A Servant of Arubhár 04

Certain he was gone, she rose on legs still wobbly, and made her way back to the wagons. Her stomach rumbled, and she chuckled again. Perhaps the food and the clean-up after would help keep her mind on things other than arousal for a while.

********* CHAPTER 8 *********

THAT EVENING, DARA arranged with the local brothels to have all the bulls in her company serviced. Anári had seen the various carts and wagons cushioned with soft pillows and blankets as she'd wandered through camp. She'd asked Lennor about it when she arrived to help with the dishes, then decided she would have been better off not knowing. Sleep would be a long time coming tonight, she mused. With all that commotion going on.

"Where are you from?" she asked Lennor as she dunked another plate into the water, scrubbed it clean. There'd be enough stimulation for her easily excitable body later, so she steered the conversation to safer topics.

"Norwa. A chain of large tropical islands in the southernmost regions of troll territories."

"Tropical Islands. Wow." Anári's face took on a dreamy look as she set the plate in a rack to dry, grabbed the next. "It must be beautiful, your home."

Smiling, Lennor pressed the tab on a barrel of water, rinsed the glass he'd washed. "It's very beautiful. The turquoise waters of the sea are clear and brimming with fish. There's snow white beaches and all that lush vegetation. We've countless waterfalls and swimming holes, and dense forests growing up the mountains. It's a slow paced, laid-back life, ours, and no one's ever in a hurry. We fish or hunt the plentiful pigs and deer. There's an abundance of fruit that grows on the islands, and just about every type of crop does well in the soil. Some dive for pearls or other jewels of the sea. But mostly, we sit around, enjoying the beautiful weather, our neighbors, our friends."

"Sounds like a wonderful life." Finished with her dishes, Anári pulled the plug to drain the tub. She could envision it, sitting in the warm sand, her toes in the water. Enjoying mild breezes that brushed over her sun-kissed skin. She'd never seen the sea before, but she recalled pictures from books they'd owned when she'd been a child. It had always seemed amazing that people lived near it. Replacing the stopper, she rinsed the tub, set it aside. "Why did you leave?"

The big troll shrugged. "My children are grown, with lives of their own in other parts of the world. Then I lost my wife, some twenty years back. The hut seemed awfully empty after that. So I decided to leave, travel the lands for a bit. Met Dara some twelve years ago now. And it appears I found a new family."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Anári drained another tub, rinsed it, added it to the stack. "It must have been hard on your children, also. Growing up without their mother."

"Oh, they were long grown and gone before she passed away."

Scrunching up her brows, Anári calculated. "Just how old are you? If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind at all. Passed my hundred-fourteenth birthday a few months ago." Lennor grabbed the tubs she'd stacked, stowed them away in his cart.

"One hundred and fourteen? Years?" Anári couldn't keep the disbelieve out of her voice.

Lennor chuckled. "I think we trolls live a bit longer than humans."

"Now, there's an understatement." Still shaking her head, she began to sort the silverware. "I swear, I would have guessed you to be no more than fifty-one or -two."

"Oh!" Lennor patted a hand over his heart. "Honey, you flatter me. You've just become my new best friend. I'll fix some pastries later on. Be sure to come get some."

Laughing, Anári rose on her toes, planted a kiss on the adorable troll's chubby cheek. "Dara's lucky to have you." This time, there was no mistaking the blush that spread on his face, despite his wine-red color. "Just how long do trolls live on average?"

"Around two-hundred years is normal. But some can easily reach two-hundred-twenty or -thirty."

"Wow." She handed him the sorted silverware to put away. Then propped a hand on her hip, studied him. "I have another question for you. And do let me know if I'm pestering you."

Grabbing pots, pans, and spices, Lennor added them to the cart, motioned for her to go on.

"Do all trolls of your breed have that same, fascinating wine-red color?"

He turned to face her, eyes sparkling with delight. "You do know how to flatter a troll. But to answer your question: No. This is only one of many varieties. There's deep blue, yellow, turquoise, and purple. And my tone, of course. Some are even born with a blend of such. And you never know what you might get if you reproduce."

"Fascinating." Smiling from ear to ear, Anári imagined it. "I've so much to learn about your race yet."

"There are so many breeds of us, even most trolls don't know more than a tidbit about each other. Don't worry your pretty little head too much about it. But if you truly want to learn, there are many learned trolls and scholars at Callazaar. They'd be happy to help you."

"Callazaar?"

"That's where you're going." Lennor extinguished the cooking fires, stored the last few buckets. "Dara has a complex there where you will work."

Dismissing the sense of loss that wanted to rise at the thought of leaving the caravan, Anári sat down on a bench. "What is it like. Callazaar, I mean."

"Quite beautiful." He closed the flap of the cook wagon's cover, then joined her. "It's a huge port city by the sea. The high king of all troll nations resides there. And so does the main force of the troll nations' armies. It's one of the largest cities in all troll lands. With countless markets, buildings of marble and light tan stone, and palm trees that sway in the breezes that come off the sea. The harbor is an absolute marvel to behold. There are libraries, museums, schools, and theaters and other entertainment. It's a place of trade and learning. You'll find every single breed of troll represented there, as well as many other races of this world. I'll likely spend a few years there before I retire back at my home."

"It sounds amazing." Still, Anári wondered how much of it she would get to see. She was a servant of Dara's, after all, not someone free and out travelling. But excitement fluttered in her belly as she pictured it. To have a chance to experience the troll lands at all was incredible. She was a simple girl from a remote village, after all. Just the fact that she was travelling to exotic places, would work there, took her breath away. "What about Dara's complex?"

Lennor rose to pour himself a mug of ale. "Arubhár is a nice place with a lot of history. It's located at the outskirts of the army's camp. There's a tavern that's been converted from an old jail. An eatery in an old armory. An elaborate bathhouse as old as the city itself. And a massive complex of storehouses and shops that were once stables. You'll like it there, I promise."

"I hope so. And I hope I'll be a good worker for Dara. To pay her back for all her kindness."

Sitting back down, Lennor gave her thigh a squeeze. "You will be. You've done more than we've expected already."

Anári lingered a while longer, asking Lennor about his journeys, the places he had seen. He had a way of telling stories that drew her in, fascinated her. She laughed at funny mishaps, listened, mesmerized, as he told of history and events. Then left him, feeling warm and welcome, to join Dara and the others.

She'd miss him once they parted ways, and hoped she'd have a chance to see him again one day. Despite his assurances that he owned a house in Callazaar, only travelled with Dara, and would come visit her, she knew he was a busy man. Well, troll.

*********

BACK AT THE fires, Anári soon found herself squirming in her seat. All night, the sounds of women moaning and squealing mixed with the loud, harsh grunts of rutting bulls. Dara seemed rather amused with her plight as Anári tried to focus on the fire, the ground beneath her feet, the cup in her hand. Anywhere else she looked, there was one bull or another being serviced in this way or that. The constant onslaught of sensual stimulation had her hormones raging, her body demanding release.

"You can join them, you know," Dara mentioned between chuckles. "Just be sure to pick one who won't accidently damage you."

Grumbling, Anári slanted her a look. "You're not helping. I'm trying to show you some respect. You brought me here to work, not to seek my pleasure."

Dara held up her hands, let them fall. "Your choice. Just because nature hasn't designed me to feel desire doesn't mean I don't understand that others do. As long as it doesn't affect my servants' work, I don't mind if they indulge. It is safe, in any case, since a troll cannot get you with child."

Blowing out a breath, Anári studied the pattern on the bench cushion. "I would not want you to think any less of me. You've made it clear that you consider those urges rather primitive. Besides, I'm not sure if I'm ready for all that yet."

Anári looked up just in time to watch a bull shove his massive cock into a woman's tight tunnel with one forceful thrust. The scream that tore from the whore was quickly replaced with heavy moaning, and she reached back to grab his thighs to encourage him as he began to rut. Taking a long sip of her tea, Anári swallowed the tortured groan that rose up.

"If you're planning on letting a bull rut you, you better be ready and sure." Dara flicked her toe to shoo away a moth that persisted on making a home on her boot. "While they won't force themselves on an unwilling, once you agree, those bulls won't stop."

Nodding her head in the direction of another rutting troll, Dara paused, pursed her lips. "Do not worry. I, myself, find the sight of a bull performing rather thrilling. Bracas of higher standing will often arrange for such a viewing—if for no reason other than to evaluate a bull for his ability to breed and produce strong offspring. So, while the act of mating holds no interest to us, there is a certain excitement to imagining what a bull could do."

She gulped down some ale, studied Anári over the rim of her mug. "As to your concern . . . I judge each individual only by how they treat others and what is in their hearts. Seeing to a need that is natural to you will not change my opinion of you."

Oh, yes. She'd find herself in trouble before long, Anári concluded. Being Dara's servant had been an effective way to temper her desires, to keep it all a fantasy. Now, with that barrier removed, there was no telling what she might do. She didn't know why she found the trolls' primitive style so irresistibly appealing. They paid no regard to a woman's comfort or her pleasure, after all. But it didn't come as a surprise.

She'd always had fantasies of being used for a man's pleasure, of serving his carnal needs. While other girls and women in her village had dreamed of making love, she'd been looking forward to the soldiers' next visit. The more ruthless they were, the more inconsiderate of her own feelings, the more her body responded. Was it any wonder, then, that watching these trolls left her so aroused? No, Anári mused.

And even more arousing was the fact that the bulls weren't being deliberately cruel. Nor particularly skillful or playful about the act. They never tried to prolong or increase their pleasure in any way. Simply followed their instinct, got right to it, and got it over with. Their primitive rutting style was almost purely animalistic in nature. Yet there was no doubt they were equal to humans in intelligence, and lived their lives in much the same way. It was an exhilarating combination, Anári had to admit.

Sighing, she nibbled on the pastry Lennor had handed her, savored every delicious bite. Truth was, she felt much less like an outcast among the trolls than her fellow humans. For years, she'd thought her fantasies unnatural, had felt judged and shamed for actually enjoying the way the soldiers had treated her. Even Marwena, who had a fairly open mind, had simply dismissed her desires as a result of a lack of better options.

Anári brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, looked out over the many colorful wagons illuminated by the firelight. The moon was hidden behind clouds tonight, so the different roofs lay hidden in shadows. The night was cool, but not as cold as the past few days, since their route took them steadily south. Soon, they'd catch a crossroad heading west, she'd been told. And wondered what the next few days might bring.

Moans and grunts continued to echo through the camp, and she caught glimpses of the action as her gaze travelled over the dusty lot. Plush pillows, richly colored, and blankets of luxurious material provided comfort to the women servicing the trolls. There were goblets of wine and plates of grapes, cheeses, and crackers set out on various small tables for them to enjoy. The baths were kept fresh and warm, so the women could relax with oils and fancy soaps once they were done.

It was a show of gratitude, Anári knew, arranged by the bulls to make the women feel appreciated and special. She was convinced that, despite Dara having already paid the brothels' matrons, the women would be compensated by each bull they serviced as well.

And that was why Anári felt so at ease around the trolls. Here, she could be herself, indulge her darker desires without being judged or feeling shamed. The trolls did not even look down on women who worked the trade, considered it a fair and honest way to make a living. While they had no pity on those with other options, she'd seen bulls turn down women who seemed to act out of nothing but desperation. From what she'd noticed, anyone who approached the trolls was given an option to earn coin another way.

Anári's face scrunched up as she considered Marwena's motivation. Perhaps there'd been even juicier tidbits to her story that the woman had deliberately left out. Chuckling, Anári shook her head. It appeared her lifelong friend had a few darker fantasies of her own. And didn't that just make her more endearing? Well, she'd just see if she couldn't get her to fess up to them whenever they communicated next.

As Dara had mentioned, there were plenty of women who were drawn to a rut with a troll. And even those were treated with respect. At least before and after the rutting, Anári amended. The only times the bulls acted a little condescending was when they met a woman on equal terms. And who could blame them? If she had no qualms about informing them she found their kind revolting, they had all rights to treat her with equal disrespect.

An elbow bumped Anári's arm, and she was pulled from her thoughts.

"Stay away from his kind." Dara motioned a hand toward a short, stout troll of dark blue color who was strolling by. "Got a knot the size of two large grapefruits at the base of his rather disappointingly small cock. Damn thing stays inflated for hours."

Anári bit back a laugh. "Speaking from personal experience?"

"Didn't walk right for a week," Dara grumbled. Then blew out a snort. "Didn't see it coming either, with his puny height. Learned an important lesson that day. Never judge a troll by his body's size." There was humor sparkling in Dara's eyes when she faced Anári. "Some of them can hide some nasty surprises. There's a mountain troll breed, stands nearly ten-foot tall and half that wide. Come to find out, they're hung like field mice."

Laughter bubbled from Anári's throat. "I wouldn't think a small size would bother you, seeing how you feel no pleasure."

"He didn't rut with me. I'd ordered him for one of my human clients. Needless to say, that customer did not return."

Anári nearly spewed out her tea. "Oops."

"Oops, all right," Dara said dryly. "That's another mistake I won't be making twice."

Still chuckling with the image, Anári ran her tongue over her lip. "Are you in the business of pleasure, then, as well?"

"Of course I am. Would be stupid not to be, with my background." She took a long swig of her ale, slapped the mug down. "You'll see for yourself once we get to Arubhár. My tavern and eatery both cater to troll bulls and males of all other races. There's a bathhouse for males with more luxurious tastes, and a very exclusive brothel above. The last is only for members, and welcomes female clients of all races as well."

Anári swallowed, blew out a sigh. Apparently, there'd be no end to the constant sensual stimulation even after she arrived at Callazaar. Since she was curious, and Dara seemed open to discussing the subject, she decided to mention the adventure she'd had this afternoon.

"I caught a glimpse of one of those knots you mentioned earlier today. A Droccora bull, if I'm not mistaking." All right. So, it was way more than a glimpse, but Dara didn't need to know.

Crossing her leg over her knee, Dara nodded. "Droccoras have them, also. They'll give you a good stretching, and stay properly tied. But they're not unmanageable, and the tie lasts only around fifteen minutes." She leaned down to refill her mug from a pitcher, then turned to give Anári a pointed look. "If you ever let one rut you, be sure to line them up. They've a bone inside their shaft, and it feels none too good if it misses its target."

Anári had wondered about that when she'd seen the pointy tip of his cockhead. A thrill sent little sparks of pleasure to her core at the memory of the scene. Heat spread on her cheeks, part excitement, part embarrassment, and she shifted in her seat.

"You can feel the bone inside the sheath," Dara continued, unconcerned with Anári's flustered squirming. "If you grab it, you can easily push it out. Once out, the muscle around it quickly swells. To protect the braca he's breeding, I'd venture. Many of my female clients claim they rather much enjoy a Droccora bull. You should give one a try one day. Although I recommend you start with something smaller, until you're used to the mating style. A Vanrarg, perhaps, or a Charval."

Anári couldn't help but giggle. Gee, had she actually worried about what Dara might think? It seemed the troll was rather much enjoying sharing her vast knowledge. And doing her best to encourage Anári to live out her fantasies.

One of the bulls Anári had watched rut the woman on her second night with the trolls walked by, and Dara gestured in his direction. "That's a Sconvorg. You want to avoid his breed for now. They are very largely endowed, and quite forceful in their rutting. And they'll mount you multiple times before they're satisfied. They're native to the lands around Callazaar, and the high king's preferred warriors, so you'll encounter quite a lot of them."

Moisture pooled between Anári's legs as she remembered the woman bent over the wagon, squealing, nearly lifted off her feet as the bull released. The way he had withdrawn while still in full flower, paced just long enough for it to subside, then mounted her again. She had to agree with Dara that he was not one to take on lightly. A woman had to be prepared to handle a troll of his kind. Still, a shudder of pure appreciation shook her body at the thought of submitting to such a bull.

"Somebody should write a book on this," Anári voiced her earlier idea.

A grin tugging up the corner of her mouth, Dara gave her a wink. "I'll get you one when we get back to Arubhár."

"There's a book?" Surprised, Anári's brows winged up.

"Had it commissioned after that mountain troll fiasco." Dara pointed with her mug when a huge, beefy troll lumbered by. "That one isn't too bad either. Hung like a horse, but gentle when he's rutting. Everything they do gets done slow and easy." She rolled her eyes. "I use them quite frequently for clients who want to experience feeling seriously stretched. Acquired that one in Tarrind for just that purpose. Not like I could use him for anything else. Takes him ten minutes just to walk to the back of a cart. That's if he doesn't get distracted by a ladybug or bumblebee in the process. And by the time he gets there, he won't remember what he went there for. But they focus well enough while rutting. Or, perhaps, it's simply nature taking over. Sometimes, I wonder. Takes them well over an hour to release, and they'll flower about ten minutes in. Their minds are likely off to a hundred other things while their bodies simply continue the motion. And a good thing that is. Otherwise their breed would have gone extinct after the first generation."