Frodo sighed gently, moaning in sleepy satisfaction as he roused from his rest. After being brought to climax a further three times by his captor (or his lover? He was still conflicted as to how to define the man), the Hobbit had been bathed and set to rest in the great bed once more. He was unsure of how much time had passed, only recognising now that it was past first light. He had anticipated his body aching, some soreness about his wrists or rear, yet there was not a trace of discomfort. It was almost as if he had never been touched. More furs had been spread over the bed in the night; it must have been cold, he concluded, as he had felt perfectly warmed under the layered covers.
A carafe of water, a pot of red tea, and a small selection of pastries sat on a table by the window. First breakfast. They must have been enchanted, for the water remained brook-cool, the tea piping hot. He was bewildered as to how such Shire-specific treats could be found in Mordor. Regardless, he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks, and couldn't begin to question the logistics of the meal's appearance. As Frodo sat up, he realised he had been once again dressed in a clean blouse, with a robe draped at the end of the bed, clearly intended for him. Why was Sauron paying so much mind to his comfort? Yes, he had sworn he would not harm the Halfling, but Frodo hadn't expected to be this well cared-for, either. He slipped his arms into the robe, tying it about his waist, and cautiously dropped his feet to the floor, sliding from beneath the covers.
''I treat my lovers properly, Sweetling. And given how tired out you were by your many orgasms, I felt it only right to at least feed you. Or would you rather I treated you truly like a prisoner? Bread and water? Milk, perhaps, if I felt generous?'' Sauron's velvet voice called out from a chair in the opposite corner of the room. He had a book in hand, a history of Hobbits and their habits. Frodo kept watch on the man, whose eyes never deviated from the page. He slowly made his way toward Sauron, curling his fingers into fists. ''I'm still your prisoner, though. And what you did to me-''
''What I did to you? You never refused. Never complained. You enthusiastically accepted my mouth on your cocklet, and took my fingers eagerly, Frodo. Don't forget that. I haven't. How you pleaded for more. To be filled, hollowed out, and stretched by me. You were keen for my cock, boy. Sobbing for it. I was the one who practised restraint.'' He turned a page nonchalantly, changing the position of his legs. ''And yes, you are my prisoner. You are also, for now, my lover. And as I said before, I look after my lovers properly.'' Sauron's amber eyes flickered briefly over the top of his book, the rest of his face hidden by the large green cover. He looked different today. His hair was red, warm and fiery. His features were sharper (from what Frodo could see), and his eyes, though still amber, were more , but not in the almost fun way of yesterday. Somehow Sauron looked even taller today, even while seated. He wore a simple pair of brown breeches, but otherwise was uncovered. Even his skin was cooler. Snow white. Frodo briefly wondered if his skin felt cold. It wasn't last night. He wasn't. The Hobbit's cheeks flushed with the memory of their bodies together, remembering that Sauron could hear his most intimate thoughts. And that he remembered every word, every sound, every sensation of Frodo's deflowering.
''Now, boy, eat. Drink. See to your First Breakfast. You are still far too small, even for a Hobbit.'' Sauron's eyes glimmered with indeterminate emotion, and he set the book down on the side table delicately. ''I read that Hobbits typically eat two breakfasts, yes? Enjoy your first.'' The Man rose to his feet, towering over Frodo; he definitely was taller in this form. ''I will be in my own chambers today. You will receive a servant to tend to you in my absence. He will be with you after I leave. Eat, Frodo.''
''Where - what? I thought these were your chambers.''
''They were. Once. But I am content with the second finest, knowing you are safe within these walls.''
''I'm never safe, Sauron. Not while I'm in Mordor. While you live.''
The red-haired male turned to face Frodo once more, smirking. ''You still think I will harm you? Perhaps I'll set a group of Orcs loose to rape you. Or have you torn apart by a troll.'' He took Frodo's chin between his finger and thumb, forcing a meeting of their eyes once more. ''I know I have promised to take you apart personally, to undo you. But I will achieve that with my body, and words. I will occupy every inch of your mind, Frodo. I will explore and exploit every inch of your lithe body for my own pleasure'' he whispered, having stooped low enough to almost graze lips. The Hobbit trembled on his feet, eyes widening in simultaneous arousal and horror, hands flying up to attempt to remove Sauron's grip on his face. His diminutive fingers were useless against the Man's large wrists, strong arms and fingers. Knowing, remembering, that at least two of those digits were inside him only hours before… Frodo felt humiliation. He remembered how they felt against the resistance of his own ring of flesh.. He had been hooked, doubly so. Sauron scoffed. ''You managed three inside you before your tolerance failed you. It was quite the achievement. And quite the spectacle. Now… Will you desist, and eat? Or need I treat you like a true prisoner and set you in irons?''
Frodo shook his head gently, his curls bouncing. ''No, Sauron.''
''Good boy. Eat. I will return later.''
Sauron set a mocking kiss atop the Hobbit's head, leaving him reeling in discomfiture, and with an uncomfortably throbbing dick.
''Perhaps with manacles.''
The Halfling took up a seat at the table, slowly making his way through the breakfast selection left for him. The tea was still warm! And the pastries, they tasted exactly like those Bilbo would make. Even the honey and jam were identical to those available in the Shire. He licked his lips clean of the former, remembering the strange comparison he made in the night between oral pleasure and breakfast cutlery. His fingers were next to lick free of honey. He took a little time to wash with a cloth and some water, and shrouded himself in one of the many furs from the bed. Everywhere that he could sit, he sat. On the bed, on the table, at the table, in the few chairs around the room. The one Sauron occupied earlier still smelled faintly of him, Frodo noted. Hours seemed to pass by, without anyone coming to the door. He made the bed, cleared the breakfast away as best he could, and resigned himself to the window, taking up the book Sauron had left behind. His attention alternated between the book and taking in the view from the windowsill. It was shocking to him, just how sublime the sights of Mordor were, beyond the Tower's charred and blackened immediate environs. He saw innumerable shades of green and grey and brown, committing them to his memory. When he escaped (not if), he planned on painting the landscape. Beauty like that deserved to be recorded.
He sighed to himself, realising all this time he hadn't tried to escape once. He hadn't tried the door handle, nor had he looked for hidden passages (not that he expected any). Even tying the sheets together for a ladder hadn't occurred to him. Or had it? He wasn't sure. Any thought he had, he knew Sauron would be aware of. Escape was futile. Pointless. Sauron heard everything. He hugged his knees tightly, resting his forehead against them.
A clumsy knock came at the door. Frodo hesitated. The caller would enter regardless, so he remained at the window, refusing to look their way. The door opened. A Man entered, a simple human Man. He took steady steps toward Frodo, his presence suffocating, closing the distance fast. Too fast. The agent of the Dark Lord was by his side now, announcing himself with a grunt. ''I've been told I'm to be your servant. To tend to your needs. Ridiculous.'' He scoffed. ''Cupbearer to the Ring Bearer? I won't pamper you, boy. I know you're only here as long as Sauron seeks a warm body to claim. I don't imagine that will be too long. That ring around your neck is far too easily gotten. He just enjoys the chase.'' Frodo refused to acknowledge him. Even if he knew it was true. He wouldn't last very long. Not at this rate. His resistance to Sauron's charms was woeful.
''Maybe once he's done with you, he'll give you to the Orcs. Or he'll have you eaten by the wolves. Perhaps, if you prove yourself as a whore, he'll pass you to the army and have you used until you're a husk of a Hobbit.'' The Man kneeled beside him, smirking. ''You'll never be more than a convenience for him. Now, my Lord,'' he asked mockingly, ''is there anything I can do for you? Or shall I leave you awaiting Our Master?''
Frodo sniffled, shaking his head. He was too stunned to reply.
''I'd wish you luck, but I'm sure you don't need it. Half the castle heard you last night. He'll have you ruined within the fortnight. That Ring will be his soon.''