West of the Moon

A Tolkien Fanfiction Archive


'Twas the Night Before Yuletide
Yuletide Eve as you've never seen it.
Submitted: 12/01/04


'Twas the night before Yuletide, and deep in his smial
A hobbit was suffering the pangs of denial.
The shackles were hung from the bedposts with care
In hopes that his "gardener" soon would be there.

Poor Frodo lay trussed up stark naked in bed
While visions of ankle cuffs swirled in his head.
Soon Sam and his tools, with a smidgeon of luck,
Would come to his bed for a long delayed fuck.

Then out in the passage arose such a clatter
His nipple-clamps jingled and threatened to shatter.
He shrugged off the coverlet, hoped against hope;
He twitched in his bonds and strained on the rope.

The sheen of his rear was as new-fallen snow,
Of a whiteness that set off what dangled below.
Then his eyes opened wide and he felt his breath hitch --
There was Sam all in leather and holding a switch,

With a mischievous smirk and his breeches stretched tight.
Frodo knew he was in for a blistering night.
More eager than ever he flaunted his hard on,
Would have whistled or cheered had he not had a gag on. 

"Now Frodo, now dearest,  I've trained you in subbing,
So tonight we'll go further than kissing and rubbing.                              
I'll be top from now on; you will like it, you'll see.
They'll hear you cry 'more, Sam' from Waymoot to Bree." 

Frodo sobbed with desire, a tear in his eye,
"Don't you fret, Mr. Frodo,  I'll mount by and by.                   
I'm stiff now and ache to be snug in the saddle,
But I'll warm you up first with my smooth birchwood paddle."  

As the wood met its mark, Frodo spread his legs wider
Oh so desperate now for a masterful rider.            
Then his balls drew up tight (he wished Sam would just do him),
And he came with a gasp as the tremors coursed through him.              

Samwise clad in black leather all golden and tanned
Was really much more than a hobbit could stand,
And that bundle of toys he had flung on the bed
Spoke only too clearly of pleasures ahead. 

"Ah Frodo, my love, you're much finer than Merry,
With your cheeks red as roses, and oh! what a cherry!
Your pert little backside was made for such play;
I'd like to be in you right now if I may."  

Frodo opened Sam's breeches with tongue and with teeth,
Sam reached down and drew out the treasure beneath.
His glorious shaft stood up tight to his belly
And he coated it well with a handful of jelly. 

It was ruddy and thick -- he was hung like an elf;
Frodo quailed when he saw it in spite of himself.
But a kiss on his bottom, a muttered 'my dear'
Soon gave Frodo to know he had nothing to fear. 

Samwise spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
Filled his hand with his cock and then gave it a jerk.                                                    
Frodo wiggled his backside and moaned his consent, 
So at last, with a thrust, up the chimney Sam went. 

He sprang to his task with a creaking of leather,
And their backsides both flew, moving swiftly together.
Frodo heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Yuletide, my dear, we'll be at this all night."