Vashti Valant - Slave of the Goblin

It was the stub of another candle, no taller than one knuckle of a finger remaining to the beeswax. Akraz pressed another, equally stubby candle onto the wax over her other nipple. When he had satisfied himself of their secure purchase, he lit both. The tiny candles began to sweat wax.

“You are not to let the candles go out by upsetting them,” said Akraz. “No matter what.”

He took up the original candle again and moved between her widespread legs.

Laya could guess his wicked plans. It took all her willpower not to squeeze her knees together to deny him access to that softest and most vulnerable part of herself. She wished now that she had allowed him to bind her to the table, to spare her the ignominy of disobeying his command not to move. She was not sure she could endure it.

His cool fingers parted her nether lips. Laya moaned in fearful anticipation. She watched, mesmerized, as he tilted the candle over her cunt. A bead of glowing hot wax, luminous red like blood, oozed from between the flame and the rim of the candle tip. The tiny drop fell in agonizing slow motion.

And then it exploded onto her clit.

She could not help herself from slamming her hips up and down against the table in reaction. The lit candles on her breasts jiggled in reaction, sprinkling more speckles of hot wax onto breast flesh yet bare, causing her to thrash again before she finally gritted her teeth and regained her composure.

“Keep still!” barked Akraz.

“Oh but it burns,” she wailed.

“Remember this branding, Laya,” he said in satisfaction. “Whatever burns now belongs to me and me alone.”

He dripped another sizzling tear of wax onto her clit. It seared her with heated pleasure that shot out lightning bolts of echoing ecstasy throughout her body.

If before she had become nothing but breasts, now her whole being pooled in the heat between her legs. The burning, cooling, dripping, oozing wax awakened her need without fulfilling it. Her clit yearned for harder use. Her sheath ached to be filled. Instead, the wax hardened into a shell around her clit and labia, trapping the flesh into an itch that could not be scratched. She prayed he would tire of his game and take her himself, hard and fast, here on the table. From the bulge in his black leather pants, he felt the need as urgently as she.

However, her goblin lover had a will as inflexible as iron and an imagination as slippery as stream-bottom rocks. He had no intention of letting her suffering end so easily. Instead, with a maniacal grin, he fetched the rope from the far wall and looped it twice on the iron chandelier above the table. Laya could not fathom his purpose until he unhooked her left leg from under the table and lifted it into the air, taking care as he did so not to shake the candles still burning on her breasts. He tied the first leg in place, then, with the other end of the rope, did the same to her right leg. Now both her legs pointed to the ceiling, spread by the width of the chandelier, so that her wax coated clit lay open between them.

And still he was not done with her. He found two more candles, long ones, and brought them to her lewdly displayed crotch. He chipped away some of the wax, exposing the hole of her cunt. With a swift movement, he drove the stem of the candle into her sheath.

Unprepared for the assault, Laya emitted a squeal of shock.

“What are you doing?” she cried, only to scream again, this time when he plunged the other candle into her anus.

Laya squirmed in discomfort. The candles on her breasts punished her with hot splatters of burning wax. Tears stung her eyes and she groaned with the effort to still herself.

“What are you doing to me?” she repeated.

“Why, putting you to good use, little elf,” laughed Akraz. “You were the one who complained I valued you less than a candlestick. Now you can feel equal to one.”

So saying, he lit the last two candles, the one in her anus and the one jutting from her cunt.

“You will not move from this position until all of the candles have burned out on their own. If you snuff out one of the candles, I will spank you and light a new one in its place, until you succeed in following my orders.”

“But what are you going to do while I lie here, burning?” she demanded.

“What would you expect me to do by candlelight? Read a good book, of course,” he replied. She had not noticed any books in his den, but somehow he had procured one when she hadn’t noticed, and he waved it in her face.

“But—” she began.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he added, pulling out another candle. “We really must get you over your oral phobia. But until you are able to take a real cock in you mouth, perhaps this will help train you to it.”

He placed the end of the candle into her mouth and lit it. “Don’t move,” he warned again. “I don’t like my light to shake while I read. It makes me queasy.”

She couldn’t believe it until he did it. While she squirmed and itched with unmet needs, candles burning in all orifices, he calmly read a musty old tome written in some dead human language.

The slow meltdown of the candles coated her sexual parts in successive shells of wax. Where it landed on virgin flesh, it caused her to jerk and jump in surprise. Where it built up into cool, hard shells, it caused the flesh beneath to itch. Her furtive squirming grew bolder and bolder, especially since Akraz seemed absorbed in his dratted book. When she was sure he wasn’t looking, she finally dared to lift her right arm from its uncomfortable position over her head in order to scratch a particularly bothersome spot on her pubis.

Her knuckles accidentally brushed the candle in her anus, knocking it from its post to the floor with a clatter. Laya froze.

Akraz glanced up from his book. A fiendish smile spread over his face. “Naughty, naughty girl. What did I tell you about how I would punish such an infraction?”

“Mmmmf mmmf mmf,” begged Laya around the candle gagging her.

He replaced the candle with a hard thrust that made her grunt. He relit it. “Now for your spanking.”

She though he would use his hand again, but he lifted the heavy book and smacked her raised buttocks with it. The candles in both her nether orifices seemed to sink deeper into her with the impact. All the candles shook along with her body, despite Laya’s best efforts to maintain her balance.

Again, he brought down the book on bottom. It flamed with a heat more diffuse than that of the hot wax. She bit hard against the candle in her mouth.

A third time he spanked her with the book. Each time, the feeling built upon the previous smacks, cresting into something greater than any one blow. To her relief, he sat down again and resumed reading the instrument of her torment.

Much later, after Akraz had finally unbound her, Laya snuggled in his arms on a great mound of pillows. His face had reverted by now, and he snored though his bulbous pig-shaped nose. She stared at his hideous profile, reflecting that she hardly saw him as ugly even when in his monster form. She saw only his true face, the face of the man beneath the monster.

It was not his fault he could not love her. He had never learned how. She could not even hate him for killing Lathaniel. To Akraz a person was either a possession, a master or an enemy. She was his possession; Zathstragomal was his master, and that had made Lathaniel his enemy.

She could not hate Akraz; but she dared not love him either. She had a duty to her people, to her dead friend and to herself. She had to live by the rule of honor. No matter how tempting it might be while she writhed under his touch to dream of abandoning herself forever to being his plaything, she had to remember she was a warrior of Sylvindell.

The door unlocks from the inside, he’d told her. She would see about that.