The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Vendric’s eyes flitted across the room like a fly. His gaze would settle on something, a face, a platter, some curious dish he’d never seen before, and then it would zip away to the next sight to be seen. And there were so many. He’d do his best to recall the details thereof later; he didn’t dare risk bringing his notes with him in person, after all. Finding a spot to chronicle the records of his journey into foreign lands was difficult enough without having to worry about some lusty goblin spilling her drink onto them.

It was, despite its many inconveniences, however, an indisputably noble goal, and one upon which Vendric prided himself. So many of his fellow classmates saw fit to resort to navel-gazing. How many of them, he mused with a self-satisfied smile, had deigned to conduct their myopic “studies” from within the capital’s walls? A dissertation on the mechanics of the Imperial aqueducts would be nothing compared to his hard-won tales of how beast-men lived.

Though he was, of course, careful to never call them “beast-men” to their faces.

No, they had myriad names for themselves, a different tongue for each alien hue, each inhuman addition to their anatomy, each uncanny difference. Djinni, Uruk, Fae, Fostish, Mer-maid, and Wight. The list spiraled into infinity, entries yet unwritten for lack of even the barest proof of a species’ existence. And while some were so dangerous as to be revered as gods, some were mundane enough—and similar enough—as to consort with humans.

Goblins could be counted among the latter.

Vendric was, first and foremost, a scholar, and thus his mind saw things as a scholar’s did. Possessing of but one sex, the goblins were so similar to man as to be capable of both speech and...copulation. They resembled human women, albeit with green skin and greatly diminished heights. The average goblin, for example, often only reached the waist of the average human.

Despite this difference in vertical means, however, the secondary sexual characteristics of a goblin were no less diminished. The hips, buttocks, and breasts of a goblin often matched those of their human counterpart’s, and it was more common for those of a goblin to, in fact, exceed a human woman’s.

It was for that reason that goblin-run taverns such as this were more often frequented by human men than human women.

But these were mostly anatomical differences. Vendric was far from content to catalogue the physical comparisons between the two species. No, there was so much to learn of their culture, their customs, their language, et cetera, et cetera. Goblins often adopted the habits of the humans around which they settled. The inverse was unheard of, perhaps literally. Not a single account existed of a human immersing his or herself into a goblin tribe’s culture, to the point where even the notion of goblin “tribes” was pure speculation.

An elbow shook Vendric’s focus, and the voice that followed scattered it further. “Ah! Sorry, dear! You alright?” He looked to the side, his interruption apparently short enough to match his seated height, and...well, he couldn’t very well have been surprised.

Carrying no less than three mugs in one hand and a flagon in the other, a goblin barmaid looked him over with a touch of concern in her eyes. Full lips pursed in concern, painted black, and waspish hips cocked to the side, she was attractive enough that Vendric was inclined to forgive her on principle. Add to that the pleasant mint green tint to her skin and the calculatingly generous display of cleavage she bared as part of her uniform, and there was no contrition required.

“Ah, no, no, it gets busy! Not a problem, honest.” He managed a laugh, his analytical eye turning merely human once more. Hard to stay detached when one had the focus of one’s academic pursuits right in front of them. Harder still when she was undeniably...womanly. She leaned in, inspecting a now-spreading stain on his vest—and giving him a more intimate view of her cleavage in the process—before clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

“Ah, pity’s sake, I’ve gone and stained it. Here, hold just a moment, I’ll be back to get that washed for you, love. Along with a drink,” she called over her shoulder, “on the house! Hel-lo, gents!” She faced forward again, her hips taking on a flirtatious sway as she made her way to a table of rowdily appreciative men. Vendric couldn’t do much more than await her return and appreciate the view in the meantime.

He’d more or less split his attention before that. Certainly, he wasn’t too distracted to focus on one goblin in particular. Even so, the first step to a conclusive report, in his mind, was to examine the traits held in common among a species. Once the baseline was established, nuance finally held meaning, whether one studied animal, vegetable, mineral, or...women.

He’d spent the better part of an hour noting the shared qualities. Long, pointed ears, skin that was universally tinted green, though the individual shade seemed to vary from goblin to goblin. Their eyes seemed to draw from a pool of amber, green, or red, as far as he could tell, and their tongues. Their hair was subject to less variance, seeming to be unilaterally black. Of course, that could simply be a failure of the sample size. He took a sip of his water—no alcohol to muddy his senses, of course—and refocused. Their tongues, as modeled by several flirtatious barmaids to their charges, seemed to be at least thrice as long as a human’s with a similarly impressive dexterity.

For the most part, the only other traits he could glean from casual observation were analogous to humans’. Five fingers on each of their two hands, five toes on each of their two feet. Two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth. Hair atop their heads, though none on their body, as far as he could see, and-

And, oh, she was back, breasts pressing up against his shoulder. “Sorry ’bout that!” She laughed, though it was tinted with a rasp of stress, cocking her head to the side. “Got me some fans over there, I think.” The table she rolled her eyes—amber, he noted—towards seemed to perk up at her apparent attention, several of the men waving and several more making decidedly obscene gestures. She repaid the enthusiasm with a wink, a blown kiss, and a scowl when she turned back to Vendric. ”Charming, ain’t they? An-y-way!“

Vendric had been so focused on the buoyant warmth of her chest against his arm that he hadn’t thought of much to say. Just as well, given that she seemed more than happy to speak on his behalf—and undress him, too. Diminutive hands reached for the buttons of his vest, undoing them one by one as she spoke. “So, you just wait upstairs while we get this washed up, and I’ll meet you up in one of the rooms with a skin of wine for your trouble. Copacetic, love?”

“Oh—” He finally found his words, along with a furrow of his brow. “I don’t think it’s necessary for me to go upstairs. I mean, I’m perfectly fine—”

“Ah, no, no! I’ll not have you stripping down to your skivvies in case some drunken lout empties his pint on you and we need to get your shirt here washed, too!” She shook her head, ponytail swaying behind her with her vigorous denial. “Not having it. Be-sides.” She smiled at him. “Something tells me you’re not here for the atmosphere. G’wan.” She gave the small of his back a playful swat and giggled when he jolted at it. “I’ll be but a moment; then we can get you sorted, all right?“

His normally quick wit failed him, and it was with a mute nod that Vendric rose from his seat and made his way towards the stairway leading from the “public” section of the public house to the “house.” As he climbed the steps, the din of the patrons and the barmaids attending to them began to fade, fade, fade, until...

...Well, it wasn’t silent by any means, but now the dull roar was muffled to a sort of ambiance. Ambiance punctuated by a more intimate white noise from behind some of the doors to the bedrooms, but ambiance nonetheless.

For a moment, Vendric wondered which room he was to retire to. She hadn’t given a number—oh, well, they weren’t numbered anyway, so that was a moot point regardless—nor had she said anything. Specific. At all, really. He clicked his tongue, looking up and down, not daring to open a door for fear of interrupting anything occurring behind it.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long. A green hand slipped into his and squeezed it, his apparent hostess smiling up at him with a quirked brow. “What, gave up already? You’re two steps away, dear!” She reached out, pressed her palm flat against one of the doors, and pushed to reveal an empty room. Yes, of course that was the one he’d been supposed to wait in. He clicked his tongue again, vaguely annoyed.

That irritation didn’t last, though, because soon she was pulling him inside, her small size apparently belying at least average human strength. “Here,” she said, setting him down on the bed, one of the only pieces of furniture in the room, apart from a chest at its foot, a table, and two chairs. “Easy does it. There we go.“

Her tone, he noted with a less-than-clinical lens, had turned softer. Breathier, really, and given that she’d hopped up beside him on the bed, he was. Wondering why.

Then she set her hand on his thigh, and he tried to frame his reaction as a “physiological response”... but eventually he gave up the act and just admitted it. He was stiff in his trousers.

“So, what brings you into our humble establishment?” Her voice had a certain bemused lilt to it now, as if she already had an answer in mind. “Can’t see you celebrating some big haul like most of the dullards down there. Maybe you’re just curious, mm?” Her lips puckered in thought, glossy black reflecting flickering candlelight. The room wasn’t as well-lit as the dining hall downstairs, but he didn’t need much to see her lean against him, breasts pressing into his side this time.

“Nothing wrong with that, darling.” She’d dropped to a whisper now, the tip of her finger tracing circles on his thigh. “Everybody gets curious. And personally?“

He gulped. She craned up. Whispered in his ear. “It’s so much fun hearing little boys like you whimper when you find out what you’ve been missing.“

Red-faced and dizzied by her presence, Vendric jolted to his feet. “No, no, no, this—!” He sputtered, turning on his heel to face the now wide-eyed goblin, her hand drawn back in surprise. “This is a misunderstanding. I thuh-thought this was a tavern, not a bruh-brothel, and—” He looked away, trying to find the words. “I, ah. I’m a student, you see. Well, not a student, I’m a journeyman, and I’m studying—!“

Her surprise had worn off after around the second stutter, turned to amused observation. Leaning in and tugging the neckline of her bodice, she winked. “Anatomy?” She offered.

“No! No, ah—” He gulped again, fidgeting. “Guh-Goblin culture.” The words came quietly, though they were enough to shock her into silence once more. Her posture relaxed from predatory flirtatiousness into stunned silence, his goblin hostess sitting back down on the bed and sort of...looking past him to consider what he’d just said.

They were both quiet for a moment, his borne of embarrassment, hers, contemplation. Finally, though, she moved, crossing her arms and blinking to refocus her eyes. She looked him in the eyes, a crooked smirk on her lips once more, and laughed. “Friend, if you’re aiming to study goblin culture, a brothel’s not the place to do it.”

She laughed again, hopped off the bed, and dusted off the front of her dress. “That’s a first, though! I’ve had all sortsa men come in here, but I don’t think I’ve ever met one what wanted to know more about...” Her smile faded for a moment, replaced by pleased neutrality as she looked past him once more. “...Us, I guess. Hh.” Her hip jutted to the side, and she tapped her foot in thought.

“...We were just about to eat, actually. Me and the other girls, I mean.” She cocked her head to the door. “You want I should bring you up a plate or two so you can get a taste of proper goblin cuisine while we talk?” She bared her teeth—most of which were slightly pointed, he noted—in a playful smile. “Don’t worry. No need to pay me if you’re just going to be dining with me.”

It had never really occurred to Vendric in his studies...to just kind of ask. But, well, he had a willing volunteer in front of him now. And it was time to move on to the individual study. “Ah. If it’s not too much trouble...”

“I was going to give you a round for free on account of the spill anyway,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “’sides, we always end up with left-overs. At least this way you’ll be able to finally get it down in writing that we don’t eat garbage or some-such. I swear!”

She turned back to face him, having nearly left. Finger thrust in his direction, her brow furrowed with indignation. “I’m not ex-pec-ting humans to know the ins and outs or anything, but some of the things that these soused arseholes say to me!” She crossed her arms, huffed, and shook her head. “Hh! Anyway.“

All sweetness once more, she canted her head to the side and beamed at Vendric. “You just sit tight, love. I’ll be back up with a sampler course.”

With that, she departed, door shut tight behind her. Vendric stood for a moment, looking around the relatively sparse room. Not much to do, was there. He didn’t have his notes, either. Clicking his tongue, he sat back down on the bed and thought. He hadn’t really read much in the way of goblin studies, though he was sure that there had to have been some done in the past. Surely! The well of academia was not so deep that universities could plumb its depths for decades—centuries!—and not poke their collective heads out to study their peers.

Though perhaps one of the problems was that humans rarely saw goblins—or other beast-men—as peers. Vendric’s cheeks flushed hypocritical red. Hell, he himself didn’t properly know what to call them but...well, beast-men. But there was nothing bestial about them, was there? Not goblins, at least. And even the most barbaric beast-men weren’t so inhuman that one couldn’t find an equivalent ferocity in some nation of man.

He undid the top button of his shirt and leaned back onto the bed, hands behind his head. Why, then, were they so casually called beast-men?

He only stirred from his contemplation when he heard the door open, and with it, the tinkling call of his hostess. “Din-ner!” She chirped merrily, strutting in as if she were performing for the clientele downstairs. Her breasts bounced with every step, the goblin in an apparently very good mood for some reason, and her hands gracefully balanced two steaming platters of food.

Vendric didn’t know where to start. Well, he did, given that they’d get to the food eventually. “Begging your pardon, but.” He sat up, scratching the back of his head, a smile playing at his own lips. “That was a rather expedient shift in moods.”

“Ah, why wouldn’t I be in a good mood? I’ve all but got the night off!” She set the platters down on the table and nearly skipped back to the bed with him before a powerful hop sent her flopping down onto the mattress. “Every other night, I’d be up here with some jackanape what’s got his prick in one hand and his coinpurse in the other. And it doesn’t take a student—sorry—a journeyman to tell which he’s more keen to let me get my hands on.“

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, and it occurred to Vendric that he didn’t know her name. He placed a hand beside her, more to support himself as he leaned in slightly, and looked her up and down. “My apologies, but...what should I call you?”

She sat up almost instantly, clapping her hands in front of her chest once before settling them in her lap. Her wide hips shifted as she adjusted her seat, and she grinned up at him impishly. “Which one, milord?” When Vendric opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off. “Because I can give you my ‘working’ name, or I can give you my proper goblin name.“

Vendric’s eyes widened at that, and so did his smile. “Oh! Both, if you’d be so kind, but I’m quite keen to hear both!”

She mirrored his enthusiasm, though the genuine delight in her eyes turned to feigned innocence as she clasped her hands together. Her forearms pressed up against the sides of her breasts, mashing them up against each other and serving to deepen the valley of her cleavage. “Well, milord,” she murmured. “I’m but a humble goblin lass what came from over the Rust Mountains, but in my humble goblin village, they called me ‘Valeria.’ D’you think that’s a pretty name, milord?” She suddenly shifted, going to her hands and knees on the bed and looking up at him with doe-eyes.

Vendric knew it was an act. A performance, sardonic, meant to simultaneously inform and poke fun at the clients who didn’t care to think it anything but the truth. Even so, his heart melted.

It didn’t take long for it to harden once more, though, as “Valeria” sat back on her heels and continued. “But nah, my name’s Gwynevyv-an-Brasbin.” Her smile, this time, was genuine. “You can call me Gwen. Not expecting a human to get things right on your first go. No offense, ‘milord.’ But enough about that!”

She waved a hand over to the table. “I told the girls that I had a romantic come and ask me all about myself, and you shoulda seen the looks on their faces! Here.” She hopped off the bed and padded across the room to the table, climbing onto the human-sized chair. “Ooh, we cooked you up a feast! What’s your name, darling?” She cast a glance back at him, interrupting her appraisal of their meal.

Vendric, for the most part, tried not to stare at her ass. Given that she was standing upon the chair, bent at the waist as she inhaled the meal’s aroma, this was not without its difficulties. Then she started to shake her rear from side to side, and honestly, it was just more trouble than it was worth to try and look away.

“Vendric.” It took him a moment to remember that she’d even asked him something, but to his credit, he did remember. Eventually. “Vendric Wilstead. At your service.” He offered a slight bow, whether she was looking or not. It was the principle of it, really, and Vendric was nothing if not principled.

She straightened up, clapped, and turned to face him once more. “Please t’meetcha, Vendric. D’you mind if I call you Ven?” He opened his mouth to reply- “Good. So, be a doll and come over here, Ven. Have to tuck in while it’s still warm, after all. There’s a good boy!”

His cheeks flushed with heat, Gwen patting the top of his head as he sat down. She noticed at once, leaning an elbow on his shoulder nigh-conspiratorially and taking her tone from teasing to chiding. “Come, come. Day in, day out, I’ve got guys calling me ‘swamper’ and ‘sewer-puss.’ If that’s enough to get a rise out of you, you won’t last long in a brothel.”

She leaned away and returned to her seat, settling down with the slightest bounce, though not so slight that it went unnoticed by Vendric. “Here,” Gwen continued, sliding a platter towards her guest with a fork to match. “Eat up, eat up! Goblin food’s in the spices, so don’t be afeared to just eat whatever catches your fancy. That,” she pointed, “is beef. That would be potatoes, and—yes, I said potatoes—and this is bacon. Gotta skin of wine when you get thirsty, too!” She filled a goblet, set it down beside his plate, and leaned an elbow against the table. Chin in her palm, she beamed at him, eyes twinkling with delight.

“So.”

Vendric had begun to cut—as best he could—a piece of beef from the main hunk of it on his plate with the side of his fork when he caught a glimpse of her. He looked to the door, half-expecting someone to be there, but...no one. He looked back to her.

“So, ah. So what?”

She rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t fade, and hopped to her feet on the chair once more. “So, what do you care to know, Ven? You’re here to ask questions, I should think, and you have someone willing to answer them! C’mon, c’mon, you must have at least one you’ve got off the top of your head!” She whined, thumping her little fist against his shoulder. The journeyman shied away from her blows, laughing despite himself, and set his fork down.

“Would that I knew your enthusiasm waxed so keenly afore I’d arrived here, Gwynevyv; I would have brought my notes to record your answers.” He took a bite, finally, and-

Eyes wide and tearing, Vendric needed a moment to process the source of this new painful heat before he realized, yes, it was likely the bite of beef he’d just had. Gwen seemed amused but ultimately sympathetic as he reached hurriedly for his goblet and even cooed with endeared pity when he downed its contents in one gulp.

“Ah, I suppose you’d not be used to it, eh? Here, I’ve got just the thing.” A bowl on her platter held a thick brown sauce, one Vendric couldn’t say he recognized, which was summarily drizzled over his meal. Wary, Vendric looked down at his plate. Then to Gwen. She returned the skepticicm in his eyes with a quiet smile. “Just take another bite, dear. Right as rain, I promise.“

She’d not steered him wrong on purpose thus far, Vendric had to admit. With a shade of reluctance, he opened his mouth and closed it around another piece—this one with the sauce on it.

There was still spice to it, but it didn’t overwhelm. No, it warmed the body, after a fashion. He was able to swallow that one without issue, and it took but a sip from his refilled goblet to dispel the lingering heat on his tongue. The flush on his cheeks stayed, though.

“Hh.” He exhaled a puff through his nose, dabbing the corner of his eyes with his sleeve. “The first step, one supposes, is the most trying. Uhm.” She looked at him expectantly, palms flat against the table’s surface now. She hadn’t so much as touched her food. Too eager to talk about her people to eat, he supposed.

Another bite of food, another sip of wine. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. He could grow to like this.

“Well, to begin, I think I should like to hear how it is that your people live outside the cities of men.” He inspected his food more carefully. Just as she said, it looked as if the majority of the dishes were things he was familiar with...simply colored a bit strangely. Thanks to the seasoning, naturally, but he wasn’t altogether certain how hungry he was for vividly pink bacon speckled with green.

Gwen snapped him from his scrutinizing, though, with a delighted clap of her hands and tinkling laughter. “Ooh, I was hoping you’d ask about that! Well.” She stood up straighter on her seat and thrust a finger into the air informatively. “To start, we’re never really away from men. Or, y’know, humans. Goblins are only female, yeah? So chances are there’s one or two human men in a goblin village.”

“Naturally.” Another bite, another sip, though he savored this mouthful. “Am I to assume, then, that goblins are patriarchal?”

She answered his question with a blink.

“Directed by the men. It would follow, thanks to the men’s scarcity, that he would be most valuable and therefore in charge.”

“Oh!” She seemed a bit amused by the notion, shaking her head with a giggle. “No, no, no! No, the one in charge is the head mother. You know, most goblin villages are one or two extended families, right? So a lot of the time, if a goblin thinks she can make it on her own, she’ll set out, find a man, and reel him in. After a few years of living happily ever after on their own, they’ll have...what, six, seven girls to look after?”

“And give them a few years more, and they’ll have the beginnings of a proper village. S’why most villages are in a circle, yeah? The house in the center, the one where the head mother lives, is the first one they built. We call it the ‘first bedroom,’ ’cause that’s what it is. Back when it was just ma and da.”

Matriarchal? Strange that men wouldn’t have the reins, given...given...

He couldn’t think of a sufficiently satisfying answer as to why the man would be in charge, come to think of it. Even so, he had a few more questions on the subject.

“And the man, the husband—”

“The daddy.“

“The...The father. He doesn’t object to submitting unto the will of the, uh.”

She leaned against his side. He noticed for the first time how warm she was. How warm he was.

“The mommy.“

“The will of the mother.” He felt foolish saying it aloud, but there was likely a Goblin word for it without a direct translation.

“Oh, no, no, no. See, the daddy doesn’t have to lift a finger. I remember when I was growing up, me and my sisters would take care of chores and such—when you’ve got twenty or so daughters running around, you can get a good amount done—while mommy made sure daddy was nice and comfortable.”

Another bite, another sip. Had she been refilling his goblet? He couldn’t recall how many cups of wine he’d had so far.

“Nice and, uh. Comfortable?”

She nodded. “Mhm! See, the first bedroom, it’s just that. One big bedroom. The royal bedroom, you’d say. And daddy doesn’t have to leave it at all if he doesn’t want to.” Ven opened his mouth to protest, to voice the absurdity thereof, but Gwen didn’t give him a chance. “No, no, it’s true!” She sat back on the table, kicking her bare feet in the air. “He gets fed there, he sleeps there, and whenever he was feeling...“

She cast her eyes lower, and Vendric followed her gaze...square between his thighs.

“...lonely. He would ring the bell atop the first bedroom, and mommy would excuse herself, and she’d come back after a bit. And then daddy wouldn’t ring the bell for a few hours, usually. Though sometimes.” She leaned in, voice dropping to a smoky whisper. “Mommy would come back, and then just like that, daddy would ring the bell again.“

“But no, to answer your question. Daddy never minded listening to mommy. I mean. Think about it, Venny.” She reached out and cupped his cheek. Her skin was cool against his, so hot was his face from the spices of his meal. “If you had a girl like me willing to feed you. Bathe you. Attend to you.” The sudden intimacy in her voice caused him to shiver. “Would you really want to be in charge? Or would you just want to relax?“

He didn’t know. He, well, he did know. But he didn’t say.

She took that as permission to continue.

“Y’see, there’s something I’ve come to know about hu-men. And that.” She prodded him once, square in the chest. “Is that you silly old goats like to feel like the king in his throne! I don’t ken what you think you’re getting outta that but a heap of troubles and the headache to match. See.”

She shifted her seat, moving to sit directly in front of him. “When I watch a hu-man strut about like a cock in a barnyard, I can’t...” She trailed off, quirking her brow at Vendric. “Hold a moment, you don’t—” And then her delicate hand came to cover her mouth as her shoulders shook with stifled laughter. Brought away for a moment, she waved the same hand in front of her face, shaking her head. “No, no, no! Love, you’re doing it all wrong! Y’don’t eat it with a fork. Here.“

Gwen reached behind her in a display of casually impressive flexibility, her spine seeming to twist further than what ought have been possible, and brought her hand back with...some manner of half-sandwich. A piece of fried bread piled high with what he’d been eating with a fork. The preferred method of consumption, perhaps?

“You don’t eat it with a fork, you use it to pile everything up! Otherwise you don’t get all the flavors blending together.” She reached behind herself once more, sliding the platter closer to the edge...before she dropped down into his lap. Straddling his lap, with thick, firm thighs on either side of his legs, Gwen seemed not the bit flustered by the sudden intimacy. “Open yer mouth,” she commanded, and Vendric obliged. She popped the morsel into his mouth. “Now savor it.” He did.

Oh, that was curious. It was as if he’d been eating something completely different before. This had the heat, the flavor, the dripping juices of everything, all at once. His eyes must’ve widened as he sampled the full picture presented to him, for Gwen giggled once more.

“I swear, you’d be pickin’ at this for hours if I weren’t here.” Finally, he swallowed, only to have Gwen push his goblet up to his lips almost immediately. “Gotta complete the bite with a drink! It’s all about flavor, yeah? And you can’t get wine flavor in a food! Well.” She shifted on his lap, settling until she was nestled up against him, derriere resting square on his groin. “Excepting grapes, I suppose. But that’s not really the same, I don’t think. Wine’s gotta bit of a heat to it. Aha!“

She patted his cheek. “Lookit you, you’re ruddier than an apple! Ah, you’re a doll.” She assembled another of her little hors d’ouerves and brought it to his lips. This time, he accepted it without prompting. “Most guys I get here, they barge in, stinking of booze, and they fuck me, pay me, and leave. None of them ever really care, y’see.” She sighed and rested her cheek upon his chest.

Before he could answer, she straightened up and offered his goblet. He drank once more.

“But you’re sweet, aren’t you, darling?” She darted up to press pouting black lips against his cheek, and though Vendric couldn’t see it, he could feel the mark left behind by her affection.

“In any event. What’s a guy to know about living with a goblin...” She leaned back, over the arm of their now-shared seat, and kicked her feet off the other end. “In truth, there’s not a lot to say from the man’s side of things.” Straightening up, Gwen fed Vendric once more. Sated his thirst afterwards.

The room had begun to feel warm. It didn’t help matters that Gwen didn’t seem to be moving anytime soon. If anything, she’d found her way closer to him with each wriggle of those wide, plush hips. Her breasts strained against her dress, and now they mashed up against his body as she attended to him.

A bite. A sip. A giggle from glossy, ebony lips.

“Enjoying yourself, dearie?”

He nodded, having since slumped back into his seat.

“There’s a good boy. Still with me?”

He nodded once more.

“There’s a good boy. Now, let me continue.” She brought another morsel to his mouth, and he ate it on instinct. Vendric had grown used to the heat. It was pleasant, actually, and the light sheen of sweat it’d coaxed to his skin felt similarly...sensual. Kinesthetically pleasant, like basking in the sun. He shut his eyes. The scent wafting into his nostrils was enough to let him know when to open his mouth and be fed.

“I can’t tell you how many of my sisters I’ve seen end up with these cocksure ninnies as husbands. And it’s always the same story.” She carried a smile on her voice, and, hearing it, Vendric smiled with her. “They stride in, fancying themselves the gods’ gift to women, not least of which includes goblins. They think just ’cause they’ve got a prick big enough to half-satisfy a human girl, they’ll be able to tame a goblin with their cock alone.“

He could suddenly feel her breath upon his neck and, not soon after, her lips once more. Then she purred into his ear. Ground down with her hips.

“They’re wrong.“

“You care to hear about how my sister Elionor found her husband? Real romantic.” She traced circles on his chest with the tip of her finger. “Well. Romantic for a goblin, I mean.“

Either way, Vendric nodded.

“There’s a good boy.“

And shivered.

“Any-way. Elly was always such a sweetheart. She’d wake Ma and Da up with a bouquet of wildflowers whenever she could. Made a flower crown for Ma because she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Da got a crown of twigs, what because he was the big, strong man, of course. Da was a book seller afore he met Ma, and one of Elly’s favorite things to do was read about princesses and princes and suchlike.“

“So she gets it into her head that she’s the princess of the village, waiting for her prince valiant to be her husband. And this copper-ante spearman stumbles through one day, and you should have seen how Elly lit up.”

“Now.” She shifted on him, and though his eyes were shut, Vendric could still feel it when she grabbed one of his hands and brought it to settle on her hip. “He was a cock. A total throbber. I haven’t the slightest what Elly saw in him, but she was sweet on him soon as she laid eyes upon him. And he was an ass to her.” She brought the goblet up to his lips, and he drank. More than a sip. A mouthful, gulped down at her behest.

“It’s tradition to have the daddy build the first house. The last thing a man’s got to do before he can relax for good. Only this sod wasn’t going to do a lick of work. He stayed in her room, ate her food, drank her wine. Tried to fuck her, but Elly was a good girl, and she wasn’t about to fuck a man that wasn’t going to be her husband and that.” She ground her hips down, adjusting her seat, probably. “Meant she had to get Ma’s blessing. Da’s, too.”

“Da gave it up for a kiss. She was his little princess. Ma, that’s another story.” Gwen giggled. “We all thought she was going to put her little foot down, and that’d be that. But no. She had Elly stay in the first house for a night. Showed her the ropes. And sent her off to her beloved.”

Vendric could barely pay attention now. He was beginning to feel the wine, finally, and her slight weight did wonders to stoke the heat in his core. Half-asleep, he listened along. Not even for his precious report. More to simply appreciate her voice. Pleasant. Melodic. Lilting, up and down.

“Sent her into her room with enough food and wine to last three days and nights, told her not to come out until then. And do you know what she did to him?”

Vendric thought briefly about shaking his head, but it seemed like too much work. He sort of shifted in his seat, and-

And there was the heat of her breath against the shell of his ear, the low, rumbling purr of a sinuous predator. “She fucked that silly little boy until he was over the moon for her.“

He grunted, fingers sinking into her hip as he squeezed down, pure instinct, but she continued. “She bounced on his lap until he emptied his seed into her womb near two dozen times. She fed him, bathed him, sated each appetite he had, and she showed him just what a goblin cunt can do to a cock.“

His grunt turned to a groan, head lolling back, manhood stiff in his trousers. He felt more than warm, he felt hot. Too hot, so miserably hot. Gwen seemed to sense it as soon as his muddled mind pieced together the issue, popping the buttons of his shirt one by one. “Oh, sweetness, I know, I know, just give me one moment, and I’ll have you comfortable,” she crooned to him, stilling the whining in his throat. “There’s a good boy. Shhhh, darling, Gwen’ll take care of you.“

His belt came off next. “See, Ma always said that a man’s a simple creature. You keep his belly full and his cock hard, and he’ll be loyal as a hound. ’s why a goblin’s most dangerous in the kitchen and the bedroom, see? You let us into your home, you’d best be the one at the oven. Otherwise a goblin’ll have you smitten by dinner and proposing by bed-time.”

“Sort of a tradition to do it that way,” she mused. Her hand had found the bulge in his pants, his cock stiff and rigid and only growing moreso at her touch. “Least where I’m from. You feed a man. Ride him. And then you make him your husband. And he’ll ne-ver leave you, so long as you both shall live.” Her voice was music, and it occurred to Vendric that he’d always wanted to fuck a goblin.

Or did he only feel that way because she’d eased his pants to his knees, because he could feel the furnace-heat of her sex just above his cock? Hard to say. Hard to think. He didn’t.

“Well, I’ve fed you, haven’t I?” Gwen teased. She giggled at Vendric’s sudden gasp, but he could hardly help it at the sudden sllllickness sliding up the just-curved length of his shaft. Her cunt-lips parted just so, offering a tantalizing taste of the wetness of her sex. “And I’m about to ride you, aren’t I? So that’ll make you my husband, won’t it?“

He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know. Something told him that perhaps that wasn’t quite right, but

then she lowered her hips, had him prodding at her entrance, and his thoughts fled into the warm, pink haze she’d so lovingly cultivated in his mind. “Venny, you just sit back.”

Her voice carried an edge that sent him shivering with giddy delight.

“Let mommy take care of you.“

She lowered her hips, and even insensate as he was, Vendric’s back arched, and his jaw dropped. Oh, she was tight, she was hot, she was wet. She didn’t so much as budge her hips once she’d descended, taking his entire length into her cunt. No, there was no need, not when her hole seemed to clench and tighten in ripples around his shaft. He’d not fucked her even once yet fully, and he knew, he knew that he’d never be able to turn away from this kind of doting attention.

Her sex suckled at his cock-head, and Gwen herself had begun to stroke his hair, giggling and cooing. ”There’s a good boy, there’s a good boy...! My silly little good boy. A man’s job is to father daughters for his wife, isn’t it?” Oh, he nodded at that. Sounded heavenly if this is what it took. “There’s a good boy!” Her laughter tinkled in the air like wind-chimes.

“You needn’t so much as set a foot out of bed with me at your side, darling. We’ll get you a bell, we’ll get you a pillow, and you can just ring-ring-ring whenever your prick gets stiff, mm? There’s a good boy.” His eyes fluttered open, only to roll back in their sockets as she stymied his scattered attempts at focus with a bounce on his rod. “You’ll be Da, I’ll be Ma, and we’ll have a village of pretty young daughters to show for it. Doesn’t that sound heavenly?”

She raised her child-bearing—daughter-bearing hips up and brought them down hard enough to coax another strangled gasp of pleasure past his lips. “Duh-vine,” he grunted, and that made her giggle even harder.

“Oh, my husband’s a poet! Look at you, your prick’s throbbing in my cunt, begging to seed my fields, and you’re sweet enough to call me ‘divine!’ There’s my sweet little boy!” She didn’t bounce on his lap again, no, she buried his cock in her and redoubled the clench-release-clench of her sex around him.

He abandoned attempts at articulation, opting instead for a low, drooling gurgle in response. She pressed kiss after kiss to his flushed skin. ”Sweet little boy. I think I’ll keep you. Here, sweetness.“

Now there was just a rolling pressure upwards, starting at the root, ending at the base of his cock-head.

“Cum for me.”

He felt his balls clench down, distantly.

“Cum for your wife. All a man’s got to do is cum, mm?”

He liked that. He liked the sound of that.

“Cum. Then we’ll get you laid down to bed.“

Tongue lolling out, head lolling back, arms uselessly limp at his sides, legs spread shamelessly wide, Vendric came. He spurted into Gwen’s sex, once, twice, thrice, emptying his seed in thick, ropy shots that bloated her womb fat enough to send his wife cooing with delight. And all the while her cunt milked his shaft, wrung every drop from his length as it twitched and ached inside her. As it throbbed. As it. Went soft.

She stroked his hair, crooned to him, encouraged that warm, soporific languor to overtake him. He seemed, for a moment, too tired to even sleep, but then her hands went behind his head. Brought his cheek to her breast. And his flagging eyelids finally shut.

And he slept.