Laura and the Bridge Troll

Author's Notes

All characters in this story who engage in sexual activity are 18 years of age or older.

This story contains themes of non-consensual and coerced sexual intercourse. If this type of content is uncomfortable or distressing to you, please reconsider reading this story.

This story is the sequel to "Laura and the Cave Troll." While it can be read as a standalone story, there are passages that will make more sense to you if you've read the first story. It is also part of a series called, "The Children of Eros," which focuses on the experiences of mythic beings who survive through the ages by harvesting the emotional energy of human sexual release.

Laura and the Bridge Troll

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it," said Brian. "I just said it's not something that really turns me on."

"But...you never told me that," I protested.

"You never asked."

We were walking hand-in-hand along a beautiful forest path--sort of a cross between a wide trail and a disused road. The afternoon sunshine was mellow and golden; birds sang and squirrels scampered; the breeze soughed in the trees. It was day six of our two-week honeymoon, and we were having our first argument.

"Besides," my new husband said, "it's not really as common as all that...unless you're gay, I suppose."

I glanced over at him incredulously. "Are you joking?" I asked. "Didn't you go to college? You never heard 'No means yes; yes means anal?'"

Brian's face twisted in disgust. "You know I was never interested in any of that stuff. Those guys are just rapists in waiting."

I huffed. "Brian, my love, not every man who likes giving anal is a rapist...and not every woman--person--who likes getting it is a...what, slut? ...whore? Is that what you think?"

"I didn't say that!" he let go of my hand to wave his arms about a bit as we walked. "I didn't say there was anything wrong with anal sex! It's just...it seems ... unnatural."

"Unnatural," I said flatly. "Check the internet, love. You'll find thousands of videos documenting primates and other animals engaging in anal sex--and fellatio, and cunnilingus--and everything else that human societies have ever labeled 'unnatural.'"

Frowning down, Brian muttered, "You know I don't look at stuff like that on the internet."

Laughing, I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "I'm talking about nature documentaries, not porn, you adorable doofus." I pulled him closer and kissed his cheek, then hugged his arm to me, feeling it's muscular weight across my body. "Never mind," I said, "how long before we get to the bridge?"

He took his phone out of his pocket and checked. "It's...2.5 kilometers away," he said. "How far is that?"

A little over a mile, I almost said, but he continued, still looking at his phone, "Ah, a mile and a half...not too far." I smiled and hugged his arm closer, pressing it against my tit and stroking along his forearm to feel the lean muscles through his sleeve. My man worked out.

We walked on in silence, enjoying the sights and sounds of nature--and the rare treasure of our love for one another--until the bridge came into view, then we both gasped at the beauty of it.

Mossy and weathered, the ancient stone bridge still spanned the small river in an effortless arch, pillars marching down each side to support twisted steel guard cables that had obviously been replaced since the bridge was built.

Brian put his arm around my shoulders, and we stood there for a long time, just appreciating the rough magnificence of the centuries-old structure, as well as the surrounding forest. Even though this was a public walking trail, we hadn't seen any other hikers for hours, and it felt as if we'd been transported to some idyllic private place, outside of normal time and space.

With one mind, my husband and I turned to one another. I tiptoed up, threw my arms around his neck, and we kissed--a long, deep soul-sharing kiss. When we broke, breathless, he hugged me close, and I knew I was the most precious thing in his world.

Holding hands again, we approached the bridge, and, when we stepped out onto its ancient stones, I laughed. It had been the most perfect day--for the most part--of the most perfect week...the first week of our perfect life together, and my heart was full of joy.

As we ventured further onto the bridge, I trailed my fingers over the rough, mossy stones, reveling in the solid, ancient feel of them. I closed my eyes. It was an almost sensual feeling to caress the aged stones, with their broad patches of moss--rough, then furry...then a patch of slick moisture...then hard, weathered stone again.

I opened my eyes as we reached the zenith of the bridge--the midpoint of the river--just as the sun broke through the puffy clouds and a broad ray of golden sunshine spotlighted us on the bridge. The entire forest glowed around us as if the light of heaven shone upon us, and us alone. "Oh, my," I whispered. "It's so beautiful."

"It is," Brian murmured beside me, and I felt a thrill as I realized he was looking at me, not the scene before us, as he said it.

After a while, the ray of golden sunshine faded as the clouds moved, and we turned to the downward slope of the bridge. As I took my first step, I heard something.

"Hold on now," said a gravely voice. We stopped. I looked around, but didn't see anyone.

"Who's there?" I asked.

"What?" said Brian.

Suddenly, something appeared at the edge of the bridge a few feet to my left. It looked sort of like a hand, but bigger, and made of small, mossy stones. I gasped and pressed into Brian's side. He threw his arm around me protectively. Another sort-of hand appeared, followed by an astonishing sight: a burly man who seemed to be made entirely of rough, mossy stones pulled himself up and climbed onto the bridge with us.

"Who the hell are you?" asked Brian, holding me close.

"Wh-what are you?" I whispered.

The stone man stood upright, towering over us, like a man-shaped tower of rough, mossy, weathered stone, just like the ones that made up the bridge.

"I know you know what I am," he growled toward me in a voice like a bucket of gravel rolling downhill, "because someone has given you the trollsight."

"What the hell are you talking about?" blustered Brian, "are you insane?" But, I knew what he meant. I'd seen a creature somewhat like this before...so had Brian, though he couldn't remember.

"You're...a troll," I whispered.

"Nonsense," Brian scoffed, "it's just some homeless guy living under a bridge."

"Chrxtlchtlchpthlchrchkt," said the troll, and held out his hand toward me. I blinked. Was that his name? I wondered how one might go about pronouncing such a word. Tentatively, I reached out and clasped the first two fingers of his outstretched hand...it was as much as my own small hand could encompass.

"Careful...," warned Brian, but I nudged him with my shoulder. "...tsst...I'm being polite!" I hissed.

Then I...I lost myself for a long moment in the sensation of the troll's thick fingers. They were stones--weathered, mossy, slick with moisture in places--but they were...somehow...also flesh. My hand touched the stone--and felt its qualities--but the flesh was there too, on some different level, and had its own completely tangible qualities.

I stared up at the troll and saw the flat, black gemstones of his eyes--just like the eyes of the cave troll I'd encountered last year--but now I could also see the spark of intellect in those eyes. He looked back at me, and--for just a moment--I felt the connection between him and the bridge, almost as if I were having a conversation as much with the bridge as with the troll.

"We should go," Brian tugged at my arm, but he didn't move away.

"Why don't we all sit down and get to know each other better," growled the troll. He waved his other hand, and I heard a stony rumble behind us. I turned, and saw an astonishing thing. Several large stones had fallen out of the bridge, leaving two roughly rectangular holes in the surface of the bridge. I heard another crunch, and saw a bigger section of bridge disappear behind the troll.

"Fuck," Brian said, "the bridge is collapsing! We should run!" ...but he didn't run.

An instant later, two stone benches shot up from the holes behind us. A second after, a larger, more substantial stone chair erupted from behind the troll. It was, in fact, a much larger chair...more of a throne, really.

With surprising grace, the stone man took his seat. "Please," he said, gesturing to our much humbler seating, "welcome to my home."

We both sat down.

I glanced over at Brian. He was frowning, looking down and fingering his bench. I looked back up at the troll, who regarded me...I wasn't sure how; I had no way to interpret his expressions. He seemed in a pleasant mood, at least. I cleared my throat.

"Uhm..." I hesitated. "I'm sorry, but could you say your name again, please?"

"Chrxtlchtlchpthlchrchkt," said the troll in a tolerant tone.

"Curx..critxtl..." I muttered. "Uh, would it be okay if I called you...mmm...Crux?"

"That will be fine," rumbled Crux, with an accommodating nod.

"Well, um," I said, "thank you for welcoming us to your lovely home." I looked around, then burst out, "It really is very beautiful. It must be wonderful to live all the time in this...this paradise!"

Crux chuckled--a noise like a truck driving across gravel--and said, "It is a luxury, of that there can be no doubt...a hard-won luxury, perhaps, and one I might sometimes take for granted, but...a great blessing indeed." He glanced around at the magnificent forest glade. "It is nice to see it anew through the eyes of one so young and fresh."

"Why are we talking to this guy," Brian muttered to me. "He's weird."

"Shh," I whispered back, "he's a local. He's...interesting."

"Alas," rumbled Crux, as if neither of us had spoken, "while a social call is always welcome, there is business to be transacted."

"Business?" asked Brian suspiciously.

"Of course." Crux gestured down at the stones beneath his feet. "Where there is a bridge...," he waved a hand toward himself, "...and a troll, there is a toll to be paid for passage."

"A toll...," I said, as a chill crept up my spine. "What sort of toll?"

"Preferably, gold," Crux answered promptly. He leaned forward on his throne and asked, "do you have any gold?"

Brian scoffed. "We have money, but I'll be damned if I'll pay some hobo just to cross a bridge!"

"Pssh," Crux scoffed in return. "Money...your money is worthless--just paper, or numbers recorded by a machine--you can't even exchange it for gold anymore...even if I were able to travel to a bank to transact such an exchange."

"Um," I said, glancing down at myself and taking stock. I owned several 24-carat-gold necklaces and a 14-carat-gold bracelet, but I hadn't worn any of them to go hiking. "I'm afraid all I have is this." I held up my left hand to show my wedding ring, and Brian gasped. "No!" he cried, but Crux held up a hand.

"Unfortunately, my dear," he told me, "I am unable to accept that particular gold in payment of your debt. That gold is currently bound in a major magical working."

"...a major working?" I asked.

"Your marriage, my dear," he said. "That gold stands as symbol of your marital vows, at least for the moment, and it is not for the likes of me to take as payment. I'm afraid we must reach some other accommodation."

"Another accommodation...," I repeated, the chill up my spine intensifying. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well," Crux said, "as you may know--depending on the depth of your familiarity with my kind--there are really only two things that interest trolls: treasure...and sex."

"Wait a minute," Brian said, "you'd better not be talking about...."

"Indeed," chuckled the troll, his stony face somehow expressing amusement, "I will happily accept sexual favors for passage."

"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY SUGGESTING," shouted Brian, "that I let you fuck my wife just so we can cross this bridge?"

"Well, no," said Crux, "not exactly. First of all, you don't get to choose for her; you have your own payment to negotiate. And, secondly, the debt is owed, and it will be paid, no matter how long it takes, and whether you like it or not."

"You mean...you're planning to rape my wife?" Brian asked incredulously.

"No, not at all," Crux replied. "Rape is a legal term, with a slightly different definition depending on the laws of whatever state, nation or municipality you occupy at the time. Here, in this place, it is a term with no meaning because no such laws exist. My bridge: my law." He waved a rocky hand to indicate the bridge. "This short stretch of stone is very much a sovereign nation, and here, only my will prevails. Besides, sex in payment for a debt would more accurately be termed prostitution, which is also not illegal on my bridge."

"Nonsense," scoffed Brian. "Complete and utter idiocy. And, my wife is not a whore. Come on, Laura, let's go." He held out a hand to me, but didn't rise from his bench. Neither did I.

After a moment, I said, "I don't think we can, Brian."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Let's just get up and walk away!" But he didn't get up, or walk away. Neither did I.

"As I said," Crux reminded us, "my bridge, my will, my law."

There was a long, tense pause. "But...," I said, "as a practical matter, how could we even...that is, I'm not sure I could survive being...er, having intercourse with, um, your rough stones."

Crux laughed, a sound like a rockslide. "I suspect you are aware that my kind use...proxies, and sometimes minions...in our relations with humans." I bit my lip, remembering thousands of snot-colored goblins, with their sharp little teeth and their soft little hands. Oh, yes, I did recall the cave troll's minions. As I looked back up at him, I wondered how the collection of rocks that made up Crux's face could so obviously appear to be grinning at me.

"Proxies?" I asked. "What proxies?"

"Ah, you're in luck," said the troll. He waved a hand, and several yards away a sizable chunk of the bridge disappeared with a grinding noise. I listened for a splash as it fell in the river, but never heard it. A moment later, a man's head appeared, and I realized the hole was now the opening of a stairway.

"What?" I spluttered, "where? ...why don't they fall in?"

"My bridge, my laws," Crux repeated. "That includes laws of physics and probability."

"Oh." No wonder we couldn't just get up and leave.

As we'd spoken, three young guys had climbed out of the stairwell and onto the surface of the bridge. They looked like college students on vacation. The first was a skinny, sandy-haired guy wearing a red Hawaiian shirt and khaki cargo pants. The second was a stocky, dark-haired guy with a belligerent expression wearing jeans and a black t-shirt bearing the logo of a band I'd never heard of. The third was a big, affable-looking blond guy wearing Dockers and a green polo shirt.

"These fine fellows," said Crux, "arrived just this morning, not a scrap of gold between them. Lucky for them you happened along when you did; they have a flight home in the morning."

As he spoke, two more people climbed the stairs: a blonde woman and an older blonde man, both wearing some kind of paramilitary tactical gear. "These two," Crux went on, "have been waiting in stasis for several weeks. I'm sure they're eager to be about their business, as well."

"But..." I asked, "why didn't they just...um...with each other...to pay your toll?"

"Siblings," said Crux with a shrug. "I have no problem with it, but they preferred to wait." Nodding to the veritable crowd of people now standing on the bridge, he said, "Introduce yourselves, folks; you're all going to get to know each other very well this afternoon."

For a long moment, everyone just stared at one another. Finally, I said, "Um, hi...I'm Laura."

The skinny college guy grinned at me and said, "Hi there, I'm Paul."

The stocky, dark-haired guy frowned at Paul, then at me, then seemed to realize why Paul had taken a flirty tone. As he looked me over, a big smile swept across his face, and he took a step closer. "I'm Jake," he said. "Hi, beautiful."

"Hey," said Brian. "That's my wife." But Jake just smirked and shrugged.

The guy in the green polo shirt stared at me blankly, as if not still sure what was going on, until Paul reached across and slapped him lightly on the arm. "Oh," he said, "I'm Gabe...Gabriel...just Gabe...."

Crux gestured toward the blonde military guy, who said, gruffly, "Sgt. Clooney."

"First names, please," specified Crux. "As I said, we're all going to be getting very friendly."

"Hmph," said Clooney, over Brian's strangled noise of protest. "Jim," he said glancing at me, almost angrily. "Jim Clooney."

I looked toward the blonde woman beside him--his sister--and saw that she was watching me intently. "Audelia," she told me quietly. "You can call me Del." I saw that her eyes were a clear, crystalline blue, and when they locked on mine, and held, I felt a thrumming tingle low in my belly.

"So...," I asked Crux, "they're all supposed to, um ... with me?

"Yes, indeed," he responded cheerfully. "The two of you, in every different combination and configuration imaginable. Why don't you get us started, dear. Take off your clothes."

"NO!" shouted Brian. "No, she will NOT! This is not happening, I forb...."

"Hush, now, Brian," said Crux, and he stopped talking immediately. "You don't have to like it, but you do have to submit, and obey. And you won't be allowed to disrupt everyone else's fun with your whining. Carry on, Laura."

I stood, then hesitated. "Do I...do you want me to, um, dance, or...something?"

Crux gave an airy wave. "Of course, if you like. I'm sure we'd all love to watch." I glanced at my five soon-to-be sexual partners to find them all watching me hungrily.

I considered for a moment longer. I had dressed this morning for hiking, not stripping, and wore a pale salmon long-sleeved blouse, snug brown pants, and hiking shoes, none of which would be easy to remove while dancing. Oh, well, I'd just have to do my best. I sat back down, removed my shoes and socks, then walked a few paces away. I stood in the center of the bridge and turned to face my husband, the troll, and the five people who were going to...if not technically rape me--us--then certainly fuck us without our consent.

Trying to imagine a song in my head, I began to sway my hips back and forth while I started unbuttoning my blouse. I glanced at Brian, who looked utterly miserable--and more than a little sick--as he watched me. I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging smile and undid another button.

Paul and Jake had both taken several steps closer to me, both grinning for all they were worth, both with prominent boners in their pants. My own smile turned flirty, and I did a little turn, wiggled my ass for them, then--when I turned back--squeezed my arms together around my tits to make my cleavage pop up. Jake whistled, and Del clapped.

Gabe took a step forward, smiling hesitantly at me. I released the last button of my top and dropped it off my shoulders, blew him a kiss, then turned and executed four slow hip rolls as I took off the blouse. I'd forgotten to unbutton the cuffs, however, so my maneuver was somewhat ruined by having to fumble and tug to get the sleeves over my hands. When I turned back around, Gabe was smiling affectionately at me, as if watching a cute puppy at play. I gave him my sweetest smile, then held the blouse out theatrically, and dropped it. More applause sounded and Jake rubbed at his boner. Poor Brian looked like he might throw up.

I scanned across my audience, and my gaze snagged on Del's piercing blue eyes, just as they flicked down to take in my breasts, firmly encased in a lacy pink bra. When they flicked back up, she saw that I'd seen her checking me out, and offered me a wry smile. I gave her back a cheeky grin, cupped my boobs in my hands, and lifted them up, as if offering them to her. They pushed up, all but bursting from their 36-C cups, and she licked her lips, staring.