A Servant of Arubhár 04

********* CHAPTER 7 *********

A WEEK LATER, they reached Lorwind, a larger town built around the residence of one of Verenosi's lords. Even here, despite the proximity to nobility, people were struggling to survive. While the fortress-like manor itself seemed to be in good repair, the lord's guards and soldiers well-dressed, well-fed, and healthy, the town folk didn't fare as well.

There was livestock in pens in desperate need of fixing, and grazing the pastures around the town. Fields were freshly plowed or planted with late crops. But the many small cottages looked run-down and neglected, with leaky roofs, missing shutters, and crumbling walls. People were dressed in old, threadbare outfits that had been patched in more places than not. Their faces were drawn tight and haggard after years of just enough food to get by. Many a body was dangerously thin, and Anári wondered how they mustered the energy to work the land at all.

The road wound its way through town in between closed stores and abandoned workshops, then up toward the fortress and down again. Closer to the lord's manor, the residences were larger, much better maintained. A sign that previously rich merchants and the lesser nobility continued to survive just fine. Here, Anári even saw an eatery, a pub, and a small inn.

They exited the town by late afternoon, and made camp in a large square of hard-packed dirt that once hosted markets and livestock auctions. It was sad to notice, Anári mused as she jumped off her wagon, that even in Lorwind, the lords cared only enough to see to their own comforts. There were remnants here of a better life, of wealth and prosperity. With a little planning and discipline, this town could easily turn what they had into something thriving.

Yet the nobility no longer answered to a king, had no need for income as long as the common folk provided for their every need. So they left the people to live in poverty while they indulged in every pleasure at the lesser man's expense.

A clear sign that there was still some wealth in this town could be found in the brothels located around its outskirts. While the lords and their soldiers simply took women whenever they wanted, most men with available coin preferred to pay a whore instead of forcing themselves on someone unwilling. Wryly, Anári wondered if those better-off at least saw the women of the trade well-fed.

Dismissing the greed of the nobles, she went in search of Lennor, learned that he'd accompanied Rannix into town. A smile played around her lips as she wondered how many carts of food they'd return with. Since she wouldn't be able to help him until later, she approached the troll unhitching her wagon instead. Asked if she could help with the horses.

To her pleasure, she soon found herself with a brush in her hand, grooming and checking the hooves of the magnificent animals. She carried buckets of water, rationed out grain and hay, added treats to their feed in the form of carrots and apples. Then grinned broadly when the horses greeted her with whickers as she distributed them.

Returning to Lennor's cart some time later, her mouth watered at the scent of roasting meats that wafted through the air.

"Let me guess, there isn't a slab of beef left in town," she greeted the older troll.

His deep chuckle rumbled over her. "We put a dent in their supply, that's the truth. But they've more, and fresh, still running around. And we filled their barns with produce and more than enough seeds for next year's harvest. And each common home now has enough linen and thread to make new clothes, and enough wood to keep them warm through the winter."

Anári stepped up to the troll, ran a hand over his arm. "It's a kind thing you're doing. No matter how much you try to argue it away as simple trade." He shrugged his massive shoulders, and—hard as it was to tell under his wine-red color—she could have sworn she saw him blush. "Do you need any help?"

"No. I have it handled. Go, get some rest." He mixed some flour into wonderful smelling gravy boiling in a pot, threw her a wink. "Knowing you, I'll see you back here after dinner, helping with the clean-up despite Dara's protests."

Laughing, Anári sauntered off to find some other means to keep her entertained. Perhaps she'd get lucky, and the bath waters would already be warm. It was another luxury she'd never thought she'd experience again, soaking away the dirt of the road in a hot bath every night. The knowledge that a naked troll bull was in a tub not a few feet away from her added extra spice to the routine.

More than once, she'd imagined what would happen if she pushed aside the curtain that separated them. Snickering, she shook the image off. She'd have enough to stimulate her senses once everyone settled down around the fires. If events of the past week were any indication, she'd be more than aroused well before bedtime.

Despite the early hour, the benches were already in place. Wood for the fires was neatly arranged, as yet unlit. They had at least another hour before the sun would set. For lack of anything better to do, Anári decided she'd spend some time exploring. Trolls were checking wagons as she strolled through camp, making repairs, replacing wheels and covers. Harnesses were being oiled and hung on racks in tents. A blacksmith heated horseshoes in a forge while he trimmed a large gray's hooves for maintenance. By now, she felt at home amidst the bustle, and knew that she would miss it once she reached her destination.

There was a river not too far from camp, shaded by grand oaks. Anári made her way down to it, hoping to catch a glimpse of wildlife. Finding a sheltered spot at the bank between some bushes and brambles, she sat down. A little further up, the river curved gently to the right, and she could see the houses and buildings of the town that followed its path.

Delighted when a trio of ducks swam by, she held her body still, careful not to disturb them. She watched them glide on the currents of the river, then disappear around the bend. Birdsong filled the air as the setting sun bathed the land in a warm, orange glow. When she looked up, she could see their many nests built into the sturdy branches.

There was life in Verenosi yet, Anári mused as a rabbit rustled the wildflowers on the opposite bank, munching on the tall grasses. It filled her with hope that one day even its people would once again thrive. With the help of trolls like Dara and Lennor, the kingdom could recover. If only the people would swallow their stupid prejudice, and recognize the chances they were given.

Leaning back on her hands, she appreciated the peaceful setting, the vast expanse of fields across from her, the dense, ancient pine forest downriver to her right. Sitting here, enjoying the comforts granted to her by Verenosi's neighboring race, it was easy to forget that much of the kingdom still lay in ruins. She, for one, would remain grateful to the trolls for the difference they tried to make in people's lives. If others decided to snub their nose at them, they deserved their plight.

A louder rustling to her left pulled her from her thoughts. Turning her head, she saw the tall, wild grasses parting. A troll stepped up to the bank not twenty feet from her, took a look around. His gaze passed right over the spot where she sat, and she realized he couldn't see her. Hidden by the thick bushes and brambles that enveloped her like a tent, she blended perfectly with her surroundings in her green and brown cloak. Since she was shielded from his view, she remained where she was, seeing no reason to startle the large bull.

He let out a long breath, turned his gaze upriver. Then took a few steps backwards, rested his broad shoulders against the trunk of a tree. For a while, he simply stood there, looking out over the river and the fields beyond. Anári took the chance to study him, to take in his exotic features.

He was tall, standing well over seven-foot. But his body, although muscular, was much leaner than the average troll and incredibly defined. Trim hips widened into a dramatic V shape at his shoulders. Muscles rippled on long arms and legs. His skin was the color of dark green moss, with many shades and nuances, both darker and lighter.

In the golden glow of the setting sun, she could see the sheen of sweat that covered his beautifully toned torso. He must have been training and exercising after they made camp, Anári mused. Perhaps he'd even followed the caravan on foot to stay fit. Her second day of travelling, she'd learned that many of the trolls guarding the caravan as it journeyed through the lands often did so voluntarily.

His skull was armored like a dragon's, lending exotically unique features to his face. A long pointy chin flared out into a massive jaw. Cheekbones were dramatically pronounced next to a strong, broad nose. He lacked the tusks common to many other breeds, and his mouth was firm, yet mobile. Prominent brow bones only made his golden eyes more striking. Unlike a human's, there was no white around his iris, and his pupils were narrow and upright instead of round. The most stunning feature was the ridged row of armored plates on the top of his head and extending around the sides like a crown.

Anári recognized his breed as the one serving the caravan as archers. A Droccora troll, she'd learned. They originated from the sub-tropical forests and vast grasslands of the southern region of troll territories, she recalled, where they hunted the immense herds of deer and antelope roaming the land. He should be freezing in this climate, yet—clad in nothing but a loincloth made of hide—his body seemed perfectly adapted to the cold.

Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she held her breath when his palm brushed down his flank, then stroked over the growing bulge between his legs. Slowly, she let it back out, careful not to disturb him. She managed to suppress the sound of disbelief that wanted to escape her throat. It seemed her body would be stirred to arousal long before the fires were lit.

Eyes still focused on the countryside, he gently stimulated himself through the supple leather, coaxing his shaft to full hardness. It didn't take long, growing steadily under his hand, and, finally, he brushed aside the loin cloth.

Anári's brows winged up as his cock came into view. Someone should draw a picture book with all these different endowments, she mused. She bit back a snicker, afraid he'd realize she was there, after all. But he paid her no notice as he stood, both hands resting at his sides once more, his cock, rock-hard now, exposed to the air.

Like the others she had seen so far, it was thick of girth, and had a defined ridge of powerful, bulging muscles along the bottom of both sides. The head and base were of the same dark green color as his body, and faded to tan in the middle, much like the tones of his chest. To her surprise, the exotic cock was relatively short, no longer than seven inches.

Although blunt, the head was much larger than the shaft, with a small, pointy tip at the front top that looked as if it was enforced with bone. Glancing up at the armored ridges along his skull, Anári thought she wouldn't be surprised if this part of his anatomy boasted its own set of armor.

A breeze whispered through the underbrush, caressed his cock like the tips of gentle fingers. His flanks tightened and flexed in response, and he let out a long, rumbling moan. Nostrils flaring as he grunted quietly, he poured some oil onto his palm from a small vial. Then wrapped his hand around the shaft, and gave it a few, rough strokes.

The muscles of his ass contracted, sliding the shaft through his tight, calloused grip. After dripping more oil between his fingers, the troll replaced the stopper, tucked the bottle back into the cloth around his waist. Then he broadened the stance of his legs, and began to work his cock with fast, hard strokes.

These bulls didn't waste any time, Anári noted, hoping his deep, guttural grunts would drown out her own heavy breathing. Her loins were instantly on fire, the tingling in her clit demanding attention. Her empty, long neglected tunnel moistened and clenched. She yearned to be filled, to be stretched around a hot, thick cock. To feel it sliding through her tightness, stimulating all those marvelously pleasurable spots. For a moment, she debated joining him, but worry kept her rooted in place. Who knew how Dara would react if she found out that Anári had surrendered to her baser desires. She didn't know if a servant of Dara's was allowed to rut with a troll.

Intensely focused on the scene before her, she let her own hand travel between her legs. She wouldn't dare bring herself to peak, fearing she might be discovered. But she had to ease the throbbing in her center.

The bull continued to slide his hand over his cock, rough, hard, and fast. The muscles of his lower back rippled as his loins thrust forward to meet his strokes. She watched his blunt head grow larger every minute, imagined how it would feel to have it expanding inside of her. The stretch would be incredible, she mused, and swallowed a groan. Her tunnel tightened at the thought, fueling her frustration. She cursed her heavy clothes as her fingers found her clit, flicked over the sensitive bud with rapid speed.

Shifting his shoulders, the bull tilted back his head. Sweat glistened at the powerful column of his throat. His grunts came harsher, louder now, and he firmed his grip, worked his cock with punishing force. Anári's body quivered, trembled with excitement in answer to the purely animalistic sounds he made.

A steady stream of clear pre-seed dripped from the slit, moistened the ground at his feet. Then he paused, pulled his hand away, and her eyes widened in shock.

The base of his cock had swollen noticeably, and was growing thicker by the second. She had only a moment to digest this unexpected development before he resumed his rough, fast strokes.

There was no finesse in the way he sought his pleasure, no twist of the wrist, no change in his grip. No adjustment of pace or focus on certain parts of his incredible endowment. It was no more than the primal instinct to spill his seed that drove his hand over his shaft so forcefully in a straight back and forth motion. If it wasn't for the way he worked his jaw, the eyes half closed under heavy lids, she would have thought he didn't find much pleasure in the act at all.

Soon his cockhead grew even larger, the blunt tip bulging forward and out. It almost resembled a human's now, except for the soft-spiked crown that encircled the back of it and kept growing at an equal rate. She wondered how it wasn't uncomfortable to him, the way his fist caught at the flare with every rough stroke.

More pre-seed ran from his wide slit, mixed with the oil gleaming in the darkening light. His low, deep grunts sounded almost like a growl as his movements became jerky, less controlled. He pushed his shoulders off the tree as his flanks thrust forward, shoving the slick shaft through his hand. Bending forward, he gave her a wonderful view of the rippling muscles of his stomach, tightening and releasing as his hips rose and fell.

The determination on his face was mesmerizing as he gripped his cock even tighter, increased the speed of his strokes. The lump at the base of his shaft now almost equaled the size of his flaring head, further impeding the smoothness of his palm's motion. His flanks contracted continuously now, his whole body tensing and tightening.

Then his hand stopped mid-stroke, wrapped firmly around his shaft's center, and the troll let out a low, drawn-out roar.

Anári's own fingers froze when she saw his flaring head expand into a massive flower. It was one thing to see the aftermath, once they'd spilled into a woman's mouth or core. But to see it happening, not a few feet in front of her eyes, left her breathless and gasping.

A flood of seed shot from his slit with tremendous force, and the thought of how it would feel spraying her insides was her undoing. Her fingers flew over her clit once more as she watched the bull rip his hand over his flowering cockhead—once, twice, then again. Each time, a triumphant grunt rumbled from his chest, and his powerful flanks shot forward.

When he stilled, his palm enclosed the hugely flared head, began to squeeze and massage it. His other hand came up, and Anári's eyes were drawn to the base of the shaft. The lump had swollen to a massive knot, large enough to effectively tie him to even the loosest female. Leaning his shoulders back against the tree trunk, the troll wrapped his free hand around the hard knot, tight enough to whiten his knuckles. And settled in to ride out his long-lasting release.

Seed poured from the slit, no longer forceful, but with a steady stream. The shaft kept pulsing and contracting visibly. The huge orbs drawn up tight below his cock promised there'd be no quick end to the flow.

The sight of the knot, the flowering cockhead that kept flaring even further in short spasms, the bull's large hands that squeezed them both repeatedly, was enough to send Anári over the edge. Biting her lip to keep from screaming, she crested her peak, quivering and mewling with her release. She tried to lock her muscles, to stay still. But the brambles and bushes around her trembled in echo to her body's shudders of pleasure.

Praying he'd dismiss it to the breeze, she did her best to quiet her moans, to return her breathing to normal. Finally, her body complied, and she relaxed, simply enjoyed the chance to watch the Droccora bull's prolonged release.

It seemed to take forever before the troll was spent at last. The river of seed that puddled on the ground turned into a drip. The huge knot at the base of his shaft deflated almost instantly, and he dropped his hand to his side. His other hand stopped squeezing his cockhead, which had seized to flower, but still largely bulged and flared. He gave it a few rough strokes instead, his hips jerking back as if trying to escape the friction.

His wide chest slowly stopped heaving, and he released his cock. Still, the flared head remained engorged, and had the troll shifting impatiently from foot to foot. To Anári's wonder, the shaft barely softened before it began to retreat into its sheath. The process must have been somewhat uncomfortable for the bull, judging by the way his jaw was clenching.

He sucked in a sharp breath when his widely flared cockhead reached the entrance of his sheath. Reaching up, he encircled the crown with his fingers, stopped its retreat. Then shifted his weight once more, waited for its size to decrease. A few minutes later, it had lost another inch of circumference, but the troll's patience was at its end. Eager to be on his way, he opened his fingers, allowed its retreat.

Anári marveled at his discipline when a few harsh grunts and hands curled into fists were the only signs he showed of his discomfort as the still way too large head stretched the opening of his sheath to extremely uncomfortable widths.

She knew it was aching even after it was done as she took in the stiff way his body moved when he turned. Heart pounding in her chest, she held her breath, tried not to move a muscle when he stepped up to where she hid. He stopped not two feet in front of her, let out another deep, loud grunt. Then inclined his head, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

A furious blush spread on Anári's cheeks as she realized he must have known she was there all along. He'd been aware that she was watching him, likely aware was she was doing to herself inside those bushes.

When he stepped away—still walking rather tensely—and returned to camp, she blew out the air she'd been holding. The snicker that bubbled up was almost hysterical. Darned, if her body's raging hormones wouldn't land her in trouble before long.