Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and Middle Earth are the property of JRR Tolkein and New Line Cinema, and I have no connection with either. None of the characters described here are meant to besmirch the original and much loved characters of Lord of the Rings, or imply anything about the actors who played them in the movie trilogy. If you are too young, or don't like gay stories, PLEASE GO ELSEWHERE, or I'll get in trouble. These stories contain scenes of gay sex without condoms or protection, because it doesn't seem likely that condoms would exist in Middle Earth, or STDs for that matter - don't try and copy these fictional characters - always wear a condom during sex, the experience isn't worth the risk
Author's Notes: I'd once again like to apologise for the lateness of this chapter, its just I've been on holiday in Cornwall for a week, only just got home, and I needed time to get back into the flow of writing. I did get a bit of a weak response to last week, some even containing my first flames over this story! Most seemed to be discouraging me to stop using the dwarves as sexual characters, as the one mental example we now have of a dwarf is John Rhys-Davies, which I thought was a bit rude; it is MY story after all! But, as I said before, all opinions are welcome and will be considered. I hope this chapter is more to your liking...
Tales of Middle Earth Part One - Chapter 5 Minas Tirith / 1
Boromir looked down upon Minas Tirith from where he stood at the third level of the Tower of Ecthelion, and sighed contentedly. Beyond the lower walls of the city, the south-western wards of Ithilien stretched away over across Pelinor fields, the city of Osgiliath and the River Anduin, over to the Ephel Duath (Mountains of Shadow) that separated Mordor from the rest of Middle Earth. Boromir felt his chest swell with pride, knowing that all that lay before him up until those dark mountains was his homeland, Middle Earth's one and only line of defence against the Shadow. Not that there was anything to worry about anymore; Mount Doom had, of course been moderately silent since the time of Isildur, but it was a good feeling, knowing that only Gondor stood before Middle Earth and the Dark lands. Looking down from the shadowy mountains in the far distance, he cast his eyes down towards the Court of the White Tree, the straight-backed sentry guards standing duty, motionless and unblinking, their legs apart in ease position, waiting for a danger that would probably never come. Boromir's smile grew wider. The thick muscled legs of the Guards were clad in shining armour, and the long, knee-length black tunic under their armour hung over the muscular buttocks like two globes, visible when the wind blew their long cloaks aside. Boromir felt increasing tension in his groins. If he wanted, he could command every soldier, guard or even gardener in Gondor to fuck him, one at a time, and they would be honoured to do it, the future Steward of Gondor. And Boromir hadn't neglected this licence to fuck in the slightest. He was in fact known as one of the most rampant butt-fuckers in the land, and he loved it. As he stared down at the courtyard, he suddenly noticed Faramir, his younger brother, approaching from the set of stairs up from the city to the citadel. Even if Faramir was his brother, Boromir couldn't help finding him slightly attractive, but had never really considered acting on this. But the way his eyes always seemed passive and calm, and he thick set of his jaw, and, although it had been a long time, more than fifteen years in fact, since he had seen his brother naked, he knew just by studying the bulge between Faramir's legs that his younger brother was just as well hung as he was himself, if not more. The very image of this made Boromir's cock swell further, and he flushed slightly, as he watches Faramir come closer.
Faramir had just returned from his review of the garrison in Osgiliath, and he was downright annoyed. It wasn't as though the troops were in disarray or anything like that, it was just the way that all of them would stop talking as he went past, the smiles fading from their faces as their attention was drawn to him, youngest son of the Steward. It wasn't as if he was a tight-fisted Sergeant or anything, disapproving of anything anyone did other than work and fight. Faramir had made sure that he didn't treat his troops like this, having been tutored by a man of exacting description when he was much younger, and he hadn't appreciated it. But these men seemed to think of him as a party wrecker or something, the way they looked at him as he walked by. It also upset Faramir to see the brilliant relationship his elder brother had with the same men, always drinking and laughing like most men do, and him always feeling left out. He had no hard feelings towards Boromir, in any way, but he wished he could be like that. As he reached the court of the White Tree, the gnarled leafless willow-like trunk rooted in the centre, he, as always, noticed the five guards standing there, their faces set with their long black cloaks billowing in the wind that blew down from the mountains, their silver armour seeming to enhance their bodies to a point of masculine perfection. Faramir always found it difficult to walk calmly past these guards without more than a glance. It had been easier when he was a young lad; the guards were simply 'there'; hardly anyone ever paid them any attention, like ornaments, to put it literally. But about the same time he had started growing hair on his chest, Faramir had begun to find it more and more hard not to stare at the guard's firm muscles and handsome faces, especially while he was a teenager, when the slightest movement gave him a hardon, and still the fascination lingered. Faramir knew that his attraction to these Guards at a young age was probably why he had problems interacting with the soldiers, although they walked and talked, much more human than the citadel guards, but he had huge difficulty in controlling his hormones while hundreds of tall, muscular warriors surrounded him, hard to keep wild images of them slowly removing all their armour and clothes down to their underwear while he watched. So intense were these images that whenever a fellow soldier had spoken to him, he had found himself tongue-tied and unable to do more than grunt and shake or nod his head, limiting the soldiers to asking him yes or no questions, leaving him out of the general banter. As a result of this, he found himself drawing away from the large groups, unable to conceal his lust and arousal while hundreds of fit and sweaty soldiers sat around, drinking and laughing, putting their big arms around each other's shoulders and laughing, telling dirty jokes and stories, mostly involving escapades with bawdy women and the size of their own manhood, and it was more than Faramir could bear. One other thing Faramir hadn't noticed in youth was the way men smelled. The scent of older men, especially Boromir, had been around him since birth, but he hadn't really noticed it until he first walked into the barracks of the Othram, the outer wall of Minas Tirith. He had been 17 at the time, and the smell had been almost overpowering at first, but he soon got used to it. But as he began to spend more and more time in the barracks, being surrounded by these men who rarely took the time to wash, it quickly became a source of instant arousal for him. The real shock came when he first saw one of these magnificent males unclothed, only from behind, but the smoothness of his body and the roundness of his buttocks, capped off by the colossal amount of muscle he had, and the grime that darkened his skin, almost made the young Faramir pass out from the hormonal pressure. He had turned and run, never knowing if the soldier had noticed him or not. And that image had stayed with him since then, a nightly jerkoff fantasy, and a haunting image while he was in the barracks and garrisons, unable to beat off to relieve the tension, only able to savour the arousing torture it caused him. This is why the sight of the Citadel Guard that day made him pick up his stride and turn his eyes away after a second glance at the tall men in armour. The throbbing sensation he was feeling in his groin as he took in the Guard's form was the source of all his annoyance and frustration, and he had no idea what to do, and why he wished he were more like Boromir. Once again, his memory picked out random images of his hunky big brother joining in drinking games and contests in the garrisons while he watched, too shy to do the same. Faramir knew that his brother was gay, of course (but not of his rampancy!), and he knew all the soldiers knew this. He himself had come to terms with his own sexuality a few years back, but nobody knew for sure. But every time he saw Boromir sitting getting drunk with the soldiers and guards, all he could think about was that Boromir seemed to be able to control himself around other men, seemed to be able to deal with the obvious sex appeal that hung over the barracks in a palpable aura, while he hung around, lonely and horny, wishing he could do the same, but afraid of rejection. The very thought made him feel like crying.
Boromir, high up in the tower, continued to watch his brother as he approached the hall of the kings and entered the palace, saw him give all the guards a good once-over, and then almost jog away with his head bowed slightly, as though ashamed. Boromir frowned to himself. Despite the natural sibling rivalry that had blighted them both during youth, he loved Faramir very much, and it made him anxious to see his little brother, a Chief Ranger of Ithilien, act ashamed in his own court. Without a second thought, Boromir turned to the spiral stairs and climbed down, jumping a couple of steps in his haste. He reached the bottom just in time to see Faramir head towards the upper floors of the white palace, and he followed at a half jog, trying not to loose him. Once at the second floor, he saw Faramir, still quite a distance ahead, head towards his room, enter and close the door.
Faramir, like most young men, enjoyed the solitude of his own bedroom. He had used to share this room with Boromir many years ago, but their father had insisted that they have separate rooms when Boromir turned fifteen. But even though the older Son of Denethor had not occupied the room for almost ten years, the smell of him still lingered like an imprint, mingling with the now stronger smell of Faramir himself. It was comforting, like a subconscious protection. Faramir removed his cloak and jerkin, and tossed them carelessly over a high-backed chair before falling backwards onto his bed, still in his boots, inhaling his own scent as he did every night before he slept. As he lay, completely relaxed, images began to come back to him. Tall guards and soldiers in armour, a naked soldier undressing in front of a tent, five, ten, maybe even twenty soldiers and guards standing before him, stripping slowly, standing before him in white wool underwear, willing to do whatever he desired... Almost without realising it, Faramir had released his fat, rigid manhood from his trousers and was stroking it gently in time with his red-hot fantasy. In his minds eye, a tall, massively built hairy soldier approached him, his burly muscles flexing as he moved, the colossal bulge in his underpants enticing Faramir's imagination as he stroked faster and faster, squeezing harder as he pounded. The big soldier stood before him, his hips thrust forwards proudly, as if offering the younger man his manhood, while two younger, smoother guards came up and started stroking and caressing the soldier's chest almost lovingly. Faramir felt the pleasure building in his loins, and skipped the fantasy on slightly. The two young guards were sucking on the big soldier's huge cock as others in the background did the same. The soldier was not looking at the two younger men as they pleasured him, but kept his eyes on Faramir, his teeth gritted and his jaw locked, his square face reddening and a fire lighting in his blue eyes. Faramir now recognized this man as one of the Othram sentries, whom he had only seen in small glances while riding through the city gates on horseback, always clad in body enhancing armour, but his hairy face and beefy frame hadn't mad it difficult to imaging what he looked like in the buff. Back on his bed, Faramir smiled to himself as his cock became rock solid at the sight he was witnessing on his closed eyelids. The beefy soldier had one of the younger men bent over a table in front of Faramir, and he was pounding his monster in and out of the young man's tight hole, every muscle in both their bodies tensed and their skin flushed, while the third man stroked his meat on the sidelines, all three of them gazing at Faramir while in the throws of pleasure. Faramir gazed at the big man on top, his blue eyes wide open, his tongue between his teeth as he fucked arse. Faramir watched as the red flush in his face rose and rose, the blue eyes turning green, the short dark hair turning long, the thick body slimming out into the leaner yet more defined body of his brother, a look of almost manic arousal in his eyes as he fucked the young guard, his eyes ever on Faramir, his mouth stretched in a silent moan... Faramir's eyes shot open, as the cum flowed through him, stealing his breath and voice, erupting from the end of his cock like a creamy fountain, arcing up almost two feet in the air and landing with a slap on his face. Another huge blast of his own white spunk burst and hit him in the eye, further soaking his face and hair. Over and over again, in all, seven large wads of cum hit Faramir hard in the face, the eighth on his chest, and the last five staining his red tunic dark and wet. Faramir laid his head back on the soft feather pillows of his bed and said, in a croaky voice, he groaned "Oh yes, Boromir..."
Boromir's eyes widened, and his cock swelled painfully. He had witnessed all of his brother's jerkoff session, meaning to come in and talk to him, but instead finding his younger brother lying on his back, his underpants and trousers round his knees, his long, thick cock in hand and his eyes closed tight, clearly having a fantastic daydream. Several time, he thought he heard incomprehensible phrases come out of Faramir's mouth, along with occasional oaths and groans. Boromir watched, entranced as his 'little' brother's huge cock lengthened further to almost nine inches, bigger than his own solid shaft under his tunic, which he was now stroking unconsciously. Boromir watched, as Faramir's handsome face grew steadily redder as he rapidly neared orgasm. Then he heard his brother's breathing quicken and get shorter, and saw 13 or 14 long, thick ropes of cum fly through the air and land all over his brother's face and body. Then, as Faramir relaxed back into the bed, Boromir distinctly heard him groan: "Oh yes, Boromir..." and then seem to drift off to sleep.
The real Boromir stood at the door, his mouth open in surprise and his own cum dribbling down his leg and over his large boots as he shot his load inside his trousers at these words. Then a slow, cocky grin spread across his burly face. His own brother fancied him! Well, that would make things a whole lot easier.
Less than ten minutes later, Boromir walked into the garrison on Minas Tirith's fifth level, looked around, and saw who he was looking for. He walked up to the table where the middle-aged sergeant of the garrison sat surrounded by several other guards of varying age. The sergeant was an old friend of Boromir's and he stood with a smile as he approached.
"Well, it's been a while master Boromir," he said with a grin, as they shook hands.
"I always know where to go if I need a favour!" Boromir replied, returning the grin.
"Is that so?" the sergeant asked, sitting down again and looking curious "What can I do for you then?"
"It's my brother, Faramir," Boromir lowered his voice, his grin spreading further "I need to arrange a little party..."
To be continued...
Yeah, I thought I'd be evil and split this chapter into two parts, just to keep up the suspense factor! I promise that the next part won't be long in the making, and will be posted soon! JC