A Servant of Arubhár 03

********* CHAPTER 5 *********

ANOTHER DAY OF travelling only made Anári more grateful for her own fate. As much as she missed Marwena, she was much better off with the trolls. Grateful her friend had talked her out of it, she recalled her plan to set out on her own to find a better place somewhere down the road.

It was quickly becoming obvious that such a place did not exist within the borders of Verenosi. There were a few, isolated homesteads, true, that seemed to be supporting its families enough to survive. But the majority of people lived in squalor, hunger, and despair.

What little the people did manage to produce was often seized by the lords. As she had witnessed firsthand when their caravan had encountered a troop of soldiers in a village they'd passed. The merciless men had stopped their plunder long enough to throw the trolls disgusted looks. But none dared to interfere with their passage, much less to attack or rob the heavily armed caravan.

The trolls had watched the goings-on with sadness and compassion edged into their faces. Yet there was nothing they could do, so they'd proceeded through the village, and moved on. Even if they stopped the soldiers, the villagers would pay the price. A lord would wreak havoc in revenge if they meddled in his affairs.

By evening, they made camp once more, on the outskirts of a larger town. Unwilling to stand around while everyone else was busy, Anári went in search of Lennor to see if he needed any help.

"Rannix should be back shortly with a bunch of fish," the large troll informed her, pulling some bowls out of the back of his wagon. "You can help me with the batter. The river here is rich with fish, so the town folk are happy to trade."

"Wouldn't it be easier to catch some for yourself?" Anári pointed out.

"Yes." He set the bowls down on a nearby table, grabbed some flour and some spices in small bags. "But the town folk need other goods in order to survive. And we have more than plenty, so we trade for the fish instead."

Once more, Anári was struck by the generosity of the trolls. Even after King Marvos' betrayal, they went out of their way to help humans whenever they could. And this was the primitive race so many people despised so much.

Blowing out a breath, Anári grabbed the spoons, mixer, and other tools Lennor handed her. Promised that she, for one, would try her best to repay their kindness. When Rannix arrived, she ogled the mountain of fish in the back of his cart, then rolled up her sleeves, and went to work, carefully following Lennor's instructions.

Three hours later, they were once again seated around the comfortable fires, bellies full of an amazing meal. She'd helped with the clean-up, the preserving and storing of the extras before settling down on a bench next to Dara.

"It was a nice thing you did, trading with the town folk for fish," she commented, wanting to thank Dara.

The troll woman shrugged. "Saves us the work of having to catch the fish ourselves. We've enough to do, setting up camp." But Anári knew that behind her nonchalance hid a warm, compassionate heart.

"Still, you've traded enough to feed a small army. Way more than what was needed. Surely, the town folk must be grateful for your kindness."

Shaking her head, Dara let out a chuckle. "I'm sure you've noticed that Lennor doesn't skip any meals. If there's enough to be had for a snack or extra bite later, he'll ensure we acquire it."

Anári had to laugh at that, remembering how not an hour after dinner, the portly troll had offered her some fruit while they were washing dishes. How he could possibly fit any more food into his belly after the enormous amount they'd just consumed was beyond her. But he had polished off two peaches and a few bananas before the dishes were done. Even now, she was looking at a bowl of nuts and cubes of cheeses he had insisted she take with her, in case she got hungry later.

"Lennor is wonderful. And so are you," she told Dara. "And it's grateful I am, that you've given me a chance to work for you. Although I feel like I'm not doing anywhere near enough to earn my keep."

Dara took a long swallow of her drink, studied Anári over the rim of her mug. "You weren't supposed to do any work while we're on the road. I told you I meant for you to take this time to gain some strength, recover from your plight. Yet here you are, helping with the cooking and cleaning, the serving and clearing of plates and cups. Seems to me you deserve everything you've been given. And, unlike others, are not afraid to work honest and hard." She sent a meaningful look to where the woman from the night before was once again on her knees, lips wrapped around a meaty cock.

Anári couldn't help but snicker. "I think she's working hard enough. It can't be easy, servicing a male troll."

"Pfftt. Don't let her fool you." Dara waved it off. "That girl's enjoying herself, despite all of her complaining." Leaning closer, she bumped a shoulder to Anári's. "It isn't only coin, you know, that draws some women to a troll."

Heat crept up Anári's cheeks as she mulled it over. It felt as if Dara had read her thoughts, discovered her fantasies. Or, perhaps, she hadn't hidden her reaction to the scene last night as well as she had thought. She was glad when Dara changed the subject, not at all convinced the troll woman couldn't read her mind.

"And they're called bulls." Since Anári wasn't eating them, Dara picked some nuts from the bowl. "The term for all male trolls of rutting age is bull."

Anári scrunched up her face. "Does that make you a cow?"

"I think not!" Chortling, Dara slapped a hand on her thigh. "We are much more sophisticated than our male counterparts. In fact, despite the high mating drive of the bulls of our race, we never feel such primitive urges as desire. The only reason we ever allow a bull to cover us is for reproduction. Well, and there's coin, of course. But we derive no pleasure from the act. Therefore, we're referred to as bracas while we're of breeding age. Loosely translated, it means 'bringers of life'."

"Hmm, that's interesting." Anári tapped a finger to her lip. "And I must say I rather much like the term."

"Ours is a culture that honors a female's ability to bear and bring forth life. And the sacrifices she makes should she choose to do so. You will often hear a mother of any race addressed with the title of Braca before her name."

Head tilted, Anári smiled at the troll woman. "Are you Braca Dara, then?"

"Gods, no." Dara took another drink. "I've neither the time nor inclination to reproduce. I've businesses to run, don't I?"

Anári winked, lips twitching with amusement. "I think you'd make a great mother. You seem to take wonderful care of those around you. Wouldn't it be cute to have a bunch of little Daras running around?" Come to think of it, Anári couldn't wait to see her first troll baby. They must make an adorable sight.

Scowling, Dara emptied her mug. "That's all I need. A bunch of noisy, messy troublemakers underfoot, distracting me from my work."

Anári laughed, realizing just how similar their races were. How many times had she been called just that during her childhood? She'd been a wild one, that's for sure, and forever getting into trouble. Leaning back, she gazed up at the starlit sky. Those carefree days seemed to have ended a lifetime ago.

An owl hooted in a nearby tree, and a breeze whispered through leafless branches. The night was cold, and she was certain there'd be frost on the ground come morning. But she was nice and warm dressed in her heavy clothes and sitting near the crackling fire. Beyond the light of the camp, fog covered the empty fields in a misty blanket. She would have considered it a dreary sight a few days ago. Tonight, with her cozy and safe, her belly full, it looked almost magical under the light of the moon.

When Dara left to refill her ale, Anári let her eyes travel back to the woman pleasuring the trolls with her mouth. The instant tingling in her loins confirmed that she still found the notion entirely arousing. Much like the night before, the woman would finish with one troll, then move on to the next. Anári couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't more to her motivation than coin alone, as Dara had suggested. Despite her grumbled curses, she appeared to be eager to serve the males, never hesitating for so much as the briefest moment as she worked her way around the group.

It wasn't long before Dara returned, and Anári averted her gaze, not wanting to give the troll woman any more indication that she was rather much excited by the scene. As it was, she could feel herself rapidly moistening, her breathing growing deeper, more labored. Even if not for Dara, she'd do well to distract herself if she planned on getting any sleep tonight. Or else her throbbing loins would keep her tossing and turning all night.

Listening to talk of foreign places, Anári tried to paint pictures of the lands and cities in her mind, envisioned what all she might see in the weeks to come. Then flinched, startled out of her reverie by a woman's high pitched squeal. She looked over at the group by the fire next to hers, but that woman hadn't made the noise. It would have been near impossible with her throat squeezing a thick, flaring cock.

Besides, the sound had come from somewhere between the wagons. Briefly, Anári worried someone might be hurt, but none of the trolls reacted, so she stayed in her seat. There were some painful moans, a series of short, huffed-out breaths, followed by some muffled curses. Then the squealing began once more, this time continuously. Uneasy, she was about to rise anyway when Dara put a hand on her lower arm, kept her in place.

The troll woman let out a long chuckle. "That's what happens when you think with your stomach instead of your head. Quite a few of those bulls are rather well endowed."

Realizing the woman in distress must be getting rutted, and none too enjoyably, Anári shot her a glare. "You've never been poor, have you?" she blurted out before she could stop herself. "Sometimes you'll endure whatever it takes if it means you'll be able to have a meal."

Dara looked amused rather than offended. "Oh, I've been right there where that girl is right now. How do you think I know about their endowment? And just because I'm a troll didn't make those bulls any easier for me to take. They're a whole different species, after all, and not designed to match all females. Besides, some human women like 'em good and thick, I've learned. That one is likely one of them."

Surprised, Anári ignored the woman's plight for now, studied Dara carefully. "It doesn't seem like you've ever lacked for anything."

Dara shrugged. "Worked my way up from the trenches, I did. My mother was a whore. Worked the streets of Callazaar. She was none too smart about it, though, and too poor to use protection. That's how she ended up with me." Lifting a long stick, she rearranged the logs of the fire, remembering. "I grew up hidden away in dark alleys, fighting for every scrap of food I could find while she practiced her trade. Once I came of age, I watched, studied the needed skills, the coins that were paid, the rutting habits of the bulls. By the time I was old enough to start mating myself, I knew all there was to know about the business." Leaning back, she placed the stick back on the ground, crossed her feet at the ankles. "Promised myself that I would never end up like my mother, offering the cheapest service just to survive. Wasting coin on drink and renting the occasional room to spend the night instead of saving to have a place to make a home. Turning down clients instead of sucking it up, and pocketing the extra she could have made."

Amazed to learn about Dara's background, and how different it was from how she would have imagined it, Anári tuned out the yelps and moans still coming from between the wagons. "So, what did you do?" she encouraged Dara to continue.

"Swore that I would have a better life. And to do whatever it took to achieve it," the troll woman stated frankly. "Soon as I could, I started working for a local merchant, sweeping, dusting, taking out trash. While I was cleaning, I learned all that I could about purchasing and selling, and distributing the goods. I liked the business and the coin to be made, so I decided that's what I wanted to do with my life. But it would have taken years to earn a good living working my way up the ranks for someone else. And I was tired of living an impoverished life." Lifting her mug, Dara took a drink of her ale. "I was well aware that starting a good-sized, profitable business of my own would take a good amount of coin. But, thanks to my mother, I also knew the way I could earn it. And fast. Unlike my mother, though, I didn't limit whom I'd take for clients, and never turned down any of their requests. As long as they were willing to pay the prize, I fulfilled their every desire. And bought my first successful business from a retiring merchant not four years later."

"That's quite admirable." Anári regarded Dara with a whole new respect. Here was a woman who hadn't only dreamed, but turned her dreams into reality. It gave Anári a whole new hope for what her own future might bring. Perhaps being a dreamer wasn't such a bad thing, after all, she mused as she moved her toes closer to the fire to keep them warm. Reaching for the bowl Lennor had given her, she picked a cube of cheese, popped it into her mouth. If there truly was an opportunity for anyone to make it in troll lands as he had pointed out, her life might bring some unexpected pleasures yet.

Suppressing the giggle that wanted to rise, since her eyes had instantly homed in on the troll with the woman's mouth around his cock at the thought of pleasures, Anári made an effort to study the selection of other goodies in the bowl to keep her mind on track.

She'd be a hard and honest worker for Dara, she determined, and follow the troll woman's example. Learn all she could about as many things as she was able. And keep an open mind about earning some coin to be saved to better her life later, if the opportunity arose.

********* CHAPTER 6 *********

IN THE DANCING shadows of the fires' lights, Anári made her way back to her wagon. She had stopped at the cart that held the water, refilled her flask. Now, as she rounded the back of the cart, she realized the squeals and moans were getting louder. Pressing a hand over her mouth, she tried to cover her snicker. The woman being rutted must be no more than a wagon or two away.

Politeness urged her to move on. She had no business spying on the woman, after all. But curiosity pushed her feet closer to the sound. She'd simply sneak a peek, then be on her way. Careful not to disturb anyone, she paused behind the next wagon, slowly eased her head around its side.

Instantly, her loins tightened and began to throb as she took in the scene before her. A human woman, skirts raised around her waist, was standing bent over the back of a tall, covered wagon. Her entire shapely rump, exposed to the air, was glistening with moisture. More was dripping from the swollen red slit at her center, forming a small puddle between her feet.

Three males of the same species surrounded her, one apparently spent and finished, tucking himself back in. A second one was leaning against the side of another wagon, arms crossed over his rock-hard chest. The third was currently stepping up behind the female, moving aside the flap in his pants that covered his groin.

All three were only around six feet tall, but massively muscled. Their skin was a mottled mix of sand tones and browns, and looked to be rough and grainy. Long, pointy ears extended well over the top of their heads, with tips that were incredibly mobile. Their noses were large and sharp, with tall, narrow nostrils. Double tusks protruded from wide, forward jaws, while their eyes looked very much like a human's.

As the first male disappeared behind the other wagons, the third leaned over the woman, just enough to brace his hands on the wagon on either side of her. The woman tensed, bracing herself, but the bull didn't make a move. His groin was still about a foot away from her, and Anári wondered what was happening. Indulging her curiosity, she shifted her position slightly to get a better view.

Then she saw it, his cock, hard and quivering, pointing at the woman's center. And she fully understood the squealing she'd heard. It was as massive as the rest of the male's body, thicker than Anári's wrist—with a head that was already flowering, and would likely flare to the size of a man's fist upon release. Although no longer than nine or ten inches, the exotic shaft would press firmly against any woman's womb.

Mesmerized, since the troll still hadn't entered the woman, Anári bit her lip. He shifted his feet and all of a sudden, the muscles in his ass contracted, causing the cock to jerk in response. It slapped against his rock-solid belly with a resounding smack. The bull let out a few, deep grunts, then shifted from foot to foot again.

Shadows and light danced over the rippling muscles in his back as his body repeated the process, forcing more blood into the already steel hard shaft. The troll grew more impatient each time, near dancing from one foot to the other, trying to align himself for entry. The cockhead swelled and decreased, swelled and decreased as it kept smacking against the bull's firm stomach. His guttural grunts became more frantic.

Finally, the flaring head expanded even further, and this time, did not go down. Swollen and angry, it quivered, quivered, ready to explode into full flower. The troll let out a low, rumbling roar, and his hips surged forward. Missing his mark on his first few attempts, he coated the woman's rump and upper thighs with a steady stream of clear pre-seed that poured from his slit.

Anári knew he was moments from release when the thick, flaring head slipped between the woman's folds. And, with one hard thrust, shoved through her struggling muscles to wedge firmly against her womb.

His triumphant howl mixed with the woman's yelps at the rough penetration, and Anári couldn't help but pity the girl. Still, she felt her own moisture coating her inner thighs, the muscles of her tunnel contracting, yearning to be stretched and filled the same way.

Enfolded by the woman's tight, wet heat at last, the troll went into full rut. Long, deep, and fast, his strokes pounded her sensitive tunnel—hard and unforgiving. His grunts came ceaselessly now, purely animalistic. Intent on nothing but seeding the woman, he ignored her futile squirms, her body's attempts to escape being so roughly impaled, so harshly used.

She tried to shift, to ease the ache, the strain of the brutish rutting. To will her body to allow being opened this wide. Yet her moans of discomfort also mixed with moans of pleasure as the exotic cock slid over her most sensitive spots in the most marvelous ways.

Clear liquid ran down the woman's thighs, over the sheath at the base of the troll's cock, coated his full and heavy balls. More of it gushed down the shaft, dripped onto the floor with every thrust. He was spraying the woman's insides with a steady stream of pre-seed.

The sound of the thick cock sliding through extreme wetness set Anári's loins on fire. She could only imagine how it would feel to be stretched that far, to have that huge head rubbing over the sensitive spot inside her tunnel with every stroke. Her clit throbbed with desire as she imagined the stimulation such an exotic shaft and flaring head would apply to it. It took all she had not to slip her hand under the waistband of her skirt and ease the burning need.

Suddenly, the troll's body tensed, his flanks surged forward one last time, sheathing his cock deep inside of the woman, then deeper yet. Then he stilled, muscled tight and bulging, pressed forward as far as he could go.