Uncertain Future Ch. 07

"Anyway, I want to ask you a question, and be honest with me. What do you assume is Tarok's opinion of you?"

"Of me?" Lara asked, then she paused. Her forehead wrinkled as her mind wandered in recollection of her time with Tarok. What do Tarok think of her?

"I believe I've gained his respect after the events in the forest," said Lara, "I've certainly learned more about him in the past few days and have known him better as a person. I think he enjoys my company too."

"Interesting," remarked Erika, "And that's all you think there is?"

Lara raised an eyebrow. "You mean, there's something else?"

Erika shook her head slowly. It was not a disapproving or "I don't know" kind of head shake.

"That's up to you to find out. Anyway, there are some more work to be done and I'd be very glad if you can help me with it," said Erika, then she handed over to Lara an old leather-bound ledger. Lara picked up the quill and started working.

---***---

The next couple of days was the most enjoyable days that Lara could remember in her adult life. By day, she helped Erika with the bookkeeping. Being the secretary's assistant wasn't bad; one might say it was monotonous and boring, but for Lara, it wasn't so different from the daily rituals she used to perform at the temple. And even though at the end of the day her hands were often tired, she enjoyed peace and quiet doing simple work with someone she cared about.

When the night came, Lara had dinner with Erika, bathed and went to Tarok's bedroom. Before Lara, he'd switch from one girl to the other each night. Now he asked Lara to come every night, and only Lara. When in bed, she and Tarok would cuddle to sleep. Lara loved it when she lay on top of him, as he slowly caressed and petted her on the back. Tarok in turn would groan satisfyingly when she stroked his mane or rubbed his neck. Lara would fall asleep while his fingers run through her silky hair, her body melted in the warmth of his body.

By spending so much time with Tarok, Lara discovered that he craved physical closeness. It's hard to believe a big strong warrior like him loved hugging so much. When they woke up, he often asked to hold her, and Lara would gladly oblige. She just loved being embraced in his big strong body so much. And the kisses, oh the kisses, they just got better and better.

They talked a lot while cuddling at night. He would sit on the bed with his back against the headboard, and she on his lap, head rested on his chest. He often asked Lara about her day, and she told him. She was sure that whatever bookkeeping she did by day was not at all interesting, but Tarok listened. Then the topic would go back to her life back at the village, about her childhood, her duties as a priestess, her mother, and so on. She was hesitant at first, having not used to open herself so much to another person, but Tarok's rapt attention to her every word made Lara feel more comfortable about recounting her past. Tarok seemed truly want to know, or at least just wanted to hear her talk. Lara in turn asked Tarok about himself, and Lara learned a lot more about her master. Tarok never refused to answer her questions, much to Lara's surprise.

In the north, even though human and non-human had begun to mix, old hatred from before the war still lingered, and the bloodshed bred new ones. Minotaurs were especially hated in most places, due to their aggressiveness. Tarok was mistreated everywhere he went. Women screamed when they saw him approaching their village, children threw rocks at him whenever he turned their back to them. He knew by heart all the curses and bestial names that people cared to come up with to yell at him.

The only place he could found peace is, ironically, among his fellow mercenaries. Here, the worst abuse he suffered were the derisive laughter when the men found out he had never drank before, though he quickly put those who laughed to silence when he experimented and drunk an entire cask in one sitting without keeling over or even blabbered. There was of course name-calling, but those names could be applied to anyone. In a mercenary band, no one cared what race you were or how many horns you had, as long as you could fight. Tarok couldn't at first, but the captain, Markus, saw potential in him and allowed Tarok to join. The men made fun of Tarok non-stop until he learned to counter and swing his axe back and almost severed his opponent's arm during a practice spar. That earned him their respect. The cut and bruises he suffered during practices were bearable as they were only surface. What Tarok couldn't stand were the insults. They cut deep as only words could. His gentle life with his mother didn't prepare him for the brutal reality of a mercenary. As a result, he avoided human contacts apart from his brethren.

Eventually he learned to ignore the insults. But the damages were done. His heart hardened, feelings were pushed down, locked away in the recesses of his mind. He felt less sympathy and the killings became easier. After he had deposed Markus and taken over, Tarok fully embraced the designation of a minotaur. Of a beast. If that what people saw when they looked at him, why not gave them what they expected? The adoption of slavery followed after Tarok moved south, when one of the merchants he escorted suggested him to do so for extra coins.

Even though Tarok had accepted being a beast, deep down inside, he was unhappy. Tarok's reevaluation of his identity was out of necessity, not by free will, to save himself from further pain. He grew up learning about his mother's hardship. When she died, he dealt with loss for the first time. After that, he was thrown violently into a life full of destruction and bloodshed, a life he didn't ask nor prepare for. Tarok endured it all, and he resented. Pain and suffering subconsciously condensed into hatred for the one who started all of this: Melisza. Ever since that one sleepless summer night when he made the connection between his suffering and Melisza, he had wanted the witch dead.

---***---

Tarok never suggested sex to Lara. Indeed, for them it was just cuddling and talking. But Tarok couldn't keep things completely chaste for long. One night, a week after their return to camp, as Lara had just stripped out of her clothes, Tarok immediately picked her up and pulled her to his chest. The kiss that followed were especially urgent. He sat on the bed while a breathless Lara knelt on his lap with her knees on his haunch, trying to keep up with his demanding lips.

With one hand holding Lara's back, Tarok carefully moved the other to his growing cock to stroke it. For the past couple of days, he had grown increasingly frustrated. Tarok, like any other healthy minotaur, had needs, one of which had not been fulfilled for seven days now, and the primal itch was getting to his head. He didn't want to draw attention to his cock by blatantly stroking it, fearing that would cause Lara discomfort. The bruises on her neck were still visible, which served as a reminder of their terrible past.

There were of course other ways for Tarok to scratch that itch. He thought of his other slaves. However, he couldn't muster an iota of desire to spend time with any girl but Lara. He had tried to find a quiet spot and solved the problem alone, but, to Tarok's surprise, without Lara's presence, he wasn't in the mood. His body had simply been too spoiled with Lara's feminine scent, her soft body, and her beauty.

Despite the immense pleasure from both the kiss and his stimulated cock, a pang of guilt hit Tarok. He knew he shouldn't be doing this behind Lara's back. He had opened himself to her so much and he didn't want to hide anything from Lara.

Tarok stopped stroking his erected shaft. Pulling out of the passionate kiss, which had left both breathless, he took in the sight of the young girl in front of him. Lara had to lean on his shoulder to for support after the long, breathtaking kiss. His cock throbbed when he saw how lovely she looked.

"Lara," he called to her. She looked up at him. "Do you mind, if I...stroke myself?"

"Stroke...yourself?"

"Look behind you."

Lara turned behind to look and saw his erection in his hand.

"You don't have to touch or even look at it."

"It's alright. I understand," Lara said, "I could leave you alone while you relieve yourself."

"NO. I mean, please stay. It'll make things easier."

Lara said nothing, instead she nodded. With that, Tarok guided Lara to sit on his left leg, his thigh between Lara's legs, her head rested on his chest. He put his left hand on the small of her back. With Lara comfortably in his embrace, Tarok's closed palm began to slowly move up and down on his cock, while his other hand gently caressed the girl. He loved the smoothness of Lara's skin on his hand and the softness of her body in his embrace. The feeling of her body alone ensured his cock would stay hard as iron. Tarok watched Lara closed her eyes. He followed suit and let the tingling sensation of each stroke swept through his body from crotch to ears, in waves after waves of shuddering bliss. His mouth made several audible gasps as Tarok quickened his hand. His breaths grew shorter as he edged closer to the much-needed release.

When he was a few strokes away from climax, he felt something strange on his left leg. He stopped stroking and opened his eyes to look. Through glazed eyes, Tarok saw Lara was pressing one cheek against his chest, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands clutched his chest tightly and her breaths were as fast as his.

Tarok stopped masturbating because he felt a movement, a very minute but repeated one on his thigh. The one that Lara's sitting on. It took him a second to realize Lara was grinding her crotch against him. Her face was getting redder, but her slightly open mouth told him it wasn't from discomfort. With withheld breath, he suddenly smelled her arousal. Wet arousal! He was sure of it, having tasted her sweet, sweet wetness before. The scent made his cock throbbed violently in his palm.

Tarok had to breathe deeeply several times to make sure he didn't read the situation wrong. Although the movement was faint, it was definitely grinding . And did she clench her thighs around him, too? He rubbed her back several times and felt her body heating up.

Was Lara turned on? Because of him?

Her eyes were still closed, and she hadn't notice Tarok had ceased stroking himself yet. He stopped rubbing her back, which woke Lara from her haze.

"Did you...finished?" asked Lara bashfully. Tarok watched her misty eyes and flushed cheeks, the sight of which made Tarok's heart skipped a beat, his cock lurched in his palm, and he almost came right then. He closed his eyes momentarily to compose himself.

"No, I haven't," he said, staring at the fireplace. Tarok removed his hand from Lara's backside and put it on her right thigh.

"Lara, did you just rub yourself against me?" asked Tarok calmly, despite the wild thumbing of his heart.

Lara looked at him as if he had just accused her of killing the king.

"I—I did?" she stuttered. "I'm..." Lara tried to speak but the only noise came out of her mouth was so high, it sounded like a squeak.

Tarok looked down at Lara's pussy. His fingers drifted to her inner thigh. "I sensed that you have an itch between your legs. Need my help?"

He waited patiently until he saw Lara nodded very faintly. Poor Lara, so embarrassed that she couldn't talk. He thought of ways to boost her confident up.

Lara watched with rapt attention as Tarok began moving his left hand up her thigh. Then his knuckles brushed her labia, which made her thighs clenched even harder. Tarok discovered that her bald opening was already soaked. This find encouraged Tarok. He cupped her crotch with his left hand, his middle and index fingers lined Lara's wet netherlips and began sliding up and down outside her pussy.

"Mmm, mmmmhh." Lara bit her lips to stop her moans. Her breathing became quicker, each breath in sync with the movement of Tarok's hand. She reached out and held his probing arm for balance.

"Lara, look at me," said Tarok. When she did, he had to focus on her glazed chestnut eyes. He put his free hand on her shoulder and gave her an encouraging squeeze.

"Don't be shy, Lara. We are alone, others won't hear you, be as vocal as you need. Move your hip if you want. Your goddess may demand that you be a model lady for everyone to see daily. But here, at night, in this bedroom, this is your private time. There's only me and you here. You're safe here, with me," said Tarok as calmly as he could.

Lara's face was unreadable for a few tense seconds, but then she smiled at Tarok and nodded. Gripping his arm tighter, she began sliding her hip against his finger, very slowly at first, but she gradually increased her speed. And when Tarok curved his palm and brushed Lara clitoris, her mouth opened wide and she moaned a deeply satisfying "ahhhhh".

Tarok grinned at Lara's progress, but he wanted more from her. And he had just the idea how. He let his hand that was cupping Lara's pussy go limp.

It took Lara a few seconds to realize Tarok's hand was lying flat in front of her, lifeless. She looked at him, expected him to do something else, but Tarok said nothing. Her face turned from joyful ecstasy to confusion. Yet she didn't say anything. She looked at his limp hand again, then at his face. The look on her face made Tarok wanted to laugh.

"What do you want, Lara? Tell me," said Tarok to the visibly frustrated Lara.

"I want..." Lara mumbled but she failed to say anything meaningful. Instead, she hung her head to hide her face from Tarok.

"If you can't say it, then can you show me?" suggested Tarok. Using his right hand, he guided Lara's hands to his left one. "Come on. What do you want me to do with my hand? Show me."

This worked better for Lara. She inhaled sharply and began pressing Tarok's left hand to her pussy. She extended his middle finger and push it into her. Lara moaned happily. Lara cupped her crotch with Tarok's hand and rubbed her pussy against it, all the while pushing the middle finger in and out of her soaked slit. She did it very slowly at first, but quickly increased her speed.

It took a little of coordination, but after a few more guided finger thrust, Tarok took over. He leaned closer and whispered, "Good job, Lara." He swore her pussy contracted around his finger when he said that. Lara's little moans grew in frequency as she picked up the pace and rode Tarok's hand faster. Her upper body leaned against Tarok's arm and her arms wrapped around his giant bicep to keep herself from collapsing. Erotic sounds of "ahh" and "uhmm" escaped her mouth and filled the room.

Tarok's right hand had found his cock and began stroking again. He was in heaven. His head was filled with pleasure, yet his senses was fully alert. His bovine ears pricked up to pick up every single cute little moans and gasps from Lara, and his nose was overloaded with the intoxicating mixture of the sweats on Lara's back, her arousing juice that coated his hand, and the ever-pleasing smell of honeysuckle from her hair, all of which combined to create a scent that is utterly feminine and sexy to Tarok. But the most memorable thing for Tarok was the sight of her lithe, petite body holding onto his arm while her hip gyrating up and down, desperate to climax, her thin mouth formed a little oval as she gasped for air, her puffy pink nipple stood erected as it rubbed again the fur on his bicep. And when Tarok saw how red and flustered her puffy cheeks was, it was over. Tarok threw his head back and roared wordlessly as his cock throbbed and spurted, shooting his copious seed into the air. His mind went blank for what was probably a minute in his most mind-rending, teeth-gritting orgasm ever.

After he came down from this all-time high, Tarok realized that Lara had collapsed onto his chest, gasping, her hip stopped moving. He could still feel the remnant of her orgasm as her pussy contracted for the last time around his finger.

Tarok pulled his soaked finger out of Lara's pussy, which triggered a shudder from her. Then Tarok and Lara quietly settled into their favorite sleeping position: Lara laid on top of him, head nestled on his chest, eye closed. The orgasm was so strong, it put her to sleep. Tarok laid a hand on her back and give it a gentle rub, which produced what sounded like an appreciative murmur from her.

Tarok sighed delightedly and closed his eyes. Sleep came to him as natural as the smile on his face.

"...so after the victory at Lazir, I won my battleaxe, that one over there. It's the only one that really fit me, taken straight from the orc lord's hand. I was only twenty-one then, I'm sure of it. I had forgotten many things over the years, but I've always remembered when I get the axe. I was born when Wildan became king and got that axe the year he died. Twenty-one years. All the years I have wielded it, the axe has never failed me. Had I carried it with me to Melisza's lair, she would no doubt had a much harder time bringing me down," said Tarok.

It was morning, but he hadn't get up yet.

"But didn't she said she used magic to defeat you?" Lara lifted her head to ask. She was still lolling on top of him. They were having a morning chat, and the topic this morning was about his prized steel axe, which stood at its familiar spot: leaning against the wall, by the bed.

"Well, that's true," admitted Tarok. He patted Lara on her back, which made her giggle. "But I destroyed much of her minions with only a normal axe, before she appeared and hexed me."

While she listened, Lara dropped her head and nuzzled her face against Tarok's pectoral muscle. She was in an unusual good mood this morning. After last night orgasm, she woke up feeling satisfied and refreshed. And Tarok kept brushing his hand all over her naked back while he talked, which made Lara feel even better.

"Wait. Did you say Wildan? Wildan the Weak?" asked Lara suddenly.

"Yes, that's him. Why?"

"He was the grandfather of the last king, and Wildan's been dead for so many years. I think it's about..." Lara gasped and raised her head. "Wait, that's mean you're—"

Lara couldn't finish the sentence. Tarok craned his neck and planted a deep, long kiss on Lara's mouth. Lara's lips stiffened from the sudden kiss, but immediately melted to his touch. She responded to his kiss enthusiastically by pushing her lips into his, holding on to his chest for balance.

When Tarok ended the kiss, Lara smiled mischievously.

"—at least 40 years old," said Lara.

Tarok huffed and dropped his head back into the pillow. Lara resumed burying her face in Tarok's warm chest. "Did I guess correctly, old man?" Lara said, giggling.

He didn't reply. Then she realized he had stopped stroking her back too. Only then did it occurred to her that her offhand remark was not well-received.

"Tarok, I'm sorry. I—"

Tarok remained silent. His expression was definitely not happy, but Lara couldn't be sure if he's angry or not.

"Tarok, please forgive me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," she pleaded again. This time she swung her arms around his neck and held him tight.

Tarok was not prepared to the wonderful feeling Lara's soft body pressing so tight again him. He groaned and lifted a hand to brush Lara on the shoulder. The gentle gesture relaxed Lara a little, but she still held on.

"Are you mad at me?" asked Lara tentatively. She lifted her distressing face and looked at Tarok remorsefully.

"No, I'm not mad," said Tarok calmly.

"Please forgive me. It was just a joke, I didn't think when I said it. I didn't mean to hurt your feeling," begged Lara.

"What? My feelings?" exclaimed Tarok. "You're afraid you hurt my feelings? People have said worse things to me than 'old', Lara. I thought you apologize because you're afraid that I will punish you."