s 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 misheard.
"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...
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