The Taking of Talora

(Author's Note: This is my first attempt at erotic writing, I hope you enjoy it! If any of the tags make you uncomfortable, this story is unlikely to please you, so please check the tags carefully)

*

It was not much of a siege, not in the way her father had described them. From humans she might have expected trebuchets and catapults, a sustained assault upon the great doors and a bridging of the moat. They'd have camped at the edge of the forest, troops of foot soldiers sitting about fires and sharpening weapons as their leaders spoke in the cover of tents, plotting the assault of that keep that had not fallen to invasion in six centuries. Yes, that was how men waged war, but these were not men, and they came in instead by means of magic.

Talora was in the kitchens when it began, overseeing the preparation of the feast for the equinox. Betrothed and soon to be wed, it was her duty now to learn the management of a large household such as her own. She was in her oldest gown of faded homespun, long auburn hair bundled into a scarf as she toiled with the keep servants, her skin growing flushed with the heat of the great kitchen.

Talora listened closely as Ona, the cook, explained her reasons for ordering certain ingredients from the market. Talora's parents were visiting family in the north, and for once the servants were deferring to her as lady of the house. The two women had their heads bent over the piece of parchment, Ona fanning herself as she pointed to the items and the numbers that accompanied them.

'It's always seven bushels of the kalawort, even when the keep has no guests,' she explained. 'We use what's left for the easing of difficult births, and to bring in the milk, though you'll see it often enough as an ingredient in bitterbean soup, too.'

Talora blushed at this. Her mother had been forcing her to drink a tea of kalawort for months now, believing that it would aid fertility. Her wedding was still three weeks away, but her mother was taking every precaution; her parents had struggled to conceive for many years before the goddess had finally granted them Talora.

Talora had little doubt in the plants' supposed abilities; already her breasts were swollen and tender with milk, ready for the child that she and Lord Rusten would conceive, perhaps as early as their wedding night.

She was about to ask about another herb on the list when the sound of men's voices came from outside. There was a strange thrum in the air, and the hairs at her nape stood on end. Through the back entrance she saw a flash of blue light and someone screamed, and in instant mayhem ensued in the kitchen as all recognized the sudden stark reality of a siege. For the first time in centuries, the walls had been breached.

'Quickly, child!' Ona cried, her hands digging into the pale skin of Talora's wrist. 'Go to your room,' she said, but then thought better of it. 'No! Go to the chapel, you'll be safer there. They will hide you! Go! Go!'

And Talora fled from the kitchens and the terrified faces of their servants, bumping into footmen and maids as she hurried along the passage, hearing screams now behind her. Someone shouted the word 'magic!', and a shiver traveled down her spine, for no humans possessed such forbidden powers.

At the very end of the western passage, the carved doors to the chapel stood open, and Talora rushed into the welcoming glow of the candle-lit chamber. For a moment a pair of frightened eyes regarded her from behind the stone altar atop the dais, but then the small acolyte fled through a low door in the corner, and Talora heard the unmistakable sound of that passage being locked and barred from the other side. Talora ran to it and hammered on the door, desperate for admittance.

'Priests!' she called. 'Help me! We are under attack!' Only silence greeted her words, and the door did not open. No one would come to her aid. Feeling like prey chased into a trap, Talora turned back to the entrance through which she'd arrived, then drew in a hissing breath of horror.

In the passage, slowly making his way towards her, walked a thing of nightmares. She knew it instantly for what it was; the long arms hung low, reaching to its knees, the back was stooped, the nose a long jutting appendage in its ugly face. Its hair hung in a tangled mess of green and black, a shade similar to the putrid grey-green color of his flesh. Here walked a troll, a being of fireside tales and darkest dreams. Its eyes were blue and devoid of the human blackness of a pupil, so that only two glowing orbs regarded her from the hallway, utterly inhuman.

She had seen sketches once, in the library, of such creatures. Always they had carried clubs and worn simple rags to cover them, but this one's long, gnarled hands were empty, and its hunched form was covered in a robe of silver. The stories had made them out to be creatures of the basest kind, their intellect no greater than that of the animals that graced her plate at supper, and yet she saw a keen intelligence in the gaze it fixed on her.

It stepped into the chapel with languid movements, and though her body screamed for her to flee, Talora remained before the barred door, her back pressing into the hard wood as her limbs froze in fear. The troll closed the doors at the entrance with a sweep of his hand, never taking his eyes off her. When that clawed limb lifted again, he drew a symbol in the air before him, and blue light dazzled Talora's eyes. Darkness swept her into its embrace.

***

She knew, even before she looked at the low-burned candles, that she had lost time. In the recesses of her mind, the part that had not succumbed to the spell, she had noted the passage of hours, the steady silencing of the keep as more and more of its people were subdued. How many of their bodies littered the passages of this once-great manor?

Talora tried to sit up, her mind fogged with magic. With a curious sense of detachment she noted the chains that bound her to the altar, chains of blue light that fixed her ankles and wrists to the far corners of the stone slab. She could lift her head only a little, and when she did, it was to find the creature standing at the foot of the altar, watching her with a look that she had seen sometimes in the eyes of men, a look of hunger. He grinned when he noticed her attention, revealing two rows of terrible razor-sharp teeth.

'What is your name, daughter of the house?' he asked her, and it was not the guttural speak that the stories told of, but a lilting, strangely accented speech.

Her heart sped up as she met his gaze, then wished desperately that she had remained unconscious a while longer. But, she suspected, her waking had likely been at his command, just as her slumber had been.

'Your obstinacy will not serve you. I can make you speak, you know.' He stepped closer, laying one of his rough fingers on the flesh of her calf.

'Talora,' she said immediately, desperate to do or say whatever would keep those hands away from her body. But his fingers still curled around her leg, and his grin broadened, and he said her name quietly as his hand trailed higher, disappearing under the hem of her dress. Talora struggled against his attention, but the chains held her in place, and she could do nothing to stop the beastly claw that came to rest at the apex of her thighs.

But then the hand withdrew, and she let out a shuddering breath of relief. The flickering light of the candles threw curious shadows along the walls, strange monstrous shapes, but none as terrifying as the being before her. He reached into the belt of his robe and produced a small dagger, and for a moment she did not know whether to weep for fear of her imminent death, or to rejoice that her end would come before he could do other, unspeakable things to her.

He stepped close and brought the blade to her neck, and tears sprang to her eyes, for she was afraid after all. But the blade did not bite into her flesh, but into the front of her dress and the shift that lay beneath it, and he slit her garments from nape to calf, so that the fabric parted and fell away from her heaving breasts. The troll's cold eyes trailed from her bosom, down to the fine curls of auburn at her sex. At the front of his robes, something stirred, and a blush traveled down the length of Talora's form at the realization of his arousal.

'Do you know what I am, Talora?' he asked her, the dagger dropping to the floor.

'T-troll,' she whispered, so softly she could barely hear her own words.

'Yes. That I am. But am I the creature you've read about, the simpleton monster no better than the oxen that plow your fields? Am I that?' He was so close now, standing near her head. His hand came down to caress the curve of her trembling lips.

'Am I that?' he asked again, holding her gaze with the strange blue brilliance of his own.

'No,' she whispered finally.

'No, I am not,' he agreed. 'For I am of the Atheer, blessed by the god Lufor who first bade us lay with the women of human-kind. The blood of man runs in my veins, as in yours. And the blood of human and Atheer will flow in the veins of our child. Do you understand, Talora?' He trailed a short, sharp nail from her lips, to her collarbone, to her breast. When he brushed her nipple and she shuddered, he said, ever so softly, 'Yes... I think you understand.'

He bent his mouth to her breast, the filthy tangle of green and black hair curtaining his features. She did not see that terrible mouth seize her peak, but felt it keenly as he first licked, then began to suckle. After a moment he drew back to look at her in bemusement, his wide lips flecked with droplets of milk, but his lust grew and he bent again to her breast, drinking deeply of the milk that only that morning she had thought would feed her human child.

A strange shiver passed through her body as he drank at her breast, and soon his hand closed around her other breast, kneading and squeezing as he drank his fill. In the pit of her belly a feeling began to grow, a foreign sensation that was almost a need, though for what, she could not say.

Finally he stood back, his breathing uneven, much like her own. 'I can wait no longer,' he said, reaching between the folds of his robe to touch himself. Talora refused to look, but from the corner of her eye she saw him step away, and hope flared within her that he might abandon this terrible onslaught.

But it was not to be. When she finally turned her head, it was to find him watching her as he untied the belt at his waist, then let his robes fall to the floor. She did not wish to look, but could not immediately pull her attention away, for the creature was humanoid indeed, to a certain extent. His chest was muscular, his torso somewhat longer than a human man's, each of his ribs visible beneath the taut green skin. The arms were elongated, reaching almost to his knees, and the legs were long and muscular. Between them hung his manhood, if such it could be called. She had seen glimpses of male genitalia, had even blushing listened as her maid tried to prepare her for what to expect on her wedding night. But nothing she had seen, or heard, had prepared her for the reality of the troll's member. It was as long as her forearm, if not longer, and as thick, a green, veiny appendage with a bulbous mushroom-shaped head from which oozed a slimy green substance. Tight black curls encircled the thick base of his member and the heavy balls that hung there, large and dark and leathery.

His member seemed to grow as she watched, rising to jut proudly forward, and despite her fear and disgust, she felt a strange slipperiness between her thighs as her nipples hardened to taut peaks. He smiled as though he knew what she was feeling, and came to stand at the foot of the altar. Slowly he stroked himself, his gaze traveling the length of her. He climbed onto the altar, and Talora began to struggle in earnest, her heart hammering with terror in her breast. But the chains held her in place, and at a snap of his fingers they tightened even more, so that her legs were spread wider.

Desperately she lifted her head, watching the club between his thighs, knowing that it would soon be within her, if it could fit. So focused was she on that glistened tip of his manhood, and the slime that oozed from it, that she did not see him reach for her womanhood with his hand. A finger, cold and calloused, slipped between the folds of that sacred opening, and she drew in a sharp gasp at the foreign sensation. Not even her own finger had ever entered there, and yet the monster pushed his long, knobbly digit deeper into the space while she bucked and cried to dislodge him.

'Talora,' he murmured, her name a caress on his lips. 'What is this?'

She did not understand what he was asking, and thrashed all the more as though to dislodge both his finger and his words from her being. But it made no difference; the finger stirred again in her depths, painfully, and he watched her face, waiting for an answer she would not give.

'I shall tell you. This,' and she felt again that deep pressure, 'this is your maidenhead. I had not thought to find a virgin here. But you will be virgin no longer.' He withdrew his finger, holding it up to the light as he rubbed it with his thumb. Her wetness glistened on his green flesh, and Talora trembled at the shame of her body's betrayal.

He straddled her, one long muscular leg of green kneeling on either side of her splayed hips. Talora screamed as his member dragged along her thigh, the slime leaving a faint glowing trail in its wake. He silenced her screams with a kiss, his long tongue plunging deeply into her mouth while one hand pinched her breast. Then his teeth grazed her lips and led a prickling trail down her throat to her other breast, where he latched onto her nipple once more, suckling desperately. Pleasure coursed through her again at the workings of his mouth, and for a moment she was only focused on that, that new, strange feeling, when suddenly she felt a prodding at her womanhood.

Her nether-lips, slick with the fluid of her arousal, parted gently at the insistent prodding, and suddenly the bulbous head was pushing into her entrance, pushing hard and quickly against that barrier that had once been meant as a gift to her husband. With a stab of sharp pain that barrier gave way, and then the green member was pushing into her, slipping in as far as it could go, the troll burying himself in her body up to the hilt of his manhood.

Talora screamed, and this time he did not silence her, but remained perfectly still, basking in the pleasure of impaling her so deeply. Talora felt every vein and strange ridge of that organ pressing into her, it filled her as she had never thought a man might fill a woman. In a mix of pain in amazement, she looked down to where their bodies met, his dark pubic hair joined with the reddish brown of her own. Of his member, she saw only the last few millimeters of his thick base that he had not managed to press into her.

His breathing at her breast was ragged. He, too, looked to where their bodies joined, and she felt him twitch within her. He lifted his gaze to her pale, terrified face, drinking in her every expression as he slowly withdrew, inch by inch.

Talora watched the organ retreat from her depths, her heart turning over at the evidence of her lost innocence, the faint smear of red along that thick green shaft. But her mind was innocent still, and she did not understand the way of mating, and she thought that it was over, that he was withdrawing and spent. And he saw every thought as it passed through her mind, so that he knew already that she would scream when he slammed into her again, suddenly, brutally, and he seized her mouth with his own and swallowed her screams as he began to fuck her.

In and out and in and out he went, and but for her whimpers, there was only the sound of his green organ squelching in and out of her body. It was a wet, lewd, primal sound, and for a while the troll closed his eyes as he plunged into her, a look of utter bliss on his monstrous face as he listened to their bodies meeting and parting. Though his withdraw and renewed onslaught came again and again, her body could not grow accustomed to it, and she felt still a deep ache every time he penetrated her deepest part. But beneath that ache, there was something else... something that shamed her too much to admit it.

He rode her hard, making small animalistic noises as she massaged the length of him with every plunging motion. He suckled and bit at her nipples in a frenzy, one hand teasing the other breast with his sharp nails. And Talora, ashamed, felt her pleasure growing.

Something new pressed against her nether-lips, where they spread so tightly around his organ, and Talora strained to see what it was. Noting her interest, the troll lifted himself slightly to grant her a better view, and Talora felt her heart grow cold with hear. For at the base of his green member, something was beginning to form. It grew slowly as he shoved himself into her again and again, a bulbous, veiny orb that was at first the size of a plum, but seemed to swell with each stroke, until it was the size of a ripe green apple.

Dimly, in the last rational corner of her mind, she recalled overhearing guards joking about troll's mating habits. They had been speaking freely in the guardroom, unaware of her presence outside the door, and she had listened in horrified fascination as one man explained to the others, that like dogs, trolls could fix their knots in females to keep them from fleeing, and to prevent the spillage of their seed. Her cheeks had burned at the unabashed talk of men, and yet she had felt a strange, breathless sort of excitement at the image their talk conjured in her mind.

Now, faced with the reality, Talora whimpered a denial over and over, 'No... Please, no. Don't! Please don't!' Such a thing was never meant to fit inside a human woman, she was certain. And likely the troll knew that, too, for it was only then that her captor turned his attention to her pleasure. He pummeled at her entrance with that thick knot of muscle, and sucked at her breast with renewed force, but now his free hand moved to where their bodies joined, and she felt his finger seeking the sensitive red nub above her opening.

Talora gasped at the contact, which sent a sudden current of energy through her limbs. He rubbed at that small protrusion with his rough finger, all the while fucking her with long, determined strokes. He listened to her breathing as it grew shallower, and she began to make small sounds of pleasure that she could not suppress, and when he judged the moment right he bit down on one nipple and twisted the other, while his finger at her womanhood pressed hard into the nub of her pleasure.

A wave of feeling such as she had never known coursed through her, a sense of euphoria that seemed to sweep from the crown of her head to the tip of her toes, tensing the muscles of her arms and legs, her womanhood constricting desperately around the meaty organ buried within her. Talora cried out her pleasure, words that had no meaning as her body convulsed with the rush of pure bliss.

Her body held his member firmly for a heartbeat, then another, and another, until the last wave of pleasure had abated and that vice grip relaxed completely, as he had known it would. That was the moment he had been waiting for; as her opening slackened again, he withdrew quickly, relaxing the spell that held her legs splayed. With the bit of freedom this granted her limbs, he pushed her leg to fold at the knee, her heel flush against her buttock, and as he held that leg at an angle he inserted himself into her again and pressed hard against her opening, watching with breathless excitement as his knot squeezed painfully against her spread lips, to suddenly be swallowed completely as he sank once more into her depths.