Trash, and this chapter trashier than most, trust me. 

Read at your own peril--I wrote this weeks ago and didn't really feel much like 
polishing it up before posting, since it IS trashfic, so there may be errors . . 
. there may be typos . . . This part is a mild NC-17, if there is such a thing.

***
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these 
characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line 
Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to 
spend their time

****

Frodo’s eyes snapped open when he felt fingers run softly through his hair. 

“What are---” Frodo scrambled to a sitting position and scooted backward, out of 
the reach of a man who sat on the edge of the hobbit’s overly large bed, staring 
at him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Admiring you. I am Khalil. Thistleback bade me to come in and make your 
acquaintance.” 

Frodo was positively speechless. He’d not thought any men would be arriving so 
soon, nor be allowed to enter his room without permission. “I’m afraid you have 
made a mistake,” Frodo said, attempting to be somewhat polite but finding his 
tongue tied. “I . . . I wasn’t expecting anyone tonight.” 

Khalil gazed at him unflinchingly. He was very tall and large and swarthy, with 
a beak-like nose and brown eyes, and while not exactly handsome, he bore an 
interesting face. His clothing resembled other Bree-landers,’ though the fabrics 
he wore happened to look a bit more expensive to Frodo’s gentlehobbit eyes. 
“Well, Master Halfling, I am here, and I see wine and cheese laid out,” he 
answered, his accent thick and not readily identifiable to Frodo. “Perhaps we 
can talk awhile?”

“Are you really here just to talk?”

Khalil smiled briefly. “You know better than that, I think, despite what your 
employer may have told you. However, I would never take someone unwilling, so I 
will do what I can to put you at ease. Let us simply get to know one another.” 
Reaching for a wineglass, Khalil filled it with some of the fragrant liquid from 
the decanter and offered it to Frodo, who relaxed a bit as he realized he wasn’t 
about to be ravished.

Sipping the wine, Khalil continued. “I saw the painting of you and knew I had to 
meet you, Master Halfling. You are . . . even more exquisite in person, except 
for that homely robe you are wearing.”

Frodo flushed as he realized he’d deliberately chosen the ugliest outfit in the 
closet. “I don’t mean to ruffle your feathers, but as I said, I wasn’t expecting 
company.”

Khalil didn’t speak---only gently took the hobbit’s wineglass and set it on the 
table, scooting on the bed close to Frodo and beginning to untie Frodo’s robe. 
The man had a cocky air about him, the hobbit had to admit. “Have you ever been 
with a man, Master Halfling? Even just . . . touching?”

“Just Frodo, please. And no . . . with other male hobbits, but never a man, even 
just . . . touching.”

“That is all I want from you tonight . . . your touch. Pleasure me with your 
hands. Next time, we can do more . . . tonight I am in a hurry.”

“Pleasure you? I’m sorry, but I don’t do that for payment. I’ll willingly talk 
with you, but . . . but no more.”

The man sighed, reaching out to smooth a finger down Frodo’s cheek. “But I was 
told by Master Thistleback that you engaged in all pastimes, my dear halfling. 
If you believe you haven’t been put up here to do so, I fear you and your 
employer have a grave misunderstanding.” He leaned closer. “I’ve been told I am 
a very considerate lover, Frodo. You could do worse. Come now . . . let us get 
on with this, and I will be on my way quickly. Nothing too intimate tonight . . 
. just pretend I am one of your hobbit lovers.”

Frodo considered this for a moment. He really had no choice---it was either 
acquiesce to this or risk punishment from Thistleback and possibly being turned 
out onto the street on his pointed ear. No . . . he could be much worse off. 

****

It all turned out to be quite simple, really. All Frodo had to do was scoot a 
bit across the bed so that he was even closer to Khalil . . . until he could 
smell the other’s musky scent. His fingers fumbling a bit, Frodo unfastened the 
man’s loose leggings and retrieved Khalil’s erect member, wondering at its size. 
In return, Khalil leaned down and kissed Frodo’s hair, gentle hands slipping the 
silky robe from Frodo’s shoulder to stroke his shoulders and lightly brush his 
nipples. 

“Tell me, Frodo,” Khalil murmured, “why you wear such an ugly robe! It is quite 
hideous.”

Frodo flushed. “It happened to be in the closet.” 

“Ah, I think not . . . I think you are trying to draw attention away from your 
looks. Give it up, sweet halfling . . . it will not work, so you might as well 
wear something pleasing to the eye. Ah . . .”

“Does this please you?” Frodo had begun to stroke Khalil’s shaft with both 
hands, squeezing just so. In response, Khalil leaned back on his elbows on the 
bed, small noises issuing from his lips. “Harder . . . harder . . .”

Keeping his eyes on Khalil’s face, Frodo continued his ministrations until the 
man went over the edge, hot seed spurting over Frodo’s hand. When it was over 
and the trembling subsided, Khalil quickly fastened his leggings and bestowed a 
kiss on Frodo’s cheek, then eased off the bed and rose. 

“I am sorry I must go, Master Frodo, but I’ve pressing business to attend to. 
But you shall certainly be seeing me again tomorrow, and we can spend more time 
together.”

Frodo nodded mutely, and then, as the door shut behind Khalil, toweled himself 
off and wondered at what he had just done. 

***

The next day, Galel came to the house, and Thistleback showed he and Frodo to a 
semi-private room in which to paint. The whole set-up bothered Frodo, as he was 
beginning to feel quite like a prisoner. 

Maybe he was a prisoner, he reflected. After all, just because he’d not *tried* 
to escape didn’t mean he would be able to. He knew Thistleback had outside locks 
installed on the door of his room, and he also noticed that some of the more 
cunning servants kept eyes upon him. Most of that day was spent posing for 
Galel, then Frodo retired to his room for supper and a bath, after which, 
Thistleback informed him, his visitors would come by. 

Frodo’s employer had had given the hobbit a bottle of oil---warning him not to 
waste it---and a sharp warning. “Look, halfing, you’d better find some way to 
protect yourself,” Thistleback had said, his heavy eyebrows crinkled. “Because 
if I find you’ve gotten yourself into trouble, you’ll live to regret it. If you 
live at all, understand?”

“I--in trouble? I’m not sure what---”

“In trouble!!! T-R-U-B-B-L-E. Trouble, halfling. If a man you lie with gets a 
brat on you, you’ll live to regret it . . . so you’d better take the measures to 
see it doesn’t happen.” Without another word, Thistleback turned on his heel and 
stalked off. 

So was it true, then? That male halflings had the capability to conceive when 
with men? If so, Frodo wondered *exactly* what procedures he should be 
following, because he had no idea and doubted anyone else in the house did, 
either. 

***

True to his word, Khalil did return that night, very late, and the same 
situation was repeated. He wanted nothing more than for Frodo to pleasure him, 
and the only real difference between the first night and the second was that 
Khalil seemed even more eager to unfasten Frodo’s robe and run his hands over 
the hobbit’s body, planting rough, biting kisses on the soft neck and shoulders 
and squeezing Frodo’s buttocks with strong hands. 

“I see you have changed robes for me,” Khalil commented, eyeing the dark blue 
robe Frodo had donned. 

“Yes, the other one was . . . well, it certainly *was* horribly ugly!” They both 
laughed a bit, putting Frodo at ease---ease he didn’t think he would ever feel 
when pleasuring a man he was not extremely physically attracted to. For Khalil 
was pleasant enough, but Frodo had no feelings for him beyond that. For himself, 
Frodo tried not to think about what he was doing . . . for if he stopped, he 
would be beaten and thrown out into the fields again. 

***

After Khalil left, Frodo rested a while and then took another bath . . . for he 
felt quite dirty, despite Khalil’s kindnesses. But no sooner had he emerged, 
drying his hair and wrapped in fluffy white towels, than he stopped, sniffing. 
The odor of stale beer seemed to drift in through the washroom doorway. 

Rapidly shuffling out, Frodo’s eyes widened to see a burly man lying on his bed 
looking at him. A very hairy-looking man, with oversized whiskered jowls and 
pudgy hands. 

“It’s the middle of the night,” Frodo said with some irritation. “If Thistleback 
sent you, it’s after hours and you must leave.” *And please don’t come back 
tomorrow,* Frodo wanted to add, but bit his tongue. “I’ll get the door for you.”

The man shook his head. “Ah was told to c’mere for a good time with a hob---” 
and this was punctuated by a hiccup---“---bit, and a good time is what I’m gonna 
get. I paid good money fer you .” He grinned. “M’ name’s Teddy. Now c’mere, 
sweet thing.”

“Look at you---you’re drunk and filthy! Now get off my bed!” Frodo hissed, not 
caring who heard him. 

“And I told you I ain’t leaving,” the man said, his voice growing ominously low 
as he rose up and came toward Frodo. “I came here for one thing . . . you 
perform, I leave. Not ‘til then. I’m good to sleep here ‘til mornin,’ if need 
be.”

Frodo sighed, suddenly hating himself and his life and his entire situation and 
especially, the Sackville-Bagginses, who had stripped him of all of his money 
and reduced him to this. No, that wasn’t true, he admitted . . . he could look 
for more honest work in the town, as long as Thistleback would let him go. Maybe 
he would leave---demand to leave. Yes, he would give it a bit more time, until 
he’d saved up some good money, and then leave and maybe go to Archet, where many 
more hobbits lived.

But now, he had this man in his bed . . . who was reaching for him and blowing 
hot ale-laden breath in his face. Frodo couldn’t get away quickly enough before 
hammy hands were on his shoulders, pulling his towel away and gazing at his 
nakedness. 

“Mmmm . . . you do look good. C’mon . . . gimme a good time . . . I paid, after 
all.” 

Frodo sighed and closed his eyes in dread. Better to get it over with, and he 
would probably face even worse customers before his tour of duty here at 
Thistleback’s was over. “Very well . . . what do you want to do?” His voice was 
sharp and impatient.

“Lemme go in you . . . ah’ve always wanted to come in somebody, especially a 
halfling.”

“All right. Teddy, is it? But understand, I’ve done this with a male hobbit, but 
never a man. Go easy, please. And get your hands off me for a second---I’ve got 
to get the oil.”

Grabbing the vial, Frodo put some on his own fingers and began to prepare his 
entrance, as he knew to do when even with a hobbit, then handed the man the oil 
to put on his own member. He planned on doing this slowly . . . with finesse . . 
. with ease . . . but the moment Teddy finished taking out his huge purplish 
shaft and smoothing oil on it, he pushed Frodo back upon the mattress and spread 
the hobbit’s legs, fingering his rump. 

Staring at the ceiling, Frodo thought about food . . . fried chicken like his 
mother used to make when he was a child . . . thick mashed taters, as Sam would 
say, and gravy---

“Ow . . . that hurts . . .” Frodo tried not to squirm and gritted his teeth as 
Teddy eased his member into Frodo’s bottom, stretching the skin to the point of 
intense discomfort. The man wasn’t in him two seconds, however, before he thrust 
twice and spilled his seed, then pulled out and away, to Frodo’s relief. He felt 
raw and stinging . . . and grateful the experience hadn’t lasted long. 

“Ah, that was real nice, hobbit, real nice . . .” Teddy slurred, the hair on his 
head standing up like thick fur. 

“Hmmmph. Well, you’ve gotten your money’s worth, so out the door, now.” Teddy 
showed no sign of leaving, so Frodo stood on the bed and pushed him to get up, 
urging him toward the door. “I’ve got to sleep now. Go on . . . out with you.”

Finally, with a wet sloppy kiss to Frodo’s cheek, the man groggily left. 
Wearily, Frodo sank down onto the floor, his rear hurting fiercely and his 
lonely heart aching even worse. 

To be continued