Scott Alten Raiders of Trog Pt. 03

Chapter 4

"If a member of the Raiders was killed and not witnessed by a General, the reward could only be collected by taking the head to Korobe."

Jolan, the new Bar Maid at Hazen's Hole in the Rock tavern, heard that statement as she stepped up to a table of 5 men. They saw the shudder that went through her body, but they did not hear the thought that had produced it.

'What if Scott Alten's head had been chopped off and collected for a reward.' The thought terrified her. 'You've become obsessed with this man. You really must just let it go!'

"Can I ask you fellows a question?"

"Absolutely, young filly! And I'll answer it if I can!"

"Who is Grandma Rae?"

There was a rumble of "Hee-haws and disgusted whistles at the question which told Jolan right there that whoever this woman was, she had a dark, cruel, perhaps unhinged character. Not so much feared but something deeper than fear, whatever that was.

Swen looked at the girl before him. He'd heard of that afternoon a few weeks back when no one could find him. What was the name of that girl he out here with?'

"I'll tell ye all about Grandma Rae, but first, you gotta tell ME YOUR name."

"Jolan. From Earth. One of Captain Alten's rescues."

'Hmm... and totally in love with him already. Well sweetheart, I'm kinda liking what I see... maybe I'll take a bite of you myself.'

He threw his golden smile at her, the one that matched his hair... golden waves of wheat is how he often heard his hair described.

That hair... with those silver-blue "Viking" eyes... orbs that could be cold and direct, burn into the soul of those at the other end, or warm with silver lights that sent the receiver a holly-jolly mood, one that enabled a good time out of the hardest group labor, and often did when imprisoned in the Trog death-camp.

Jolan felt he vibrated a strong hankering to protect what he loved, be that an inanimate object or flesh and blood woman.

'Is he from Earth?' Was Jolan's silent question. The one actually voiced was for Grandma Rae, "OK, so? Who is she?"

"The Ubaren of Korobe. Supreme leader of the most powerful city on Trog." Piped up Doug Brooster, one of Swen's companions.

"Grandma Rae." Swen shook his head, swallowed the bile that just hearing the name always produced. "Was once a beautiful woman, from what I hear. At least on the outside. Debatable about the soul on the inside."

"That's where the ugly started! Satan's soul, if ever I saw one." Jolan looked at this fellow, obviously male. Obviously not from earth, an observation interrupted when Hazan called her to the bar.

"Hold those thoughts boys." She commanded the three men. "I'll be back. You haven't yet told much about this wicked woman!"

Three men watched her walk away, three pairs of eyes dancing with the sway of her hips.

"We don't stand a chance, Doug. Not now that she has set eyes on Alten."

"And Swen." Pipe up Bobby the third fellow at the table.

"We're already knocked from the race." Groaned Doug with a swig of his Paga beer."

"Without hearing the start-gun!" As Bobby tapped glasses with Doug, emptying his own mug of Paga. "Guess we need Hazan to send over three more... have... what was her name?"

"Jolan." Swen provided the name as he signaled Hazan for another round. Within minutes they were watching Hazan pour three tall mugs, then set them on a tray at the server's station ready for Jolan to pick up after she finished delivering a big order of food across the room.

Jolan was still analyzing these three characters. 'Blue hair, gray eyes. That was Doug. Don't know the name of the third guy yet. He's been quiet. Not a word out of him. Sure did appear to observe all that the others were saying... he's blonde too. Bit darker blonde. Golden honey. Not wheat.'

"Jolan, the rest of that order for table 4 is ready to go. You still got to make the Trog Green Paga Shake that goes with it, and don't forget the mint this time!"

"I didn't forget last time! I just couldn't find it!"

"You know where it is now? What it looks like?"

"Yeah! Third tall jar, stuff that looks like green confetti."

"That be the one, alright!" He smiled, pleased with the work he'd gotten so far from this new barmaid.

She made quick work of setting six large plates down, rushed back to the bar for the sides. "Hazan? What planet is that guy with blue hair from? Would I be allowed to date him if things worked that way? Is Swen from Earth?"

Questions thrown out in a hurry as she stacked baskets of weird vegetables found on Trog, dipped in Paga batter and deep fried.

"Just you get along now. Get that order out while that Paga is still cold and the deep-fried vegies still hot. But yes. You can date a Trog. There are decent men of Trog. And those three at that table right there? I'd let my own daughter date any one of those fellas."

"Thanks Hazan," Jolan slipped the old man a wink as she turned again to the large table at the very back of the tavern.

'One of the three hasn't said a word. Passive observer? He watches all around him but rarely participates. He has blonde hair but I'm kinda liking that blue haired guy.'

When she returned from delivering the last of that big order the fresh round of drinks for Swen's table was up, three mugs still topped with foam so they hadn't been sitting there long.

'Those scars on blue hair. Across his forehead like lightning. Zigzags. Doesn't detract from his looks. Gives him a raffish air. Always wondered what that meant, now I've seen it personified. Someone battle-hardened. Strong.'

"Jolen picked up the tray, her mind locked on the three men waiting for their second round of Paga.

She paused to allow a large party of men sweep past her, answering a pager call to work. The summonds didn't appear to include the three she was walking toward. Not one looked up or made a move to follow.

'That third guy, Jolan. What you call the reporter type. Learners of this world. Learn by observing. Has not said a word since the men sat down. Not that you heard, anyway.

The three men watched her leave the bar, start for their table. Swen had a way with women thanks to a chiseled body that it seemed no woman could resist, even the littlest ones, still babes in their mother's arms! Even they would coo, gurgle, and smile when Swen entered at room.

"Can I have a minute this time to just tell the damn story?" Swen sounded cross as Jolen set the three mugs down, one at a time. Jolan smiled at him, confidence gained now that Hazan had slipped her two of their names.

"Swen, tuck those silver swords masquerading as visional tools cuz they already spilled that you love the attention. Focus now and tell me about Grandma Rae before I'm called away again."

"Legend has it..."

"Rumor!" Doug injected.

"Truth!" Bobby insisted, the first word Jolan heard him say.

She looked at him, gave him a saucy smile and brazen wink. "And he picks this moment of precious time to break his silence!"

Bobby blushed, not from humiliation. From the fact this attractive woman singled him out, addressed him directly. That rarely happened. 'I like her. Wonder if I've got a chance with her?'

Swen grew suddenly serious.

"Grandma Rae was one of the few people that the first ageing serums did not work on properly. The wrinkles and slight graying in her reddish-brown hair betray the hidden cunning and ruthless manner that she wields within all of Trog. Her generals consolidate her authority. Fifty Generals at last count.

Grandma Rae did two things upon receiving the report of losing her top Generals. First: sent for her favorite, General Al Denike. Known as Scarface. He's cunning. Has a persuasive nature. Ruthless beyond comparison when he's after prey or revenge. If I fear anyone, it's Denike.

He is Scott Alten's fiercest rival.

Scarface and I are heated and fiercest of rivals. Our hatred stems from two different reasons. The first reason involves my constant interference in his plans for female companionship in Treban. It usually cost me a vast amount of personal pain. Fortunately, Grandma Rae prevented my death or serious injury because I was her favorite. Her sharp reprimands over my punishment allowed me to get new privileges and his increasing anger.

The second important reason comes from the nasty confrontation that we had during the second escape attempt. We crossed swords once during the escape. In the battle I managed to give my friend three nasty lightening scars running from cheek to cheek without receiving a single wound from him. Scarface holds me personally responsible for ruining his unspoiled reputation as a warrior. He also is mad that I spoiled his rosy belief in a perfect face.

After hearing the Ubaren's command General Al quickly assembled his warriors. His feeble attempts to take our encampment have been spoiled each time. The first two attacks were stopped cold. We stole their supply wagons and killed the guards. We had gained their supplies and suffered no serious injuries.

The last two attacks have resulted in a different mark of success. This time when we attacked the supply wagons we were attacked by xarensmen, warriors flying majestic war birds. Xaren are majestic, gigantic birds with fine plumage in black, brown, red, orange, gold, and sable. These birds are half domesticated by a rider using six reins and a goad, an electronic shock device. Xarensmen have been killed by their birds if not completely in control. A trogan saying is that only the xaren knows it master.

I'm... A... WHAT?

Jolan did not know what to think or what to believe.

She had looked forward to this night, to going out on a real date, torn between her infatuation for Scott Alten and her attraction to this super tall, blue-haired fellow from Trog called Doug Brooster.

Was it the Lightning zig-zag on his face giving him a raffish look that attracted her?

Whatever it was that had given her a taste of infatuation, that was gone. But the attraction? Well... that still tickled and still a problem her head needed to work out.

Another time.

When she was calm.

Not angry.

Not hurt.

Or emotionally vulnerable.

Her thoughts blasted, then disappeared. Fast. Like gunshots. Drop the thought, blow up, dissipate. Gone quick, like soap bubbles.

Whatever the movie they watched, it went past her... an Earthlings eyes glazed with hurt and confusion. 'A heart tortured by the pussy it fed, a pussy that was still full of Trog-man's blue cum.

'It's like I can still feel him inside me. Still shooting that green goo into my hole, coating my cavity, sticking there, still fucking me, making me think of him every second as we... at least me... I... pretend to watch this movie.'

As if he sensed her tension, the tumult that fogged her brain, and confusion that teased her most intimate thoughts, Doug grabbed the hand that shared his armrest, brought it up to his lips and kissed it.

The touch of his lips brought the seed he had deposited inside her alive... neurons, atoms, blood and energy that once again coated her inner cave, causing her to live again the climax his seed had awarded two hours before; while the goop he'd shot into her mouth at the end of dinner made her mouth feel she sucked him again, expected any moment to feel that second load coat her throat just as that second ejaculation had splattered the inside of her mouth then flowed down her throat.

She'd felt... what? Dirty? Used? Excited? Protected? Cherished? Treasured? "When we use your bodies, the emotions we feel are physically shared with you through the ejaculate.

"Those mixed feelings as our coupling ended... what you were feeling came to me. What I was feeling became part of you. What you feel right now as we watch the movie and I kiss your hand, your wrist, your lips, grant life to the seed you still carry inside you."

It made watching the movie and concentrating on the story impossible. His blue cock... thick, long, had filled her perfectly. He had taken his time, pushed her over the apex of the climax mountain three times before the fourth was so gloriously perfect she thought she would overdose on pleasure.

It had made it impossible to breathe, to think. She had almost suffocated because her body did not want to stop feeling and tend the necessary functions needed in order to live through that moment.

He hadn't tried to deposit any kisses on her at dinner but whenever he looked at her tingles would spread through her body and his life-deposit would come to life, roll around her open cave, spread like fireworks throughout her uterus and cunt when she was trying to chew and swallow without choking.

'Hazan knew. Of course he knew. He could have been crude about it when we showed up for dinner before the show. But he didn't.'

After leaving the tavern they walked a good portion of the way before he stopped her at a darkened doorway of a storefront. "I want to feel your mouth on my cock, little Jolan. If I stand on this step you won't even have to bend over."

"Not out here. Please, Master Doug."

"I gave you a command, slave Jolan. You will obey me. You have now been notified by both Masters what will happen if you refuse."

"I used to like you."

"You still do. Earthlings learn to accept our ways. We have learned to enjoy teaching you to accept them. Now suck my blue stick before you make us late for the movie.

She wanted to sob. To cry. To scream.

Her body wanted to obey. Her mouth wanted to taste him. To compare this moster blue dick to the ones she had experimented with on Earth.

He climbed two steps, made her remain on the sidewalk. made her go down on him on the walk between dinner and the movie theater.

'This is not at all like Earth. We don't demand sex before going out on our first date. Or declare the person we are taking out that night a slave.

'Are you certain he didn't scam you?' Jolan traced back to the phone call Doug made to Scott Alten and Hazan her boss. "Guess I thought you understood." Hazan almost sounded apologetic.

"How was I to understand? And what does this mean for me? I work in your bar but never earn money?"

"To work a job on Trog, females must have permission of a father, brother, or husband." Scott Alten tried to explain. "If she has none of those, she must be..."

Hazan was speaking at the same time. "I needed a barmaid. You needed a job. I didn't have money enough to buy you. Scott pitched in the Lion's Share."

"So I get a salary? And keep my tips? But I have to bed any Trog who wants me?"

"Not any Trog. Only customers who patronize my bar or work under Scott."

"What if I refuse to let men I don't know or don't like use me?"

It was Scott who replied to this one. "If a complaint is made to Trogg Royalty you will be arrested, beaten and imprisoned."

"You could have asked me."

A comment that met a wall of silence.

"Do I have to call you Master?"

The answer to that question had ended with commands from both men...

From Hazan, "Yes, you call all men who take you to the alcove Master and you obey them."

From Scott: "Yes. If you are approached by one of my men... Doug is one of my Chief officers... you will call them... tonight, Doug. When not out as a date, address him as Master. You may go out to dinner with him, or not. The choice is yours if he extends it as an invitation.

"However. Should he Command that you accompany him to dinner you must go. Or face punishment from the Royalty of Trogg." He did not add that he, as her legally bound 1/2 Master, would have to be the one to submit that request for a Royal Decree. She already had more than enough to brood over and remember.

"Why?" Came a soft, tortured cry.

"Trogg's Population has dwindled. This is a way to ensure their race lives on. They invented a serum to keep bodies from aging, but the eggs needed to fertilize and reproduce still stop producing, just as they would if the serum was not swallowed or injected by needle."

Doug kissed the palm of her hand, then the inside of her wrist, then, as the movie ended and credits rolled past, he kissed her lips. The green Trogg sperm inside her roiling cunt and remnants in her mouth from his second ejaculation began to jump and squirm, alive and vital once again.

'I should be disgusted but it's... so weirdly erotic... I can feel his cock in both holes at the same time... just as if he were really fucking me all over again...'

"Relax. Enjoy. Each time I kiss you... it is a reality Earthling's just can't accept... but my seed rejuvenates and carries you through climax after climax up to 36 hours after it enters your body. Each time the sensation will dwindle in time, but always last at minimum one-half the long seconds of the original coupling.

As the movie played through, Jolan's thoughts went back to

"And now, as everyone leaves the theater, I am going to use your backdoor. So just climb on up here on my lap...

"Lift your dress... I'll insert this rock-hard shaft... you will believe I am filling all three holes at once. As I kiss you while we rock together my tongue will feel as big as my cock. You will have the irresistible urge to suck on it...

"You, my sweet slave Jolan, will carry us into a glorious tomorrow."

Her body tensed, pushed back against the seat she occupied. Her face grew flushed, it seemed her asshole screamed at her to fuck him again.

Right up her asshole.

The one place she had sworn no man would ever touch. Even Al Deneke the night he'd raped her hadn't taken her there!

"Is my seed causing you discomfort?"

"Yes."

"It could only do that if you body yearns for mine. Is it, Jolan?"

"Yes. But my heart and mind are locking you out. I have to come to terms with this. Understand how so many can use me... and I can't stop them or refuse to do what is asked!"

Her voice had rose to a sharp hiss, causing others in the theater to hiss a warning to keep it down.

'Just watch your movie and let my head figure this out.'

Doug smiled but left her in peace. It probably had been a shock.

Once a woman enters the

She had spent the afternoon getting ready for this date. Had spent way too much time scrounging the short supply of purchasable goods for a dress that Doug might find attractive, maybe even help her appear desirable.

She was desirable alright!

A fact he'd made perfectly obvious when his hands landed on her breast and he made clear he wanted MORE than a little sompin sompin... which she understood to be slang for a little fucky-sucky BEFORE dinner, possibly a little more BETWEEN dinner and the show, and a full night of "blow me" after the movie.

Thing was... the little fucky-sucky before Dinner, and what was taken AFTER Dinner was so good she was actually glad that she had to given him more AFTER the movie.

But how? And she didn't know? Having worked for Hazen one full week and didn't know?

"Don't be like that, Jolan. You're a slave. Most women on Trog are. It's actually more prestigious to be a high cost slave than no one wants to pay even one little Troggle to have you in bed. I paid one day's salary for this night, plus the cost of dinner and movie tickets."

"It cost me money at the hair salon. Cost of a new dress and shoes to match. Now I have to go out to dinner smelling like I just fucked a blue-haired Trog?"

She had cried. Whimpered. Dropped her sweetest, heart-broken smile, all to no avail.

Jolan closed her eyes, replayed once again the scene at her door just 3 hours ago...