The Toll (11 page)

“
Kill him! You can’t
kill
him!”

“
Course I can. Tried ta
kill me. Tis only fittin’. Watch.” He reached a hand out, but I
jumped up and threw myself at him, dropping poor Trystan’s head in
the process.

“
No!” I clung to him like a
barnacle. “You can’t! I won’t let you!”

Stilling, he frowned down at me,
baffled. “Oh? Ye goin’ ta stop me, nugget?” Lips twitching
suddenly, he smirked, as if truly amused. “Ha! Ye an’ what
army?”

“
You can’t be so
heartless!” I shrieked, slapping and pounding on him.

He stopped advancing and stepped back,
easily batting away my fists like a pesky fly.

“
Please!!” The desperation
in my voice was steady and strong. Clutching at him, I gripped his
wrists and tugged at them.

As I’d hoped, touching him in such a
familiar fashion, so informally, garnered me his full
attention.

Gaze unwavering, he peered down into
my upturned, pleading face, and I gave his wrists a squeeze, my
fingers unable to fit entirely around the circumference, they were
so big.

It took him a moment before he spoke.
“There’s a price ta pay for everythin’, an’ nothin’s free. Ye
willin’ ta pay the price, then?”

“
Yes!”

Trystan groaned as he started to wake
up, and I knew I was running out of precious bargaining
time.

“
Ye dinna even know what it
be?” The curious look he wore was bothersome, but I’d worry about
that later.

“
I don’t care!” This was
Trystan, my love. I’d do anything for him. Anything.

“
Then ye’ll stay wit’ me
‘til I says otherwise,” he agreed,
“indefinitely.”
And before I could
gather my next breath to scream or pass out, my indefinite fate as
his slave was sealed.

****

Staring off after them, I sat huddled
in my cage as I heard Trystan weakly protesting the troll
manhandling him out of here.

“
You harm one hair on her
head, troll!” he mumbled weakly.

“
An’ ye’ll what, piss
yerself?” I heard him chuckle evilly. “
Again?
Yeah, I’d love ta see that,
ye no good pee pot. Just shut yer hole an’ move it, or I’ll do it
for ye.”

Their voices faded as they made their
way into the night.

A Life Of
Servitude

The days all blurred together after
that, everyday about the same. I didn’t try to run, knowing he’d
keep to his word and hunt me down, then punish me.

Normally that wouldn’t deter me, but I
silently feared he might do something to Trystan in
retaliation.

In exchange for my obedience, he let
me roam around untethered, no shackle on my ankle, anchored by the
round hook attached to a length of chain he’d shown me in the
floor. It had been almost four weeks since the incident with
Trystan.

Four weeks since the troll had carted
him off, coming back with a grunted, “Quit the water works, nugget,
he’ll live,” before he stomped his way to a room at the back of the
cavern somewhere and promptly fallen asleep.

I didn’t make the same mistake I’d
made the first night, taking the food and water he offered the next
morning without question, but I soon found I didn’t have an
appetite for it. As the days passed and I settled into my new, sad
existence, I didn’t have much of an appetite for
anything.

Half way through the last day of my
fourth week, going on five, I collapsed to the floor, a heavy cough
wracking my body as I lain there limply, hoping sleep or, if I was
lucky, death would overtake me.

“
Aw, no ye don’t,” Troll,
as I’ve aptly named him—uncaring if he has a name—admonished as he
deftly scooped me up. “Ye’ll not be gettin’ off that easy,
nugget.”

Mumbling weakly, I grunted in his
arms, the closest I’d come to talking all week.

“
Dinna be thinkin’ ye can
just die on me an’ call it good, ye dafty wench. I’m on ta ya,
see.” Troll held me up in his arms, a furnace covered in skin, and
I felt something warm touch my lips.

It dribbled into my mouth and I tried
to swallow, choking on the warmed liquid instead. It tasted beyond
horrible, so I spit it out.

Troll growled at his third attempt to
pour whatever that was down my throat, but I just turned my head
away, sighing quietly. It smelled really funny, and I didn’t care
anymore if it made him mad as I weakly batted it away.

Let him hurt me,
I thought,
I already
feel dead enough on the inside.

“
Ye’ll drink it or I’ll
choke ye wit’ it. Yer choice, dafty.”

That’s what he always
called me when he was getting pissed—
dafty.
It usually meant something I
didn’t like was soon to follow.

“
I hate you,” I mumbled,
letting the nasty swill spill out the side of my mouth. “Leave me
be, Troll.” Blowing a weak raspberry in what I hoped was his
general direction, I tossed the words at him like his new name was
a bad word, even if it is what he is—a troll.

A moment later large hands tipped me
and rolled me to my side, and I thought he’d given up, but he was
just tightening his grip, I soon found out.

Snarling under his breath, he pinned
me down and plugged my nose, tilting my head back with an iron
grip, forcing me to swallow large mouthfuls of brown, vile tasting
broth. Gagging and garbling in protest, I couldn’t help but choke
most of it down between desperate gasps for air.

“
Drink up, filly. That’s
it. That’s the way. Be a good little nugget.” I heard him chuckle
as I garbled between gulping swallows, likening him to a donkey’s
backside.

“
Better than ye.” He
snorted, snuffling disgustedly. “Ye havena bathed in a week, I’d
wager, an’ ye smell like one.”

I smell? Good. Any way to
bother him somehow is fine with me.

Eventually, he let me up when the cup
was empty, giving a satisfied grunt as my stomach
lurched.

“
I think I’m going to
vomit.” Groaning, I breathed in through my nose, exhaling it slowly
through my mouth

“
No, ye aren’t,” he said
confidently.

“
How would you know?” I
grumbled as the room started spinning, closing my eyes to try and
ease the vertigo. My head lolled about on my shoulders as he
hoisted me up. Mumbling under my breath, I tried to open my eyes,
but they felt too heavy.

“
That’s why,” he murmured
in satisfaction, right as I fell fast asleep.

***

I closed my eyes tight,
praying for darkness as I felt large hands gently lay me down on
something hard. Something hard with a soft top.
A cloth?

Thick fingers skimmed my body, running
over my feet and then my neck.

“
Mm. Good. No more fever.
Was beginnin’ ta think ye was gonna kick the bucket on me after
all.”

“
Don’t touch me,” I
muttered, but my limbs felt too heavy. Everything ached more than
before, but my stomach wasn’t in turmoil anymore.
That’s something, isn’t it?

How long was I passed
out?
I wondered.

“
I’ll do wit’ ye as I see
fit, nugget, an’ ye’ll shut it and let me.”

What?
I wondered sardonically.
Is he going
to wait until I feel like I’m dying to rut on me like a lusty
beast, as Trystan had surmised?

Oh, how fitting. He likes
to screw dead people. Erm, almost dead people.

That wasn’t the case as he removed my
gown and ran a cool cloth over my skin. Hissing, I shivered and my
teeth clacked. The water was a shock against my dry, sweat
encrusted skin.

It was cool, but not too cool, and as
a breeze drifted into the room my breasts pebbled up. My eyes
popped open as he ran the cloth over them gently, and I found his
gaze meeting mine evenly.

“
Yer weak as a kitten an’
sick as a dog,
an’ ye smell like
shit.
If I have ta play doctor to ye, ye
canna be floppin’ about, stinkin’ up the place, smellin’ like a
dead fish that’s been baked in the sun.” He punctuated his
statement by pulling out something, a small brown vial of some
sort, popping off the cork and dumping some on my head and
chest.

Nose wrinkling, I sneezed suddenly,
the feeling of warm oil and the smell of roses enveloping
me.

Leaning in slightly, he gave me an
experimental sniff, then nodded, satisfied, proceeding to spread it
around on the dampened cloth, all over my body.

“
I’m naked.” I stated the
obvious tiredly, to no one in particular. I’d lost all modesty as
the days had dragged on, having to relieve myself in a hole in the
ground in the very back of his dwelling. We reached it through a
small maze of crisscrossing catacombs that he led me to every
morning, standing watch, making sure I didn’t get lost,
again,
to lead me back.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he did some kind of magical mumbo
jumbo to it, his hole in the ground outhouse, that made it
disappear—kind of like the stuff with his crazy fire place. I
wasn’t too sure, not wishing to stick around to find out, my
curiosity not quite that strong.

Depending on how long I’d been passed
out, I feared, in the back of my mind, I might have relieved myself
in his presence at some point, right then and there where I’d lain,
but I quickly figured it best not to dwell too deeply on that
thought at the moment.

I’ll save pitiful thoughts
like that for a later date, when I don’t feel like warmed over
death.
Bathroom theater with an audience
of one.
Oh, joy to me.

“
Aye, and ye’ve lost a bit
of weight,” he agreed, running the cloth over my belly and dragging
it lower, “it looks funny on ye.”

“
Put that on my grave
marker,” I muttered, closing my eyes, too weak to do much
else.

He chuckled and the action brought the
cloth he held loosely skittering across my sex. I gasped and
jerked, shocked at the sensation it produced, dancing teasingly
across the small bud at the top of my sex.

Troll quickly pulled the cloth back,
focusing on my thighs and the rest of my lower half. Once he’d
reached my feet, I could hear the sounds of him wringing it out,
probably in a bucket or a bowl, before he brought it
back.

His hand skimmed over my lower belly
again, swiping it clean, and then I felt him hesitate. My breath
caught in my throat and I held it, heartbeat in my throat, pounding
in my ears. Clearing his throat roughly, he ran it slowly, so
slowly, over the tops of my thighs, easing a methodical,
meticulous, torturous path until he reached the pearl at my sex,
brushing over it again. Tentatively, he did it again.

Squirming a bit, I gasped,
unaccustomed to the feeling.

“
What… what…” and that was
all I could get out, my breath rushing out of me on a surprised
gasp. He did it again, his thumb circling it teasingly through the
cloth, and a moan slipped free.

My groin tingled in that special place
as he gently, experimentally, ran it over me again and again.
Warmth pooled, deep in my core, foreign but not wholly unwelcome,
and I moaned.

He grunted when I shifted restlessly
underneath his hand, dazed by my foggy state and his attentions,
and then he moved the cloth away entirely, the fragrant smell of
oil, less pungent than before, something else, scenting the air as
he placed a few drops just above the top of my mound. I whimpered
in protest at the loss of that tingle it produced, almost an itch,
one that I wanted madly to scratch.

With surprising gentleness, he rubbed
it into my skin in soothing circles with his cloth covered hand,
strumming the tightened bud hidden between my folds. I shuddered
and my eyes shot up, my mind telling me this wasn’t some odd, crazy
dream, and to wake the heck up.

Troll’s head was turned,
his sole focus on my sex. The lines on his face were harsh with
concentration, his brow drawn tight, Adam’s apple bobbing as he
swallowed thickly, shifting his body forward. His thumb stroked it
a few more times, rubbing and teasing, tempting me until I felt my
body heating up, building towards something. What, I didn’t know,
but I hoped he didn’t stop.
Is this what
the ladies had meant? This intense, pulsing sensation surging
through me?

The feelings built up, intensifying,
and I cried out as my legs started to tremble hard, falling open as
his fingers sped up, brushing me faster and faster until I thought
I might burst.

A finger slipped inside my sheath,
sliding right in, I was so wet, and then another. They were thick
but gentle, his fingers, and that was all it took—my back bowed and
I screamed out my release, my sex clenching around his digits
graspingly as they pumped into me slowly, masterfully.