Boromir spanks Faramir himself (Tirion may or may not be present)
Chapter 8: A ranger's Jealousy Warning: Spanking[edit]
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Tirion’s breath caught in his throat watching the scene unfold. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined what his eyes were seeing. Though clearly intoxicated, Boromir easily seized his brother and tossed him over his lap. With a quick jerk on the waistband, Faramir’s leggings were yanked down below his thighs, exposing the young ranger captain’s bare backside.
“Boromir, no,” the young man cried in embarrassed disbelief. “I am no child. Release me. I am a Captain of the White Tower. You cannot do this.”
Boromir snorted. “You dare order the High Warren?” The words were slurred but threatening nonetheless. “Another offense. Care you add more before justice is dispensed?”
“Justice? Brother your head is obscure from the ale you consumed.”
Tirion stepped closer goading his commander officer into keeping Faramir where he remained. “He dares call you an idiot, My Lord. Such treasonous words must be dealt with a swift and harsh hand.”
Boromir laughed at the suggestion, muttered something Tirion could not hear and raised his large hand. The slap caused Tirion to gasp, wincing in sympathy when Faramir jerked upwards in pain and shock.
The young ranger released a variety of curse words that caused Boromir’s hand to stop in mid stride. “Such language little brother,” Boromir admonished, admiring the red handprint that appeared on his brother’s backside. “Perhaps I should spank your bottom until it is as colorful as your tongue.”
Faramir lifted his head and fluently cursed in a language Boromir did not know. Unfortunately Tirion understood it and the lieutenant couldn’t stop his laughter in time.
“What say my brother, Tirion?”
“Read a book you drunken oaf,” Faramir snapped struggling in vain to gain his freedom.
The sarcasm received another harsh slap.
“Boromir, stop this madness,” Faramir pleaded.
“Tirion, I gave you an order.” Boromir said eyeing the lieutenant while ignoring his brother.
Tirion glanced at the younger man and smiled, “I dare not interpret such words, my Lord.”
Faramir blushed realizing the mistake he just made. His eyes pleaded with the lieutenant silently begging Tirion not to comply with Boromir’s order but Tirion had another agenda. Just seeing that bare bottom created wonderful visions and the way Faramir’s buttocks squeezed tightly when another slap was anticipated was enough to drive Tirion mad with desire.
Boldly Tirion reached down and briefly caressed the left buttock with the back of his hand amazed how soft the skin felt against his touch. Oh the things he wanted to do to this young man. He lifted his eyes and discovered Boromir’s green eyes piercing him with a deadly glare. Apparently older brother wasn’t inebriated enough to relinquish protection over younger brother.
Tirion had to rectify that little problem. He wanted Boromir’s attention on that exposed flesh. “My lord, accordance to your brother, you mate with orcs for no woman in Gondor would lower themselves.”
Faramir’s eyes flashed with anger over the betrayal. “You…”
Boromir shoved his brother’s head into the cot cutting off Faramir’s words. “That should demobilize your tongue until punishment has been administered.” The captain general prepared to administer said punishment but Faramir bucked fiercely knocking Boromir backwards. The warrior hero steadied himself and easily pinned Faramir back over his lap before the younger man had a chance to react.
“Let me up,” the youngest son of the steward demanded, flailing his arms blindly in a desperate attempt to regain his freedom. Boromir took hold of his brother’s arms and easily pinned them against the younger’s back. “You can not do this to me. Father will…”
“Father is not here, hence I rule this place.” Boromir hooked his right leg over Faramir’s thrashing legs and bought down his large hand on the exposed rear end. “Remember this day little brother.”
Faramir opened his mouth ready to lambaste his captor but Tirion was prepared. He reached into his tunic pulled out a rag and stuffed it into Faramir’s mouth. Boromir nodded in thanks and then landed slap after slap on the immobilized man’s backside.
Tirion watched eagerly as Boromir tipped the bare bottom higher and began a stride that quickly turned Faramir’s flesh different shades of pink.
Mortified at being forced in such a vulnerable position by his hero, Faramir stopped struggling and turned his face away unable to withstand Tirion’s prying eyes.
Tirion folded his arms satisfied everything was going according to plan. From the moment he learned Boromir’s plan to kidnap Faramir, Tirion had set his plan into motion. Once Faramir was safely captured and secured in camp, Tirion encouraged Boromir and the other men who had kidnapped the ranger captain to celebrate their victory with several barrels of ale. When Boromir challenged the men to a drinking contest, Tirion used the opportunity to slip an herbal mixture into the unsuspecting man’s mug. The mixture, a special recipe created by his herbalist father, made its victim more susceptible to suggestions.
It was then Tirion suggested a suitable punishment for Faramir if the young man tried to escape. If the captain general had not been intoxicated, Boromir never would have agreed to Tirion’s idea of spanking Faramir.
As the spanking continued Tirion imagined himself holding the young man in his arms whispering soothing words of comfort in Faramir’s ear while he gently wiped away the humiliated tears from the beautiful face.
He turned his face away and noticed Boromir’s mug sitting on the ground. A glance inside told him the mug was empty. He turned back around and stared flabbergasted at the Captain-General. In all his years of using the mixture, no one had consumed the entire contents. No wonder Boromir complied so easily to his demands.
Perhaps now would be the best time to make a few more suggestions. Opportunities like this only came along once in a lifetime.
Inside the next tent, the captured rangers had heard what happened in Boromir’s tent. Angered over his captain’s treatment, Mablung had redoubled his efforts to loosen the ropes that kept his hands tied but the soldiers who had captured him had made sure it was not possible.
For almost an hour the three captured rangers had tried to free themselves but to no avail.
A low whistle ceased the large ranger’s labor. He knew that whistle. A glance at Damrod gave him his answer. The seasoned ranger answered the low whistle and smiled back with reassurance when Mablung raised his bow in question.
“You had this planned from the beginning,” Mablung said keeping his voice low so not to alert the two soldiers standing outside the tent. “Why not have the men arrive before Faramir was…was…”
“Thank Damrod for the delay Mablung,” Anborn teased. “Now you are without excuse. Carry the captain back to Henneth Annun. Faramir’s quarters are private and the captain is in need of some comfort.”
For the first time in his life, Mablung blushed. “I know not what you speak.”
The two rangers started laughing at Mablung’s appearance .
The tent’s flap opened and seven rangers walked inside dragging the two guards with them. “As you so ordered, Lieutenant,” one said as he untied Damrod. The two guards were gagged and tied. “We have captured the flag, and gained a bonus. Lord Boromir’s horn.” The ranger held up the prized trophy. “The Captain General was indisposed. No reason why we could not borrow it.”
“This is indeed a complete victory. None in Gondor’s history has captured such a prize.” Damrod congratulated the rangers with a pat on the back. “Now we rescue our captain.”
“Permit me,” Mablung volunteered and rushed out of the tent before anyone could oppose him. He stormed into Boromir’s tent prepared to untie his captain and return to Henneth Annun victorious but the scene inside the Captain-General’s tent chilled his blood.
Tirion looked up and with a predatory grin smiled at the stunned man. “Such discourtesy, Lieutenant Mablung. One of your nature should know better than to enter without knocking.” He turned his attention to Faramir who was adjusting his tunic. Tirion walked over to the large ranger and whispered in his ear. “Beautiful, is he not. A pity you shall never touch him so intimately as I have done.”
“Keep your filthy hands off him,” Mablung seethed with renewed anger. He raised his hand and slapped Tirion hard across the face. “You dare molest the steward’s son?”
“Mablung, no!” Faramir stepped between the two older men and separated them. He stared up at his trusty lieutenant and placed a hand on the large ranger’s shoulder. “I know not what you believe. Lieutenant Tirion…”
His words were cut off in mid-sentence when several rangers and guards rushed inside the tent. Damrod stepped forward. “Fifty riders approach from Minas Tirith, Captain. They carry the Steward’s flag.”
“Father?” Faramir asked dryly.
Damrod nodded understanding the young man’s anxiety. He tried easing his captain with better news. “The game has been won, Captain. Our victory has been noted, and has made history. Never has a unit captured the Captain General and taken the horn of Gondor.”
“You took the horn from Boromir?” Faramir asked, horrified that the sacred horn had been treated as a careless token from a mere game. His father would be furious and blame him. “Quickly before Father arrives. Return it to Boromir. Where is he?”
Horses arrived in camp before the men had time to answer. They left the tent to greet the Steward. Denethor climbed down from his horse with aid from his personal guard. Faramir grabbed the horn from the rangers as they tried hiding it behind their backs.
“Fear not, Faramir. Allow me to return the horn and your father will never know,” Tirion whispered to the young man. “All I ask is your company for one night.”
“Take not his offer, Captain,” Mablung suggested glaring at the lieutenant with such hatred that Faramir again stepped in between the two men. “I will return the horn.”
“Jealously can be such an ugly thing,” Tirion taunted.
“Where is my first born?” Denethor shouted looking for his son. “Boromir, I wish to celebrate your recent victory over Mordor, my son. Word has reached the city of your triumph. I have brought ale, food, and entertainment to reward you and your glorious men.”
Not a single word of praise for the rangers. Faramir stared down at the horn in his hands. Boromir had applauded his brother’s decision for pursuing the orcs in Boromir’s direction. His thoughts were shattered when someone yelled. “Lord Boromir is here, my Lord,” and Faramir’s heart sank when his father moved in that direction.
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