Vashti Valant - Slave of the Goblin

Chastity belts. Laya had heard of them, but never seen such things in person. Some of the phalluses on the belts were quite frightening, overly large or covered with rough bumps, and Strathgora’s comments made it clear that some were intended to punish. One young man began to plead when he saw the belt Strathgora had ordered for him. The iron phallus was fashioned in the shape of a man’s fist, and ridged cruelly around the stalk. He would not accept it without the others holding him down and forcing it into his anus. He wept and for his tears was punished by another young man, at Strathgora’s direction, with a beating of his cock by a short leather strap. Once the cock was erect and bright red from this treatment, it was forced into the hard shell of the codpiece and his belt was locked.

“Shall we fit a chastity belt on the new girl?” one of the young men asked Strathgora.

“Yes,” she said. “A number five will do for now, I think.”

The throng returned, as unworried as before with Laya’s opinion on the matter, to hold her down and spread-eagle, while someone wrapped a slender, bejeweled chain around her waist and between her legs. Laya had just a glimpse of the two phalluses, brass penis shapes, before she felt the first cold, hard object slide into her cunt. She was still wet from her orgasm, and though the phallus stretched her, she found its presence more disturbing than painful. The next phallus was another matter. She cried out when they began to force it into her tight anus. After a moment of whispers, long fingers creamed her hole with a slippery lotion, and this time the phallus penetrated her all the way to its hilt.

In addition to the belt, they clipped jeweled clamps on Laya’s nipples, and another onto her clit. They fastened jewels around her neck, her wrists and from her delicately pointed ears. A harness of gold chain held everything in place. The harness forced her breasts up, the clamps weighed her nipples down. The belt kept her labia spread, the phallus kept her vagina plugged. Her clit ached worst of all, exposed and stimulated and frustrated all at once.

The sensation of double penetration rendered her too dizzy to walk. The throng had to half hold, half drag her over to Strathgora, who locked the belt. Tears streaked down Laya’s face, not from pain exactly, as from a sense of helpless degradation.

“Don’t bother, my dear,” said Strathgora heartlessly. “In this garden, the only plants to grow are poison, and tears just help them thrive. Go play now. Smile. Show how happy you are.”

The throng finally left Laya in peace. They either took Strathgora’s advice to heart, or as a command. The young men and women dispersed about the playground to slide down the slide, swing on the swing and twirl on the merry-go-round. They disported themselves with an air of forced gaiety that unnerved Laya. Their laughter rang out through the garden; their dead eyes told a different truth. She could not bring herself to join them in the farce.

Laya looked up again at the lit window. A man’s silhouette stood clearly backlit there, and she realized that the playground must be in full view of the watcher. We are on stage , she thought, and these poor creatures are afraid to give a poor performance. Would this be her life from now on?

She prayed that Zathstragomal would kill her instead.

The Chief of Secret Police Yaguz escorted Akraz directly to the private study of Zathstragomal. Akraz knew it only by reputation, he had never been permitted entry before. It was held to be a rare honor, or else a first step to the torture chamber, and no one invited there ever knew which to expect. Even Yaguz must not know, Akraz surmised, or the Chief of the Secret Police would never have let Akraz’s blow in the courtyard go so lightly punished.

“Ah, General Akraz,” said Zathstragomal when they entered the study. The wizard’s toothy smile answered none of the questions about his intentions. “There you are at last. That will be all, Chief Yaguz.”

The goblin guards bowed and departed.

“Have a drink,” said Zathstragomal. Another sly grin. “I believe your tastes run toward things elvish. I have here an excellent elf brandy.”

“You are too kind to your humble servant, Master.” Akraz bowed deeply. His mind raced. What should he make of Zathstragomal’s innuendos? Had the wizard divined Akraz’s true feelings for Laya?

The study surprised Akraz. Zathstragomal’s choice in architecture and fashion usually ran toward the gaudy and overblown, but the study was simply that, a handsomely apportioned library. Books formed neat rows along dark hardwood shelves. The rest of the furniture matched, heavy and sober, but finely carved. Tall-backed chairs encircled a long table. Against one wall, a built-in pub sported a number of rare wines, brandies, whiskies and beers in colorful bottles of all shapes and sizes. A fireplace dominated another wall of the room. A doorway opposite the entrance led into another, smaller room with comfortable upholstered armchairs and drawn drapes that suggested the presence of floor-to-ceiling windows.

Determined not to show fear, Akraz helped himself to the elvish brandy at the pub. He sipped. Fruity, no burn, sensuous afterglow. Zathstragomal already held a glass of something deep and red.

“You were always too clever for your own good, Akraz,” said Zathstragomal. “No goblin needs more brains than muscle, and a goblin who does have brains is usually more trouble than he’s worth.”

“Master.” Akraz bowed again, not knowing what else to do. He was certain now that he would go straight from this room to the tower’s torture chamber, where Yaguz would be pleased to meet up with him again.

“But I must admit your plan worked beautifully,” Zathstragomal continued. “I am well pleased with you. I am curious. Did you stage your capture by the elves as well, or did you simply take advantage of the opportunity to turn the tables on them?”

“I wish I could say that my capture was staged, but it was not, Master,” Akraz said carefully. He had no idea what plan Zathstragomal was talking about and dared not reveal the fact.

“If you had said otherwise, I might still have decided to have you killed,” said the wizard. “Because I did not give you leave to improvise your own plans without consulting me first. However, since you had no way to contact me while a prisoner of the elves, I will forgive you.” The wizard strolled across the room, into the smaller chamber on the other side, gesturing Akraz to follow. “In fact, I will even reward you.”

The wizard opened one of the heavy crimson drapes. A casement window overlooked a large garden and artificial lake, sheened in moonlight.

“Do you like the view?”

“It is beautiful, Master.”

“You have no idea.” Zathstragomal seated himself. “Go on. Sit.”

“On the chair or on the floor?”

“Come, Akraz, don’t play games. You’re not an animal. I know you can act with a notch more culture than most of your conspecifics. I even know that you can change your face to look as handsome as any elf lord when you choose. Do so now.”

“Master?” Akraz’s heart began to pound.

“That was not a request.”

Akraz felt trapped. If he refused, he would be punished for disobedience. If he complied, he would have to admit that he had found a way to partially break the spell of the wizard’s brand on him. Akraz reluctantly allowed his face to return to its true form.

Zathstragomal’s eyes narrowed. He was not pleased. But he smiled tightly. “Better. You are indeed a fine-looking man. Strange I didn’t notice it when you were a boy. Perhaps I would have had other uses for you than the army.”

Akraz wondered what that meant. Perhaps he preferred not to know.