Vashti Valant - Slave of the Goblin

The cock gleamed deep pink in her hands, like a delicious desert waiting to be tasted.

Laya lowered her head and kissed the tip. Starting with small tentative licks, she tasted the head, then, growing bolder, she licked up the length of the staff from base to head. Then she slipped the whole cock into her mouth and drew it in as far as she could take it.

He was so long and thick that she could not take more than a third of it before she had to pull up and try again. But she found she enjoyed the game of it, drawing it into her mouth as far as she could then easing back again. Akraz never woke up, but his whole body tensed and thrashed in rhythm with her mouth upon his cock. The faster and deeper she went, the stronger his response.

She should stop. He needed nursing, not a sex-crazed elf maiden sucking on his cock. Decency argued for her to leave his tormented organ alone. Desire argued for her to continue, in view of his body’s enthusiastic response. And she had to admit that if he had been awake, she never would have had the courage to play with him so freely.

She gripped the base of his shaft to pull him deeper into her mouth. Her hands worked him roughly below as she bobbed her head up and down on his cock head. She had to straddle his legs to keep him from bucking her off.

An animal groan began to rumble in his throat. The rumble turned into a mindless yowl. Simultaneously, Laya felt something hot and salty spurt into her mouth. She sucked at it eagerly and swallowed it down.

Knowing he had climaxed, she released his cock from her mouth and hands. To her surprise, it remained hard and red for several minutes before it deflated into a state as somnolent as Akraz’s own. She hoped she had not abandoned it too soon.

She also hoped she had not worsened Akraz’s condition by selfishly slaking her own lust while he was struck down by poison. To her surprise, she found that his fever had broken, and his dark dreams apparently subsided. He still slept, but now peacefully, with a tiny, half-smile at the corners of his mouth. After a few moments, he began to snore.

Well , she thought. I wonder what the healers back home in Sylvindell would have to say about that .

Akraz dreamed. His dreams were evil, of war, and blood and loss. A blackened field. A river red with fresh corpses. A smoke-filled sky.

He dreamt of his future, of his death. He already knew how it would come. Like old General Narg, one of his own subordinates would betray him, possibly, as with Narg, in the heat of battle, if they could not get at him any other way. A knife in the back from his own side, not a sword to the heart from an enemy, that was how Narg had gone, and how Akraz expected to go. A bitter, useless end to a bitter, useless life.

All around him black destruction and gray smoke obscured the horizon. Then he saw a ray of light, and she stood illumined by it.

She wore her golden leaf armor, but her hair swept free in the wind, whipping behind her like a banner of white gold and green. She had a gold sword in her hand. Lifting it, she saluted him.

He lifted his own sword in grave salute back. This was his salvation, he realized. Not that he could ever have her for his own. No. She was as beyond him as the Goddess of the Dawn. But she promised him a clean death, in honorable battle, a blow to the heart that he could see coming and welcome as an honest end to a good fight.

“Come fight me, Akraz!” she called out to him. “It is time to die!”

“Yes,” he cried. “Yes!”

But when he tried to cross the blackened field, the bone hands of all those he had slain in battle reached up to tangle his ankles. Every step felt like slow motion. He could make no progress. The light on the horizon disappeared. She had vanished. His salvation had vanished. He wanted to weep. All that remained were the bones of bleak despair.

“Akraz,” she whispered behind him. He whirled around.

They no longer stood on a smoke-blackened battlefield, but in the green and golden sunlit dell where she first held him hostage. She wore nothing but a filmy gown of bubbles and sparkles, and then even that dissolved, leaving only her pale, shapely flesh, her pink-tipped nipples and her bronze nether curls around a deep pink cleft.

He tried to move, but something immobilized him. It didn’t matter because she moved toward him. Kneeling at his feet, she threw back her hair and stared up at him with brilliant green eyes. She licked her lips in a sensuous circle. Though he wanted to tell her she did not have to kneel before him, he found himself thrusting his loins forward instead. His cock was hard and ready.

She reached up and took it in her mouth.

The hot, wet tightness around his cock felt delicious. Her tongue moved, exciting the most sensitive parts of the head, while her hands stroked his shaft and balls. Unable to contain himself, he thrust into her mouth harder and deeper, sinking himself forcefully into her. He could no longer hold himself back. He thrust again and again, until ecstasy overwhelmed him and he spilled himself inside her.

When Akraz awakened, he had no idea how long he had been asleep. His body still felt weak, but he had a vague idea that he had been much worse only recently, close, in fact, to death. He touched his face and traced bestial contours. He sighed. Noises on the other side of the partitioned den alerted him that he was not alone. Years of evading assassins caused him to tense automatically, before he heard humming and realized it must be Laya.

The curtain parted and she stepped into his part of the den. She tidied some pillows with her back to him. She wore one of his black tunics as if it were a dress, tied off with a gray sash. The dark colors only emphasized the vividness of her green eyes and gold-green hair. She hummed as she puttered about, a wordless, lilting elven tune that seemed to him a work of art in and of itself.

“Oh!” she exclaimed when she turned around and caught him staring at her. “I did not realize you were awake.” She hurried to kneel by his side in order to place her hand against his forehead. “Your fever is gone. Thank the gods.”

“I dreamed of you,” he said in a deep voice, catching her hand in his.

She blushed deeply, almost as if she could guess the content of the fantasies that had haunted him.

“I dreamed of you,” he repeated, wishing he could tell her more. But even if there had not been the danger of Zathstragomal learning their secrets, Akraz would not have known what words to use to describe the light she had brought into his dark life.

Booming knocks thundered against the iron door of the den. Laya jumped. Akraz went cold.

“Help me stand,” he said.

“It’s too soon—”

“Help me stand!” he snapped. Meekly, she let him lean on her shoulder.

The insistent pounding reverberated again.

“I must meet them dressed,” Akraz said tightly. “Even if they have to wait.”

Laya hurriedly helped him into a tunic and vest. His leather pants caused him more trouble, but he shoved his legs into them before he staggered to the iron door and unlocked it.

Six burly, feral-faced goblin soldiers shoved into the den. Their armor was jet black, a cut fancier than the usual grunts, for they were no ordinary soldiers. Akraz knew them, and he knew their leader, Yaguz, Chief of the Secret Police.

“General,” Chief Yaguz sneered. “You took your sweet time answering our summons. What’s wrong? Not feeling good? You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine, Chief Yaguz,” Akraz said flatly. “If Zathstragomal wishes to see me, why did he not summon me himself?”

“Maybe he wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost along the way,” said Chief Yaguz. “People have a tendency to accidentally try to go the other direction when they are summoned to the Murky Tower.”