The Price by Anemone Frost

Summary: Pippin's parents begin to choose the best suitors for their son, and they don't care if it's a lad or lass, narrowing it down to Merry Brandybuck and a lad named Marroc Smallburrows.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tolkien.

Authors Notes: This is a prologue I decided to place in the story, and takes place four years before the actual events of The Price, showing Pippin's first encounter with Marroc Smallburrows, when Pippin is 14.

Publishers Notes: This story has been reposted under the collection 'An Absent Author' by the request of readers, as this story has become available only by limited sources, and has been published to be read online here with permission of the author.

Requested by tiedwithribbons.

Prologue

"You're a chicken!" Merry chuckled.

"I am not!" Pippin snapped, shoving his cousin away.

"You are too!" Merry laughed, allowing himself to be pushed to the ground. "You're not going to steal Marroc Smallburrows' crops from his garden!"

"I said I'd do it and I aim to!" Pippin growled.

He glared over at the hobbit hole, crouching behind a patch of bushes as Merry rose and dusted himself off. The young hobbit had been dared by a group of friends to swipe some of Marroc's mushrooms, even though he was apprehensive to do so, but he wasn't about to tell Merry. He wanted to impress his beloved cousin.

Everyone knew that Marroc was a rich hobbit, and he didn't tolerate anyone trespassing on his land, day or night. Rumors had spread throughout about how he once whipped a young lad to the point of unconsciousness because he accidentally stepped on some of the flowers; how he once cut off a portion of a hobbit's nose because he tried to steal lettuce; and how he once beat another young hobbit to death for breaking one of his windows. Pippin could hardly believe the rumors. It seemed that Marroc would have been arrested for such acts but this part of the Shire was different. If you went on someone's land without permission, then they could do just about anything to you.

Pippin jolted as Merry placed a firm hand on his shoulder, making the older hobbit laugh at his reaction.

"You'll never be able to do it," Merry whispered, pointing to the door. It opened, revealing three hobbits wearing dark cloaks and carrying swords around their belts. "Those are Marroc's guards. Since so many hobbits have been causing mischief on his property he hired them. Any hobbit lad or lass who has wandered on to his land has been caught. What makes you think you can get past them?"

"I'll do it—somehow," Pippin mumbled.

"No you won't," Merry snickered. "You'll just chicken out like you always do. Besides, it's best if we pick another place. This one is too dangerous for my likes. We can go to Maggot's field and take what we can to the others."

"You can go ahead if you want to," Pippin grumbled. "I'm staying here. I'll prove that I'm not a chicken."

Merry shook his head, mumbled something inaudible, and left his cousin at the brush. Normally, he wouldn't leave Pippin alone, but he didn't think the lad would actually go through with the dare. Pippin, on the other hand, had other plans.

Once the guards had vanished from sight, Pippin cautiously ran across the yard, whipping his head back and forth, gazing around for the guards. When he didn't spot them, he continued to the back of the house, stopping in his tracks to marvel at the lavish garden.

A small pound was in the middle of the yard, bearing lily pads in full bloom, floating on the clear water that rippled from the passing breeze. To the right of the pond stood an elaborate garden full of tulips, roses, various lilies, and violets. To the left was the garden full of carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, mushrooms, and a row of apple trees were behind it.

Pippin moved toward the garden, but he yelped as a rough hand jerked him around. He came face to face with one of the guards.

"Well, well, look what I found," the guard leered. "It's a trespassing rat. You'll get a good whippin'."

"Let me see the lad," a different voice stated.

Pippin's eyes widened in terror when he spotted Marroc. He was tempted to run away but the other hobbit had a tight grip on his shoulder, preventing him any chance of escape. The older hobbit knelt before the quivering lad, gazing over his features with a wry grin. Pippin shuddered at what he saw shining in those bright, blue orbs.

Marroc was stunned by the lad's beauty and the innocense of his features. He felt heat rushing to his swelling cock, and he shifted slightly to hide the growing bulge in his trousers. The hobbit was too young to be taken, and he didn't want to cause physical harm to the little beauty. He could be useful in other ways.

"What's your name little one?" Marroc inquired, extending his hand to cup Pippin's flushed cheek. "How old are you?"

"I'm—Peregrin Took," Pippin stuttered, "though most just call me Pippin, and I'm fourteen years old."

Marroc nodded, his grin growing wider. "I think you can leave us, Roddy. I can punish this little imp on my own."

"Very well, sir," Roddy answered, pushing Pippin hard until he was clasped in Marroc's arms and he left the two.

"Please, don't tell my Da I was trespassing on your land Mr. Smallburrows," Pippin begged, on the verge of tears. "He will beat me." He saw rage flickering in Marroc's eyes. "Oh, please, don't hurt me! I'll do anything!"

"Anything?" Marroc smirked. "Now, we can't have your father beating you, can we? I don't want your lovely body bruised. I won't tell him, and you don't have to worry about me harming you. However, I fear that I can't allow you leave just yet. I have to punish you somehow, but it's a punishment that both of us will enjoy."

Confusion spread over Pippin's mind. "Wh–what do you mean?"

Marroc leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on Pippin's forehead before spinning him around and settling the lad in his lap. Pippin gasped as he felt something hard press into his rump, and he grew terrified. He whimpered softly as Marroc's hands undid the fastenings of his trousers, reaching inside to wrap his hand around Pippin's penis.

"What are you doing?" Pippin shrieked, batting wildly at Marroc's hand.

"Hush, little one," Marroc murmured, nuzzling Pippin's ear. "There's no need to be embarrassed. I won't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret."

"Please, let me go," Pippin pleaded, tears trickling down his cheeks. Despite the horror and humiliation of the situation, he was starting to grow hard. "You can whip me; you can tell my Da but please stop this!"

"No," Marroc replied. "I think this is a wonderful punishment, and I'm going to finish it."

Pippin let out a strangled cry as Marroc quickened his ministrations, tugging furiously at his cock, causing him to become fully erect and leaking from the tip. He clenched his eyes shut as unwanted pleasure swept over his abdomen, creating a growing, unbearable fire.

"No, no," Pippin wept, thrashing his head back and forth. "This isn't right—you shouldn't—being doing this—You are an adult! Adults aren't supposed to touch children like this!"

"It's very right, Pippin," Marroc murmured, kissing and nipping at Pippin's pointed ear, "and I think you're old enough. Hm, you're such an exquisite creature. I would love to hear you moan, unless you want me to lead you home and discuss you trespassing on my property with your father."

The young hobbit choked back a sob and did his best to comply with Marroc's wishes. He didn't want to get into trouble with his Da. His moans started softly, but he was soon mewling when he began to fantasize that it was Merry's hand stroking his throbbing member; that it was Merry pressing soft, gentle kisses on his neck; that it was Merry slowly undoing the buttons on shirt and playing with his hardening nipples.

"Just as I thought," Marroc gasped, grinding his erection into Pippin's rear. "Your cries are lovely. I wonder if I can make them louder."

Pippin let out a startled gasp as he was gently laid on the grass, and Marroc grabbed a nearby sheet that fell from the line, bunching it up until it was comfortably placed under Pippin's head. The young hobbit clenched his fingers in the cool blades as Marroc loomed over him, lowering until their faces were inches from each other. The older hobbit drew out his tongue, sliding it along Pippin's lips, making the young hobbit shudder in disgust. Marroc crawled down Pippin's body, trailing his tongue down his exposed chest, momentarily sucking and nipping at the hardened nubs before moving lower to nuzzle his belly.

The tears were hot as they streamed down his crimson cheeks. Pippin was confused and ashamed of his body's reaction. He knew it was wrong for adults to touch children in such a manner, so why was he becoming aroused? His father had always told him that to enjoy such a thing would mean he was wicked and a whore.

The young hobbit's eyes snapped open as a piercing scream erupted from his throat when Marroc swallowed his member whole. Never in his life had he experienced such ecstasy and guilt. The wet suction was bringing him close to climax, making him pant and groan wantonly. He tangled his fingers in Marroc's hair, attempting to pry him off, but the older hobbit was too strong. Marroc slid his hands under Pippin's rump, forcing his hips to thrust forward into his mouth, taking in more of the young hobbit's cock.

"No, this isn't right!" Pippin screamed, beginning to sob uncontrollably. "You shouldn't be the one touching me! I wanted it to be Merry! Merry! Merry! Where are you?"

His protests were replaced by a keening wail as orgasm ripped through him, leaving him shuddering violently from the spasms coursing through his body. Marroc groaned in delight as the young hobbit's seed flooded his mouth and he swallowed, savoring the taste. He kissed his way back up to Pippin's face, placing a tender kiss on Pippin's quivering lips, making the young hobbit tilt his head and cry.

"Tell me, young one, who is Merry?" Marroc inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"His name is Meriadoc Brandybuck, and he's my cousin," Pippin cried.

"Ah," Marroc replied. He didn't like the sound of the lad. It seemed like he would have competition for the sweet prize before him. "Now, Pippin, I want you do something for me."

"What?" Pippin squeaked, petrified.

Marroc leaned on his side and undid the fastenings of his trousers, reaching inside to free his engorged member. Pippin's eyes instantly widened at the sight of it. He had never seen one so big, save his father's when he accidentally walked in on him bathing. The young hobbit looked back into Marroc's face, uncertain of what the older hobbit wanted him to do.

"I want you touch me, like I touched you," Marroc moaned, delicately lifting Pippin's right hand and snaking it around his pulsing flesh. Pippin's bottom lip quivered. "Don't worry. I won't make you taste it like I tasted yours. You're still quite young yet, and I doubt it would fit all the way in your mouth. Just stroke me—ah, like that, like that little one."

Pippin cringed as the rigid flesh seemed to grow harder under his touch. He glanced back at Marroc's face, finding the older hobbit panting and squeezing his eyes shut. The young hobbit quickened his strokes, making Marroc pant harder, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He felt disgusted that he had to do this but there was no other alternative. He was worried that he wasn't pleasuring Marroc enough, and the last thing he wanted was to upset Marroc.

"Ah, little one!" Marroc snarled, tangling his fingers in Pippin's cinnamon curls as the young hobbit experimentally licked his shaft. "I said you didn't have— Oh, that feels wonderful. Keep doing that."

The young hobbit sobbed and wrapped his lips around the rosy head, taking as much as he could into his tiny mouth. Marroc grunted and bucked his hips, making Pippin gag and squirm to move away, but the older hobbit kept him firmly in place, thrusting his cock in and out of the warm orifice. More tears sprung to Pippin's eyes as an ache grew his mouth. Then, Marroc pulled out and flipped Pippin onto his back.

"What are you doing?" Pippin whimpered, titling his head to glare back at Marroc.

The older hobbit yanked on Pippin's trousers until his pale rump was exposed, causing Pippin to blush. Marroc ran his hands along the silky flesh, gently pushing apart his cheeks and lowering his head to nibble and lick at the creamy flesh. Marroc groaned at the sight of the young hobbit's face. Sweat had matted his curls down, tears were dribbling down his reddened cheeks, and he was biting into his hand as he continued to lap at the sensitive skin. A startled cry escaped from Pippin as the older hobbit's tongue slid down his cheeks, stopping to probe at his tight opening. The odd sensation was enticing, and it made his member twitch, but he didn't want Marroc to be touching him so intimately.

"No! Stop!" Pippin wailed, clawing desperately at the ground in attempt to scramble away. "Please! No!" Marroc ceased his ministrations and pressed his throbbing erection against the young hobbit's rear. He had heard about this type of act before and how painful it could be. "Oh no! Don't do that! Oh, please, don't hurt me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you, my little beauty," Marroc cooed, leaning over the young hobbit, keeping his weight off by balancing himself on his elbows. He nuzzled Pippin's neck, raining tiny kisses on his cheek. "I'm not going to do that to you, yet anyway. You have to grow a bit older. Just relax and let me rub myself on you, and don't lay there like a log either."

Sniffling, Pippin raised his rear and tried rubbing his buttocks on Marroc's cock. The older hobbit moaned and rocked his member harder between the young hobbit's cheeks, savoring the delightful friction. Pippin sobbed as the older hobbit rolled on his side, pulling at Pippin until his back was snug against his back, giving him the opportunity to fondle and caress Pippin's growing erection, causing the young hobbit to thrash and weep bitterly as the agonizing pleasure returned. His hand clutched Marroc's pumping fist, and Marroc chuckled at the painful grip. The older hobbit laced his fingers through Pippin's and wound it around his neck, forcing Pippin to lean in closer, giving Marroc better access to his tiny lips. Pippin let out a pitiful whine as Marroc began to hungrily suck on his lips, occasionally plunging his tongue inside to slide over Pippin's.

The young hobbit broke the kiss as a second climax washed over him, making him scream and buck at the ferocity of it. Marroc came a few seconds later, bathing Pippin's backside with a gush of warm semen. For a brief time Marroc remained motionless, catching his breath. Then, he crawled down and lapped his seed off Pippin's rear, playfully giving one of his cheeks a light smack after he was clean.

"You can make yourself presentable now," Marroc sighed in content.

Frantically, Pippin fixed his trousers and shirt as Marroc redid his own fastenings. Pippin was sobbing uncontrollably. He was ashamed of how he couldn't control his body and humiliated that he was violated and wouldn't be able to tell anyone. He grimaced when Marroc pulled him into a deep embrace, placing a soft kiss in his curls.

"Hm, that was very lovely, my own little jewel," Marroc murmured, running his hands up and down Pippin's chest. "Tell me, why did you come onto my land?"

"A group of lads dared me to steal some of your mushrooms," Pippin whimpered.

"Well, we can't let you leave empty handed, can we?" Marroc snickered.

The older hobbit stood and strode to the garden, picking up a small basket, and plucking a generous share of mushrooms from the ground. Finished, he dangled the basket above Pippin, who rose and went to grab them, only to gasp in alarm as Marroc pulled them away.

"You can have them for a kiss," Marroc stated, kneeling until he was face to face with the young hobbit.

Pippin bit his bottom lip and nervously pecked Marroc on the cheek.

The older hobbit frowned. "On the lips."

Pippin cringed and placed a hesitant, but firm kiss on Marroc's lips. The older hobbit mewled and thread his fingers through Pippin's curls, drawing him deeper into the kiss, turning it brutal. Pippin winced at the pain from the harsh pressure.

"Wonderful," Marroc murmured, patting Pippin gently on the head. "You're free to go now, my jewel. However, you're more than welcome to return to my home at any time."

The young hobbit bolted away, clinging the basket tightly to his chest as his vision blurred from the onslaught of tears. He didn't care that his cheeks were beet red, his hair damp from sweat, and cheeks stained with tears. He would just tell Merry and his friends that he had been chased by the guards. He would never tell anyone, not even Merry, about the incident on Marroc's property. At least they wouldn't call him a chicken once he presented them the mushrooms.

Marroc grinned happily as he saw the young hobbit disappear into the brush. "Hm, Peregrin Took—Pippin. I won't forget about you, my jewel. When the time comes, I will ultimately claim you."