Legends of Belariath

Sajidah And Roquai

Mark of the Dead 2

Finding a Resolution

The morning sun crests the line of trees that surrounds the town of Nanthalion. Most of the denizens of the sordid town are still sleepy, late risers after a long night of carousing. Only a single, slender centaur traverses the dusty road that leads to the Body Arts Shop. Little puffs of the dry dirt cloud around her teacup hooves.

Standing outside the door, sajidah hesitates. She takes a deep breath to compose herself, remembering the anger and violence of the Troll as she had left him after their first and only meeting.

Slowly, she opens the door and steps in. She doesn't bother knocking, quite sure that he expects her. She pauses then, letting her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. She blinks, hands tucked behind the small of her back. The blouse lightweight, sapphire blue silk she wears drapes loosely across her torso, the back completely bare to leave her still-healing tattoo exposed.

Roquai is situated in the backroom, but the sound and feel of a new arrival to the shop, and one with hooves, summons him immediately. The large door bursts open and stops before it smashes the wall, his hand at the top of the large wooden panel to halt it. He looks as flustered as he did back then, the same congealed darkness about his eyes and mouth, lips slacked to allow his bare teeth to glint wet from beneath.

The high-strung centaur starts at the sudden entrance of the towering troll and a slight tremor of fear runs through her, though she manages to conceal most of the effects of the feeling. She's doesn't fear pain or death, but she fears his disapproval. He didn't want her here before and she knows not why he's called her back now.

sajidah takes a step forward, bravely, "Good day, Sir." She is careful to remember not to call him Master, for he has forbade that quite explicitly... vehemently and loudly. The memory sends a second chill through her.

The Mountain Troll is surprised that she actually came. He'd secretly hoped behind his veil of nostalgia and mutual appreciation that she would disappear forever; away from this shop, never to be heard from again, happy elsewhere. None of this shows in his stony visage.

"Good morning." He lets the weight of the door shut itself as he steps forward. He's donned the same leather as she saw him in before, kilt and vest, his hair balled at the back his head. In fact, by his appearance, one would not be able to tell that two days had passed.

Trotting forward carefully, sajidah's manner is guarded as she watches him discreetly with melancholy eyes. She is careful not to let her gaze stray to his eyes, avoiding eye contact. Her voice is as light as ever with that foreign, lilting accent of hers. "I have come as you requested." She licks her dry, dusky lips, feeling nervous and uncertain.

"I see that". He undoes the knot of leather behind his head, releasing the tension around his scalp and letting the tangles of thin, oily hair fall on his gigantic shoulders. "Do you have any idea why I've asked you back?"

As she takes a moment to think, the submissive centaurs vibrantly violet eyes take on a vacant cast, focusing inward as she searches for an answer to his question. After a moment, she shakes her head, her own clean waves of dark hair brushing against her smooth, delicately boned shoulder. "No, Sir."

The troll remains silent for a short space of time, the moment passing between them awkwardly before he speaks up saying, "Neither do I, but I think it's time you left this land for better places." He laces his hands in front of his belly button, the cut of his vest ending much higher on his abdomen. He doesn't elaborate, leaving his intention quite unclear.

The hidden meaning is not completely lost on the centauress. She stiffens, pulling back. She doesn't actually step away, but her torso straightens and her guards can almost be seen drawing up. She's being careful to not leave herself quite so vulnerable as she was the last time she visited the shop. She's actually not quite certain she understood, due to language barriers and so she asks, in a strained breath, "Better places, Sir?"

Wrestling with rhetoric, Roquai clenches his teeth together. "Better places, away from Nanthalion." The space between them closes and becomes dangerously small as he steps forward. He legs span the gap in a few seconds, where he reaches out, seeming to reach to touch her face.

One of the delicate fore-hooves is lifted in preparation for flight, but it doesn't make contact with the floor again once it's raised. Her body crouches slightly, her hindquarters bunching as his hand nears her face. Shock and fear both register in her eyes, lashes fluttering, though she does not turn her head.

The trolls wide hand muffs her right ear and carries her locks of hair in his spaced fingers, catching the whole side of her head like a fleshy helmet piece, but lightly. His thumb strokes over her eyebrow. He looks as tense as she is, only personified to something much worse, mouth almost growling as he speaks, "Tell me how my tattoo is doing."

The gentleness of his touch is almost as surprising as his approach, but sajidah adjusts quickly, closing her eyes and leaning her head lightly against his palm. Her breath leaves her body in a slow, soft exhalation that parts her puffy lips. The question takes a moment to sink through the cloud of her indulgence. When it does, she opens her eyes again, though still avoiding contact, their violet depths still registering a bit of confusion. "Your tattoo... feels... tight..." Her brows furrow slightly, struggling for the right words. "Needs... scratching." She follows the last statement up with a quick disclaimer. "I have not scratched it."

"Good." That one word is a rolling grunt kind of noise. "Let me see it." He remains standing, one hand gently caressing her cheek, the other quite limp where it hangs at his side.

The tension visibly eases from her delicately built centaurian form as she relaxes. She side-steps, her hindquarters coming around while her human torso remains in relatively the same place. The action pulls her face from his hand as she positions herself next to him, her equine stomach nearly brushing his thigh, facing the same direction he'd been facing when she began. It's a quick little trot, the economy of her movements suggesting experience in quick hoof-work, a nod to her skill as a dancer.

One large hand catches the bottom of her blouse and lifts it, eyes trained on the crook of her neck where it meets her shoulders. He also turns, placing his other hand on her spine, his actions becoming more possessive by the minute as his thighs touch her side.

She stands still there at his side and doesn't shy from the touch of his hand or the brush of his thigh, though there is a single twitch across her broad, red back. The blouse conceals very little of the tattoo, though her hair does fall like a dark curtain across the top portion.

Roquai continues to pull the fabric up until it bunches beneath her armpits, then simply says, "Lift," and pulls it more. At the same time his hand leaves her spine to loosen his own clothing, unlacing the tethers that run up the side of his ribs in preparation.

At his command, sajidah lifts her arms. Her breath catches in her throat, though she knows not why. She is pliant to his will, ignorant of what is to come, but accepting of that. The troll lets the blouse drop to the floor.

"Sit," he says, hand pressing at the base of her tail in the direction of the floor. His hand scalds her shoulder blade, rubbing up and down as he eyes his milky delicacy. She succumbs to the pressure readily, dropping her hindquarters to the floor. She pauses there, uncertain of the position he desires. She leaves her front legs locked straight, deciding that if he wishes her lower still, he will waste no time in letting her know. The position is a bit awkward, but by no means uncomfortable. The burning sensation of his hand on her shoulder draws her attention away from the feel of her hooves pressed into the underside of her little round belly.

Roquai places his hands on either side of the tattoo as he stands over her, legs spread in an upside-down V. He brushes her hair away from the design and up onto her shoulder until there are no more strands to mar the perfect image. The scab is there, like a patch of chitin, protecting the work of art he put there. The big troll slathers his lips as he feels and caresses her shoulders with his callous palms. His moist lips eventually land somewhere above the tattoo, slowly slurping downward.

With a light shiver, sajidah gasps softly and straightens beneath the cool touch of his lips, the moisture seeming to draw the very heat from her body, leaving her chilled as the air of the shop hits her damp flesh. Her hands clench and she draws them up to rest against her flat belly, body tensed as she holds her breath.

Wrapping his hands around her thin torso, Roquai's thumbs and fingers connect at the meridians of the back and front of her body. By the time his tongue skims over the wound, a small cascade of spittle has already got there, dripping along her spine in a little torrent. His lips make a seal like before and paint the scab repeatedly, pressing and causing little pricks of pain as parts of the scab soften and loosen a small bit.

The brave little slave doesn't wince, or pull away, or any of the little things people do to acknowledge pain. The small pricks are worth it, for the saliva cools and calms the terrible itch that has been plaguing her these two days since her last visit. She closes her eyes, blocking all the visual stimuli of the interior of the shop. It is unnecessary and distracting from the possessive grip of the trolls hands around her abdomen. Although she won't admit it to herself, that possessiveness is more of a salve than even his saliva.

Shuffling his feet backwards, the Mountain Troll moves his hands down around her slender frame. It's smallness feels so... so... familiar to his primal memories, although that new nostalgia doesn't quite strike him yet. It simply makes him feel good. The touch makes sajidah simply melt internally, enjoying it far more than she is likely to realize.

The dull tip of his tongue finishes and moves on, trailing the ridges of her spine for a few seconds before lifting away, putting distance between their lower bodies. "Stand." Those violet eyes blink open again at his simple command and she pushes up quickly with her rear hooves, raising her hindquarters once more from the floor. Her tail swishes once against the delicate hocks, then stills as she awaits his next command or action.

Roquai's next words are muttered quietly in the Trollish tongue, "I'll take you, every bit of you, before I send you to your end." He kneels down on one knee with his hand tight around the base of her tail. Lifting it gently out of the way, he inspects what's there with his scrutinizing eyes and nose, fingers laying on either side of her sex, which he considers his property from this moment.

The dainty slave's body is tense, but no more so than it was a moment before and not so much as to suggest resistance to his actions. Her tail lifts easily and she chances a quick glance over her shoulder, merely curious. The puffy labia are dark and smooth, shiny, leading up in soft folds to the puckered blossom of her anus. Her skin is mostly black with just a tinge of pink where the red hairs dissipate. Her scent is heady and sweet, with just a hint of spiciness and it's obvious that she is excited, sexually, though not fully aroused.

"You're not my Softe. But you're what I wanted her to become..." The dry pad of his thumb runs vertically up her slit, from bottom to top from his perspective, and then presses into her asshole, faintly burning with arid heat. "You wouldn't know squat about that." He presses that thumb. The fingernail acts like a plant, the bulk of his thumb forcing its way inside, but that stick of hardness pricking against her anus and preventing it from going deeper.

Although the first of his action elicits a soft shudder of delicate delight from the girl, a sharp gasp soon follows. A momentarily constriction of her anus greets the thumb's arrival. She closes her eyes tightly and wills herself to relax again. She doesn't respond to his words, wouldn't know what to say if she did. Somehow she knows he's not really talking to her, but over her.

The bulky troll comes quickly to his feet again and traces her labia with the nail of his index finger, running it between those tempting labia in a single direction. "Tell me where you came from. Again."

Before responding, sajidah blinks a few times. She can converse with that thick nail teasing her labia, it won't be difficult, but it will take some degree of concentration. Her voice is slightly shaky as she finds the words to respond. "My people are the

Ziala, from the Zialund desert. I served them... worshipped them." There is a slightly questioning tone to the last part of her statement, as if she isn't quite sure of the wording in the common tongue. "Many were killed in battle and I was stolen from them." Her scent becomes more apparent in the cool morning air of the shop, her labia becoming moist beneath his touch.

Roquai is secretly looking for faults or similarities, even though he knows he'll never find one. An endless spiral of frustration coils and uncoils around his spine, tensing his whole body the further she tells this same tale. "Go on." For her diligence, and to increase her chance of faltering, he begins to finger her, his palm hiking her tail up and pressing against her anus. After a short time he begins to seek out her clit.

sajidah only take a moment to regulate her breathing, her slick cunt welcoming any attention he sees fit to bestow upon her. The labia seem to almost kiss his hand in an odd, entirely in-human fashion. Her voice is slightly huskier as she continues, laced more liberally with the inflections of her native tongue. "The evil man hurt and bled... rode hard much distance to this cold land. He died. I was bound, but hobble to his body, take his scimitar... cut chain." She glances back once more, looking for signs of attentiveness and some clue as to whether she should continue the tale.

"Yes?" He withdraws his finger. sajidah turns away again quickly as she continues the small speech, but not before she catches sight of his finger disappearing into his mouth for a few seconds. He reapplies it to her anus and does much the same to it as he had done to her sex, fucking it gently with the small section of his finger, not past that first knuckle. It's tight around the digit, but not painfully so for either of them.

Body trembling lightly in an erratic rhythm of shudder, then still... shudder again, she unclenches her fists, laying her small palms flat against her stomach. "I wandered many days and nights." She leaves out how cold and hungry she was, not wishing to voice complaint. "I found this town... eventually..."

Roquai's thoughts are gentle, 'You've been found, now. This is the end of your travels forever,' but instead of voicing that he says, "What have you found here?" His finger removes itself and rubs up and down her rear quarters on either side of her privacy, smoothing the light fur there with his rough hands. The gentleness both surprises and confuses the girl, but she relaxes a bit, trusting his callous hands with their caressing touch.

"I found 'friends'." She says the word as if it is still new to her. "And my Master." She tilts her head back and to the side as she looks up a bit thoughtfully, her voice continuing in a half-dreamy tone. "He was not Ziala, but he was strong and kind. He would protect me and I would worship him. That is how it works."

"Yes" His own voice is husky and heavy, concealing both familiarity and rage. "That's how it works. You're right." He walks along her side, hand trailing up her spine until he stands beside her once again. He leans down and simply takes her lips into his mouth, engulfing and tasting her.

sajidah receives the warning of his advance, but it does nothing to prepare her for the sudden descent of his mouth on hers and her sharp inhalation brings in only his pungent breath, rather than the slightly cooler air of the shop. She whimpers softly, her eyes closing and her hands pressing more tightly against her own smooth belly.

The troll opens wide and takes her roughly. The tongue, prickly as a pear only much, much more so and heated by blood, forces its way inside of her as he engulfs the lower half of her face, leaving her nose just above the part of his lips. The tongue is thick, spreading her jaw and reaching deep, inching forward with a thousand alien barbs for feet. One arm cradles the front of her torso, her frailty trapped in a fence of muscle. Tilting her head back, the slender centaur welcomes his intrusion. She didn't ask for this, any of it, but she receives it eagerly, relaxing the muscles of her throat to suppress the reflex to gag. Her arms are pinned beneath the weight of his embrace. His other hand slides back to her bottom, grasping her tail once more, causing her to inhale sharply through her nose.

All at once, Roquai pulls back, the sudden withdraw causing a soft pop to usher from the vacuum. He speaks aloud, which he rarely does, "How do you wash yourself?" It's totally irrelevant, but it shows a small bit in how his mind works, on one agenda while scheming the very next. As soon as he asks the question, he is back on her, knees bending to press his teeth and tongue to her vulnerable throat and expecting justly that she'll have no qualms against this.

Intending to answer his question, sajidah open her mouth. All that issues forth is a strangled moan as that heated tongue and those sharp teeth attend to her delicate throat. She takes a few deep, panting breath before she is able to muster her single-word response, "magic." Her body trembles consistently now, her tail twitching in his tight grasp, which remains merely out of convenience. His little groans escape his throat only to be lost against hers in a soft hum. Her petite breasts disappear into warm, sticky darkness and are soon subject to the suckling and scrubbing simultaneously. His hand slides around to her back and holds her humanoid upper body tightly against his mouth, teeth pricking her skin.

With every inch of her body that is teased and tasted by the much larger troll, the slender centauress sinks deeper into the miasma of her own arousal. It's the only way for it work, and she knows that. She's aware, vaguely, of her own submission and she falls into it willingly, with her whole heart. He's asked her not to call him Master, and so she won't, but her body is his, at least for now. There's no denying the power behind his presence or the way her will caves into him, readily and eagerly.

Working his way to her belly, Roquai lavishly drools and kisses and licks it, eyes open but unseeing as he practically devours this foreign woman. Her body quivers beneath the attention and she shifts her hands out of the way as his mouth moves lower. They hover beside his head a moment, uncertain where to land.

He does get bored, eventually, and when he does, he uses his grip of her tail to turn her, pushing her body one way while pulling her behind to his gaping mouth, expecting her nimble legs to do the complicated work, and they do. Her tiny hooves dance as she shifts around, her full tail raised high, even beyond the firm grasp of his giant fist.

Roquai pulls her back into the bucket of his mouth and holds her there by the tail as his tongue ruthlessly fucks her cunt. His tongue is as large as a man's privates, not a bit longer than most, but with obvious differences. It licks and curls inside of her, the blunt point stabbing repeatedly in the direction of her deeply hidden cervix. The spongy walls of her sex clench lightly and reflexively around it, pulling it deeper if she can as her voice rings through the shop in a soft cry. His tongue isn't long enough to find the tight gate of her cervix, but she appreciates the effort, leaning back slightly to feel the press of him around her tunnel. He takes a moment, then, tongue still plunging into her wet depths, to undo his own kilt, letting the thing fall around his knees in a heap of leather. He savors her essence for long moment, sweet and spicy with a heady muskiness, letting her juices fuel his hard on, which bounces with his heartbeat between their legs.

Standing up, the hungry troll drags his tongue out of her passage like a stubborn worm from its burrow, drawing a whimper of pitiful regret from her throat. His cock whumps against the underside of her privacy with startling force, assuaging her need momentarily as it bounces against her clitoral hood, jarring the clitoris within. She moans then, her hands hovering over her own breasts like waiting servants, wanting to touch, but fearing retribution if this is not allowed.

sajidah is no longer aware of the coolness that once bit at her and a light perspiration begins on the back of her neck, beneath the lengths of hair. Roquai's hands go to her 'hips', holding her as he grinds his crotch and member against her, anticipating the entrance while watching her humanoid back with it's fresh, scabbed tattoo for any telltale motions of her excitement.

The smooth expanse of the centaur's humanoid back, marked by His hand, is arched slightly as if her breasts would rise to meet her hands against their better judgment. One tiny hoof taps the floor in eager anticipation. Seeing her still hands over her breasts, the troll mutters, "Enjoy yourself," as he takes hold of his cock and guides it to her nether lips. Those two words are all the command she needs and her hands fall, cupping her small breasts and lifting them slightly as her thumbs find and stroke the stiff, dusky nipples.

The large head is drooling the smallest gob of precum as he sticks it into her, parting her labia. The first bit of resistance is felt when the tip of his organ has plugged her canal; wider than a human woman's and, therefore, being able to stretch, and a much more efficient mate than most others. With a slight buck, the ridge passes into her and jars her wide, sinking slowly, a degree at a time.

The firm pressure of his bulbous head as it sinks its way into her slick passage is delicious relief for the aching need she's felt since the departure of her Master. Her thick clitoris throbs, engorged with blood. Her moans are soft at first, deepening with passion as he bucks against her, the slick walls of her sex accepting him with but a subtle stretching of her flesh as she backs tighter against him. He takes his time while she speeds the process with the motion of her hindquarters, sending him deeper in increments. He rubs her rump, feeling her undulations ripple around his troll-hood, panting gently as sweat sprouts over his back and shoulders.

Roquai grumbles, muttering a few nonsense words as his gaze turns to the interface between their bodies. He reaches out and seeks purchase on that perfect brunette hair of hers, entangling and pulling it backwards like a rein. sajidah gasps, her head tilting back, in part to ease the pressure on her scalp. She doesn't object to the treatment, indeed, it only serves to heighten her pleasure, reinforcing his dominance over her as she traps her nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling them gently. Her scent is heady, even to her won senses and she groans, pressing back more firmly against his slow penetration, wanting to feel that seeping head bump against her cervix, to scratch that itch.

Without warming, Roquai drags his fingers down her back, scratching deeply, deep enough to draw beads of blood to stain the fur, and he stares at the wound. The purpose of this is not only enjoyment, but also distraction from the truth of this matter. She screams then at the sharp and sudden pain of the lacerations. She's never been cut before and the burning sensation is far from pleasant, not to mention unexpected.

The sweet slave, ever eager to please, cuts off the scream abruptly, biting her lower lip to hold off any further vocalization. She trembles weakly as the blood seeps and heavy tears slip down her cheeks. Her head is inclined another inch before he's satisfied that she is captive, trapped between his cruel hands and his cock. The spongy head reaches the end of her canal and pushes further, slowly tenting it around his huge girth and tugging at her insides.

Roquai frowns. He can't help it. It is his ultimate goal to bring her harm, but that doesn't make all of these little hurts any simpler on his conscience, neither now nor the rest of the eternity that they might plague him. Still, he pistons into her all the more. Her body rocks each time his muscled hips slap into her, head bent back and her tail wrenched high. He watches the trickles of blood with utter calm in his face.

sajidah groans, the sound almost a growl in her tight throat before it escapes her gaping mouth, her lip released. She tries to focus on the pleasure, confused by the presence of pain. She's dealt with this in the past, but never so suddenly, so viciously has one whom she pleasured hurt her. She doesn't sob, but the tears stream freely, wetting her pale, olive cheeks and dripping from her chin to splatter the small swell of her cupped breasts. Her hands are still now as she takes his cock, focusing only on that sensation.

Roquai begins to bow at his stomach starts to clench, jolts of pleasure sent through his legs and back. "Ah!" he grunts, reaffirming his hand's hold on her side, copper wafting up to greet his lowered face. He nearly kisses her back like this. His balls, slapping against her clit, begin to tighten with the rest of him.

Feeling the rising, clenching approach of his release, she tightens her cunt's hold on his shaft, urging it deeper. She whispers, breathless and pained, "Please, take me, Master." In that moment of clouded thinking, she forgets, or perhaps ignores the stricture of his naming. She can't think clearly now, and her hands tighten on her breasts as she pleads for what she knows will only bring more pain. She doesn't care, she wants to feel that final push.

Head facing the earth and staring at the brilliant streaks of caked crimson, Roquai makes a sound like a wavering moan. The wounds are not clotting, and he knows why. He feels like the betrayer and her plea drives the reason into his mind. Still, he is obliged to love her at least once even if he never does again. "Yes," he hisses, giving one last yank of her hair as he begins to unload, slamming frantically into her equine body.

sajidah cries out in a delicious frenzy of pain, excitement, submission and, yes, love. In that span of moments he is her Master and she worships as she feels is proper. Her violated sex spasms around him, the violent sensuality of their coupling overwhelms her senses. Her own nails mark the flesh of her small breasts as her mind reels and plummets into the abyss of orgasm.

Roquai pants in rhythm to his bucking inside of her, feeling her vagina clench and flutter in all directions as he pummels her womb. Before he withdraws, and he takes his time doing that, waiting until long after he's drained and he begins to soften, he speaks his next command in a tired voice. "Lay down with me." His hand on top of her wound presses towards the floor as he goes to his knees next to her, caressing her flank.

His sweet slave nearly crumples to the floor at his command, her thin legs slipping from beneath her and to the side as her body lowers. She turns her face a bit to regard him with cloudy, violet eyes, soft and so full of compassion and adoration. Her whispered words sincere and delicate, though she's forgotten her common and he may not understand them. "Thank you, most honored of Masters, for this opportunity to serve you."

She falls asleep there, curled up in his embrace. His large, rough hands more gentle than they've ever been as the stroke her sweat-dampened face and brush her hair back over her smooth shoulder. Regret doesn't enter into Roquai's thoughts, only pride in her and in his actions as the poison works its way through her system, administered in that moment of passion when his claws tore her back and even earlier, when he worked them deep into her ass and her sweet, willing pussy.

Softly, he kisses her smooth brow, his rubbery lips barely brushing against her skin and the tip of his tongue sneaking out to taste her salty essence. His whispered words are lost to her, their Trollish grunts and gutturals wishing her safe passage into the next realm... a better place. She doesn't belong here. She never did.

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