Post by morriss003 on Feb 6, 2015 16:54:04 GMT -5
The Groll’s Mate
By Stan Morris
Copyright 2014
As a young nubile female Groll, I began each morning by applying Stinging Juice to the four nipples on my right breast. The Stinging Juice caused them to spring upright and to stay that way for most of the day, thereby making my right breast appear to be more level with my left breast, whose nipples always protruded in a proud manner, never drooping.
I was unmated, so I was not allowed to adorn the large knobs of my nipples with rings or with other jewelry. In rebellious response I had asked my co-sister to print parts of my body with the words and icons of our tribe and with other images I thought admirable. She used thorns from the jacten plant to achieve this. I could tell, from my mother’s empathetic pulse, that she disapproved of this.
I always woke happy because of her empathetic pulses, and the first thing I did every morning, after my ablutions, was to check the water and the food level in my mother’s cage and to make sure these were sufficient for the day ahead. Sometimes I would find a jacten fruit beforehand, and I would feed it to my mother while stroking the soft fur on her belly.
Some of us young females were agitating for a long hollow ravine to be set aside as an area where Groll mothers could roam freely. We hated having to keep our mothers in cages, no matter how large the enclosure. Naturally, most of us agitating for this change had been conceived from a Groll mother. Most of those who had been conceived from mothers of our tribe, the Borks, were not sympathetic to our wishes, since our mothers were barely sentient, whereas theirs were completely intelligent, though sometimes ignorant.
My father was somewhat sympathetic to our cause, but not enough to bring the issue to the attention of the Circle of Elders. I was loath to overly blame him for the lack, since I would never have been born if he had not captured my mother and bred with her. He never mistreated her, as did some men who had captured Groll females to conceive and bear their children. And he never treated me any differently than he treated my co-sister, who had been conceived and born by her Bork mother.
It was while hunting for a ravine to be set aside for our Groll mothers that I fell into my current circumstance. I decided that the easiest method of finding such a ravine was to climb up to the plains that lay above the canyons in which we Borks lived; canyons into which crevices had been gorged by wind and rain, high above the canyon floors.
These plains are where the Groll live, and where they build their crude villages from grass, dirt, and the hides of elbs, huge quadrupeds with thick brown shaggy skin. The plains are not barren, but the plant life is small and stunted. There are trees whose wood was as hard as rock, but they are sparse and far apart. Often the largest things in sight are the huge dirt mounds of the desert grubs.
Unlike some lazy girls, my co-sister and I kept the long nails on our fingers and toes sharp, so we easily scaled the cliffs. When we spied a pair of mounds, our eyes lit with pleasure and anticipation.
These mounds, built mostly above the ground, are made from the excrement of the worms that dwelt within. They tunnel through the ground, searching for the elusive jacten bushes, and when they find the roots, they emerge from the ground swarmed along the stems, and cover the fruit. The bloated bodies of these worms are a delicacy, but they dwell a good distance from the rim of the canyon. It is dangerous to stray far from the rim, because Grolls patrol the plains, seeking unwary Bork females.
My co-sister and I sidled away from the Canyon’s edge, keeping a close watch on the surrounding plain, but as we neared the mounds, we broke into a run. She took the closer mound, as befitted her higher caste, while I ran to the far one. I plunged my hand into the giant mound, stabbing several of the long worms with my nails. I pulled out my hand, stuck my fingers in my mouth, and sucked the larva from my nails. They were fully ripe, crunchy, and bloated with bodily fluids that were extremely sweet. I tore the top from the mound and slurped the worms, greed overcoming my caution. Soon my small belly was filled, but my mouth begged for another taste.
A cry from my co-sister caused me to look up. A small dust cloud speeding toward us caused me to fear-freeze. I knew the cause of that approaching whirlwind; a Groll male. He sped along the ground on all fours hoping to catch us before we reached the safety of the cliffs. I turned and fled, following my co-sister who was already running to the edge of the rift. The beating of my heart quickened, pumping energy into my limbs, helping me run. Ahead of me, my co-sister reached the edge and scurried, head first, over the side. Already I could feel a tentacle from the empathetic male Groll touch my mind, searching for my pleasure centers.
I reached the rim of the canyon and scrambled over the edge. By then the fleshy membranes in my birthing channels were swollen with blood, eager for the conception ritual to begin, so I knew the Groll male was dangerously close. My mind, usually aware of my surroundings in a precise acute manner, began to drift, and my sharp vision began to waver. I had to pause for a moment when my nails missed a crucial handhold. The sensual mind-pull of the Groll was confusing my senses. Ahead, my sister had disappeared into the safety of a red crevice; the mineral in the cave blocking the mind-pull. I froze, terrified, when I heard the whish of the Groll’s eight tongues searching for me.
Suddenly I felt the touch of a tongue against my foot, and without warning it wrapped around my ankle. The Groll had found me. I howled forlornly, and my despair echoed across the canyon walls. His other tongues slithered along my body searching for the knobs on my nipples, and the first snaked tongue to find a teat, circled the knob and tightened. Then a second nipple was captured, and then another was seized. Soon, all eight nipples were firmly held. I felt the tongues tighten, and I was jerked upright, my twitching fingers pried from the scraggy rock. Slowly, with my back against the cliff and my body dangling from those slimy grey tongues, I was dragged upward.
I continued to emit useless cries of rage, but they were diminishing as the pleasure centers in my mind were attacked by the Groll’s empathetic mind power. Though helpless to free myself, I was able to look down to the canyon floor, relentlessly receding. As I was pulled upward, rocks and dead plants, embedded in the cliff side, scraped the backs of my shoulders and my buttocks, but the pain was not enough to stop desire from filling the last free alleys of my brain. By the time the Groll pulled my body over the edge of cliff, lust had overwhelmed me.
He rolled me onto my stomach and lifted my rear. If I had not been in heat, his first thrust would have been painful. The birds had gone silent, and the only sounds were the growls we spewed into the hot air. He alternated between my male and female birthing channels, determined to impregnate me with both genders. His brain kept its firm grip on mine, so there was no hope of escape until he howled his triumphal finish and poured his seed into me; a seed that did not need anything from me, except nourishment and space to grow. When ninety moon times had passed, I would deliver his children.
When he was finished, he rolled me along the ground, so he could wrap his tongues around my body. Still dazed by the intense pleasure, I hardly understood what was happening when he laid me, face down, on his back, tongues still in place, and broke into a lope, using both feet and hands to propel his beastly body forward. I was bounced up and down as we traveled, but the leathery tongues never lost their grip. I shut my eyes to keep out the dust, but when we slowed, I opened them and saw that we were nearing his village.
Surprises awaited me. None of the Groll walked on both hands and feet; all strode upright. The crude huts were set in a circle, and Groll children capered in the center, playing and laughing. They almost looked like real people. But my biggest surprise, akin to shock, was that the mothers were not kept in cages. Despite being barely sentient, they were free to roam through the village, keeping an eye on their children. Some were able to performing rudimentary tasks. I thought of my own mother, trapped in her pen. Anger, directed at my father, surged through me.
The Groll rolled me off his back and released his tongues. He rose to his feet, walked away, and entered a hut; seemingly indifferent, now that I was in his village. I stood on trembling legs and stretched my aching muscles. I rubbed my arms, bruised from the tongues, while I took stock of my surroundings. A suspicious Groll child observed me from behind the safety of his Bork mother. Confused emotions took hold of me when I spotted the first Bork female, and then I saw another, and yet another. Altogether, I saw at least a dozen women of my own kind. I was glad to see these familiar faces, but when I realized they must have lived there for many years, dread filled my hearts.
Some of the Groll men watched me as if curious, but most ignored my presence. It occurred to me that I might escape before my captor returned. I began to sidle away from the village, trying to be casual about my movements, but when I spied a huge thicket of jacten bushes, I broke into a run, hoping to hide among the brush until nightfall. After several strides, my head began to ache, and the farther from the village I ran, the more my head hurt. Finally, unable to take the pain, I stumbled and fell to the ground. As I lay moaning, a shadow moved over me. Looking up, I saw a Bork female, concern and resignation in her face.
“It’s no use running,” she said. “The farther you get from this village, the more pain you will feel. The Groll men use a mind rope to keep us close. Many of us have tried to escape, but none have succeeded. I know it will be of little consolation to you, but the Groll women are mind roped, too. I think that is why they’re allowed to roam freely. They are trained, just as we are trained. You will get used to it, as do we all.”
After one last pitiful glance toward the plains, I turned and accompanied the woman to the center of the village. I expected to be punished for trying to escape, but other than cursory glances, the Groll males ignored me. Shortly, the life of the village was made known to me. The Groll males brought game or fruit to be shared by all. The Bork women prepared all meals, helped in part by Groll females who were assigned menial tasks. Bork females slept wherever they wished, but usually resided in the hut of the male who bred them.
“Are they rough in their breeding?” I asked. “Will it be painful? And how often do they use us?”
“Were you not bred immediately?”
“Yes. It was the first thing he did after my capture.”
“Then you will not be troubled until your children have been weaned, which lasts between two hundred to three hundred moons. They mate only to impregnate us, and then they ignore us the rest of the time.”
I had difficulty believing this at first, wholly expecting a repeat of my experience at the edge of the rift, but she spoke truly. When I entered the hut of the male who took me, he was sleeping, and he took no further notice of me until our children were born, and that was exactly ninety moons times after I was impregnated. I bore him five children, four boys and a girl. This proportion was common, I learned, and that is why the Groll seek out and take Bork females.
One night there was a raid on our village. The Bork males were hunting for Groll females. To my surprise the Groll males did not try to defend their sisters, but any attempt to come near a Bork female was met with ferocity. Eight Groll females were taken from our village, to become the mothers of Bork children. The only changes in the village were the sad cries of children born from the captured Groll mothers. The Groll males acted as if nothing untoward had happened. Over how many moon times had been happening? It was a mystery to all of us.
As the days passed, I thought less and less about escaping. Even when the Bork males raided us, I did not try to call them to me, and the reason for this was my children. The first thing they did upon being born was to claw their way to my breasts and feed. Their tiny teeth caused me to wince at first, but as soon as they were attached a euphoric feeling overwhelmed my mind. It was the mind power of my male children, pacifying me. The comforting mind power grew stronger as they grew older. It wasn’t long before I felt a constant euphoria.
Not all the males live to adulthood, for life on the plains is harsh. Some males are killed by wild beasts. Some are killed when battling Bork males for game. They are quarrelsome among themselves, and some die in violent duels.
I have borne three litters at this point, and I am happy with my life. My daughters are a joy to me, and their persistent crooning is soothing, though sometimes I wish they were intelligent enough to speak.
The End
By Stan Morris
Copyright 2014
As a young nubile female Groll, I began each morning by applying Stinging Juice to the four nipples on my right breast. The Stinging Juice caused them to spring upright and to stay that way for most of the day, thereby making my right breast appear to be more level with my left breast, whose nipples always protruded in a proud manner, never drooping.
I was unmated, so I was not allowed to adorn the large knobs of my nipples with rings or with other jewelry. In rebellious response I had asked my co-sister to print parts of my body with the words and icons of our tribe and with other images I thought admirable. She used thorns from the jacten plant to achieve this. I could tell, from my mother’s empathetic pulse, that she disapproved of this.
I always woke happy because of her empathetic pulses, and the first thing I did every morning, after my ablutions, was to check the water and the food level in my mother’s cage and to make sure these were sufficient for the day ahead. Sometimes I would find a jacten fruit beforehand, and I would feed it to my mother while stroking the soft fur on her belly.
Some of us young females were agitating for a long hollow ravine to be set aside as an area where Groll mothers could roam freely. We hated having to keep our mothers in cages, no matter how large the enclosure. Naturally, most of us agitating for this change had been conceived from a Groll mother. Most of those who had been conceived from mothers of our tribe, the Borks, were not sympathetic to our wishes, since our mothers were barely sentient, whereas theirs were completely intelligent, though sometimes ignorant.
My father was somewhat sympathetic to our cause, but not enough to bring the issue to the attention of the Circle of Elders. I was loath to overly blame him for the lack, since I would never have been born if he had not captured my mother and bred with her. He never mistreated her, as did some men who had captured Groll females to conceive and bear their children. And he never treated me any differently than he treated my co-sister, who had been conceived and born by her Bork mother.
It was while hunting for a ravine to be set aside for our Groll mothers that I fell into my current circumstance. I decided that the easiest method of finding such a ravine was to climb up to the plains that lay above the canyons in which we Borks lived; canyons into which crevices had been gorged by wind and rain, high above the canyon floors.
These plains are where the Groll live, and where they build their crude villages from grass, dirt, and the hides of elbs, huge quadrupeds with thick brown shaggy skin. The plains are not barren, but the plant life is small and stunted. There are trees whose wood was as hard as rock, but they are sparse and far apart. Often the largest things in sight are the huge dirt mounds of the desert grubs.
Unlike some lazy girls, my co-sister and I kept the long nails on our fingers and toes sharp, so we easily scaled the cliffs. When we spied a pair of mounds, our eyes lit with pleasure and anticipation.
These mounds, built mostly above the ground, are made from the excrement of the worms that dwelt within. They tunnel through the ground, searching for the elusive jacten bushes, and when they find the roots, they emerge from the ground swarmed along the stems, and cover the fruit. The bloated bodies of these worms are a delicacy, but they dwell a good distance from the rim of the canyon. It is dangerous to stray far from the rim, because Grolls patrol the plains, seeking unwary Bork females.
My co-sister and I sidled away from the Canyon’s edge, keeping a close watch on the surrounding plain, but as we neared the mounds, we broke into a run. She took the closer mound, as befitted her higher caste, while I ran to the far one. I plunged my hand into the giant mound, stabbing several of the long worms with my nails. I pulled out my hand, stuck my fingers in my mouth, and sucked the larva from my nails. They were fully ripe, crunchy, and bloated with bodily fluids that were extremely sweet. I tore the top from the mound and slurped the worms, greed overcoming my caution. Soon my small belly was filled, but my mouth begged for another taste.
A cry from my co-sister caused me to look up. A small dust cloud speeding toward us caused me to fear-freeze. I knew the cause of that approaching whirlwind; a Groll male. He sped along the ground on all fours hoping to catch us before we reached the safety of the cliffs. I turned and fled, following my co-sister who was already running to the edge of the rift. The beating of my heart quickened, pumping energy into my limbs, helping me run. Ahead of me, my co-sister reached the edge and scurried, head first, over the side. Already I could feel a tentacle from the empathetic male Groll touch my mind, searching for my pleasure centers.
I reached the rim of the canyon and scrambled over the edge. By then the fleshy membranes in my birthing channels were swollen with blood, eager for the conception ritual to begin, so I knew the Groll male was dangerously close. My mind, usually aware of my surroundings in a precise acute manner, began to drift, and my sharp vision began to waver. I had to pause for a moment when my nails missed a crucial handhold. The sensual mind-pull of the Groll was confusing my senses. Ahead, my sister had disappeared into the safety of a red crevice; the mineral in the cave blocking the mind-pull. I froze, terrified, when I heard the whish of the Groll’s eight tongues searching for me.
Suddenly I felt the touch of a tongue against my foot, and without warning it wrapped around my ankle. The Groll had found me. I howled forlornly, and my despair echoed across the canyon walls. His other tongues slithered along my body searching for the knobs on my nipples, and the first snaked tongue to find a teat, circled the knob and tightened. Then a second nipple was captured, and then another was seized. Soon, all eight nipples were firmly held. I felt the tongues tighten, and I was jerked upright, my twitching fingers pried from the scraggy rock. Slowly, with my back against the cliff and my body dangling from those slimy grey tongues, I was dragged upward.
I continued to emit useless cries of rage, but they were diminishing as the pleasure centers in my mind were attacked by the Groll’s empathetic mind power. Though helpless to free myself, I was able to look down to the canyon floor, relentlessly receding. As I was pulled upward, rocks and dead plants, embedded in the cliff side, scraped the backs of my shoulders and my buttocks, but the pain was not enough to stop desire from filling the last free alleys of my brain. By the time the Groll pulled my body over the edge of cliff, lust had overwhelmed me.
He rolled me onto my stomach and lifted my rear. If I had not been in heat, his first thrust would have been painful. The birds had gone silent, and the only sounds were the growls we spewed into the hot air. He alternated between my male and female birthing channels, determined to impregnate me with both genders. His brain kept its firm grip on mine, so there was no hope of escape until he howled his triumphal finish and poured his seed into me; a seed that did not need anything from me, except nourishment and space to grow. When ninety moon times had passed, I would deliver his children.
When he was finished, he rolled me along the ground, so he could wrap his tongues around my body. Still dazed by the intense pleasure, I hardly understood what was happening when he laid me, face down, on his back, tongues still in place, and broke into a lope, using both feet and hands to propel his beastly body forward. I was bounced up and down as we traveled, but the leathery tongues never lost their grip. I shut my eyes to keep out the dust, but when we slowed, I opened them and saw that we were nearing his village.
Surprises awaited me. None of the Groll walked on both hands and feet; all strode upright. The crude huts were set in a circle, and Groll children capered in the center, playing and laughing. They almost looked like real people. But my biggest surprise, akin to shock, was that the mothers were not kept in cages. Despite being barely sentient, they were free to roam through the village, keeping an eye on their children. Some were able to performing rudimentary tasks. I thought of my own mother, trapped in her pen. Anger, directed at my father, surged through me.
The Groll rolled me off his back and released his tongues. He rose to his feet, walked away, and entered a hut; seemingly indifferent, now that I was in his village. I stood on trembling legs and stretched my aching muscles. I rubbed my arms, bruised from the tongues, while I took stock of my surroundings. A suspicious Groll child observed me from behind the safety of his Bork mother. Confused emotions took hold of me when I spotted the first Bork female, and then I saw another, and yet another. Altogether, I saw at least a dozen women of my own kind. I was glad to see these familiar faces, but when I realized they must have lived there for many years, dread filled my hearts.
Some of the Groll men watched me as if curious, but most ignored my presence. It occurred to me that I might escape before my captor returned. I began to sidle away from the village, trying to be casual about my movements, but when I spied a huge thicket of jacten bushes, I broke into a run, hoping to hide among the brush until nightfall. After several strides, my head began to ache, and the farther from the village I ran, the more my head hurt. Finally, unable to take the pain, I stumbled and fell to the ground. As I lay moaning, a shadow moved over me. Looking up, I saw a Bork female, concern and resignation in her face.
“It’s no use running,” she said. “The farther you get from this village, the more pain you will feel. The Groll men use a mind rope to keep us close. Many of us have tried to escape, but none have succeeded. I know it will be of little consolation to you, but the Groll women are mind roped, too. I think that is why they’re allowed to roam freely. They are trained, just as we are trained. You will get used to it, as do we all.”
After one last pitiful glance toward the plains, I turned and accompanied the woman to the center of the village. I expected to be punished for trying to escape, but other than cursory glances, the Groll males ignored me. Shortly, the life of the village was made known to me. The Groll males brought game or fruit to be shared by all. The Bork women prepared all meals, helped in part by Groll females who were assigned menial tasks. Bork females slept wherever they wished, but usually resided in the hut of the male who bred them.
“Are they rough in their breeding?” I asked. “Will it be painful? And how often do they use us?”
“Were you not bred immediately?”
“Yes. It was the first thing he did after my capture.”
“Then you will not be troubled until your children have been weaned, which lasts between two hundred to three hundred moons. They mate only to impregnate us, and then they ignore us the rest of the time.”
I had difficulty believing this at first, wholly expecting a repeat of my experience at the edge of the rift, but she spoke truly. When I entered the hut of the male who took me, he was sleeping, and he took no further notice of me until our children were born, and that was exactly ninety moons times after I was impregnated. I bore him five children, four boys and a girl. This proportion was common, I learned, and that is why the Groll seek out and take Bork females.
One night there was a raid on our village. The Bork males were hunting for Groll females. To my surprise the Groll males did not try to defend their sisters, but any attempt to come near a Bork female was met with ferocity. Eight Groll females were taken from our village, to become the mothers of Bork children. The only changes in the village were the sad cries of children born from the captured Groll mothers. The Groll males acted as if nothing untoward had happened. Over how many moon times had been happening? It was a mystery to all of us.
As the days passed, I thought less and less about escaping. Even when the Bork males raided us, I did not try to call them to me, and the reason for this was my children. The first thing they did upon being born was to claw their way to my breasts and feed. Their tiny teeth caused me to wince at first, but as soon as they were attached a euphoric feeling overwhelmed my mind. It was the mind power of my male children, pacifying me. The comforting mind power grew stronger as they grew older. It wasn’t long before I felt a constant euphoria.
Not all the males live to adulthood, for life on the plains is harsh. Some males are killed by wild beasts. Some are killed when battling Bork males for game. They are quarrelsome among themselves, and some die in violent duels.
I have borne three litters at this point, and I am happy with my life. My daughters are a joy to me, and their persistent crooning is soothing, though sometimes I wish they were intelligent enough to speak.
The End