Vashti Valant - Slave of the Goblin

“It’s an enchanted gown,” Strathgora said, with her usual cynicism. “We call it the bodice-ripper. Try not to tear it.”

As usual, Laya didn’t understand Strathgora’s little inside joke. Laya couldn’t be sure—it was hard to tell with such a cold girl—but it seemed to her that Strathgora’s mood had turned fouler. The girl in black paced and brooded and the pleasure slaves had to ask her for instructions several times before she remembered their presence and snapped out orders.

“Oh don’t mind me,” Strathgora said in response to Laya’s sidelong glances. “I’m always a bit peckish right before I have to poison someone.”

Chief Yaguz and a detail of guards escorted Laya to the door of the Hall of the Dark God. He stopped there, awaiting something. Laya peeked into the Hall.

Over a hundred pillars of black marble supported the vaulted ceiling of this tremendous hall. At the far end, a moat of fire burned around a statue, many stories tall, of the Dark God, Overlord of the Thirteen Hells. The phallus of the statue bridged the moat of fire and also served as the altar bed where each year a virgin was sacrificed to the deity. Smaller statues of the Thirteen Demon Underlords of the hells surrounded their god. These were life-size, slightly larger than a man, and naked slaves of both sexes had been chained, impaled, upon their stone phalluses.

Other naked slaves in nothing but black halters and chastity belts served platters of food and drink to the milling guests. The guests themselves all wore the finest silks and brocades, hats and jewels and beribboned boots that coin could buy. Laya recognized many of the lords and ladies who had gone over to Zathstragomal in order to save themselves. There were also a number of new faces boasting the heraldry of ancient houses of Chavana. These latter must have been the quislings and usurpers installed in the place of lords whom the wizard had conquered, but who had chosen torture and death rather than service to the Dark God.

At the far end of the room, standing high over the crowd in a throne held aloft in the stone palm of the Dark God’s statue, the wizard Zathstragomal the Malicious pontificated to the assembly. From this distance, Laya only caught fragments of it, but what she heard was enough to make her blanch. He boasted that he had acquired the secret of the hidden elf citadel, Sylvindell, doomed soon to fall to his army. And Zathstragomal also gloated that the feared elven warrior, Nemesis, had been captured by Akraz the Terrible.

The crowd parted for a mighty-thewed masked man in a splendid black uniform. Laya’s heart skipped a beat. She would recognize him in any mask, in any face.

“I’ll take her from here,” Akraz said to Yaguz. The Chief of Secret Police shrugged and backed off.

Akraz held a black leash in one hand, a black leather crop in the other. Without ado, he linked the ring at the end of the leash to the rings in the muffs around Laya’s wrists. He jerked her forward so hard she fell against his chest.

“You know what’s going to happen here,” he hissed in her ear. “Endure.”

Akraz strode back into the Hall of the Dark God, dragging Laya behind him on the leash by her wrists. His stride was too wide for her to keep up, so no matter how she tried, she ended up half tripping and staggering after him.

“Behold the mighty elf warrior!” rang out Zathstragomal’s mocking voice. “Behold the flower of elven maidenhood chained and used as a cheap whore!”

The crowd applauded and laughed. They thronged around the center of the room where Akraz stopped so abruptly that Laya lost her balance and fell to her knees at his feet. The crowd applauded again.

Akraz lifted Laya back to her feet by her hair. He unfastened the leash and instead chained her wrists to the ring at the back of neck collar. This forced her elbows behind her head and caused her breasts to thrust forward. With a swift motion, Akraz grabbed the flimsy white material of Laya’s bodice and ripped. The bodice tore open. Laya’s pale pink-nipple globes tumbled out for all to see. Her cheeks colored. Just in case anyone did not have a good view of her naked breasts, Akraz grabbed her neck collar and twisted her like a rag doll, this way and that, so that she thrust out her bosom to each section of the audience in turn.

He next grabbed bunches of her skirts and ripped these open. He tore the frilly petticoats beneath, as well, until the entire front panel of her once beautiful gown hung in shreds. Akraz used the crop to flip aside the last tatters and display Laya’s bare legs and shaved quim to the audience. They hooted their appreciation in a manner no less lewd than the goblins in the army had done.

She anticipated his next move. He shoved her around, and tore asunder her dress again, this time from the back, to expose her derrière. With the riding crop, he slapped her buttocks, forcing her to scamper hither and thither to flee the blows. Each snap of the crop raised a pink welt and a laugh from the crowd. Tears sparkled in her eyes, though Laya fought them, to deprive the crowd of the satisfaction of knowing her humiliation.

“On your knees, slave,” Akraz commanded in ringing tones. She sank to the floor before him. He unfastened his britches. His member, already erect, slid out and jutted into the air. “Suck my cock.”

Laya shut her eyes. She could do this. She had done it before. She just had to remember that it was Akraz, no matter how cruel or impersonal he had to treat her to fool the others.

She lifted herself up onto her knees. Her arms were still pinned behind her neck, so she had to reach for the cock with her tongue. His skin tasted salty and damp. She licked in long strokes that started from the base and went to the tip, and tiny darting strokes that flickered in and out against the bobbing head.

“Nemesis the Cock Kicker has become Nemesis the Cocklicker!” someone shouted. Laughter reverberated throughout the Hall and many voices took up and repeated the jest.

“Take it in your mouth,” ordered Akraz.

Laya captured the tip of his member with her tongue and pulled it down to slide it into her mouth. She began to work the cock deeper into her throat, back and forth, but even so, she could barely contain a third of the staff.

Akraz had other ideas. He tangled his hands in her hair and began to direct the motions of her head. He forced himself deeper and deeper into her. When she started to gag on his thrusts, he backed off, but then began again, slowly training her to take more of him with each forward plunge. He had total control of her head. His cock became her whole world; she shut her eyes and concentrated on letting it overflow her mouth.

“She takes that monster like a real whore,” a voice called out over the general din of boorish catcalls.

Akraz let her ease up. Now using just one hand, he rowed her head back and forth only over the end of his cock. With his free hand, he chafed the base of his own member with rough, quick motions.

“Roll my cock head under your tongue,” ordered Akraz.

Laya, still nodding up and down on his member, employed her tongue as vigorously as she could inside her mouth. A groan rose out of his chest. He yanked her off him just as his cum spurted out of his cock, creaming her face and naked breasts with his spray. Laya rocked back on her heels, breathless, dazed.

Surely it was over now. The crowd jeered and applauded, but they also began to disperse, and resume their previous pattern of milling about in small cliques. The naked slaves with trays of food and alcohol reappeared too. Akraz attached the leash to the back of Laya’s collar, without releasing her hands, and forced her to her feet. Surely he would take her home to his den to sooth and comfort her now.