From: dac@prolix.apana.org.au (Andrew Clayton)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: Chapter 3 of of Tryssa's Troll
Date: Tue, 29 Dec 1992 02:12:25 GMT
Organization: More like Dis~, really.
X-Newsreader: Arn V1.00

Tryssa's Troll was originally placed in LTUAE, by Nikolai
Kingsley.

    Chapter 3

    As they became more comfortable with each other, Tryssa managed
to find excuses to beat Kulyar with increasing ease; she attributed
it to the effort involved in trying to fit an uncouth Troll into the
subtle Elven society.  She would have been surprised to learn that
Kulyar was deliberately incurring these punishments, which while
increasing in frequency, did not gain in severity; Tryssa seemed
quite content just to draw some blood.  If asked why he was seeking
these beatings, Kulyar would not have been able to answer.

    She found his inability to perform magic an increasing source of
exasperation.  Elven residences relied on sorcery to a considerable
degree, even to the point of having small spells to keep the dust off
the shelves, and as Kulyar was entrusted with more responsibility, he
was required to operate a number of magical appurtenances; while the
requisite skill was well within his grasp, some fundamental ability
seemed to be absent.

    `I know that the Trolls do possess some magic,' Tryssa mused,
`I've seen it myself... if I thought, for one minute, that this was
all due to a lack of enthusiasm...'

    `No, mistress, no!' Kulyar was quick to assure her (having been
subjected to a beating less than two hours ago, just after the
evening meal, and not anxious to invite a second), `i really don't
know what's wrong.  Could i try again?'  She sighed, and handed the
key back.  He grasped it in his left hand, tapped it twice, murmured
the short spell and pointed it at the door, which was then supposed
to unlock and swing open.

    Nothing.

    Kulyar fell to his knees, staring at the obdurate door, his
expression the very picture of despair. Tryssa could see that he was
earnestly distressed about this; she thought for a few moments and
then sent a message-spell to Synda, who was also the Keep's resident
expert on magic.  She arrived moments later, a short, plump Elf with
ash-blonde hair who was well-advanced in years and sorcerous
experience.  After a brief explanation of the problem, Synda glanced
at Kulyar with evilly-glittering slitted eyes, her smile sending
shivers through him.

    `Let me have a closer look...' she murmured, drawing closer.

    Kulyar drew back involuntarily...


    Half an hour later, none of them was any the wiser (although
Kulyar was much the worse for wear).  Synda put away her dire
instruments and regarded the whimpering Troll with her chin resting
on her fist.

    `His -mana- levels are fine.  His tropic channels are clear...
well, as clear as a Troll's ever get... there seems to be evidence of
a subconscious block, buried -very- deep within.  Do you want me to
go after it?  Could take a while.' Tryssa observed the pitiful state
he was in and decided to show some mercy.

    `Later,' she said, lifting Kulyar's chin with the toe of her
boot.  `I have plans for him now.'  Suppressing a smirk, Synda left
them.  Tryssa sat on the end of her bed, gazing at the Troll with an
expression that Kulyar was unable to interpret.  She seemed to reach
a decision, and then patted the bed beside her.  `Up here, Troll.'
she said softly.  He kneeled before her, unable to believe what he
had just heard.  Her eyes narrowed a fraction and she slapped the
bedside again.  Kulyar jumped up and sat down beside her, while
keeping an appropriately respectful gap between them.  She wrinkled
her nose and said,  `Go and take a bath... then report back here
immediately.' This time, Kulyar was sure he had mis-heard.

    `A... bath?  Do you mean, a-'

    `A BATH, Troll!' Tryssa snapped in exasperation. `Maybe your
magical ability is buried under a layer of dirt.' Kulyar blinked, and
replied in a small voice,

    `Yes, mistress.'

    He lumbered off.


    Kulyar stood with his arms crossed and confronted Pengan, the
sly-looking head of the Keep's laundry detail; the little Human also
seemed to be having some trouble with the concept of a Troll having a
bath.  He laughed, shook his head and made exaggerated clearing-of-
the-ears motions.

    `You want a...' Kulyar didn't smile, but spoke in a voice as cold
as the grave:

    `A bath.'  Seeing that the tone of his voice wasn't having the
desired effect, Kulyar casually reached out and picked up one of the
oar-like paddles used for stirring cauldrons of laundry.  He stuck
the broad end in his mouth and with little apparent effort, casually
bit through four centimetres of solid, well-weathered pine.  Somewhat
sobered, Pengan gestured for the Troll to follow him to the largest
of the laundry tubs, which he ordered emptied of its washing and
re-filled with hot water.

    `Do you require any assistance... er, instruction, or -'

    `I know how to bathe, -thank- you.' Kulyar snarled.  Desperately
trying to keep a straight face, Pengan left him.  The Troll divested
himself of his clothing and gingerly climbed into the tub.  He sat
there expressionlessly until Tryssa appeared a few minutes later; she
stood back and looked him over, showing less difficulty in keeping a
serious expression than Pengan had.

    `Don't forget to wash behind your ears.' she advised him, smiling
sweetly, and then departed.  Kulyar grimaced, and obeyed.

    When he returned to Tryssa's apartments, he was wearing only a
sheet wound around his body, as Pengan had removed his old clothing
while he had bathed.  No-one had dared comment on a relatively clean
Troll wearing a sheet as he made his way through the Keep;
fortunately, he had not meet Pyraf.  Ordinarily, he would have been
furious at being paraded through a freezing cold Keep dressed in a
damp sheet, but his submission to Tryssa pre-empted such emotions. It
wasn't that he had to conceal his fury; he no longer experienced it.

    He entered and kneeled beside her bed as usual.  She lay there,
reading her erotica for perhaps five minutes, then deigned to notice
him.  She put aside the book, stretched languidly and sighed,

    `Ahhhh... Kulyar... my dear slave. Sit here, please.'  Warily, he
complied, tugging the sheet closer around his waist.  She regarded
him intently, a faint smile on her lips.  `What are you?' she asked
intently.

    `i am your slave, Mistress.' he replied immediately.  She closed
her eyes, smiled and sighed again.

    `Closer.'  He was now sitting up against her; he could feel the
warmth of her body through the slightly-damp sheet.  Casually, she
reached over, grasped the end of the sheet and tugged lightly. Kulyar
nervously held the sheet to his sides with his elbows; she tugged
again, more insistently.  Becoming curious as to just how far she'd
take this, Kulyar relaxed his grip and let her remove the sheet from
his shoulders, keeping it demurely tucked around his waist. `Stand,
slave.' she commanded.  He did so.  She ran her hand down his side,
tracing his ribs, running her index finger over a scar that ran down
his belly from just under his rib-cage towards his groin.  `How did
this happen, slave?  In battle?'  He flushed, and replied,

    `Mistress... i... ah, it, i was, uh, i was dared to, uh...'  She
fixed him with a stern expression, and he concluded in a rush, `Some
of the "Bent Sword" battalion dared me to stick my penis into the
mouth of a sleeping sabre-toothed tiger and when i did, it woke up
and scratched me before i could kill it.' Tryssa gave a look of
mock-dismay.

    `Oh!  My poor, -poor- slave.  Did it cause you any further harm-'
and she suddenly tugged at the sheet again, leaving him naked and
revealing his erection.  `Oh, my,' she smiled, `-really-, slave!'
Kulyar turned red and would have covered himself with the sheet had
Tryssa not taken it and tossed it over the other side of the bed. She
smiled again and ran her index finger down the line of his pelvis,
through his matted pubic hair and around the thickening base of his
penis, flicking the underside lightly.  Kulyar moaned quietly; Tryssa
snapped,  `Quiet, slave!' and slapped his testicles viciously.  The
Troll yelped and then was silent as she ran her sharp fingernails
along the veined length of his erection, teasing him unmercifully.
She smiled evilly and wrapped her fingers around the shaft, just
behind the head, squeezing at first gently, and then more forcefully,
bending the end slightly and causing him to moan again.  On hearing
this, she grasped his scrotum above his balls and tugged downwards
sharply.  He yelped as she squeezed his penis and his balls
simultaneously; eyes closed, he inhaled sharply as she tightened her
grip to the point where he thought that he might cry out.  Just then,
he felt a cool wetness at the tip of his burning, engorged cock, and
he opened his eyes to see her mischievously touching the tip of her
tongue to the end of his erection.  His heart leaped with shock and
his eyes widened as she opened her mouth and pressed her teeth
against the end of the head, tickling the hole with her tongue.  He
gasped when she playfully nibbled at him, and was completely
unprepared when she squeezed with both hands and suddenly bit down as
hard as she could.  He cried out at the top of his voice; it was a
tribute to her conditioning that he didn't move away.  She quickly
assuaged the pain with slow, careful strokes of her tongue and
rhythmic movements of her hands until his hoarse breathing returned
to normal, and then set about agitating him again by first kissing,
and then sucking on the end of his shaft, slowly rubbing with both
hands, which were clasped around its base.  She just barely managed
to fit her lips over the head of his tumescence, and as she did so,
she felt it swell even further, the rim becoming trapped behind her
teeth. She half-smiled at this, knowing that it would hurt a great
deal for him to try and take his penis out of her mouth.  Secure in
the knowledge that she had him trapped, she kneeled on the bed and
began massaging the veined length of his shaft, rubbing both hands
down until her wrists pushed against his balls, then sliding them up,
feeling the head swell as she did so.  As she slowly increased the
speed of her ministrations, he began to make a guttural sound,
half-way between a moan and a shuddering breath, in time to the
motions.  He felt her hot mouth surrounding the end of his penis, her
teeth scraping the sides of the head; for a moment, he felt as if he
would fall over backwards, but she drew her head back slightly,
dragging him with her painfully.  She grasped his balls in both hands
and squeezed again, dragging them down and away from his body while
biting down hard on his erection; he shouted again.  While he was
reeling from the shock of this sensation, she opened her mouth as
wide as possible and popped his cock out, leaving a ring of
teeth-marks just behind the head.  She turned him around and pushed
him down onto her bed.  He went over like a felled tree, his erection
pointing towards the ceiling, waving back and forth slowly.  She
climbed up to straddle his legs, facing him and grasped his erection
in both hands, squeezing until he cried out again.  Staring at him
with a wild look, she grinned, seeing the mixture of lust, fear and
desperation in his eyes.  She massaged his shaft gently for a few
minutes more, and then perceiving that he was on the verge of
release, she jumped up and slapped his thigh. `Back to your hole,
slave, until morning.' He stared back at her in shock. She slitted
her eyes and twitched her fingers; he required no more convincing
argument.  He laboriously got to his feet and lumbered off.  She
smirked as she followed his painful gait, half-crouched over his
swollen erection, and thought: maybe tomorrow night.  And then again,
maybe not...

...

    `You still view this as some sort of competition.'  Kulyar didn't
respond. `You have lost.  You lost on the day that you were
captured.'  He dared to narrow his eyes in a surly expression, just
as she looked up from her book.  She smiled sweetly and then swiftly
lashed out with a thin riding crop which she'd held concealed by her
side, catching him across the face with a stinging blow. His only
reaction was to stiffen slightly and wince.  A trickle of blood ran
down his face.

    Kulyar waited until the worst of the pain had passed, and then
glanced at his mistress.  To his interest, he noted a faint flush of
excitement on her face; a number of thoughts passed through his mind,
and after a few moments' contemplation, he made his next move: he
stuck his tongue out at her.  Her eyes widened with a mixture of
anger and indignant surprise; she struck at the other side of his
face with the riding crop, slashing another cut into his face which
also bled freely.  She was breathing deeply now; seeing this, Kulyar
found a deep-seated impulse to back away, out of her reach.  Almost
as if she could read his mind, she tilted her head to one side, her
eyes narrowing in a warning glance; he saw the fingers of her left
hand twitch, and he froze.  She smiled with terrifying languor, and
the usually impassive Troll found himself frozen with fear.  `Take
your tunic off,' she said, a hoarse throatiness betraying the depth
of emotion that she was experiencing.  He did so, never taking his
eyes from hers.  `Down,' she whispered, pointing at the rug with the
riding crop.  Without a moment's hesitation, he bent over, pressing
his forehead to the floor, his hands at either side of his head.
There was a pause, during which time Kulyar nervously contemplated
his situation and his mistress' mood; then, without warning, the
riding crop slashed down, striking diagonally between his shoulder
blades with a whack! which broke the silence like a thunderclap.  He
winced.  She struck again, hitting a spot just below the first, and
again, in a line that crossed the first two.  She proceeded to lay a
criss-cross pattern down his back, paying special attention to the
area which started just below his shoulders and ended just above his
buttocks.  Every time she hit a bone in his protruding spine, he
flinched involuntarily.  As the beating proceeded, a searing warmth
spread across his back, fuelled by the strokes; the originally sharp
sound of the riding crop began to give way to a wet-sounding slap,
and warmth began to trickle down his sides.  His back was now one
single consolidation of fire; the individual blows began to run
together, until each one seemed to strike every part of him.  Just
when it seemed that he couldn't take any more and he was about to
risk the wrath of her magic by pulling away, the punishment stopped.
He crouched beside her, breathing heavily; she put her bare foot
underneath his chin and lifted his head to meet her gaze.  She was
breathing harder than he; from exertion?  Contemplating the flushed
face, the wildly glittering eyes, he knew: this excited her.  She
lifted the riding crop to her mouth and licked the encrimsoned shaft.
She gasped with unrestrained lust, and he knew.

    That evening, Kulyar was escorting her from the Hall of
Tapestries to the dining rooms, when they happened across Pyraf, who
passed them on the spiral staircase, pretending not to see them.
Kulyar felt a tickling feeling at the nape of his neck (completely
disassociated from the sharp tang of the wounds on his back), and
acting entirely on instinct, whirled about with one arm outstretched.
He caught Pyraf's hand, which was in the act of thrusting a knife at
Tryssa, and smashed it against the stone wall.  Pyraf dropped the
knife and gave a hoarse cry of dismay as he regarded his broken arm.
Kulyar glared at him and, baring his fangs, lifted Pyraf's
awkwardly-twisted hand towards his mouth with the eager, express
intention of biting it off.  The Elven captain struggled violently,
to no avail; Pyraf felt the Troll's hot breath on his fingers when
Tryssa said, calmly:

    `Kulyar! manners, please!'  Holding Pyraf a foot off the ground,
Kulyar turned to her, a querying expression on his coarse features.
Suddenly seeming to comprehend her meaning, his face lit up.

    `Oh?  but of course.  Raw meat.' he murmured, shaking his head in
mock disapproval.  He tugged a crackling torch from the wall and held
it under Pyraf's broken wrist, searing the skin and causing the
captain to shout again and renew his struggles.

    `Kulyar!' Tryssa snapped.  He glanced up, and she gave him a look
of reproach.  Pushing out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout,
Kulyar released Pyraf, dropping him to the ground.

    `But, mistress... he's a murderous, mannerless bastard.' She
slapped the Troll lightly across the face.

    `Slave!  I want you to apologise to Captain Pyraf, right now!'
Kulyar dolefully regarded the whimpering Elf as he crouched on the
steps, nursing his abused arm, and after a pause, muttered sullenly,

    `i'm sorry that you're a murderous, mannerless bastard.'  With a
look of naked hatred that could be felt at twenty paces, Pyraf
staggered to his feet and stalked off down the stairs.  Kulyar and
Tryssa watched him go; the Troll turned to face his mistress, and
gave her a solemn look.  She maintained her composure for all of ten
seconds, and then burst into a peal of giggles.

    `Troll humour!' she sighed.  He smiled proudly, exposing his
incisors. `I'm going to have to punish you for that, you realise.'

    His eyes narrowed with anticipation.

    Synda, the Keep's Healer, examined Pyraf's injury with practised
caution, knowing of the Elf Captain's temper.  She pursed her lips
and reached for her grimoire, muttering to herself.  Within five
minutes, the broken limb was whole again, with only a series of
faint, pale tooth-marks and a residual ache to mark the injury's
passing.  He spread his fingers, flexed them; satisfied, he nodded
tersely to the Healer and then left.

    `Try to be more careful in future, huh?' she called out after
him.  He turned and gave her a look designed to forestall any similar
comments, which worked.  He slammed the door on the way out; his
subaltern, a battle-scarred Elf named Jacyn, was waiting for him.

    `What are -you- staring at, lieutenant?' Pyraf hissed.

    `Nothing sir.' Jacyn snapped, at attention.

    `Good.'


    `This, my dear Troll slave, is a Music Crystal.  It has,
magically stored within its lattices, many hundreds of hours of
recorded music.  Do the Trolls enjoy music?'  Kulyar suppressed a
surge of anger over the ease at which she completely dismissed three
thousand years of what passed for cultural development by the Trolls,
and replied meekly,

    `Yes, Mistress...' Tryssa set the crystal down on her table and
activated it, passing her fingers over the pyramidal point;
exquisitely beautiful, sweeping chimes and tinkling sounds issued
forth from a spot about a hand's-span above the crystal.  Kulyar
kneeled before her, entranced, his attention returning only when she
stopped the sounds with a further wave of her fingers.  She indicated
that he should try to operate the device, but when he did so, nothing
happened.  He tried again, Tryssa checking to see that he performed
the finger motions correctly, but it was as if he had no command of
magic at all.  `Never mind,' she sighed, `I'll set it to play
repeatedly, while you scrub the floors.'

    `Thank you, Mistress.' he replied; gratefully, as he found that
he quite liked the sounds, a welcome change from the heavy, drum-
laden martial noise that Trolls ordinarily favoured.

    She returned some hours later, to find him on his knees, still
hard at work, humming the tune and occasionally singing along with
some of the more familiar lyrics, with basso Troll intonations:

    `So what am I to do?
     What am I supposed to say?
     i can't change the world
     but i can change the world in me...'

    Tryssa smiled fondly.


Dac
--
dac@prolix.apana.org.au              David Andrew Clayton.           // _| _  _
dac@prolix.sserve.cc.adfa.oz.au      Canberra, Australia           \X/ (_](_](_
                    <Using ARN on an Amiga 4000. Yay!>
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