A Servant of Arubhár 05

The thought of the large bull, whose body rippled with muscles, and what he was doing right now caused another wave of heat to flash in Anári's loins. As if of their own accord, her eyes darted briefly to the stairs.

"He'll be a while yet." Lennor sounded amused. "His kind is known to tie for hours."

There went the rest of her ale. Anári had half a mind to follow it up with Maive's wine. Surely, a mean headache in the morning was a fair price to pay for some relief from the constant onslaught of erotic stimulation that had her vivid imagination assaulting her with one arousing image after the next.

Not to mention the persistent throbbing between her legs. The walls of her moist tunnel clenched and released, rhythmically reminding her of how long it had been since she'd been filled. The need to feel herself stretch around a thick, thrusting cock was almost overwhelming. She wouldn't even let her mind wander down the path of being tied to a bull by his hard knot.

Blowing out a breath, Anári signaled the waitress, ordered another ale. At this rate, she'd either end up drunk enough to lose her inhibitions, or too drunk to care about finding release.

Obviously aware of her predicament, Maive did something with her hand that caused Rannix to let out a deep grunt. His flanks began to quiver, and the broad muscles of his chest flexed. Anári aimed a heated glower at the mischievous woman.

Maive snickered, shrugged. Then ran her tongue over her lips. Pushing aside her glass, she rose, leaned closer to Anári. "I need him inside me. Now," she whispered breathlessly into her ear. "There is no feeling more marvelous than being opened by a Zilgan bull during rut. I only wish they'd last a little longer. But they recover soon enough."

Straightening, Maive waggled her fingers in a wave, eyes alight with wicked pleasure. "Please excuse us. We'll be back shortly." With that, she moved toward a door in the back of the building, and Rannix rose to follow her.

Anári glared at her back, wishing it would burn a hole into that impish woman. Lennor's rumbling laughter had her glare whirling onto him.

"You think this is funny, don't you?"

He tried to bite back the laughter. "That girl is never satisfied. Just like Rannix. But don't fret. I'm merely laughing in sympathy. I feel your pain. Remember, I know all about inhibitions and unfulfilled desire."

Face scrunched up, she refused to be appeased. "I fail to see your problem. Surely, Maive would be more than happy to oblige you, should you ask."

"And you wouldn't even have to utter the words to be rutted by every bull in this room," Lennor returned. "If it was simply a matter of availability, we'd both be in bed, sated and snoring by now."

Anári grumbled, took another swig of ale. "Sometimes, I very strongly dislike your calm logic."

Chuckling, Lennor gave her hand a pat. "If you keep hanging around Maive, you'll find yourself all kinds of pleasured. She's not one to let you ignore your desires for long. Take the girl's advice and follow her example. She'll teach you all there is to know about sating your needs with a troll."

Sighing, Anári hunched in her seat. "What about you? Is there no one who can help you ease your shyness?"

Lennor's massive chest rose, then fell as he let out a deep breath. "I'm rather much content with the way things are right now. Truth be told, I think there's been something wrong with me from birth. True, I have desires. And strong ones at times, at that. But they're rather infrequent, not anywhere near those of an average bull. And they lessened even further once my kids were born."

"As long as you're happy, there's no reason to change. And I don't think anything's wrong with you." Anári traced a finger around the rim of her glass. "In humans, desire varies greatly. From none at all to constantly, no matter whether man or woman. I don't think either way you lean is cause for concern. Perhaps the only thing we need to change is our way of thinking. Quit trying to be what our cultures consider normal. And realize that we're just fine the way we are. We both have good hearts, treat others with respect, and don't commit crimes. That's all that matters. We should feel good about ourselves without needing others' approval of something as silly as how much sex we have."

There was something very special about this girl, Lennor mused. And vouched to see to it that she'd be given every chance to have a wonderful life. The world needed more people like her and Dara in positions of wealth and power, so they could, in turn, make a difference in others' lives. He certainly had the influence to make it happen. He would use every bit of it to see Anári succeed. Tomorrow, he'd take her out into town to do some shopping for her village. Croro could handle a few more wagons. Lennor knew it would mean a lot to Anári, and it was a good place to start.

Nodding slowly, he helped himself to some more peanuts. "You might be on to something there."

"It's ridiculous, really, if you think about it." Anári puffed out her cheeks. "You're worried about not wanting to have sex often enough. I'm worried about wanting it all the time. Aren't there better things to worry about? Like hunger, for example. Which is a real concern." Pushing aside his hand from the bowl, she scooped up more peanuts herself, popped them into her mouth. "There's poverty, and plenty of it. People with no shelter, no clothes. Others are dying of common ailments because they cannot afford treatment. Let's not even mention the horrors of idiotic wars."

Warming to her little speech, Anári stabbed a finger into the air. "I say we make a vow. There'll be no more embarrassment about our preferences or desires. If I want to be rutted, I will be. If you don't want to, you won't. Who cares what anyone else thinks? Neither of us is doing any harm. Instead, we'll judge ourselves the way we judge others. By the good we do, and what's in our hearts. That's something actually worth being proud of."

Feeling rather gratified with that declaration, Anári leaned back. Her attempt to arrange her body into an 'I dare you to contradict me' stance was rudely interrupted when she hiccupped. Narrowing her eyes, she gave her once more almost empty ale a dubious look. Perhaps she shouldn't have had that third one, after all.

Another hiccup brought on a self-conscious giggle. And a reminder of reality. Had she, a little no one from a backwoods village, truly just declared she'd let a troll rut her if that's what she desired? And to another troll, at that. One who was practically in charge of her. It seemed too much ale made her increasingly brazen. She was a servant to these trolls, not some harlot of equal standing, free to do as she pleased. Kind as they'd been, they were her masters.

Then she dismissed the embarrassment that wanted to rise. Lennor certainly didn't seem offended. In fact, he'd rather much encouraged her. As had Dara, for that matter. And hadn't she just decided not to be embarrassed over silly things anymore?

It wasn't so much the fact that they knew she desired to be rutted that bothered her, Anári realized as she analyzed the lingering feeling of unease. She was concerned they'd think she considered them no more than primitive beasts. Lesser beings good for nothing but earning a coin or sating one's perverse desire to experience something primal, something that disgusted you as much as it aroused you. Which was as far from the truth as could be.

"I want you to know that I truly like and respect you and the other trolls I've met so far." Anári hoped her tone conveyed her sincerity as she turned to face Lennor. "You are wonderful, generous, and kind. I admire you for your compassion, your open hearts and minds. For your ability to look at each person and judge them as an individual, by their soul, their actions. No matter what their race has done."

Pausing, she searched for a way to make him understand. "It wasn't just humans who started a war in your lands. It was the people of Verenosi. Yet still, you have not only forgiven us, but are doing what you can to help. You even aid those who look at your race with disdain. From the moment you met me, you have been warm and welcoming. Not once have any of you shown so much as the slightest animosity. Even the trolls of this town, who must have suffered devastating losses in the war, have been nothing but friendly and warm to me, although I'm a stranger to them."

Gently squeezing his wrist, she met Lennor's kind eyes. "I really, really want you to know that I harbor no prejudice, that I care about you guys, that I look up to you, and that I'm grateful that I've met you. Please don't ever forget that."

Moved, Lennor regarded her thoughtfully. "One cannot hold an individual accountable for the actions of others. As you said, it's what's in a person's heart that matters." To reassure her, he placed his other hand over hers where it held his wrist. "I know you hold no ill feeling toward us. And that you are a wonderful person. No troll will think otherwise. Trust me."

Slowly spinning her glass back and forth, Anári wondered if he understood the true reason for her concern. The only way to find out was to be fully honest, she figured. "I worry what will happen if I lose my inhibitions, if I let myself give in to my desires. Will the trolls think that I no longer respect them? That I'll be ashamed of what I do because I'm actually revolted by it? By them?"

"That is your inhibition, isn't it?" Lennor pointed his drink at her. "You don't fear your culture's opinion. You're too strong a person to care what they think. You no longer fear it might not be allowed or frowned upon in our culture, which would have stopped you only because you don't want to offend us. I don't believe you have any reservations about it yourself, since your attitude, your mindset toward both trolls and fulfilling one's fantasies wouldn't lead you to negative feelings. So the only thing holding you back is that we might believe you think less of us. I must say, little lady, that is the most honorable reason to deny one's own pleasure I've ever come across."

"And a very valid one, I'm afraid." Anári blew out a breath. "I've seen the way women treat the bulls they use for pleasure or coin. I couldn't blame anyone for assuming I feel the same."

Clucking, Lennor wagged a finger at her. "Didn't we just establish that trolls judge each person individually? Your concern is unwarranted, I assure you. A troll always knows what's in your heart."

She gave him a thankful smile. "You're too sweet. And I appreciate your efforts to see me properly bedded." When he rumbled out a laugh, she grinned at him. Then turned serious once more. "But I cannot risk it. You've come to know me, so you know for certain how I feel. Others will not be so sure."

Lennor sipped his drink, studied her while he debated how much to tell her. Satisfied with what he saw, he decided to confide in her. "I meant it literally, what I told you. A troll always knows what's in your heart." Noting the question in her eyes, he continued. "It goes a little further than that, actually. Trolls are an ancient race. And as such, we are gifted. We know what kind of soul you are, know your emotions, what you feel physically. To say we sense it wouldn't be quite right, for that implies that we experience it the way you do. And it would leave room for doubt, and we are never wrong. It's more like reading an open book, and having an instant, deep knowledge of the truth, and the person. Even those things you might try to hide will not escape us."

Speechless, Anári could only stare at him. "Is it like reading minds? Can you read minds?" She almost squeaked out the last, remembering the explicitly erotic images her mind had so vividly produced.

Lennor chuckled. "No. Your thoughts are your own. But, to be completely honest, they're merely an extension of what you feel, and somewhat unnecessary," he sheepishly confessed. "Animals, trolls, and a few other ancient races communicate just fine without speech. To this date, trolls often do not use words when only in each other's company. Or when we don't want anyone to hear us," he added somewhat mumbled, scratching his chin to hide the guilty smirk. "So, no. We read emotions, feelings, energies, auras. But we cannot read minds." She looked charmingly distressed, and he had a good idea why. Unable to help himself, he winked. "Although . . . if you visualize something strong enough, we might accidently end up getting the picture." He coughed. "A rather clear one."

"Oh, gods!" Certain her face matched shades with Lennor's natural dark-red-wine color, Anári dropped her arms on the table, buried her head in them. So much for not being embarrassed.

Then again, this wasn't exactly a little thing. Not only had they clearly known everything she had felt and experienced right from the start, they had been fully aware of her arousal. Not to mention receiving explicitly detailed images of her deepest erotic fantasies!

Lennor patted her on the back. "Now, now. It's not that bad. Just think of it as a handy tool in your future . . . endeavors. I hear it can be somewhat awkward, trying to express your desires and needs with words, or using speech to let someone know you want to mate with them. You won't have to worry about that with a troll," he offered, trying to ease her discomfort. When she only shook her buried head, he frowned. Then his face lit up as an idea struck him on how to use his gift to assist her. "By the way," he tried again, bending down to speak close to her ear. "Rannix isn't anywhere near as ridiculously well-endowed as you imagined him to be. Nor anywhere near as forceful when he ruts. So he might be a good one to break the ice with, sort of speak."

"Not helping! Not helping at all." Groaning, Anári wondered if she'd ever be able to face Lennor again. Or any troll, for that matter. Gods only knew what kind of picture shows she'd been producing for them. She might as well have been walking down the street buck-naked with a sign hanging from her neck, proclaiming she was hot for troll.

"More peanuts?" Lennor shook the bowl in front of her head, hoping that would perk her up. As it was, it looked as if she was contemplating sinking through the floor.

At the cute tone of his voice, Anári risked a glance at him. The chagrinned, apologetic expression on his face melted her mortification. Well, a little, at least. She was certain it would take another year or two for her face to lose the beet-red blush of utter embarrassment.

"I didn't mean to fluster you," Lennor expressed his regret. "We usually don't let anyone know. But you deserve our trust, so I thought I'd share. I should have known it might come as a bit of a shock."

"That's an understatement," Anári grumbled. Then let out a long sigh, forced herself to sit back up. "And there's no need to apologize. I'm honored you would share something so special to your race with me. I appreciate it. Even if it is a bit disconcerting to know. And you can be certain I will consider it confidential."

"Phew." Lennor blew out the breath he'd been holding. "For a moment, I feared you'd bolt out of here and hightail it all the way back to your home. Dara would never forgive me, and neither would I, if I caused you to feel uncomfortable around us trolls."

"It's not so much your gift that makes me squirmy," Anári admitted. "But rather the extent of my vivid imagination."

"Oh, that's nothing to be concerned about. Gives this old troll something to smile about, in any case. And I've seen much worse," he confided. "Yours are fairly harmless. And rather flattering. Did you know—"

Holding up a hand, Anári stopped him. "I don't think I want to know. At least not yet. Give a woman some time to get used to this."

"All right," Lennor pouted. His moping expression vanished even the last traces of her embarrassment. A moment later, he was back to his usual, cheerful self. "Welcome back, Croro. Before I forget, Anári has a gift for her friend, Marwena, I believe, back at her home village. She would like you to bring it to her when you pass through that way."

"Of course. I'd be happy to help."

"If you don't mind," Anári said pointedly. "I don't want to trouble you." Then she swallowed. Croro was a study in masculine perfection. Pale gray skin covered a heavily muscled body that was gorgeously refined and nearly twice as wide as any man—although she guessed him to stand no taller than six-foot-eight. Snow-white markings and swirls drew more attention to the deep grooves in his flanks, his massive upper thighs, the bulging arms. His face was strong, but beautiful enough to make a man burn with envy. The shadow of scruff on his jaw and his short cropped black hair only enhanced the human features. Despite the slightly pointy ears and small canines that extended from a mouth made for sin, Anári was certain he was fully capable of breaking many of woman's hearts.

Not like he seemed interested in women. Or females of any race, for that matter. Biting down hard on her tongue, Anári furiously tried to prevent her imagination from forming the utterly erotic images that wanted to rise. The fact that she was wondering how he might be endowed didn't help a bit. It simply added another picture she had to dispel before he caught on.

"Ducklings, ducklings. Cute, little, fuzzy ducklings," Anári chanted, forcing her mind to stick to harmless things.

At Croro's raised eyebrows, Lennor made a gesture for him to ignore her. "She knows."

"Ah . . . I see." Scraping back a chair, Croro sat down. "And I truly am happy to deliver your gift. It's no trouble at all." Then he flashed a lightning quick grin at Anári. "I'm particularly fond of the little yellow one, all alone in a flock of grays."

She shot a glower at him over the rim of her glass, drained the rest of her ale. "I'm sure you would have much preferred the image I had of you a little while ago. Although next time, I think I'll picture you with an ant-sized pecker," she added with her sweetest smile.

Appreciating her, Croro rumbled out a bout of laughter. "I like this one. She has fire. Serving wench, get her another ale," he addressed the troll as she made her rounds.

"Oh, no. I really shouldn't," Anári began to protest.

"Nonsense. We'll see you safely home. What's the worst that can happen?" he asked, leaning closer. "You bringing some of those vision out of your head and into your life?"

Anári feared she'd do just that if things kept progressing this way. Then again, Lennor had just eliminated the last of her inhibitions. And she'd decided to no longer let shame stand in her way, or keep her from experiencing all the pleasures to be had.

So she lifted her mug when it came, toasted Croro and Lennor. And settled in to enjoy the rest of her evening.

They spent another hour at the Blue Goat tavern, during which Maive led Rannix outside twice more. Each time they returned, she immediately gripped his sheath firmly with her hand to force his cock back out. Anári admired her stamina as well as her determination, although she felt some sympathy for the troll. The poor bull hadn't had a moment to recover.

The final time they took their seats, Maive stopped her demanding ministrations at last. Not like he'd been complaining, Anári noted. She almost had, for the constant erotic stimulation left her not only highly aroused, but all too aware of the trolls' amused expressions whenever she lost the struggle to keep her imagination at bay.

After pouring the last of her wine from the carafe into her glass, Maive walked around the table to stand next to Anári. "Let's get out of here and on to more interesting locales. Lennor looks like he's about ready to fall asleep and will likely not linger much longer. Rannix should be good and tired by now, as well. And Croro should be about ready for another knotting."