Title: The Lord of the Thing: Generation (Se)X; Book One; Chapter Two: The Thing of the Past (Being the mad slash-lover's Parody of Prof. J.R.R. Tolkien's 'The Lord of the Rings') Author(s): Unbegrenzt AND Trianne (Because Trianne wrote the poem, and she deserves the credit for it!) Summary: Frodo learns of the evil 'Sauron the Slick-handed' and the power of the Almighty Dildo. Warnings: Unbegrenzt's attempt at humour. Wizards get pissy! Pink, fluffy handcuffs! Rating: R Pairings: Erm... Sam/Ted Sandyman, Frodo/various Elves, Frodo/various dwarves, Frodo/Gandalf... Jesus, Frodo's all over the goddamn place! Unbegrenzt's Notes: Fork me with a spoon, and review, damnit. ***** Chapter Two: The Thing of the Past The disappearance of Mr. Bilbo Baggins was remembered for quite a while in Hobbiton, and in the whole Shire besides. Or, well... That isn't *entirely* true. You see, most people had ingested enough Cheap Ale on the night of Bilbo's Birthday Orgy that even those who witnessed the strange spectacle forgot it almost immediately in their drunken stupour. In fact, everyone who saw it forgot it, with the exception of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins (who was neither drunk nor engaged in tossing frightened hobbit lads about) and Frodo Baggins (who, sixteen hours after the actual event, was still rather hung-over). Even so, people soon realized that Bilbo wasn't in town anymore. His 'Sugar Babies' (as he had so appropriately named them) were turned away at the door as Frodo fought his monstrous hang-over and the overwhelming urge to go find and choke Bilbo for leaving his 'comely heir and nephew' naught but a 'special' Dildo and the roof over his head. Indeed, Frodo was *livid* when he discovered that the money box was missing, along with his favorite pair of silk boxers. 'That old cretin never returns any of my clothes!' he thought, and thinking hurt. People were already spreading tales concerning Bilbo's nifty trick, even though they couldn't quite recall the nasty details. 'Dirty Baggins', who disappeared while being banged and reappeared with sacs of gold eventually became a favorite fireside tale. The little ones did so *love* the prospect of golden testes. In the meantime, the general opinion in the neighborhood was that Bilbo, who had always been quite kinky, had at last take it over-the-top, and had run off into the Blue. There he had undoubtedly taken part in a dangerous Sexspiel and come to a tragic, but hardly untimely, end. The blame was mostly laid on Gandalf. "If only that dratted wizard will leave young Frodo alone, perhaps he'll survive and start giving us allowances again," said the Sugar Babies. And to all appearance the wizard did leave Frodo alone, and he did survive, but allowances were never again dolled-out to Bilbo's strapping, abandoned young clients. Frodo, though keen on many of the lads, hadn't a penny to spare them. However, much to everyone's shocked delight, Frodo somehow worked up enough money each year (through several dogged bake-sales and fundraisers) to give Bilbo's Birthday Orgy annually until they got used to it. He said that he did not think Bilbo was dead. When they asked: "Where is he then?" he shrugged his shoulders and replied: "Somewhere having a damn good time." He lived alone, much as Bilbo had *officially* done; but he had a good many playthings-- uh, *friends*, that is-- especially among the younger hobbits (mostly descendants of the Firm-Bottomed Old Took), who had previously been the most prized clients of Bilbo and often in and out of Bag End. Folco Boffin and Fredegar Bolger were two of these; but his closest companions were Pippin 'The Rump' Took (as he had acquired the nickname via his pre-show Streaking) and Merry Brandybuck (his real name was Meriadoc, but only The Rump called him that, and only when they were doing *very* naughty things). Frodo went on wild and raunchy escapades with them all over the Shire; but he soon took to wandering by himself. Merry and Pippin suspected that he visited the Elves as times, as Bilbo had done. For years and years Frodo was content with being *the* Master of Bag End, although it took him quite some time to rebuild the famed Baggins fortune. Even then, he didn't take on any official Sugar Babies. The Elves were enough for him, and *they* didn't need allowances. He found himself wondering at times, especially when money was tight, about strangling that good- for-nothing former 'guardian' of his. He began to say to himself: "Perhaps I shall cross the River and hunt down Bilbo's sorry ass myself one day." To which the other half of his mind always replied: "Not yet." So it went on, until his forties were running out, and his fiftieth birthday was drawing near: fifty was a number that he felt was somehow significant (if not as significant, ominous and repulsive as other numbers-- say, 69); it was, at any rate, at that age that the Dwarves had suddenly *befallen* Bilbo. Frodo began to feel restless, and the old Elves seemed too well-trodden. He looked at Playdwarfs imported from Dale, and wondered what it would be like to actually BED one of those sexy beasts. He took to playing ever more dangerous games with the Elves; and Merry and his other friends watched him anxiously (although they indeed enjoyed watching, all the same). There were rumours of strange things happening in the world outside; and as Gandalf had not at that time harassed him or sent any message for several years, Frodo gathered all the news he could. Elves, who seldom came in the Shire, now saved Frodo a long hike by passing westward right through the woods in the evening, passing and unfortunately not returning: But they were leaving Middle Earth and were no longer concerned with Frodo, despite all of the pleasure he'd given them. Frodo took after Bilbo, they thought. Both were VERY talented at many things. Alas, they had BIGGER and BETTER things awaiting them across the Sea. To compensate for the departure of the Elves, Frodo was finally getting the dwarf action he had been lusting after for years, for they were on the road in unusual numbers... Not that Frodo minded the 'numbers' bit, and they were *all* so pleasantly pot-bellied! They seemed to be on their way to some sort of a reunion in the Blue Mountains, and althugh they too enjoyed little Frodo's company; sadly, he was not invited. It was exclusively a Dwarf thing. At any rate, they were the hobbits' chief source of pleasure in private parts-- if they wanted any: as a rule dwarves pleasured little and hobbits asked no more (unless there were Party Lights and Go-Go Boots involved). But Frodo weaseled some entertainment out of them, as well as some seemingly meaningless pillow-talk about the goings-on in the rest of Middle Earth. They were troubled, even in their spent contentedness, and spoke in whispers of the Enemy and of the Land of Mordor. Little of all this, of course, reached the ears of ordinary hobbits, as they were shy about approaching dwarves, unless they were offered-up on a brightly-lit stage (again, Party Lights and Go-Go Boots were a definite *must*). But even the most boring and impotent of the hobbits began to hear queer tales; and those whose 'business' took them to the borders witnessed very strange things, indeed. The conversation in The Green Dragon at Bywater, one evening in the spring of Frodo's fiftieth year, showed that even in the comfortable heart of the Shire rumors had been heard, though most of the hobbits still laughed at them and heartily denied having anything to do with dwarves since Bilbo's Party of '01. ***** Sam Gamgee was sitting in one corner near the fire, and on his lap was Ted Sandyman, the miller's son; and there were various other rustic hobbits clamoring at Sam's attractive knees listening to their talk. "Queer things you do hear these days, to be sure," said Sam, squirming enthusiastically under the weight of the other. "Ah," giggled Ted, "you do, if you listen. But I can hear pillow-talk like that in your bed, if I want to." "No doubt you can," chortled Sam, pinching Sandyman's sprightly bottom, "and I daresay there's more truth in it than you reckon. Who invented the stories anyway? I only hear 'em and pass 'em down, as is proper. Take Dragons, now." "No thank 'ee," replied Ted, a little hurt, "I won't. And what's all this about 'passing 'em on down the line'? I thought I was more than a link in the chain to you! Besides, there's only one Dragon that I know of, and that's full of naughty fellows like you and me up to the Green Tits," he said, getting a general laugh and another pinch from Sam as a reward for his wit. "All right," murmured Sam into Ted's tender neck. "But what about these Tree-men, these giants as you might call them? They do say that one with-- ah, a *branch*-- bigger than a log was seen up away beyond the North Moors not long back." "More pillow-talk passed down the line?" pouted Ted. "And who's *they*?" "My cousin Hal for one. He's bonking Mr. Boffin at Overhill and goes up to the Northfarthing once in awhile for a break; Mr. Boffin is rather spirited for a hobbit his age, and sometimes it's just too much for Old Hal. Anyway, he saw one o' them giants. Branch and all." "Says he did, perhaps. Your Hal's always saying he's seen and done things. Maybe he sees and does things that ain't there." "But this one was as big as an elm tree, and-- well, pruning its own branch, you might say-- I swear, it was seven yards, if it was an inch!" "Then I bet it wasn't an inch. Hal wouldn't have SURVIVED an encounter with seven yards. What he saw was an elm tree, like as not, even *if* it was swaying provocatively in the wind." "But this one was tending to its own needs, I tell you; and there ain't no elm tree on the North Moors." "Then Hal can't have seen one," said Ted, "and especially not one that was busy pruning its own branch." There was some laughing and mewling, and some affectionate nibbling on Ted's ear by the audience: they seemed to think that Ted had scored a point. "All the same," said Sam, "you can't deny that others besides our Halfast have seen queer folk crossing the Shire-- crossing it, mind you-- there are more that are turned back after a quick strip- search at the borders. The Bounders have never been so happy before. "And I've heard tell that the Elves are moving west. They do say that they are going to the harbors, barely stopping to chat, let alone do anything *else*." Sam waved his arm vaguely: neither he nor any of the them had been with an elf before, so they didn't really know if elves actually *did* that sort of thing or not. "I am wanton, wanton, wanton, and they are going into the west and leaving us," said Sam, half- chanting the words, shaking his head sadly and solemnly. "Well, that isn't anything new-- the elves leaving or you being wanton-- but I think the latter can be remedied without the aid of the elves..." mumbled Ted, giving Sam a lingering squeeze. They drained their mugs and made their way noisily to one of the rooms. ***** It was just at this time that Gandalf chose to materialize after his long absence in Frodo's bed chamber, just as Frodo was settling under the covers and taking care of some last, *personal* business. Frodo welcomed his old friend with surprise and great embarrassment, making a futile attempt to hide his current state with the fluffy duvet. "Ah well eh?" said Gandalf. "You look the same as ever, if a bit more flushed than usual, Frodo!" "And you just look like absolute shit," Frodo replied, looking over the wizard indignantly. If he was going to poke fun, Frodo wasn't going to be nice either. "Well, yes," said Gandalf, eyes narrowing, "but I am sure I look better than you would after seven years of non-stop cat-fighting." Frodo winced. "That bad, eh?" "Yes. And I have to get right back. He's far from through with me. The only reason I got away this quickly was that he decided to stop and *breathe* for awhile." "Yeowch." "Damn straight. Look, I don't really want to talk right now. Can I crash here?" Frodo nodded, smiling suggestively, and patted the pillow beside him. "I never thought I'd say this, Gandalf, but I've missed you terribly," purred Frodo, beckoning to the wizard with a curl of his index finger. Gandalf sighed, cursing the hobbit his smooth tongue, and slid in on the tiny hobbit bed beside him. "Well, I'm already in trouble for something I didn't do in the first place. The least I can do is catch up and earn the punishment I've been receiving as of late," muttered Gandalf slyly, pulling Frodo close. The hobbit drew one of his hands out from under the covers, magically producing a set of pink, fluffy handcuffs. "Oh, but Gandalf!" he exclaimed, "Don't you think I ought to punish you as well? You've been a *very* naughty wizard." And the fun began. ***** The next morning, the two sat sharing a quiet breakfast. Secretive, appreciative glances flitted between them as they ate. Frodo cursed himself for waiting so long to bed the Wizard. They didn't call him 'Gandalf the Great' for nothing. Hoo-wee. Sam had showed up late for work and was clipping hurriedly away at the shrubbery. He had told Frodo that he had been sick the night before and had slept too late; but Frodo knew better: Sam had probably spent another raucous night at The Green Dragon and had been forced to walk all the way to Bag End from Bywater in the morning. "Do you still have it?" asked Gandalf, tearing Frodo away from vivid thoughts of Sam having his raucous night. "Er, you mean, the Thing?" said Frodo. Gandalf nodded earnestly. "Can I see it?" the wizard asked. Frodo, startled, glared at Gandalf in apprehension. "No, Frodo. I just want to *see* it," Gandalf sighed, and Frodo blushed. He searched around in his enlarged breeches-pocket, and drew the Thing out slowly, handing it carefully to the wizard. Gandalf held it up. It looked to be made of pure and solid gold. "Can you see any markings on it?" "No," answered Frodo. "There are none. Trust me, I would know." Gandalf gasped. "You haven't *used* it, have you?" he asked incredulously. Much to his relief, Frodo shook his head. "Look!" he cried, chucking the Thing into the very heart of the small fire in the kitchen hearth. "NOOOOO!!" screeched Frodo, frantically diving for the tongs. "I *told* you that I didn't use it! Why'd you have to go and do that? I've disinfected it since Bilbo last used it, that's all!" he cried. "Hang on a minute there, pal," boomed Gandalf, grabbing Frodo from behind by the waistband. No apparent change came over the Thing. Gandalf got up and closed the shutters. All was dark and silent, though it was obvious that Sam was still doing SOMETHING out in the garden, by the sound of his ragged gasping. The two ignored the sounds, and Gandalf stooped and removed the Thing from the fire, dropping it into Frodo's shrinking palm. "What do you see?" asked Gandalf. Frodo smiled. "Ooo, what a pretty floral-pattern!" he exclaimed, handing it back to Gandalf. The wizard *hmmphed*. "This is no mere pattern of flowers, my dear fellow," he answered, peering closely at the Thing. "It is the Dark Tongue of Mordor." Frodo arched an eyebrow. "I see," he replied, gazing over Gandalf's shoulder. "What does it say, then?" Gandalf's eyes went sinister and he heaved a great sigh. "I will not utter a word of that abominable language here, but in the Common Tongue, it reads: Any who insert this where the sun don't shine Will belong to Sauron and tow the line. Insert it again, and we shall be together In the Land of Mordor, for ever and ever. Insert it thrice in your sweet little room, And forever will I ride your Crack of Doom." Frodo had paled considerably, and now all was silent. Even Sam out in the garden had ceased his activity. "Great!" wailed Frodo. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" "Well," said the wizard, "I suggest you go see Elrond in Rivendell. He knows a lot about... Things. Meanwhile, I'll go see my Sweetie-Pumpkin about it, because he's just SO clever." Frodo gagged at the dripping praise Gandalf was slathering on his partner. "Let me remind you that we were just doing some things that your Sweetie-Pumpkin would very likely not approve of, and--" At that moment there was a horrified squeak from just beyond the window. Gandalf was there in a flash, and yanked up a struggling Sam Gamgee like an uprooted weed. "Well, bless my Bodily Hair! Sam Gamgee, is it? What did you think you were doing, sneaking about and listening-in on our little chat?" Gandalf questioned haughtily. Sam shrunk against a nearby wall, shaking and cowering. "Please, Mr. Frodo! Don't let him do anything UNNATURAL to me! I would be sore for a week!" cried a desperate Sam. "I didn't hear nothin'! Honest!" Frodo and Gandalf exchanged exasperated looks. "Well, there's one more who knows about the Dildo. Sam, do you even realize the trouble you've gotten your perky little cheeks into?" Frodo asked, and was about to continue, but Gandalf raised a staying hand. "Actually... There's something you might be able to do for him, Sammy. Heh, heh, heh. Frodo's going on a trip to Rivendell, and he'll need someone strong and able like yourself to carry that collection of silk boxers he's got. So--" "Me?" exclaimed Sam, temporarily forgetting his place. "Me go and f---, I mean *see* the elves? Hooray!" With that, he promptly creamed in his pants. ***** Coming soon (if I get enough feedback): Chapter Three: Threesome Company.