A Servant of Arubhár 05

Not wanting to disturb him, yet mesmerized with the sight, Anári stepped off the path and out of the light, into the shelter of ferns and trees. Inching closer, she took cover behind the trunk of a large fir in a spot that allowed for a great view.

Standing up, she guessed he would tower to nearly ten feet tall, and his body was positively massive. He had a long torso and very long arms with short, stout legs that ended in feet shaped like an elephant's. His neck was so thick and short, it seemed his forward elongated head sprouted straight from his shoulders. His face had the features of a primitive breed of troll, with a nose that sat right in between small, wide-set eyes, tiny ears, and a forward jaw with long, lower canines.

Gulping as she took in the size of his endowment, Anári noted with a giggle that he was definitely not a mountain troll. The mottled gray and brown appendage matched the color of the rest of his body, and would have put even the largest stallion to shame. Covered in bumps of various sizes and encircled by ridged rings, the incredibly thick muscle of the shaft made a formidable weapon. Amused, Anári wondered if any of his kind had ever used one of those cocks to club someone to death.

With long, smooth strokes of medium speed, the troll brought his cock to full hardness. He looked comfortable, sitting on his make-shift seat with his back reclined against the hay, and in no hurry to finish. His eyes drifted closed as he let out another grunt, and it appeared he rather much enjoyed his arousal.

Every now and then, he lifted a tankard of ale to his lips with his other hand, but he never paused or changed his strokes. Up and down, steadily with the same rhythm, his palm kept sliding over the oiled shaft.

Anári caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her own arousal heightening. A thrumming started in her clit, then spread through her moist tunnel, quickly engulfing her whole core. Aware that no one could see her, she slipped her hand under the waistband of her skirt, traced a finger through the wetness pooling there. Teasing herself, she kept her eyes glued to the giant troll, watched his every move.

His flanks trembled, and his upper thighs echoed in answer. The heavy muscle of the shaft jerked and jumped under his palm. The troll seemed unaffected, simply continued his even strokes. Another bout of spasms caused his blunt cockhead to bulge. Mesmerized, Anári ogled as it slowly began to grow into a flower. Soon, she heard what sounded almost like a popping noise as his tight grip caught on the wide flare. And still, the flower expanded further and further with every pass of his hand over the head.

It was highly sensitive, swollen this far, and the bull's flanks quivered, jerked, and trembled in response whenever his palm slid over the flare. Yet the troll never wavered, never changed the speed of his strokes. He simply ignored his body's reaction, and continued to work the incredible cock.

Small pointy ridges extruded from all over the continuously growing, flowering head, certain to stimulate the female's insides and tease her into heat. A quiet moan pressed through Anári's lips, and she surrendered to her urges. Bringing her fingers up, she began to flutter them rapidly over her clit, focused solely on the erotic sight of such a primal troll pleasuring himself. Goosebumps formed on her skin as his loud, harsh, guttural grunts rolled over her.

His hips bucked forward sporadically, forcing the wildly jumping cock through the troll's palm with uncontrollable rhythm. Still, the bull simply tightened his grip so the shaft could not escape, yet never altered the pace of his strokes. Taking another sip of ale, he held the tankard out when another bout of spasms cursed through his body. Then let out a few, short grunts as his cockhead exploded to full flower.

For a moment, he froze, and Anári almost peaked when she caught a glimpse of the large round tube inside his heart-shaped flower. Then he calmly released his cock, set the tankard down, and scooted his butt backwards. Free of the restraining hand, the thick shaft jerked and bucked, up and down, from side to side, even spun in circles. It was a stunning sight, unlike any Anári had ever seen, and she wondered how he didn't seem concerned he'd hurt himself.

Leaning forward with his upper body, the bull wrapped his fist around only the flowering head, tightened his grip until it held firmly and securely. And suddenly, roughly, began to work only the flower with furiously hard, fast strokes.

Anári's heart beat a wild drumroll in her chest, her breaths came in labor bursts. Two long pockets lining each side of his shaft had rapidly filled and swollen to hard lumps. Combined, they added another six inches of girth to the already immensely thick cock. It was a primitive kind of knot, and displayed the evolution of design in less ancient breeds of trolls. The primal, almost beast-like nature of the male was enough to send Anári over the edge.

Her moans rang loudly in her ears as her body shook and trembled with release. Placing a hand on the rough bark of the tree trunk, she steadied herself when her knees threatened to buckle. Then she took a moment to catch her breath, her gaze never leaving the troll.

She didn't need to worry that her moans might have been heard, for his loud, harsh grunts drowned out any other sounds around them. He still used fast, brutal strokes over only his flowering head. His face was contorted with pure, raw pleasure. A steady stream of clear pre-seed ran from the wide-open tube inside the pulsing flower, and Anári marveled at the length of time it took the bull to go from full flower to release.

Finally, the first bursts of seed shot from the head, to land almost a foot away on the hay covered ground. Another round soon followed, and Anári thought he must be close to spent. Yet once again the bull surprised her, bellowing a series of roars into the night. Then a flood of creamy seed shot nearly two feet up into the air, propelled by his shaft's powerful contractions. It sprayed in a continuous stream, just as forceful, for almost half a minute straight. Then the troll released the quivering head, left his body to finish.

Once more, the fascinating cock began to bounce and buck with erratic movements. To Anári's utter astonishment, more seed showered the floor. It came in small squirts, followed by another stunning fountain, then yet more quirts. His powerful flanks rose and fell on the seat, and his bellows came even louder. The stream ebbed to a trickle, followed by another stream. Then another wave of seed burst forward, as forceful as the first.

It took at least another four minutes before the bull began to calm down. The swollen shaft flexed and jerked, contracting with dry heaves. No more than trickles now spilled from its tip, and soon the cock slowed its violent movements. Sated, the troll sank into the hay, lifted his tankard. And drained half its content with one, long gulp.

Anári watched the flower collapse, the head returning to blunt within a moment. The primitive inflations along the side, as well, receded almost instantly, and the shaft rapidly softened. It was still near halfway hard when it retreated back into its sheath, and the troll let out a content rumble. When he settled in more comfortably, Anári decided to move on. It was high time to make her way back.

Remembering her promise to meet Lennor and the gang at the Blue Goat tavern, she turned, and hurried back down the path. They'd likely worry if she didn't make it, and she was looking forward to an evening out.

********* CHAPTER 12 *********

THE TAVERN WAS noisy and jammed with bodies, mostly of the troll variety. There was a lively crowd tonight, enjoying the selection of ales and sprits, and music from a band on a small stage. Anári joined Lennor at a tall, round table, ordered an ale for herself. She felt a little celebratory tonight, although she planned on nursing her drink.

With no intentions of waking up hung-over with her head ready to burst, she knew she better pace herself. Yet one little indulgence couldn't hurt, she decided. And she could always switch to water afterward.

"So, how are you liking our lands so far?" Lennor asked her after a serving girl had brought her glass.

"It is absolutely wonderful to be back in a place that prospers." Smiling, Anári looked across the room, waved at some of the other members of the caravan. "It's so nice to see people live a good life, with enough coin to splurge on the occasional treat or trinket."

"Yes, it is." Nodding agreeably, Lennor asked a passing waitress to refill his drink. "The town folk here aren't rich, but they're certainly not lacking anything either. It's a welcome change after travelling through the distress in Verenosi for all those weeks. But there is Rannix now, and a few others you haven't met yet, who are travelling to Verenosi with another one of Dara's caravans."

Spotting Lennor's friend and helper in the crowd, Anári lifted her glass to him in greeting. He returned her gesture with a quick grin, then turned to chat with the well-cushioned braca who ran the tavern. Coin was exchanged and a moment later, he looked back in Anári's direction, a sheepish expression on his face. Shrugging, he pointed a finger toward the ceiling, then gestured what she interpreted to mean he'd return to them. Anári chuckled as she watched him walk up the stairs, a curvy barmaid in tow.

"He'll be back shortly," Lennor commented, following her gaze. "His kind don't take long to finish." Fishing some peanuts out of a bowl, he popped them into his mouth. "Although he'll likely not stick around too long either, seeing how he's never satisfied."

Anári laughed, bumped an elbow into his arm. "How about you? Don't you ever indulge?"

That adorable blush turned Lennor's face a visibly darker shade of wine-red as he made a production out of examining the scratches on the table. "I am a bull of rutting age, so I cannot help but have my needs attended to on occasion. But I'm somewhat of the shy sort when it comes to those matters, so I prefer to conduct my business in private."

"Aw . . ." Anári ran a finger down his cheek, and to her delight, the red tone of his face turned even darker. "That makes you all the more special, if you ask me." Pressing a kiss to his flaming jaw, she heard him mutter something unintelligible, couldn't prevent the snicker.

Lennor threw her a grumpy look that held no heat, then took a long gulp from the drink the waitress had refilled. "It's only because my body didn't mature in time. So I wasn't able to perform my rites of coming of age until I was almost fifty. Your self-esteem suffers some losses after a few failed attempts. It's not exactly cause for pride if a troll bull cannot perform in public."

"Darned if you do. Darned if you don't." With a laugh of irony, Anári threw back some ale. "It's amazing how a culture will always find ways in which to shame their population. In mine, you're shamed and considered the lowest of life-forms if you dared to have sex in public. In yours, you're shamed for the opposite—if you prefer to keep things private, or don't display your rutting prowess in public. It's all a bunch of nonsense in my opinion. Each individual's preferences should be their own, to be judged by none other." Lifting her glass, she clinked it to his. "And still I say, yours make you all the more special."

"You are a good kid, Anári." Lennor turned serious. "Listen to Dara when you get to Arubhár, learn all you can. You have the opportunity to live a life more fulfilling than you could ever imagine. Don't waste this chance." Then his good-natured smiled returned. "Speaking of preferences . . . Have you enjoyed a rutting yet?"

It was Anári's turn to blush. Had everyone noted her arousal at the possibility of pleasuring a bull? "Not yet," she mumbled under her breath, and heard the older troll chortle.

"Well, you'll have plenty of opportunities for that as well in the years to come. I'm sure you'll see to being covered quite frequently once you get over the initial hesitation. From what I hear, most human women and those of other races grow quite fond of the release it brings."

As this was not a subject she felt comfortable discussing with a troll she considered to be akin to a warm, caring uncle, Anári diverted the conversation to a safer subject. Although the mere thought of being rutted had her clit already pulsing once more. "So, how many extra wagons will join our caravan the day after next?" She tried to keep her mind from imagining what Rannix was doing upstairs. Try as she might, she had the hardest time banishing the picture of his cock sliding in and out of the barmaid that stubbornly formed in her mind.

Amused, for he had a good idea where she was heading, Lennor winged up his brows. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

"I know we'll have to buy some more, with all the food you'll be acquiring." Anári snickered at the look he shot her, grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl.

"There'll be no more than we already have, I'll have you know. My supplies were near depleted by the long track through Verenosi."

"Meaning we only have about six or seven wagons worth of food left."

Lennor folded his lips. "Food that you seem to be enjoying," he pointed out.

Anári held up her hands. "Oh, I'm not complaining. I was merely wondering what type of feast you'll create next. You're a master in the kitchen, if I may say so myself."

Rumbling out a chuckle, Lennor shook his head. "And you're quite skilled at keeping a troll just charmed enough to forgive your smart little mouth."

Grinning, they both looked up when Rannix appeared at their table, a pitcher of ale in his hands. Anári blew out a breath of relief. Perhaps now, she would finally be able to reel in her vivid imagination. There was another troll with him, whom they introduced as Croro. He was travelling with Dara's other caravan, about to enter Verenosi.

They chatted for a while, exchanging news from Callazaar, Anári's destination. Then Croro excused himself to arrange being serviced with the matron of the tavern. Almost groaning with frustration, Anári drummed her fingers on the table. Just as she had managed to get her own arousal under control, there went another troll, planting a new erotic image in her mind.

The haggling over prices turned a little heated, and Rannix barked out a laugh. "I don't know why he won't just sate himself in the tight ass of a woman, instead of wasting all that time trying to bring down the cost of rutting a bull."

Anári's eyes must have visibly widened, for Rannix's gaze focused on her. "It's quite common a practice when there aren't enough willing females around. And some bulls simply prefer it that way. Are the customs of your homeland so much different?"

"Well, . . ." she mulled it over. "Men don't really care whether a woman is willing. They'll take what they want with no regard to her. And the lords' soldiers have been known to force themselves on men as well, as much for pleasure as humiliation. I'm certain there are those who prefer their own gender. But if they act on it, they hide it well. Or they'd be disgraced and shunned from their communities for life."

"Hmpf," Rannix grunted. "How ridiculous. There's no shame in it here. Neither for the bull doing the rutting nor the one submitting to it. As I said, it's practiced quite commonly throughout troll lands. Oftentimes with young adult males, who're feeling the first stirrings of need, but haven't yet reached rutting age. They'll charge more than a female, but most will readily agree for the right amount of coin. Rarer are the bulls of breeding age who will allow the practice. But even then, to those willing to pay the extraordinary price, there are plenty available."

This time, Anári couldn't stifle the groan. Great. That was just great. Now she had a whole new picture floating around in her mind. Bulls rutting each other? As if her already vivid imagination needed any more fuel. Throat suddenly gone dry, she took a swallow of her ale, noticed to her dismay that it was almost empty. She tried to focus on anything other than the scene in her head, but Rannix's strongly muscled flanks flexing as he turned brought her thoughts right back to highly arousing matters.

He was another one of those trolls who was strikingly attractive, very similar to a human man in looks. With just enough primal features to appeal to a woman's most primitive instincts and needs. His body was powerfully muscled and riddled with scars. Several tribal tattoos adorned skin of blood-red color, shades lighter than Lennor's.

A very dominant male, Rannix was highly protective, and never backed down from a fight. He enjoyed providing, and keeping those weaker than him safe, Anári had learned. His golden-brown eyes glittered with almost eerie intelligence. Yet he was just as primal as more primitive trolls when it came to mating. And one look at him left no doubt he was extremely virile, capable of producing offspring both healthy and strong.

The thought of what he'd look like while he was rutting had heat flashing in Anári's loins. Giving up on her vow to have only one, she signaled the waitress to refill her ale. She might just need to numb her senses if the night continued this way.

"Maive." Lennor's gentle voice drew her attention to the woman's presence. "How nice of you to join us."

"Out on the prowl?" Rannix's rumbling tone sent a shiver of excitement down Anári's spine.

With a sassy smile, Maive trailed a fingertip over Rannix's strong collarbone. "Are you looking to rut?"

"He just finished but a short while ago." Lennor ignored Anári's sharp intake of breath at Maive's blunt question. "Come join us for a drink."

"How could I resist an offer from such a charming troll?" Blowing Lennor a kiss, Maive took the chair he held out for her, asked a serving girl for a carafe of wine. "Hi, Anári. How are you tonight? I see you're keeping good company."

"Only because she wants to flatter me into baking her more pastries." Lennor gave Anári a wink.

"Who can blame her? They are delicious. And likely the most sinful thing she's indulged in in a while."

Laughing, Anári swatted both Lennor's and Maive's arms playfully. "You guys are so bad. I happen to like who I'm with, for no reason other than simply their company."

The waitress brought the wine, and Maive poured herself a glass, sipped. Then, pursing her lips, she turned to face Rannix. "They are certainly rather likeable fellows. But the added benefits don't hurt."

One of Maive's hands disappeared under the table, and Rannix's nostrils flared. Feeling daring halfway into her second mug of ale, Anári risked a peak. Lowering her eyes, she followed the path of Maive's hand, then instantly wished she hadn't. The gutsy woman had her fingers wrapped firmly around Rannix's sheath, and was jerking it roughly through the fabric of his breeches. Already, Anári could make out the bulge where his cock began to emerge.

"Did you have a chance to explore the town today?"

At Maive's question, Anári's eyes shot back up. The knowing smile curving the corners of Maive's lips let her know she had been thoroughly busted. "Yes," she squeaked out in reply. Then took another swig of ale to smooth her throat. "It was quite amazing, seeing it all," she continued once she was sure her voice would hold. The thrumming in her loins made it near impossible to keep up with the conversation. "I thought of you, Lennor, when I saw a market stand selling spices. They had a lot of those little bags you like to use. And I found a carved jade statue of a cat which I would like to send to my friend, Marwena, back home as a gift."

"Just hand it to Croro," Lennor suggested. "He's headed that way tomorrow. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to drop it off at your village."