Vashti Valant: Slave of the Goblin

“There is something I must know,” she said.

Ah, here it comes , he thought. The request for information I cannot provide, followed by days or weeks or years of torture .

The real reason she captured me .

During her sweet torment of his body and cock, he had almost begged her to torture him with whips and brands instead. Her innocent caresses had driven him to the brink of desperate desire.

Now that she had stopped, leaving him in an agony of unfulfilled arousal, he cynically decided she could not actually want him for that purpose. A woman such as Laya could have any man, human or elf, that she wanted, on his feet, on his knees, in chains or in armor, however she wanted. Men would die for her just to receive one smile from those pink lips, never mind the heat of her mouth on their cocks.

If their positions were reversed—if she were my slave—what a lot of uses she could be put to by a goblin willing to exploit her . Only, Akraz knew that he could never bear to see those pretty green eyes filled with pain. He knew of no other way to be with a woman. Goblin women held no appeal for him, and no other woman, certainly no elf or even human, would ever willingly surrender herself to a goblin.

She herself had said it. I do not trust you, goblin. I won’t let you hurt me .

“Your face,” Laya said. As she spoke, she traced his jaw with her finger. Her feathery touch sent sensations straight to his groin.

“A monster’s face,” he said bitterly. “I know. Don’t you think I know I am ugly?”

Laya laughed in surprise. Akraz began to hate her, finally. He could not help what he was. Her laughter at his ugliness struck him as crueler than all of Zathstragomal’s most sadistic torments.

“Is that what passes for ugliness among goblins?” Laya asked in amusement. “I suppose to goblins, what we consider beautiful is considered ugly and vice versa. How very strange! I have to admit, I always wondered how goblin men could stand the sight of goblin women, but now I realize how parochial that was of me. To you, I suppose that warts and fangs are quite the thing. I am considered passing fair by my own people, but by goblin standards, that must make me an eyesore!” She laughed again. “Don’t worry, I think I understand now.”

Her words baffled him. After all, if goblins found elven beauty so offensive, why would they prize elven slave girls as booty above all others?

“Mistress, I don’t think you do understand,” Akraz said stiffly. “Goblins are not toads, even if we resemble them. We have the same standards of beauty as the other demi-human races. However, we do not have the same luxury to indulge in beauty as other races. We have found ugliness to be more useful.”

“Are you saying you chose to be ugly?” she asked in disbelief.

“Goblins choose very little about our own lives,” Akraz said. “In my case, for instance, I was given my face by my Master—I beg your forgiveness, Mistress, my former Master—when I was six or seven, and first sold to him. He cast me into the magic fire of his forge, which burnt away my true face and gave me the animal-like face and fangs that I bear today. Later, after I had risen in the ranks of his army, it was with a brand heated in that same forge that he branded my palm with his ensorcelled mark.”

“But that’s barbarous!” Laya said. “Why? Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“To make us more fearsome to our enemies, I suppose,” Akraz said coldly. “Or perhaps to set us apart from those who serve the Light, which is why our womenfolk are also forcibly disfigured. After all,” he paused and stared at her with a strange, powerful hunger, “Elves and goblins once belonged to one people. In the First Age, the Dark God captured many elves, took them away to Mount Murk and burned them with his mark in the forge of the fires beneath the mountain. Thereafter, they served him and the cause of Darkness, while your ancestors remained in the woods and dells of the fair world above, serving the Gods of Light.”

“Yes, I remember the ancient tales,” Laya said in a subdued voice. “But I did not realize it was still being done, even today. I did not realize that goblins were each born fair and then marred one by one.”

Akraz shrugged. He had long ago learned that there were injustices which could not be righted, only endured.

“Akraz,” Laya said softly. “Your face is not monstrous. I believe that the same magic I used to block your Master from tracking you through the mark on your palm must have reversed whatever the fires of Mount Murk did to you.”

Akraz went very still. “What?”

“I will show you,” she said. She went to the other side of the tree, which apparently demarcated her private section of the grotto. She returned after a moment with a hand mirror, beautifully tooled in mother of pearl after the elvish design.

She hesitated, then with a decisive nod to herself, she adjusted the branches of the tree twisted around Akraz’s limbs. This enabled him to stretch and sit up. He regarded her warily.

“Look.” She held the mirror before Akraz. “Behold your true face, your face as it was meant to be before Zathstragomal stole it from you.”

He stared into the face of a stranger. A handsome stranger. Weird emotion roiled inside him. A man so fair of face could easily be the kind of noble hero of the Light that a woman like Laya could love.

Impossible. He knew exactly what he was and what he had done in his miserable existence, if only just to survive. He was no hero from an epic. He was the villain.

With an animal growl, Akraz smashed the mirror out of Laya’s hand. Before she could stop him, he grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her back. He leaned his face close to hers and breathed down her neck.

“That is not my true face,” he hissed. “My true face is that of a monster, because that is what matches my heart. You have forgotten that to your own peril, my pretty elf. Now I could snap your neck with one twist of my hands. Tell this accursed tree to release me, and I may let you live.”

She squirmed ineffectively against him, rubbing against his loins and exciting his already stiff member. He could feel her heart patter wildly against his chest, but her words were brazen.

“You will never leave this grotto alive. It does not matter what you do to me.”

Akraz thought of the archers waiting out of sight. Beyond that, there was only a return to enslavement to the dark wizard and his dark god. He knew she was right. There was no escape for him. He had been doomed from the day of his birth, condemned to serve evil as a monster.

Why continue to fight fate? Why bother trying to be noble when he knew the truth? Why not just take what he wanted, for the few bittersweet moments when he had it in his arms?

“In that case,” said Akraz with a wide leering grin, “I will do exactly as I please to you, and finish what you started doing to me.”

All of Laya’s nightmares came to life. The goblin she had meant to control had somehow wrested control over her. Though he was still entangled with coiled branches, he pressed her back against the very stone slab she had designated to hold him. His strength overpowered her. With ease, he kept both her hands pinned over her head with just one of his hands. His other hand roved over her body. He ripped open her tunic to let her breasts tumble into his groping hand.

“Let me go!” Her struggles only caused her breasts to jiggle against his hand. He chuckled throatily, and continued to tear at her tunic.

“You had your chance to see me without my armor, I think I deserve the same.” He tossed away the last shred of clothing. “Let me look at you, pretty little Mistress.”