make yourself a few coins, you 
know. I bet you really want to be a little whore and be banged by men all 
day and night.” He chuckled softly, crazily.
 
Frodo, succumbing to the now dully throbbing pain in his bottom, flinched 
at each of the strong stranger’s words. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want 
this kind of ‘love’ from anyone, but it was being forced upon him. He may 
as well give into it, he thought then. Just let it all happen to him, and then 
he could find some kind of comfort. But how could Sam, or Gandalf, or 
anyone still look at him in the same way after this? He whimpered.
 
Boromir held tight to the slight flab of skin on the hobbit’s behind. He 
guided the little body expertly as he began to thrust, steadily and angrily, 
growling and grunting as he did.
 
Frodo’s head reeled and his stomach rolled, if only from his body’s quick 
motions; he knew then that he would later regurgitate what little supper 
he’d had that afternoon. He desperately willed himself to hold it all back 
for the moment, else he would choke from behind the gag. His hobbitty 
ears picked up the sound of the firm flesh smacking against his own, and 
he felt an ominous hic and the taste of stomach acid in his throat.
 
His moans were soft and low, and the blackness due to the blindfold was 
becoming too tormenting to bear as he was subjected to this man’s rough 
treatment. Expected unconsciousness was creeping up, to Frodo’s sad 
relief.
 
The hobbit was mercilessly kept from passing out as the thrusts became 
suddenly faster, rocking him back into unwanted alertness. A thick hand 
was rubbing the damp, dark curls on the side of his head. The other slid 
from his buttock to his penis and grasped firmly.
 
“Nnnn...” Frodo managed. It was then that he realized his body had 
betrayed him despite his fear and hatred. What would Sam think if he 
found out that...?
 
Boromir snickered, still thrusting, and he made quick work of bringing the 
young hobbit to an exhausting, unwanted climax. Seeing this sent Boromir 
over the edge, and Frodo’s body jerked in pure revulsion when he felt the 
warm wetness burst into him, contaminating his body. 
 
The man pulled himself out abruptly, noting Frodo’s quiet whimper as he 
did so. He was somewhat surprised that the hobbit had remained 
conscious. He wriggled backward, letting the hobbit’s legs and large feet 
fall from his shoulders and thump back onto the mattress.  “I think I’ll just 
leave you like this,’ he whispered, and then grinned. “You were so sweet 
for me, little one. Seeing your seed all over your stomach, you must’ve 
had fun too, huh?” Frodo’s head shook weakly from side to side. 
 
“Ha. I bet. We might have some fun together again sometime. Probably 
not, though, with the council coming up in a few days and all....” Boromir 
stopped himself, realizing with a start that Frodo might guess that the one 
who did this to him would be at Elrond’s council. “That is, there’ll be a lot 
of folk running about in these halls at night. I’ll have to be much 
sneakier.”
 
Boromir huffed when the hobbit no longer responded in any way, which 
apparently spoiled his satisfaction in tormenting Frodo. Boromir wiped at 
himself with a white towel, threw the dirtied towel onto the bed beside the 
hobbit’s still bound body, and quickly laced up his dark, velvety breeches. 
Frodo heard the click as his door was shut, and listened as his attacker’s 
footsteps receded.
 
Frodo knew that Aragorn often strolled in the halls of the great house at 
nights. The hobbit had asked him why earlier in the week, and the future 
king had only smiled mysteriously, and said something along the lines of 
worrying too much. 
 
Frodo lie breathing for a few long moments and, mustering some more air 
into his chest, let out a long, muffled yell.
 
*
 
Not Aragorn, but a rather young-looking, dark-haired elf sauntered 
aimlessly, hands in his pockets, whistling a pleasant tune he’d heard 
played on a flute at one of Elrond’s dinner parties. He wore one of the 
many navy gowns that all watchmen wore when on duty, but patrolling in 
any of the Houses was thought of as a kind of privileged free time. No 
reported crime had ever been heard of to take place in the sacred houses, 
and no guard would’ve been on that night had the business of the One 
Ring not been recognized as a possible threat. 
 
The guard turned a corner gracefully, his whistling turning into humming. 
Then he stopped, brows creasing in surprised suspicion. His pointed ears 
had detected some odd muffled sound from one of the rooms at the left of 
the long hallway. 
 
“Who is there?” he called out loudly, disregarding any risk of waking the 
sleepers in the other rooms that were probably occupied. 
 
The elf sensed something wrong, so he strode forward, cautiously listening 
for another sound. When he heard it again—low and faint, sounding like 
someone who was in great pain—he ran forward, managing to find the 
room’s door before the eerie sound had gone. 
 
Kam, as his friends called him affectionately, knocked three times with his 
knuckles and, getting no answer in return but something that sounded like 
the ruffling of sheets, he began knocking with his fist.
 
“Are you hurt in there?” he called as he grasped the doorknob, but it 
would not turn. 
 
*
 
Frodo didn’t know that Boromir has locked his bedroom door from the 
inside before leaving. The hobbit sobbed, unable to control himself. The 
stranger seemed to have had over him another kind of defeat, and was not 
even present, Frodo thought miserably.
 
“Shit,” Kam swore under his breath (he was laughably gruffer than most 
of the other elves) when the knob refused to turn, and then he heard the 
sobs. Whoever was in the room obviously wasn’t able to reach the door. 
 
“Uh, don’t worry!” he said, nervousness, excitement, and fear tickling all 
of his spine. “I’m going to break the door down, all right? Can you 
speak?” Kam had hardly finished the question before he’d hopped back 
and slammed a shoulder into the wooden door, knocking it off one of its 
three hinges. 
 
He used his hands to shove the rest of the broken door down. He took a 
few steps back as he took in the terrible site before him. He’s seen the 
halfling once before, walking through one of the gardens, and Frodo’s 
cheeks had flushed when Kam inquired about his odd feet. They’d shared 
lighthearted words with each other a little less than a month ago, and Kam 
was still surprised at the wetness he suddenly felt in his eyes.
 
He leaned his head out just long enough to yell, “Someone come and help 
me!”  
 
The first thing he did was hurriedly tug down the hem of Frodo’s white 
gown, which had been bunched up to his chest, just past both of his pink 
nipples. He wouldn’t purposefully cause this apparently sexually abused 
creature any further humiliation. 
 
Glancing from the hobbit’s bound hands to the cloths covering his face, he 
quickly reached behind the curly head and pulled off the blindfold (the 
blue eyes were shut tightly), and then the gag, and he saw that Frodo’s 
cheeks were purple with bruises, stained by tears, and that another cloth 
had been jammed into his small mouth. 
 
He swore again, only this time his mouth twitched up in what he knew 
was a snarl. How could anyone have done such a horrendous thing, and to 
one of the childlike hobbits? 
 
Kam carefully pulled the ragged piece of cloth from Frodo’s mouth and let 
it fall onto the beige carpet. “Halfling? Ha—Frodo,” he whispered, 
suddenly remembering the name Frodo had given him when they met 
briefly in the garden. “Frodo? Frodo?”
 
He kept repeating the name, a little louder each time, and was both 
relieved and distressed when the hobbit’s eyelids fluttered open. The blue 
eyes were hardly as captivating then, when they were swollen and bright 
red from probably hours of crying. He was shocked to see a stranger over 
him, only registering that he was tall, strong-looking. 
 
Kam jerked at the cloth around the both of Frodo’s wrists, looped several 
times around one banister. The elf guard leaned over the barely conscious 
hobbit and sank his teeth into the strip, and then managed to pry the small, 
pale hands free.
 
Frodo jerked his hands from the gentle, larger ones and scooted himself 
backward so that his back was flat against the headboard. Breathing 
heavily, he looked warily up into Kam’s green eyes, though Frodo’s eyes 
were still clouded over with something like terror.  But then memory 
gripped the hobbit like the bite of a snake would a frog, and Frodo hurried 
to crawl to his hands and knees and lean over the side of the large bad to 
vomit. 
 
The elf brushed Frodo’s black curls away from his face as he spat and 
coughed up the remaining contents of his stomach. He finished, sniffling, 
and then turned his eyes back to Kam’s, who was squatting by the bedside. 
Frodo suddenly tried to move his had away from the touch, and Kam had 
to quickly untangle his long fingers from it. The elf then spread his arms 
in a manner meant to be unarming and sympathetic. This creature was the 
only witness to Frodo in the state he was after....
 
“Come,” Kam coaxed, spreading his arms a little wider. It was difficult for 
him to keep his voice from shaking, “I’ll take you somewhere that is safe 
now. And you can.... Someone will tend to you.”
 
Frodo was forced to shove his current uncertainty and suspicions of elves 
and men just then. He could plainly see that the guard had no intent on 
harming him further, and he needed comfort right then. It couldn’t wait.
 
Frodo whimpered at the pain he felt all over when he sat up on his knees 
and crawled to Kam, but it did not deter him much as he threw his body 
forward. Kam ducked his head as smal arms struggled to wrap themselves 
tightly around his neck, and his body tensed when Frodo’s wet face was 
between his neck and right shoulder. 
 
Such an open display of seeking out comfort left Kam temporarily off-
guard, since neither elves, nor men, nor really any other creatures the 
guard knew of had been known to be so. But the halfling had undoubtedly 
gone through a traumatizing experience. And Kam felt suddenly proud 
that Frodo would seek comfort from *him,* and in such a terrified state. 
 
“Shh, just relax,” the elf soothed as best he knew how, frantically trying to 
recall techniques he’d used on his younger siblings when one came to him 
for consoling after scraping a knee. He rubbed and patted Frodo’s back as 
sharp whimpers and sobs from the hobbit shook both of their bodies. 
 
He ducked his head down and pulled back from Frodo, preventing his 
weakened body from falling forward again by holding onto Frodo’s upper 
arms. “I’ll carry you. Help me...” Kam began, standing partially and 
hooking his sufficiently muscled arms around the hobbit’s back and legs, 
pulling him slowly back and into his arms. 
 
The elf rose slowly, not wanting to jar any wounds that perhaps hadn’t 
been obvious to him by what he’d already seen. “Ah.... Ouch,” Frodo 
murmured between hisses of pain. He said quietly, “I’m sorry, I’m 
sorry...” as he clutched the elf, burying his bruised face into the soft robe 
over Kam’s chest.
 
“Don’t speak,” he instructed dutifully, pacing out of the room and back 
into the long hallway, and then heading toward the nearest room of one 
who had medicine: Aragorn. “And don’t be sorry. You haven’t done 
anything wrong, I’m sure. I... I’m sorry for not being about as early as I 
should’ve been.”
 
Frodo peeked up tiredly to see a few obvious tears pooled in the corners of 
the guard’s eyes. “Don’t be... upset, I....” Frodo stuttered, whimpering at 
the persistent burning in his backside. “You’re the one who... um... wanted 
to know about my... feet, in the garden once.” 
 
“Yes. I had duties that morning, and I had to leave, do you remember?” 
Kam panted out as he squeaked to a halt on the polished floor, knocking 
abruptly at a wooden door with a design noticeably different fro the 
others’. “You never got to tell me why they’re so ungainly-looking. I’ll get 
it out of you eventually.”
 
His attempt at sounding lighthearted had Frodo nearly calmed. He waited 
impatiently at the door with his small charge in his arms. The night would 
be long.
 
~END, PART 2~