********* CHAPTER 7 *********

A WEEK LATER, they reached Lorwind, a larger town built around the residence of one of Verenosi's lords. Even here, despite the proximity to nobility, people were struggling to survive. While the fortress-like manor itself seemed to be in good repair, the lord's guards and soldiers well-dressed, well-fed, and healthy, the town folk didn't fare as well.

There was livestock in pens in desperate need of fixing, and grazing the pastures around the town. Fields were freshly plowed or planted with late crops. But the many small cottages looked run-down and neglected, with leaky roofs, missing shutters, and crumbling walls. People were dressed in old, threadbare outfits that had been patched in more places than not. Their faces were drawn tight and haggard after years of just enough food to get by. Many a body was dangerously thin, and Anári wondered how they mustered the energy to work the land at all.

The road wound its way through town in between closed stores and abandoned workshops, then up toward the fortress and down again. Closer to the lord's manor, the residences were larger, much better maintained. A sign that previously rich merchants and the lesser nobility continued to survive just fine. Here, Anári even saw an eatery, a pub, and a small inn.

They exited the town by late afternoon, and made camp in a large square of hard-packed dirt that once hosted markets and livestock auctions. It was sad to notice, Anári mused as she jumped off her wagon, that even in Lorwind, the lords cared only enough to see to their own comforts. There were remnants here of a better life, of wealth and prosperity. With a little planning and discipline, this town could easily turn what they had into something thriving.

Yet the nobility no longer answered to a king, had no need for income as long as the common folk provided for their every need. So they left the people to live in poverty while they indulged in every pleasure at the lesser man's expense.

A clear sign that there was still some wealth in this town could be found in the brothels located around its outskirts. While the lords and their soldiers simply took women whenever they wanted, most men with available coin preferred to pay a whore instead of forcing themselves on someone unwilling. Wryly, Anári wondered if those better-off at least saw the women of the trade well-fed.

Dismissing the greed of the nobles, she went in search of Lennor, learned that he'd accompanied Rannix into town. A smile played around her lips as she wondered how many carts of food they'd return with. Since she wouldn't be able to help him until later, she approached the troll unhitching her wagon instead. Asked if she could help with the horses.

To her pleasure, she soon found herself with a brush in her hand, grooming and checking the hooves of the magnificent animals. She carried buckets of water, rationed out grain and hay, added treats to their feed in the form of carrots and apples. Then grinned broadly when the horses greeted her with whickers as she distributed them.

Returning to Lennor's cart some time later, her mouth watered at the scent of roasting meats that wafted through the air.

"Let me guess, there isn't a slab of beef left in town," she greeted the older troll.

His deep chuckle rumbled over her. "We put a dent in their supply, that's the truth. But they've more, and fresh, still running around. And we filled their barns with produce and more than enough seeds for next year's harvest. And each common home now has enough linen and thread to make new clothes, and enough wood to keep them warm through the winter."

Anári stepped up to the troll, ran a hand over his arm. "It's a kind thing you're doing. No matter how much you try to argue it away as simple trade." He shrugged his massive shoulders, and—hard as it was to tell under his wine-red color—she could have sworn she saw him blush. "Do you need any help?"

"No. I have it handled. Go, get some rest." He mixed some flour into wonderful smelling gravy boiling in a pot, threw her a wink. "Knowing you, I'll see you back here after dinner, helping with the clean-up despite Dara's protests."

Laughing, Anári sauntered off to find some other means to keep her entertained. Perhaps she'd get lucky, and the bath waters would already be warm. It was another luxury she'd never thought she'd experience again, soaking away the dirt of the road in a hot bath every night. The knowledge that a naked troll bull was in a tub not a few feet away from her added extra spice to the routine.

More than once, she'd imagined what would happen if she pushed aside the curtain that separated them. Snickering, she shook the image off. She'd have enough to stimulate her senses once everyone settled down around the fires. If events of the past week were any indication, she'd be more than aroused well before bedtime.

Despite the early hour, the benches were already in place. Wood for the fires was neatly arranged, as yet unlit. They had at least another hour before the sun would set. For lack of anything better to do, Anári decided she'd spend some time exploring. Trolls were checking wagons as she strolled through camp, making repairs, replacing wheels and covers. Harnesses were being oiled and hung on racks in tents. A blacksmith heated horseshoes in a forge while he trimmed a large gray's hooves for maintenance. By now, she felt at home amidst the bustle, and knew that she would miss it once she reached her destination.

There was a river not too far from camp, shaded by grand oaks. Anári made her way down to it, hoping to catch a glimpse of wildlife. Finding a sheltered spot at the bank between some bushes and brambles, she sat down. A little further up, the river curved gently to the right, and she could see the houses and buildings of the town that followed its path.

Delighted when a trio of ducks swam by, she held her body still, careful not to disturb them. She watched them glide on the currents of the river, then disappear around the bend. Birdsong filled the air as the setting sun bathed the land in a warm, orange glow. When she looked up, she could see their many nests built into the sturdy branches.

There was life in Verenosi yet, Anári mused as a rabbit rustled the wildflowers on the opposite bank, munching on the tall grasses. It filled her with hope that one day even its people would once again thrive. With the help of trolls like Dara and Lennor, the kingdom could recover. If only the people would swallow their stupid prejudice, and recognize the chances they were given.

Leaning back on her hands, she appreciated the peaceful setting, the vast expanse of fields across from her, the dense, ancient pine forest downriver to her right. Sitting here, enjoying the comforts granted to her by Verenosi's neighboring race, it was easy to forget that much of the kingdom still lay in ruins. She, for one, would remain grateful to the trolls for the difference they tried to make in people's lives. If others decided to snub their nose at them, they deserved their plight.

A louder rustling to her left pulled her from her thoughts. Turning her head, she saw the tall, wild grasses parting. A troll stepped up to the bank not twenty feet from her, took a look around. His gaze passed right over the spot where she sat, and she realized he couldn't see her. Hidden by the thick bushes and brambles that enveloped her like a tent, she blended perfectly with her surroundings in her green and brown cloak. Since she was shielded from his view, she remained where she was, seeing no reason to startle the large bull.

He let out a long breath, turned his gaze upriver. Then took a few steps backwards, rested his broad shoulders against the trunk of a tree. For a while, he simply stood there, looking out over the river and the fields beyond. Anári took the chance to study him, to take in his exotic features.

He was tall, standing well over seven-foot. But his body, although muscular, was much leaner than the average troll and incredibly defined. Trim hips widened into a dramatic V shape at his shoulders. Muscles rippled on long arms and legs. His skin was the color of dark green moss, with many shades and nuances, both darker and lighter.

In the golden glow of the setting sun, she could see the sheen of sweat that covered his beautifully toned torso. He must have been training and exercising after they made camp, Anári mused. Perhaps he'd even followed the caravan on foot to stay fit. Her second day of travelling, she'd learned that many of the trolls guarding the caravan as it journeyed through the lands often did so voluntarily.

His skull was armored like a dragon's, lending exotically unique features to his face. A long pointy chin flared out into a massive jaw. Cheekbones were dramatically pronounced next to a strong, broad nose. He lacked the tusks common to many other breeds, and his mouth was firm, yet mobile. Prominent brow bones only made his golden eyes more striking. Unlike a human's, there was no white around his iris, and his pupils were narrow and upright instead of round. The most stunning feature was the ridged row of armored plates on the top of his head and extending around the sides like a crown.

Anári recognized his breed as the one serving the caravan as archers. A Droccora troll, she'd learned. They originated from the sub-tropical forests and vast grasslands of the southern region of troll territories, she recalled, where they hunted the immense herds of deer and antelope roaming the land. He should be freezing in this climate, yet—clad in nothing but a loincloth made of hide—his body seemed perfectly adapted to the cold.

Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she held her breath when his palm brushed down his flank, then stroked over the growing bulge between his legs. Slowly, she let it back out, careful not to disturb him. She managed to suppress the sound of disbelief that wanted to escape her throat. It seemed her body would be stirred to arousal long before the fires were lit.

Eyes still focused on the countryside, he gently stimulated himself through the supple leather, coaxing his shaft to full hardness. It didn't take long, growing steadily under his hand, and, finally, he brushed aside the loin cloth.

Anári's brows winged up as his cock came into view. Someone should draw a picture book with all these different endowments, she mused. She bit back a snicker, afraid he'd realize she was there, after all. But he paid her no notice as he stood, both hands resting at his sides once more, his cock, rock-hard now, exposed to the air.

Like the others she had seen so far, it was thick of girth, and had a defined ridge of powerful, bulging muscles along the bottom of both sides. The head and base were of the same dark green color as his body, and faded to tan in the middle, much like the tones of his chest. To her surprise, the exotic cock was relatively short, no longer than seven inches.

Although blunt, the head was much larger than the shaft, with a small, pointy tip at the front top that looked as if it was enforced with bone. Glancing up at the armored ridges along his skull, Anári thought she wouldn't be surprised if this part of his anatomy boasted its own set of armor.

A breeze whispered through the underbrush, caressed his cock like the tips of gentle fingers. His flanks tightened and flexed in response, and he let out a long, rumbling moan. Nostrils flaring as he grunted quietly, he poured some oil onto his palm from a small vial. Then wrapped his hand around the shaft, and gave it a few, rough strokes.

The muscles of his ass contracted, sliding the shaft through his tight, calloused grip. After dripping more oil between his fingers, the troll replaced the stopper, tucked the bottle back into the cloth around his waist. Then he broadened the stance of his legs, and began to work his cock with fast, hard strokes.

These bulls didn't waste any time, Anári noted, hoping his deep, guttural grunts would drown out her own heavy breathing. Her loins were instantly on fire, the tingling in her clit demanding attention. Her empty, long neglected tunnel moistened and clenched. She yearned to be filled, to be stretched around a hot, thick cock. To feel it sliding through her tightness, stimulating all those marvelously pleasurable spots. For a moment, she debated joining him, but worry kept her rooted in place. Who knew how Dara would react if she found out that Anári had surrendered to her baser desires. She didn't know if a servant of Dara's was allowed to rut with a troll.

Intensely focused on the scene before her, she let her own hand travel between her legs. She wouldn't dare bring herself to peak, fearing she might be discovered. But she had to ease the throbbing in her center.

The bull continued to slide his hand over his cock, rough, hard, and fast. The muscles of his lower back rippled as his loins thrust forward to meet his strokes. She watched his blunt head grow larger every minute, imagined how it would feel to have it expanding inside of her. The stretch would be incredible, she mused, and swallowed a groan. Her tunnel tightened at the thought, fueling her frustration. She cursed her heavy clothes as her fingers found her clit, flicked over the sensitive bud with rapid speed.

Shifting his shoulders, the bull tilted back his head. Sweat glistened at the powerful column of his throat. His grunts came harsher, louder now, and he firmed his grip, worked his cock with punishing force. Anári's body quivered, trembled with excitement in answer to the purely animalistic sounds he made.

A steady stream of clear pre-seed dripped from the slit, moistened the ground at his feet. Then he paused, pulled his hand away, and her eyes widened in shock.

The base of his cock had swollen noticeably, and was growing thicker by the second. She had only a moment to digest this unexpected development before he resumed his rough, fast strokes.

There was no finesse in the way he sought his pleasure, no twist of the wrist, no change in his grip. No adjustment of pace or focus on certain parts of his incredible endowment. It was no more than the primal instinct to spill his seed that drove his hand over his shaft so forcefully in a straight back and forth motion. If it wasn't for the way he worked his jaw, the eyes half closed under heavy lids, she would have thought he didn't find much pleasure in the act at all.

Soon his cockhead grew even larger, the blunt tip bulging forward and out. It almost resembled a human's now, except for the soft-spiked crown that encircled the back of it and kept growing at an equal rate. She wondered how it wasn't uncomfortable to him, the way his fist caught at the flare with every rough stroke.

More pre-seed ran from his wide slit, mixed with the oil gleaming in the darkening light. His low, deep grunts sounded almost like a growl as his movements became jerky, less controlled. He pushed his shoulders off the tree as his flanks thrust forward, shoving the slick shaft through his hand. Bending forward, he gave her a wonderful view of the rippling muscles of his stomach, tightening and releasing as his hips rose and fell.

The determination on his face was mesmerizing as he gripped his cock even tighter, increased the speed of his strokes. The lump at the base of his shaft now almost equaled the size of his flaring head, further impeding the smoothness of his palm's motion. His flanks contracted continuously now, his whole body tensing and tightening.

Then his hand stopped mid-stroke, wrapped firmly around his shaft's center, and the troll let out a low, drawn-out roar.

Anári's own fingers froze when she saw his flaring head expand into a massive flower. It was one thing to see the aftermath, once they'd spilled into a woman's mouth or core. But to see it happening, not a few feet in front of her eyes, left her breathless and gasping.

A flood of seed shot from his slit with tremendous force, and the thought of how it would feel spraying her insides was her undoing. Her fingers flew over her clit once more as she watched the bull rip his hand over his flowering cockhead—once, twice, then again. Each time, a triumphant grunt rumbled from his chest, and his powerful flanks shot forward.

When he stilled, his palm enclosed the hugely flared head, began to squeeze and massage it. His other hand came up, and Anári's eyes were drawn to the base of the shaft. The lump had swollen to a massive knot, large enough to effectively tie him to even the loosest female. Leaning his shoulders back against the tree trunk, the troll wrapped his free hand around the hard knot, tight enough to whiten his knuckles. And settled in to ride out his long-lasting release.

Seed poured from the slit, no longer forceful, but with a steady stream. The shaft kept pulsing and contracting visibly. The huge orbs drawn up tight below his cock promised there'd be no quick end to the flow.

The sight of the knot, the flowering cockhead that kept flaring even further in short spasms, the bull's large hands that squeezed them both repeatedly, was enough to send Anári over the edge. Biting her lip to keep from screaming, she crested her peak, quivering and mewling with her release. She tried to lock her muscles, to stay still. But the brambles and bushes around her trembled in echo to her body's shudders of pleasure.

Praying he'd dismiss it to the breeze, she did her best to quiet her moans, to return her breathing to normal. Finally, her body complied, and she relaxed, simply enjoyed the chance to watch the Droccora bull's prolonged release.

It seemed to take forever before the troll was spent at last. The river of seed that puddled on the ground turned into a drip. The huge knot at the base of his shaft deflated almost instantly, and he dropped his hand to his side. His other hand stopped squeezing his cockhead, which had seized to flower, but still largely bulged and flared. He gave it a few rough strokes instead, his hips jerking back as if trying to escape the friction.

His wide chest slowly stopped heaving, and he released his cock. Still, the flared head remained engorged, and had the troll shifting impatiently from foot to foot. To Anári's wonder, the shaft barely softened before it began to retreat into its sheath. The process must have been somewhat uncomfortable for the bull, judging by the way his jaw was clenching.

He sucked in a sharp breath when his widely flared cockhead reached the entrance of his sheath. Reaching up, he encircled the crown with his fingers, stopped its retreat. Then shifted his weight once more, waited for its size to decrease. A few minutes later, it had lost another inch of circumference, but the troll's patience was at its end. Eager to be on his way, he opened his fingers, allowed its retreat.

Anári marveled at his discipline when a few harsh grunts and hands curled into fists were the only signs he showed of his discomfort as the still way too large head stretched the opening of his sheath to extremely uncomfortable widths.

She knew it was aching even after it was done as she took in the stiff way his body moved when he turned. Heart pounding in her chest, she held her breath, tried not to move a muscle when he stepped up to where she hid. He stopped not two feet in front of her, let out another deep, loud grunt. Then inclined his head, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

A furious blush spread on Anári's cheeks as she realized he must have known she was there all along. He'd been aware that she was watching him, likely aware was she was doing to herself inside those bushes.

When he stepped away—still walking rather tensely—and returned to camp, she blew out the air she'd been holding. The snicker that bubbled up was almost hysterical. Darned, if her body's raging hormones wouldn't land her in trouble before long.
Certain he was gone, she rose on legs still wobbly, and made her way back to the wagons. Her stomach rumbled, and she chuckled again. Perhaps the food and the clean-up after would help keep her mind on things other than arousal for a while.

********* CHAPTER 8 *********

THAT EVENING, DARA arranged with the local brothels to have all the bulls in her company serviced. Anári had seen the various carts and wagons cushioned with soft pillows and blankets as she'd wandered through camp. She'd asked Lennor about it when she arrived to help with the dishes, then decided she would have been better off not knowing. Sleep would be a long time coming tonight, she mused. With all that commotion going on.

"Where are you from?" she asked Lennor as she dunked another plate into the water, scrubbed it clean. There'd be enough stimulation for her easily excitable body later, so she steered the conversation to safer topics.

"Norwa. A chain of large tropical islands in the southernmost regions of troll territories."

"Tropical Islands. Wow." Anári's face took on a dreamy look as she set the plate in a rack to dry, grabbed the next. "It must be beautiful, your home."

Smiling, Lennor pressed the tab on a barrel of water, rinsed the glass he'd washed. "It's very beautiful. The turquoise waters of the sea are clear and brimming with fish. There's snow white beaches and all that lush vegetation. We've countless waterfalls and swimming holes, and dense forests growing up the mountains. It's a slow paced, laid-back life, ours, and no one's ever in a hurry. We fish or hunt the plentiful pigs and deer. There's an abundance of fruit that grows on the islands, and just about every type of crop does well in the soil. Some dive for pearls or other jewels of the sea. But mostly, we sit around, enjoying the beautiful weather, our neighbors, our friends."

"Sounds like a wonderful life." Finished with her dishes, Anári pulled the plug to drain the tub. She could envision it, sitting in the warm sand, her toes in the water. Enjoying mild breezes that brushed over her sun-kissed skin. She'd never seen the sea before, but she recalled pictures from books they'd owned when she'd been a child. It had always seemed amazing that people lived near it. Replacing the stopper, she rinsed the tub, set it aside. "Why did you leave?"

The big troll shrugged. "My children are grown, with lives of their own in other parts of the world. Then I lost my wife, some twenty years back. The hut seemed awfully empty after that. So I decided to leave, travel the lands for a bit. Met Dara some twelve years ago now. And it appears I found a new family."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Anári drained another tub, rinsed it, added it to the stack. "It must have been hard on your children, also. Growing up without their mother."

"Oh, they were long grown and gone before she passed away."

Scrunching up her brows, Anári calculated. "Just how old are you? If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind at all. Passed my hundred-fourteenth birthday a few months ago." Lennor grabbed the tubs she'd stacked, stowed them away in his cart.

"One hundred and fourteen? Years?" Anári couldn't keep the disbelieve out of her voice.

Lennor chuckled. "I think we trolls live a bit longer than humans."

"Now, there's an understatement." Still shaking her head, she began to sort the silverware. "I swear, I would have guessed you to be no more than fifty-one or -two."

"Oh!" Lennor patted a hand over his heart. "Honey, you flatter me. You've just become my new best friend. I'll fix some pastries later on. Be sure to come get some."

Laughing, Anári rose on her toes, planted a kiss on the adorable troll's chubby cheek. "Dara's lucky to have you." This time, there was no mistaking the blush that spread on his face, despite his wine-red color. "Just how long do trolls live on average?"

"Around two-hundred years is normal. But some can easily reach two-hundred-twenty or -thirty."

"Wow." She handed him the sorted silverware to put away. Then propped a hand on her hip, studied him. "I have another question for you. And do let me know if I'm pestering you."

Grabbing pots, pans, and spices, Lennor added them to the cart, motioned for her to go on.

"Do all trolls of your breed have that same, fascinating wine-red color?"

He turned to face her, eyes sparkling with delight. "You do know how to flatter a troll. But to answer your question: No. This is only one of many varieties. There's deep blue, yellow, turquoise, and purple. And my tone, of course. Some are even born with a blend of such. And you never know what you might get if you reproduce."

"Fascinating." Smiling from ear to ear, Anári imagined it. "I've so much to learn about your race yet."

"There are so many breeds of us, even most trolls don't know more than a tidbit about each other. Don't worry your pretty little head too much about it. But if you truly want to learn, there are many learned trolls and scholars at Callazaar. They'd be happy to help you."

"Callazaar?"

"That's where you're going." Lennor extinguished the cooking fires, stored the last few buckets. "Dara has a complex there where you will work."

Dismissing the sense of loss that wanted to rise at the thought of leaving the caravan, Anári sat down on a bench. "What is it like. Callazaar, I mean."

"Quite beautiful." He closed the flap of the cook wagon's cover, then joined her. "It's a huge port city by the sea. The high king of all troll nations resides there. And so does the main force of the troll nations' armies. It's one of the largest cities in all troll lands. With countless markets, buildings of marble and light tan stone, and palm trees that sway in the breezes that come off the sea. The harbor is an absolute marvel to behold. There are libraries, museums, schools, and theaters and other entertainment. It's a place of trade and learning. You'll find every single breed of troll represented there, as well as many other races of this world. I'll likely spend a few years there before I retire back at my home."

"It sounds amazing." Still, Anári wondered how much of it she would get to see. She was a servant of Dara's, after all, not someone free and out travelling. But excitement fluttered in her belly as she pictured it. To have a chance to experience the troll lands at all was incredible. She was a simple girl from a remote village, after all. Just the fact that she was travelling to exotic places, would work there, took her breath away. "What about Dara's complex?"

Lennor rose to pour himself a mug of ale. "Arubhár is a nice place with a lot of history. It's located at the outskirts of the army's camp. There's a tavern that's been converted from an old jail. An eatery in an old armory. An elaborate bathhouse as old as the city itself. And a massive complex of storehouses and shops that were once stables. You'll like it there, I promise."

"I hope so. And I hope I'll be a good worker for Dara. To pay her back for all her kindness."

Sitting back down, Lennor gave her thigh a squeeze. "You will be. You've done more than we've expected already."

Anári lingered a while longer, asking Lennor about his journeys, the places he had seen. He had a way of telling stories that drew her in, fascinated her. She laughed at funny mishaps, listened, mesmerized, as he told of history and events. Then left him, feeling warm and welcome, to join Dara and the others.

She'd miss him once they parted ways, and hoped she'd have a chance to see him again one day. Despite his assurances that he owned a house in Callazaar, only travelled with Dara, and would come visit her, she knew he was a busy man. Well, troll.

*********

BACK AT THE fires, Anári soon found herself squirming in her seat. All night, the sounds of women moaning and squealing mixed with the loud, harsh grunts of rutting bulls. Dara seemed rather amused with her plight as Anári tried to focus on the fire, the ground beneath her feet, the cup in her hand. Anywhere else she looked, there was one bull or another being serviced in this way or that. The constant onslaught of sensual stimulation had her hormones raging, her body demanding release.

"You can join them, you know," Dara mentioned between chuckles. "Just be sure to pick one who won't accidently damage you."

Grumbling, Anári slanted her a look. "You're not helping. I'm trying to show you some respect. You brought me here to work, not to seek my pleasure."

Dara held up her hands, let them fall. "Your choice. Just because nature hasn't designed me to feel desire doesn't mean I don't understand that others do. As long as it doesn't affect my servants' work, I don't mind if they indulge. It is safe, in any case, since a troll cannot get you with child."

Blowing out a breath, Anári studied the pattern on the bench cushion. "I would not want you to think any less of me. You've made it clear that you consider those urges rather primitive. Besides, I'm not sure if I'm ready for all that yet."

Anári looked up just in time to watch a bull shove his massive cock into a woman's tight tunnel with one forceful thrust. The scream that tore from the whore was quickly replaced with heavy moaning, and she reached back to grab his thighs to encourage him as he began to rut. Taking a long sip of her tea, Anári swallowed the tortured groan that rose up.

"If you're planning on letting a bull rut you, you better be ready and sure." Dara flicked her toe to shoo away a moth that persisted on making a home on her boot. "While they won't force themselves on an unwilling, once you agree, those bulls won't stop."

Nodding her head in the direction of another rutting troll, Dara paused, pursed her lips. "Do not worry. I, myself, find the sight of a bull performing rather thrilling. Bracas of higher standing will often arrange for such a viewing—if for no reason other than to evaluate a bull for his ability to breed and produce strong offspring. So, while the act of mating holds no interest to us, there is a certain excitement to imagining what a bull could do."

She gulped down some ale, studied Anári over the rim of her mug. "As to your concern . . . I judge each individual only by how they treat others and what is in their hearts. Seeing to a need that is natural to you will not change my opinion of you."

Oh, yes. She'd find herself in trouble before long, Anári concluded. Being Dara's servant had been an effective way to temper her desires, to keep it all a fantasy. Now, with that barrier removed, there was no telling what she might do. She didn't know why she found the trolls' primitive style so irresistibly appealing. They paid no regard to a woman's comfort or her pleasure, after all. But it didn't come as a surprise.

She'd always had fantasies of being used for a man's pleasure, of serving his carnal needs. While other girls and women in her village had dreamed of making love, she'd been looking forward to the soldiers' next visit. The more ruthless they were, the more inconsiderate of her own feelings, the more her body responded. Was it any wonder, then, that watching these trolls left her so aroused? No, Anári mused.

And even more arousing was the fact that the bulls weren't being deliberately cruel. Nor particularly skillful or playful about the act. They never tried to prolong or increase their pleasure in any way. Simply followed their instinct, got right to it, and got it over with. Their primitive rutting style was almost purely animalistic in nature. Yet there was no doubt they were equal to humans in intelligence, and lived their lives in much the same way. It was an exhilarating combination, Anári had to admit.

Sighing, she nibbled on the pastry Lennor had handed her, savored every delicious bite. Truth was, she felt much less like an outcast among the trolls than her fellow humans. For years, she'd thought her fantasies unnatural, had felt judged and shamed for actually enjoying the way the soldiers had treated her. Even Marwena, who had a fairly open mind, had simply dismissed her desires as a result of a lack of better options.

Anári brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, looked out over the many colorful wagons illuminated by the firelight. The moon was hidden behind clouds tonight, so the different roofs lay hidden in shadows. The night was cool, but not as cold as the past few days, since their route took them steadily south. Soon, they'd catch a crossroad heading west, she'd been told. And wondered what the next few days might bring.

Moans and grunts continued to echo through the camp, and she caught glimpses of the action as her gaze travelled over the dusty lot. Plush pillows, richly colored, and blankets of luxurious material provided comfort to the women servicing the trolls. There were goblets of wine and plates of grapes, cheeses, and crackers set out on various small tables for them to enjoy. The baths were kept fresh and warm, so the women could relax with oils and fancy soaps once they were done.

It was a show of gratitude, Anári knew, arranged by the bulls to make the women feel appreciated and special. She was convinced that, despite Dara having already paid the brothels' matrons, the women would be compensated by each bull they serviced as well.

And that was why Anári felt so at ease around the trolls. Here, she could be herself, indulge her darker desires without being judged or feeling shamed. The trolls did not even look down on women who worked the trade, considered it a fair and honest way to make a living. While they had no pity on those with other options, she'd seen bulls turn down women who seemed to act out of nothing but desperation. From what she'd noticed, anyone who approached the trolls was given an option to earn coin another way.

Anári's face scrunched up as she considered Marwena's motivation. Perhaps there'd been even juicier tidbits to her story that the woman had deliberately left out. Chuckling, Anári shook her head. It appeared her lifelong friend had a few darker fantasies of her own. And didn't that just make her more endearing? Well, she'd just see if she couldn't get her to fess up to them whenever they communicated next.

As Dara had mentioned, there were plenty of women who were drawn to a rut with a troll. And even those were treated with respect. At least before and after the rutting, Anári amended. The only times the bulls acted a little condescending was when they met a woman on equal terms. And who could blame them? If she had no qualms about informing them she found their kind revolting, they had all rights to treat her with equal disrespect.

An elbow bumped Anári's arm, and she was pulled from her thoughts.

"Stay away from his kind." Dara motioned a hand toward a short, stout troll of dark blue color who was strolling by. "Got a knot the size of two large grapefruits at the base of his rather disappointingly small cock. Damn thing stays inflated for hours."

Anári bit back a laugh. "Speaking from personal experience?"

"Didn't walk right for a week," Dara grumbled. Then blew out a snort. "Didn't see it coming either, with his puny height. Learned an important lesson that day. Never judge a troll by his body's size." There was humor sparkling in Dara's eyes when she faced Anári. "Some of them can hide some nasty surprises. There's a mountain troll breed, stands nearly ten-foot tall and half that wide. Come to find out, they're hung like field mice."

Laughter bubbled from Anári's throat. "I wouldn't think a small size would bother you, seeing how you feel no pleasure."

"He didn't rut with me. I'd ordered him for one of my human clients. Needless to say, that customer did not return."

Anári nearly spewed out her tea. "Oops."

"Oops, all right," Dara said dryly. "That's another mistake I won't be making twice."

Still chuckling with the image, Anári ran her tongue over her lip. "Are you in the business of pleasure, then, as well?"

"Of course I am. Would be stupid not to be, with my background." She took a long swig of her ale, slapped the mug down. "You'll see for yourself once we get to Arubhár. My tavern and eatery both cater to troll bulls and males of all other races. There's a bathhouse for males with more luxurious tastes, and a very exclusive brothel above. The last is only for members, and welcomes female clients of all races as well."

Anári swallowed, blew out a sigh. Apparently, there'd be no end to the constant sensual stimulation even after she arrived at Callazaar. Since she was curious, and Dara seemed open to discussing the subject, she decided to mention the adventure she'd had this afternoon.

"I caught a glimpse of one of those knots you mentioned earlier today. A Droccora bull, if I'm not mistaking." All right. So, it was way more than a glimpse, but Dara didn't need to know.

Crossing her leg over her knee, Dara nodded. "Droccoras have them, also. They'll give you a good stretching, and stay properly tied. But they're not unmanageable, and the tie lasts only around fifteen minutes." She leaned down to refill her mug from a pitcher, then turned to give Anári a pointed look. "If you ever let one rut you, be sure to line them up. They've a bone inside their shaft, and it feels none too good if it misses its target."

Anári had wondered about that when she'd seen the pointy tip of his cockhead. A thrill sent little sparks of pleasure to her core at the memory of the scene. Heat spread on her cheeks, part excitement, part embarrassment, and she shifted in her seat.

"You can feel the bone inside the sheath," Dara continued, unconcerned with Anári's flustered squirming. "If you grab it, you can easily push it out. Once out, the muscle around it quickly swells. To protect the braca he's breeding, I'd venture. Many of my female clients claim they rather much enjoy a Droccora bull. You should give one a try one day. Although I recommend you start with something smaller, until you're used to the mating style. A Vanrarg, perhaps, or a Charval."

Anári couldn't help but giggle. Gee, had she actually worried about what Dara might think? It seemed the troll was rather much enjoying sharing her vast knowledge. And doing her best to encourage Anári to live out her fantasies.

One of the bulls Anári had watched rut the woman on her second night with the trolls walked by, and Dara gestured in his direction. "That's a Sconvorg. You want to avoid his breed for now. They are very largely endowed, and quite forceful in their rutting. And they'll mount you multiple times before they're satisfied. They're native to the lands around Callazaar, and the high king's preferred warriors, so you'll encounter quite a lot of them."

Moisture pooled between Anári's legs as she remembered the woman bent over the wagon, squealing, nearly lifted off her feet as the bull released. The way he had withdrawn while still in full flower, paced just long enough for it to subside, then mounted her again. She had to agree with Dara that he was not one to take on lightly. A woman had to be prepared to handle a troll of his kind. Still, a shudder of pure appreciation shook her body at the thought of submitting to such a bull.

"Somebody should write a book on this," Anári voiced her earlier idea.

A grin tugging up the corner of her mouth, Dara gave her a wink. "I'll get you one when we get back to Arubhár."

"There's a book?" Surprised, Anári's brows winged up.

"Had it commissioned after that mountain troll fiasco." Dara pointed with her mug when a huge, beefy troll lumbered by. "That one isn't too bad either. Hung like a horse, but gentle when he's rutting. Everything they do gets done slow and easy." She rolled her eyes. "I use them quite frequently for clients who want to experience feeling seriously stretched. Acquired that one in Tarrind for just that purpose. Not like I could use him for anything else. Takes him ten minutes just to walk to the back of a cart. That's if he doesn't get distracted by a ladybug or bumblebee in the process. And by the time he gets there, he won't remember what he went there for. But they focus well enough while rutting. Or, perhaps, it's simply nature taking over. Sometimes, I wonder. Takes them well over an hour to release, and they'll flower about ten minutes in. Their minds are likely off to a hundred other things while their bodies simply continue the motion. And a good thing that is. Otherwise their breed would have gone extinct after the first generation."
Laughing, Anári watched the huge male pause mid-stride, then his finger lifted, followed the path of a moth.

"What did I tell you." Dara was chortling herself.

Someone hailed her, and Dara rose to talk to the troll. Emboldened by the conversation, Anári risked a look around. Despite her claims to prefer seeking favors from the soldiers, the woman who had travelled with the caravan was once again on her knees, servicing one troll after another with her mouth. It seemed she was in no hurry to leave their company behind and start her new life here in Lorwind.

Around the nearest fires, Anári saw five more women taking breaks from being rutted by sucking various cocks instead. Even at the fire where she sat, two heads were busily bobbing up and down between troll legs, throats bulging and swallowing around meaty shafts. More than tempted, Anári wondered what would happen if she joined them.

Behind the fires on her left, blankets and pillows formed an enormous bed on the floor. On their knees, women were being mounted by various bulls, the next male taking the place of the previous one as soon as he was done. Some women were even spit-roasted between two trolls, servicing one with her mouth, the other with her tight, wet tunnel. Everywhere Anári looked, the bed of wagons had been cushioned to provide comfort to the women bent over or lying back on them. There also, new bulls stepped between their legs as soon as the one before had finished.

Watching one troll rut a woman had been exciting enough. But the thought of servicing one after the other, of different breeds at that, had Anári's whole body buzzing with arousal. She could only imagine how it would feel to have all those different exotic cocks stretching her without mercy, without pause. Her own tunnel tightened and quivered in response, and her clit began to throb.

When Dara threw her an apologetic look, Anári waved off her concern, decided to rise as well. She'd stretch her legs a bit before she'd head back to her wagon. Perhaps get a closer look at some of the action to learn more about the different bulls while she walked around. It would give her mind a whole new set of fantasies to refer to once she reached her own bed.

********* CHAPTER 9 *********

OH, MY, ANÁRI thought about half an hour later. She'd do well to get Dara's book as soon as she was able if she ever planned on living out some of her fantasies. Or stick to trolls she already knew. Dara had been right on the mark when she'd told her that some of those bulls just might surprise you. And most of the surprises wouldn't be of the pleasurable sort.

Had she thought one knot was amazing? Apparently, some bulls sported two, even three. Even single knots weren't restricted to only the base of a shaft.

She'd seen numerous ridges, all variations of grooves and bumps. Some shafts were rippling with multiple sets of muscles, others moved on their own. They came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, from no more than the width of a thick finger to shafts as thick as a large man's fist. There were short ones and others that reached almost two feet in length. Although, for the most part, they averaged the length of a human's.

It was a fascinating sight, not just the different cocks, but the different mating habits of each breed of troll. Even there, each one differed from the next. She couldn't claim a favorite out of the countless styles. They all left her breathless and eager to submit.

Rounding the next wagon, she came upon another fire. Three of them actually, all in a row. Trolls were hanging out on benches, drinking and carrying on conversations. More where chatting standing up, mugs of ale or glasses of liquor in their hands. Two of the whores were mingling, enjoying the wine and food set out for them. Another used her mouth on a troll standing by a water barrel. Bent over the back of carts, two more were being rutted.

"You are one of Dara's workers, aren't you?"

Startled, Anári jerked at the deep, rumbling voice behind her. "Yes," she answered the tall, stocky troll.

He pointed a hand toward the fire. "Make yourself at home. There's ale in those barrels over there, and stronger spirits in bottles next to them. Or the wine, if you'd prefer. Help yourself."

"Thank you." She lifted her cup. "But I have my tea."

Chortling, he inclined his head. "There's more of that also, if you insist. I couldn't stomach the brew this time of day. Please, have a seat. I promise you will not be bothered."

With that, he walked off to join the others at the fire. Deciding it wouldn't hurt to linger for a bit, Anári refilled her tea, plopped down on a bench nearest the rutting. From here, she had an excellent view of the show from the side, and she settled in to enjoy it.

"The trolls sent me to check if you'd be interested in our services."

Anári almost squeaked at the provocative sway of feminine hips a few inches in front of her face. What had she gotten herself into? "No, thanks," she managed to peep out, tried to arrange her face into a smile.

The woman leaned over her, slid her fingers over Anári's hair. "Are you sure? Being surrounded by these primitive brutes, I'm certain you could use a gentle touch."

There were boobs. Big, round boobs nearly squashing her nose. "I'm fine, really," she squawked in high pitched tones into the mountainous flesh. And was glad the woman couldn't see her expression. She didn't know whether to giggle hysterically or fling herself off the bench. A woman propositioning another woman. Now she'd seen it all. How would that even work? She was missing all the necessary equipment. Still, she would be lying if she claimed she wasn't a little bit flattered. "I appreciate the offer. I truly do. But I'm afraid I'm not inclined that way."

"I understand."

To Anári's great relief, both boobs and loins retreated, and she let out a breath that puffed out her cheeks.

"Let me know if you change your mind," the woman called over her shoulder as she wandered off, a sassy swing in her hips.

If this kept on, Anári'd be a witless drunkard before they entered troll lands. Eyeing the barrels of ale, she noticed a troll fling a coin to the woman, then raise his mug to Anári in a toast. Wishing her tea was spiked with liquor, she plastered on a smile, toasted him back. Then took a deep drink, turned her attention back to the rutting bulls.

Instantly, her body relaxed, and the tingling returned to her loins. The woman closest to her was making sounds as if she were in labor, delivering her child. It seemed an odd reaction, since the bull behind her wasn't moving his flanks. Squinting, Anári tried to get a closer look, figuring he was waiting for his body to be ready to mount.

Then he leaned back to take a good swig of the concoction in his glass. The woman sucked in a sharp breath, moved her hips to keep her butt cheeks pressed to his flanks. And he chuckled, gave her rump a friendly smack.

"Settle down, girl. We'll be here for a while."

Anári's moist tunnel contracted and clenched when she realized he wasn't waiting—he was securely tied to the woman. Her clit began to pulse and throb, and she rubbed her thighs together. Had the whore known about his knot? she wondered, wishing she could see the size of it. It was likely quite big, judging by the woman's squirming. She shifted from foot to foot, up on her toes, then back down, trying to ease the pressure, the stretch. Her hands fisted, then flattened, pushing her upper body up, then letting it settle back down. All the while she was puffing out air, as if it would lessen the discomfort.

Every now and then, the muscles in the troll's ass and lower back contracted, and he let out a few harsh grunts. Shortly after, despite his knot, seed rushed from the whore's hole to drip onto the ground. This bull didn't seem to release continuously, but rather time and again. His knot served to hold him in place until he was spent. It was yet another variety of mating style that had Anári thrumming with excitement.

When the bull turned at the waist to talk to a troll standing next to him, Anári heard the woman whimper. A moment later, he stepped back with one leg. Anári's eyes almost fell out of her head when she noticed the woman's unused slit. It appeared he'd aimed a little higher, and was taking his pleasure in her ass instead.

That would explain the woman's pained groans, Anári mused, and almost reached her own peak at the thought. She could vividly recall the feel of being claimed that way. Incredibly painful, it nevertheless brought on some of her most powerful releases. Her loins contracted, and she shifted in her seat. How would it feel to have a thick knot up her ass? To know she couldn't get away or escape the stretch, even if he was willing to let her?

Wiggling her butt on the bench, she imagined her tight rings held open that way, feeling the cock pump seed into her bowels. Imagined being forced to lie still and endure it. Heat flashed to a roaring fire in her loins. It would be the ultimate act of submission. As she pictured herself in the whore's place, tiny sparks of pleasure radiated from her clit, and her moist tunnel clenched in spasms.

The bull set down his glass when his flanks began to buck. Grabbed the woman's hips to hold her still. It was obvious he was nearing another release, and this one would be a big one. Grunting deep and gruff, he ignored the woman's yelps and whimpers, and tried to thrust his cock in and out of her ass.

Anári could see the woman's tight star bulging out, then collapsing inward with every move of his hips. But there was no way he could have freed himself to reach a full stroke. He was content, however, with the rocking friction of her tight rings over his rock-hard knot, and thrust harder and faster.

Finally, he shoved forward one last time, pushing as deep as he could go. His upper body collapsed on top of the woman, and his teeth sank into her neck. His loins contracted in forceful spasms as his seed flooded her bowels.

It was a mesmerizing sight that had Anári's heartbeat pounding in her chest. The bull, so disciplined, so still—short of his jerking flanks—as he emptied himself into the woman's ass. The mewls and whimpers of the whore as the thick knot pulsed inside her clenching rings.

His grunts and growls turned into a long, low moan that sounded almost painful near the end. And he jerked back as if trying to escape the stimulation. It soon became clear that he was finished, had enough. But his body wasn't ready to allow him to retreat just yet.

Over and over, he attempted to free his cock while the woman dug her nails into his legs—willing him to stay, to ride it out. Yet his oversensitive nerves kept firing, made him determined to free himself. Lower lip caught between her teeth, Anári let out a few moans of her own as she imagined the feel of that knot tugging at her tender rings.

About a minute later, the knot had decreased enough. And, with a plop Anári was sure could be heard at the other end of the fires, the knot came free. A torrent of seed rushed from the woman's tortured rosebud, mixed with the moisture on the ground. Rubbing her butt, the whore bounced from foot to foot, trying to ease the stinging.

Enthralled by the sight of the troll's cock, Anári paid no mind to her. Even now, his still fully flowering head continued to drip seed. But it wasn't the head that fascinated her, which wasn't that much larger than his human-sized shaft. A shaft that looked like it had hundreds of beads right under the skin, she noted. No, her gaze was fixed on the knot at the base of his cock. How he'd managed to get it out of the woman without tearing her up was beyond Anári.

Not only did it still extent at least two inches from the shaft on both sides—and she knew it had already shrunken down dramatically—its shape was rather unforgiving. It looked almost as if someone had stuffed an egg on each side, sideways, and made of steel. It was a rather effective locking mechanism, she surmised as another wave of pleasurable anticipation washed over her. Then she blew out a breath, decided she'd have to do some serious practicing first.

The same bead-looking protrusions that covered his head and shaft also lined his knot. Of a darker shade of blue than his cock and the rest of his body—and rather pronounced—they were clearly visible even from where she sat. She was certain they would stimulate one's sensitive walls tremendously.

Biting her lip, Anári tried to will away the demanding throbbing in her loins. But it only seemed to draw more attention to the area. She sipped her tea, tried to focus on other areas of the camp. Yet no matter where she looked, someone was doing something to stimulate her senses.

Next to her by the fire, a woman was kneeling, upper body bent over a bench, while a short, stout troll rutted her from behind. A few feet down, two women were busy sucking the foot-and-a-half long shaft of a massive bull. Across from her, another was lying on her back in a cart, her ankles wrapped around the beefy back of yet another troll.

Anári let her eyes travel back to the one she'd been watching. Saw him leaning against the barrels, refilling his drink from a bottle. His cockhead had shrunk back to its normal blunt size. But his knot continued to prevent his cock from retreating. She had a sudden urge to walk on over there and lap the seed from his dripping slit, since the woman he'd used made no effort to do so. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she imagined how he would taste.

Amused at her newfound boldness, Anári let her gaze travel to the troll he'd been talking to. Saw him step up to the woman, turn her around. He slid a hand over her rump, then pushed a finger up her ass. Sore, the woman tensed, sucked in a breath. But she didn't utter a protest.

"Still not as tight as I would like," the troll addressed his friend. "But it'll have to do."

Mesmerized, Anári watched him step out of his pants, nudge them aside with a foot. Resting her upper body on the cushions, the woman arched her back, stuck out her butt invitingly. Clear proof that she didn't mind the rutting anywhere near as much as her squirming had indicated.

His hand wrapped around his sheath, and roughly jerked it upward a few times. A moment later, the tip of his cock appeared, then its head was exposed. He never touched the shaft, kept yanking his hand harshly up his sheath instead. And, slowly but steadily, the rest of his cock emerged. Even after it stopped growing, at around six-and-a-half inches in length, he continued his rough handling of his sheath.

Until, to Anári's astonishment, the knot began to form. He paused his stimulation for a moment, but his cock began to retreat again. So he reached back down, and gave his sheath a few more harsh, hard strokes. The knot swelled a little further, and he moved his hand away. This time, when his cock tried to retreat, his knot kept the shaft exposed. The troll closed his eyes on a long, low moan, and a pleasurable shudder went through his body.

"Hmm. Interesting." Anári hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud until she heard a female voice answer.

"All their pleasure is centered in that ring of muscle at the entrance of their sheaths. It's not so different from the tight rings of your rosebud. Only much stronger, and much more sensitive."

Swiveling around, Anári gaped at the woman sitting next to her, wearing nothing but an utterly satisfied expression.

"The whole time their cocks are exposed, their bodies will try to pull them back in, stimulating the nerves in that tight ring of muscle," she continued. "The forces retracting it are quite strong, you know. That's why the knot sits so close to their sheath. The pull forces the knot down into the muscle repeatedly, causing it to open and stretch in little flutters. The muscle is too strong, of course, to let it get more than a tiny bit inside. But they claim the feeling is amazing."

Soaking up every last detail, Anári smiled at the woman. "My, aren't you a well of information."

The woman laughed. "I've spent some years in their homeland. That breed is one of my favorite trolls. It takes a while to get used to those knots, particularly since they'll use only your ass. But once you are, the feeling is positively marvelous."

"You lived in troll lands, and you returned here? What would possibly bring you back to Lorwind?"

"I don't live here, silly." The woman bumped Anári's leg. "I'm a slave of Verruk's. One of those Banerg trolls you've been admiring. He was asked to accompany this caravan, and wanted me to join him."

Anári's face lit up as she digested it. There was another human in this company, and one who seemed to share her interests. "I'm Anári." She held out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine. And I'm Maive. It's nice to have another female around who seems to enjoy these bulls. I tire of the women on this road who all pretend to be revolted, then spread their legs for coin as well as pleasure anyway."

"I've noticed." Anári huffed out a dry laugh. "But tell me more about the Banerg trolls. I'm dying of curiosity."

"Well, as I mentioned, the nerves at the entrance to their sheaths are the most sensitive part of their anatomy." She jerked her head in the direction of the troll who had just finished. "He's in pure bliss right now. The muscles inside his body try to draw his cock back in, then relax after a few seconds if they're unsuccessful. As his knot decreases, it pushes further and further into that tight ring of his sheath with every pull of his body. You'll see it slide back and forth if you look closely. The stimulation causes the bull to have one long orgasm, without the release of seed. Basically, this is the part of the mating those males look forward to. The rest is simply foreplay."

"Fascinating, how nature works." Anári watched the bull. Tall and lean, his muscular body was equally lithe, his skin a mid-blue color. His tusks were short and narrow in a mouth framed by lush lips, his face rawboned and otherwise identical to a human's. He was strikingly attractive, gorgeous even, she had to admit. Still, there were signs of his more primal nature in the prominent brow bones that arched over turquoise eyes. Currently, his features showed clear signs he was experiencing great pleasure. Proving that Maive was right. "He did seem rather eager to be free when he was done, I noted."

Maive snickered. "Certainly. His knot is highly sensitive, causing contractions in his loins when squeezed tight enough that force him to release his seed. It is not very pleasurable to him, and becomes extremely uncomfortable once he is spent. So he'll always try his best to escape the pressure."

"That can't be very comfortable for the female he's rutting with." Anári made a face.

"Oh, it's not so bad," Maive waived it off. "As soon as he is spent, the knot becomes more flexible, and it somewhat turns inside you right before he manages to pull out. The whole rut feels indescribably good, actually. Even when they're not moving their hips, you'll feel their cocks sliding back and forth inside of you, trying to retract. It puts the most exquisite pressure on just the right spots. But see for yourself. He's about to mount her."

With that, Maive rose, wiggled her fingers at Anári in a wave. Mind still spinning with information, Anári focused her attention back on the second bull. His knot had formed enough to prevent his cock from retreating back into its sheath. Not much, only the width of a finger on each side of the shaft. But the troll seemed ready, so he lined up his hips. And began to look for his target.

Unlike the other trolls she'd observed, this one didn't stab forward forcefully. He moved almost gently, pushing his blunt head against the whore's butt, her thigh, her dripping wet slit. It sunk into her about an inch, then he pulled back again. Angling his flanks, he aimed higher, managed to penetrate the woman's ass on the second try.
Feeling the tightness clench down on his cockhead, he thrust his hips forward. The woman gasped at the sudden intrusion, stretched wide around a pulsing shaft once more. Then settled down against the cushions, and braced herself for the rut.

Immediately, the bull began to pound her with short, hard thrusts. Anári imagined the style would provide the most stimulation to the tight ring of his sheath. His knot grew larger with every passing minute, opening the woman's sensitive muscles with more and more force. She howled out her pain and her pleasure, arching her back to meet him stroke for stroke.

Nearing her own release as his knot swelled even further, the whore dug her fingers into his upper thighs, urged him to thrust harder, faster. He needed no encouragement as he increased the force of his strokes. They came more jerkily now, less smooth, as the thickening knot encountered more and more resistance from the woman's battered rings.

For his last few thrusts, he had to slow way down, the knot almost too inflated to continue. He managed to break it through her resisting muscles one last time with a brutal shove. Then his knot expanded another few inches all at once, and he was securely tied. It didn't stop him from trying to free himself. The woman followed his flanks with every move.

Finally, he surrendered, and his whole body relaxed. The woman's head flew back, moans streaming from her lips. Then she screamed out her pleasure when his flanks contracted violently. Grunting, dancing from foot to foot, the bull shot his first stream of seed into the woman's bowels from his wildly flowering cockhead. His hips surged forward uncontrollably, shoving his knot even further into the woman's convulsing ass.

Cresting her own peak, the tights rings of the woman's ass squeezed his knot like a fluttering vise, causing him to try to rear away from the pressure. Her muscles bulged out, threatening to give under the strain, but the egg-shaped T effectively blocked his escape. He took a step backwards, pulling, pulling on those wide-stretched inner rings, then thrust back forward, forcing her into another brutal release.

The whore tried to move with him, but her legs were trembling. Squealing, she did her best to relax her ass, knowing only the easing of pressure would stop his flow of seed. Finally, she managed to loosen up enough to where her rings no more than massaged the steel hard knot keeping her stretched incredibly wide. Still grunting harshly, he calmed back down, allowed her to settle back against the wagon.

Wide-eyed Anári stared at the scene, almost ready to flood the bench with a stream of release of her own. Then she noted Maive winking at her as she stepped up to the bull. Apparently, this breed of troll was a more playful sort, she realized when she saw Maive run her hands over his heaving chest, down his washboard stomach. And wondered if he was Verruk, her owner.

She certainly seemed to know him well, was comfortable intruding on his rut. Teasingly, she flicked his nipple with her finger, then suckled it into her mouth. He rewarded her with a grunt and a nod of his head. Then pushed her mouth away. Unperturbed, she slid her fingertips over his flank, then his butt.

Anári held her breath when Maive cupped his full, heavy balls with her hand, massaged them. Then it rushed out of her lungs as Maive began to tightened her fingers. Harder and harder she squeezed the tight orbs, rolling them in her palm. The bull let out a few more grunts and his hips bucked in response.

She released the pressure long enough to pull them down toward the ground. Then her hand wrapped back around his balls, this time squeezing with brutal pressure. The troll grunted, jerked his flanks up and away from her. But he settled right back down, so Maive repeated the process.

Spreading his seed that spilled out of the woman's ass over his balls, she returned to massaging him. Then, suddenly, she tightened her hand around his sensitive orbs like a vise, flicking her thumb over one, then the other with hard force.

His groin contracted and relaxed, then went into another spasm. Then his hips shoved forward, and the whore let out another pained wail. The muscles of his ass and flanks quivered as his cockhead burst into flower once more. Moving with him, but still squeezing firmly, Maive forced him into another strong release.

When he tried to yank out of the woman's ass, Maive released her grip, put her hands on his butt cheeks to hold him in place. "Easy," Anári heard her coo into his ear. "You wouldn't want to hurt yourself."

Chuckling when the whore he was tied to shot her a dirty look, Maive slid her palms over his back, urging him to relax. "He happens to be very dear to me," she addressed the woman, and rested her head between his shoulder blades.

The affection Maive held for the troll gave Anári pause. There had to be more than just sex between the two, for her to act that way. She knew him well when it came to his pleasure, that was obvious. But there seemed to be an intimacy there that was startling to observe. The troll had grabbed Maive's hand and was settling it around his waist.

Then he used his other hand to give the whore's butt a smarting smack. "Tighten down around that knot. Unless you want me tied to your ass all night."

She instantly complied, and his nostrils started flaring. Knowing he would like it, she even ground her teeth and began to rock her hips back and forth. With Maive still resting her face against his back, her hand gently caressing his stomach, he closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the women's attention.

It took a few more minutes of effort, but the whore brought him to the next release. The trembling started in his lower back, spread to his ass, then his flanks. Smoothly, Maive slipped behind him, pressed her naked loin against his butt. A moment later, his muscles convulsed with the tell-tale contractions that proved he was spilling his seed. Maive rode the waves of pleasure with him, ran her hands over the spasms in his flanks. When he began to try yanking his cock out of the woman again, she coaxed him back into relaxing.

"You should be grateful I am calming him," Maive hissed when the whore threw her another dirty look. "You don't want to know what would happen if he managed to rip free of you. He's strong enough, and he's done it before. And, trust me, it wasn't pretty."

Stepping away from them, Maive filled a glass with water from a pitcher, handed it to him. Still firmly tied, he emptied it, then his lips turned up in a smile. And, to Anári's shock, his hand came up to cup the back of Maive's head while his mouth bent down to meet hers.

Why the sight was so incredibly erotic, Anári couldn't tell. But there was something stunningly arousing about the way his cock was tightly locked inside of another woman while his tongue danced in his obviously favorite's mouth.

Drawing back, Maive gave him a look from under lowered lashes that spoke of complete submission. Then smiled at him affectionately, and took the glass out of his hands. Setting it down, she returned to the pair, began to slide her hand over his butt once more.

"You better hold still," she warned the woman, and moved to his other cheek.

Gathering more of his spilled seed as well as some of the woman's natural moisture, Maive trailed a finger over his crack, then dipped it between his cheeks. He tensed, gave a warning grunt, but she only chuckled. Repeating the process, she paused longer this time, applying gentle pressure to his rosebud. He grunted out another warning, but she kept her finger in place, waited for him to relax.

When his muscles untightened, she pressed a kiss to his wide shoulder. Then, suddenly, pushed her finger deep into his ass. His whole body jerked, and his hand shot back to grab her other wrist. Pulling it up, he threatened to snap it, and she met his heated gaze.

Anári watched, frozen in place, uncertain if he wouldn't strike her.

Slowly, carefully, Maive placed a gentle kiss on his upper arm, her finger still and quiet, yet firmly in his ass. Anári admired her braveness. She, herself, would have crouched in fear when his temper threatened to snap. Heck, she would have never attempted such a brazen thing to begin with.

With a rumbling growl, he released Maive's wrist, almost flinging it away. And slowly focused his angry gaze back on the woman he was tied to. His chest heaved with long, deep breaths, then he bent forward. Bracing a hand on each side of the woman, he let his body relax and gave a curt nod meant for Maive.

Smiling, she carefully, carefully began to slide her slickened finger in and out. Waited when the muscles of his ass tensed and tightened, then moved again. Turning her wrist, she applied pressure to the spot inside of him that was certain to bring on his release. She grew bolder as he became more used to the invasion, increasing both pressure and speed.

She saw his gorgeous shoulders rise and fall as his breathing deepened, as her finger slid in and out of his tightly clenching rings, faster and harder. Once she felt his inner muscles relaxing, she withdrew, dipped back down to gather more moisture. Then she returned, pressing first one, then a second finger through his protesting rings.

He grunted, tensed, but didn't order her to stop. The quivering she felt inside his body told her he was nearing his release. This time, she turned her wrist immediately, found the swollen gland. Instead of gliding in and out, she pressed down forcefully, only rocked her fingers back and forth. It would provide the most intense stimulation to the gland as well as the tight rings of his ass.

Mesmerized, Anári felt herself cresting one little peak after the next. That such a proud male would allow such an intrusion spoke of a volume of trust. True, Maive made it clear she was submissive to him. Still, the things he let her do to him even before her finger's invasion proved his own submission to the slim, pretty girl.

Soon, his guttural grunts rang loud through the night. His flanks contracted, then released, contracted, then released. His cockhead flared, then flowered as he hovered, hovered at the edge of release. The whore's mouth hung open as she shuddered, trembled, then crested another peak. The muscles of her ass tightened in brutal spasms around his knot, driving him near wild.

He jerked his hips backward, shoved forward again. And still, his hugely flowering head would not release. Nerves fired in his sensitive knot, sending sharp sparks throughout his body. Unable to free himself, he damn near howled in frustration at the continued assault.

Knowing he would need it, Maive thrust her fingers through his rings. Once, twice. Rough and fast. When she felt his whole core tensing, she focused just on the gland again, pressed down with as much force as she could muster.

Suddenly, his body froze. And, for a moment, he was deadly silent. Then a roar of pure triumph thundered from his throat, and his hips rose, then bunched. And thrust forward.

Afraid he would snap her fingers with the force of his release, Maive pulled them free, watched his magnificent body power through the seeding. Then she reached up, wrapped her hand around his tightly drawn-up balls, and began to squeeze them.

Grunt after bellowing grunt echoed from the strong column of his throat as his shaft jerked wildly inside the woman. Maive knew the whore could feel every throb, every pump, as his seed rushed through her rings and deep into her bowels.

When he clenched his teeth, his jaw muscles tensing, Maive realized his release had gotten painful. But he forced himself to fight his urge to yank his knot out, fearing he might hurt his precious woman. Her arm was still between his thighs, fingers firmly wrapped around his balls. One uncontrolled movement, and he might break them. She gave him one, final, brutal squeeze, knowing the pain would shorten the time before he could pull free.

Then released his balls, stepped to his side. Gently, she traced her palm over his heaving flanks, then up to cup his jaw. Wound tight as a bowstring, he was unable to do more than turn his eyes to her in response. Only the fact that she was standing close to him prevented him from yanking free.

Maive pressed her luck, planted loving little kisses on his shoulder, his arm. Marveled at the fact that he'd endure any discomfort in order to keep her safe. She knew the nerves of his knot were firing angrily without pause, the feeling near unbearable. Knew he was desperate to escape the pressure. Yet he stood perfectly still.

When the quivering in his muscles became too strong, he gave her another warning growl. This time, she heeded his warning, stepped back. Not a second later, his hips began to jerk—roughly, violently, fueled by the firing nerves inside his knot. Used to the routine, the whore dug her fingers into his ass, matched his every move.

Still, much sooner than she was prepared for, his knot tore out of her. Gasping, she sunk to her knees, and Maive bent down to steady her. "I'm sorry I couldn't hold him any longer."

Yanking her arm out of Maive's grip, the woman hissed at her. "It's your fault he released that forcefully to begin with."

"Tsk, tsk." Maive shook her head. "He's usually much more violent. And if it wasn't for me, you would have found yourself properly knotted for at least three hours or more." Rising, she blew out a huff of annoyance. "I honestly don't know what you're complaining about. You thoroughly enjoy the rut, and are handsomely rewarded for your efforts. You might try being a little bit grateful."

Dismissing the whore, Maive went to refill the glass of water. Then joined Verruk where he had seated himself on a bench. He took it, thanked her. Then pulled her into his lap. Eyes sparking with delight, Maive watched him drain it, set it down. And sank into the kiss when his mouth came down to meet hers. She enjoyed every moan, every grunt as he finally found his pleasure. Circling her fingers around the entrance to his sheath, she gently pulled his shaft up and down, further aiding his bliss.

Breathless, heart pounding in her chest, Anári could only stare at the couple. She pinched her arm, fearing she would wake from an explicit dream at any moment. When she blinked, saw the two of them still there, she knew she wasn't dreaming.

Relaxed and sated, the bull rode on the waves of pleasure. His hands brushed gently over Maive's shoulders, her back, her thighs. His mouth stayed fused to hers, stopping only briefly now and then to let out another blissful grunt. Even then, his forehead rested against hers affectionately.

Deciding to give them some privacy—well, at least from her company, since the rest of the trolls were still around—Anári rose, waited for her legs to steady. The woman he'd been rutting with was lounging in another cart, sipping some wine, and enjoying the grapes and cheeses. It appeared she was no worse for the wear, and Anári let out a breath.

For a while there, she had worried the woman might tear, after all. But the bulls were obviously well aware of a human's limitations, and careful not to do any harm. Satisfied that all was well, and rather exhausted from all the excitement, she made her way back to her wagon.

With all the sounds of pleasure still surrounding her, and everything she'd seen, Anári knew she'd have no problems finding her own release tonight.