The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lady Amberlynn of House Oriand was a very proper elven girl. Nineteen years of age put her past her majority, but with the extended lifespan of her race (and with several older siblings), it will be many decades before any expectations would be laid upon her. It is also common for elven nobility to start courting from around this age, but Lady Amberlynn is instead focusing on her academic studies, magical training, and a myriad of social events.

For Lady Amberlynn, this was all she’d ever known. Travelling between the Golden Forest and her family’s summer estates every year, it’s a comfortable, good life. Except, lately, there have been... difficulties.

“Is everything okay, m’lady?”

Riding alongside her is Sir Puck, a newly knighted member of House Oriand’s guard, sent with her from the Golden Forest. Of course, Lady Amberlynn can’t actually tell him why she’s travelling on horseback, with only a single guard, because low-ranking knights don’t need to know about her family’s very temporary money worries.

“......”

He was kind of nice, though, and easy on the eyes (by elven standards). Even aside from that, ignoring him would be rude, and they’ve still got a few hours of riding before they arrive at the next appropriate inn. A safe place, free of the discomfort and danger of the road, without any horrible creatures allowed.

They’d passed a caravan of gnomes a few hours back, and Lady Amberlynn only just managed to hold back a shudder—their diminutive form always made her think of what goblins might look like, and from the scary stories that her eldest brother used to tell, goblins were the worst creatures to walk on this fair land.

Some even said that they would capture human women in raids, and take them back to their warrens to breed with... Thankfully, it’s a well-known fact in the Golden Forest that elven wombs cannot interbreed with any other race. Half-elves exist, but only from a male elf and female human. Pushing such uncouth thoughts aside, Amberlynn turns and gives Sir Puck a strained smile.

“I’m quite well, thank you. While Mayoh is a good mount, riding sidesaddle is just... a little more taxing than I am used to. But your concern is appreciated, Sir Puck.”

Ever the proper lady, Lady Amberlynn has of course been trained in all manner of equestrian pursuits, mostly with her stallion, Mayoh. But being a proper lady also means wearing a long, conservative travelling dress, which necessitates a sidesaddle position. Not the most comfortable riding style, and her dress is better suited to sitting in a carriage, but needs must.

A strained grin on his face, Sir Puck nods understandingly, accepting that as a reasonable problem to have, but also one that he can’t do anything to remedy. Keeping one hand on his destrier’s reins, his other nervously taps against the pommel of his sword. It’s not surprising, especially for a relative novice, to be so on edge while this near the borders.

Unfortunately, no matter how alert a single knight can be, it’s not enough to stop a bolt from the blue. Quite literally, in this case, as a crossbow bolt thuds into his horse’s flank, causing it to rear up and then break into a gallop—leaving Lady Amberlynn behind, as the lone bandit dashes from a ditch at the side of the road.

“Puck! Help!”

But screaming does no good, as he struggles to get his horse back under control, and the elven noble is in a poor position to run away herself. Before she can shift position astride her own horse, the bandit has a hand on its bridle, and a knife pressed against her thigh. Freezing in place, there’s nothing that Amberlynn can do about that. Despite all of her magical knowledge, none of it is quicker than a blade against an artery.

While the highwayman, a gnarled, rough looking human, fumbles in his pocket for something, Lady Amberlynn keeps a careful eye ahead of her. Sir Puck has calmed his mount and is now wheeling around to ride to her aid, conjuring some battle magic of his own as he approaches. At least he’s not hopeless, and can protect her from one measly brigand.

“Aha! Got it. I ’ope you’re worth it, girl, I’ve been hidin’ in that ditch for weeks.“

Looking down at the wretched man that would deign to try and rob her, Amberlynn’s breath catches in her throat when she recognises the object in the bandit’s hand. A teleportation crystal. Single use magic items, bound to a preset destination, which allow a person with no arcane abilities to travel long-ish distances in the blink of an eye. Thoughts of studying range-to-size ratios and mana concentration gradients flit through Lady Amberlynn’s mind, as she wagers that the crystal can’t have a destination more than twenty miles away.

Not without killing one of them, at least.

“Oi, knight! Come an’ find her in Kanzibar!”

And then the crystal flares with arcane light, and the world blinks out of existence.

Kanzibar is one of those cities that could generously be described as ‘unique’. It sits on the coastal edge of the lawless wastelands, in the unclaimed tripoint of three great states—the Elven High Kingdom, the Human City-state Coalition, and the Holds of the Eastern Dwarf Lords.

A hodgepodge blend of ramshackle slums and fortress-like mercenary keeps, if any item or service is prohibited or illegal, then it can likely be found within Kanzibar’s palisade walls. Of course, the nearby governments know about it, but an illicit place like this can be beneficial to their rulers. Either from greased palms, or agreements to keep certain activities out of their borders, Kanzibar exists in a delicate equilibrium. In the centre of that balance, with as much gold running through it as any Dwarven mine, lies the Kanzibar Grand Bazaar. An auction house with no equal, whose primary commodity is people. Chattel slavery is the cornerstone of this city’s economy, and the Slavers’ Guild that runs it. Slavers’ Guild watchmen patrol the streets, Slavers’ Guild workmen (mostly slaves, unsurprisingly) repair the roads, and Slavers’ Guild clerks notarise contracts and documents of ownership.

And Slavers’ Guild mages create teleportation crystals, keyed to holding cells in the depths of the Grand Bazaar, to which highwaymen and brigands can swiftly and easily transport their prey, ready for sale...

“Let me out this instant!”

Banging on the door of her cell, Lady Amberlynn of House Oriand is more angry than scared. After all, this isn’t a dirty bandit camp, or minotaur’s lair—she knows exactly where she is. The noble houses of the Elven High Kingdom have an agreement with the Kanzibar Slavers’ Guild, after all, allowing a representative to buy out the ownership contract of any elf that is sold by the Bazaar.

They are still sold, but the Slavers’ Guild can nullify the contract once a relative arrives to pay, and will come down hard on anyone who tries to skirt the law. It ensures the safety of any kidnapped elven nobles, while also dissuading any bandits from ‘freelance’ work, or selling to even less reputable places.

One of Lady Amberlynn’s friends was actually captured a couple of years ago, and taken to Kanzibar—she was bought up by an opportunistic merchant, who put her up in his house, in relative comfort, until her uncle arrived to buy out the contract. That goodwill gave the merchant an ‘in’ with elven high society, and he’s now doing better than ever, and Lady Evermoon was sent home safe and sound.

That’s the extent of Amberlynn’s knowledge on the subject, though.

“I demand to speak to whoever’s in charge! These conditions are completely unreasonable for a woman of my status!“

Her noble lady’s dress had been removed from her body, along with all of her undergarments, in a shocking display of disrespect. A heavy metal collar was locked around her neck as well, restricting her magic, and preventing her from trying to free herself. Then, only given a tunic too-short to cover her crotch and a length of rope to cinch it around her waist, she was shoved into this filthy cell—to await this afternoon’s auction, apparently.

It’s an unpleasant thing for a noble elven girl like her to think about. That she could be put on display, to be bid upon like artwork. Or perhaps more accurately, like peasants buying livestock. Lady Amberlynn doesn’t have long to wait before finding out first-hand what it’s like, as she’s finally collected by a Slavers’ Guild guard. Hands manacled behind her back, and ankles chained together, she’s lead towards the Auction Hall.

Before entering, though, she’s led away to one side, and into some kind of office. There, sat behind a desk is a middle-aged human, obviously a high-ranking official—and Amberlynn moves her bound hands to cover her crotch. On his desk is a silver nameplate, with ‘Mr. Grundle’ inscribed on the metal, but beside him...

“Oh, Sir Puck! You made it! Now please get me out of—”

“Quiet, girl. I only brought you in here to show your knight here that you’re safe. And about to be put up for sale.“

That last part is enough to shut up Lady Amberlynn, and infuriate Sir Puck, who puts a hand on his sword. As soon as he does, the guards in the room stiffen, hands going to their own weapons, before the official holds a hand up.

“Shush, it’s not as serious as it sounds. Yes, you’re going to be put up for auction, but it’s unlikely that anybody will buy you. There’s not much market use for elf girls, aside from a... whorehouse... and not many buyers would risk the ire of an elven lord. I presume you’re aware of the agreement regarding captured elven nobility?“

Amberlynn blanches at the mention of a whorehouse, but tentatively nods, as the man continues to speak

“Your family is the Oriands, correct? A rather unpopular player at the moment, so it’s unlikely that anybody will want to go to the trouble of accommodating you. If that is the case, you’ll be put up in a guest room in the Bazaar, while your knight here arranges to get enough gold to buy you out.”

At that, Sir Puck nods earnestly, stepping towards the girl he was entrusted to watch, obviously conflicted by the position she’s now in.

“I will send as swift a message as I can, m’lady! To your father, who I will entreat to bring the necessary funds, while I stay here to protect you. I swear it.“

It’s not enough to completely mollify Lady Amberlynn, as she’s still barely dressed in front of these slavers, but it does calm her down enough to stop shaking. The Slaver’s Guild official’s smile tightens for a moment, before he exhales in a long sigh.

“Yes, well... she will be protected enough by the Guild’s guards, but I’m sure you will be allowed some access to ensure Amberlynn’s wellbeing.”

Apparently satisfied with that concession, Sir Puck allows himself to be led out of the room, as Mr. Grundle waves for the guards to continue escorting his noble charge to the Auction Hall. A lot calmer than before, Amberlynn doesn’t struggle so much, although she’s still not happy with her current conditions.

Thankfully, with the official’s words in mind, she’s confident that she won’t be bought today. After all, what non-political use could a resident of this Gods-forsaken city have for her? And besides, she’ll be released as soon as her father’s money arrives.

“And SOLD!”

Standing there, up on the Auction Hall’s stage, Lady Amberlynn’s ears droop, and the edge of her vision starts to darken. Somebody actually did buy her, which can’t be a good thing. Sir Puck isn’t here, as he’s busy trying to send a message, and the thought of buying her wouldn’t have even occurred to the novice knight.

“For, uh... four gold pieces, to... to Mister Iktik!”

For four gold pieces as well, a price which would hardly even buy the dress that she’d been wearing! Being sold at all is humiliating for a noble elf, but being sold for such a low price is downright humiliating. To a man named Iktik... to Amberlynn’s ear, that doesn’t sound like a human name, and her heart sinks as she glances down at the person who placed the winning bid.

Standing there, with knobbly green skin, a devious smirk on his wide face, and barely over three feet tall, is Iktik himself. An actual goblin.

“No. No, this is... I refuse to accept this! A thrice-cursed goblin simply cannot buy me. I’m an elf of House Oriand, not an animal to be bought and sold!“

Amberlynn’s complaints fall on deaf ears, and she’s dragged off stage unceremoniously. The Auction Hall is a place of business, after all, and they need to get the next lot on stage. Still shouting about this horrific injustice, the noble elf soon finds herself in a processing room, of some sort.

And in front of her is that short, ugly greenskin. Looking up at Amberlynn with a thoughtful expression, the elf can hardly even bring herself to look at the hideous thing. Goblins are well-known in elven lands for being degenerate scum, eager to kidnap any woman they can get their hands on.

“Hehehe... this is what I bought, eh? Come down ’ere an’ let’s get introduced.”

Her hands are still bound behind her back, and her ankles shackled together, but Amberlynn doesn’t budge. Of course, there’s a burly attendant with them for a reason, and he quickly elfhandles the obstinate Oriand to her knees.

Finally forced to look at her new... owner... she doesn’t like what she takes in. Somewhere between three and four feet high, wearing only some crude necklaces, and a shoddy leather loincloth (which just about covers his junk), Iktik is possibly as far from an elf as you can get.

“You’se a pretty thing now, ain’tcha? I prefer a li’l more meat on girls, but... it’s a good start.”

His voice grates out, even as one of his greasy hands extends to brush against Amberlynn’s smooth cheek. Flinching back a little, she’s finally forced to acknowledge him—which of course, she does by spitting in his face. Self-preservation isn’t something that elven nobles are taught very much of. Pulling his hand back, Iktik carefully wipes his face, but the smile doesn’t leave his gnarled green face.

“Hah! Seems yer a bit feisty as well, eh?”

In the goblin’s hand, is the small stack of coins that he used to buy his new (and hopefully very temporary) property. Looking up at the Slaver’s Guild guards, he smiles, wide and menacing.

“Now, how about we get a proper collar on ’er?“

Amberlynn pales, a hand going to her neck to feel the thick, iron shackle around her neck. If this isn’t a ‘proper’ collar, she doesn’t want to find out what is.

“Come along, girl! Follow yer new master!”

As it turns out, what Amberlynn wants isn’t taken into much consideration at the Slavers’ Guild. Funny, that. So, as she walks out of the door, tugged along at the end of a chain, she’s even angrier than ever. The restraint around her neck has been replaced with a thinner (yet still just as strong) collar, made of a lighter metal, with engraved swirls.

It’s obviously, to the elf’s finely tuned magical perception, enchanted in some way. But she won’t let that stop her, so as soon as they’re out on the street, she grabs the chain and pulls it, jinking to one side as-

“Nngh... what... what the fuck is...“

The collar is glowing, and mentally pressing back at her. Repurposing her own mana, to try and force her into following Iktik’s orders. Amberlynn can resist, and she does try resisting, but... just following him isn’t that big of an ask. This sort of magic is insidious, and she’s studied it in the past. A small, ‘reasonable’ order is a lot harder to resist than a serious, out-of-character order.

So as Amberlynn presses against the magical constraint, she finds herself rebounding, and instead... obediently following along behind Iktik.

“Screw. You.”

The goblin chuckles, obviously finding something funny in that repudiation, but doesn’t look back. And then, with the immediate possibility of escape gone, Amberlynn realises exactly where she is, and how she looks. Because the tunic that she’d been wearing in the Grand Bazaar was the property of the Slavers’ Guild, and Iktik hadn’t opted to acquire anything else for his new property to wear...

“Eek! Look away, you savages! This is... it’s... it’s unacceptable!“

Covering her most private and sacred parts with one hand, she almost instinctively starts to trace a sigil in the air, which would conjure up some rudimentary clothing for her—but she’s interrupted by Iktik again.

“An’ no magic unless I tells ya!”

With a sputter, the flow of mana dies, and Amberlynn is left completely nude. Aside from her collar, which apparently doesn’t block her magic, although the interference it plays with her thoughts would make it almost impossible to cast anything complicated.

Like a bolt of lightning, to incinerate the goblin in front of her. That might have been the better option to go for, even if there was a good chance that Iktik still would’ve stopped her. So instead, as Iktik tugs at the chain leash, Amberlynn is forced to follow him through the crowded street.

The journey is rather unpleasant, and not just because she needs to keep an eye on the muddy ground beneath her, to keep from placing her bare feet on anything sharp. Mostly because the inhabitants of Kanzibar are even worse. Sentient creatures from all across the world walk the streets, mostly humans admittedly, but also dwarves, orcs, the occasional other goblin, and even a minotaur. Most of them eye her up, but... it seems that slaves are such a common sight in this city, nobody is inclined to help her.

Although, that might also be due to the large number of heavily-armed Slavers’ Guild watchmen that patrol the street. Keeping the peace, and presumably also, the rule of law. Even if the laws are rather different to the hallowed halls of the elven capital, the Golden Forest, it’s slightly reassuring to know that there are some laws.

She just needs to hold out until her father arrives to buy out the contract and rescue her.

Ambling back into the Grand Bazaar with a slight smile on his face, Sir Puck is in a fairly buoyant mood. He’d managed to send messages by both carrier pigeon and courier, which should ensure that Lord Oriand finds out of his daughter’s fate.

Now all he needs to do is spend the next week or so looking after Lady Amberlynn who, despite her sometimes-abrasive personality, happens to be one of the most beautiful elves of the court. His station is far too low to try courting her, but it’s still pleasant to be able to look upon her...

“Hello, clerk. I’m here to see Lady Oriand, the elf that I spoke to Mr Grundle about? I believe that—”

“She’s been sold.”

Freezing in place for a moment, Sir Puck looks down at the gnomish clerk at the front desk. Blinking a few times, and recalibrating his thoughts, he clears his throat.

“N-no, ah... you see, I am meant to be protecting her, and... did a merchant buy her? Or a... a city official, perhaps?”

Fixing him with an indifferent stare, the gnome narrows her eyes. Then she looks to either side, before extending a hand. After a moment, Sir Puck gets the meaning, and drops a coin into it. Drawing the hand back, and trying not to widen her eyes when she sees that it’s a gold coin, the gnome gets down from her chair and fetches a ledger.

“Now, let’s see here... Lady Oriand, y’said? Oh, well... she was bought by...”

Iktik the goblin finally twists the key in the lock on his (rather small) front door, and pushes it open.

“An’ here we are! C’mon, in ya go.”

Finally stopping, after turning down into a dirty alley, he’s led Amberlynn to the door of a very ramshackle looking hut. It looks from the outside like an old storeroom, or something equally cheap and poorly built, and as Iktik enters, Amberlynn follows him in with reluctance. It should be good to get off the streets, at least.

Except, inside is even worse. A dank smell permeates the small, single room—although a cheap, magical lamp does keep it fairly well lit, with an warm-hued glow.

“This... you... you live here?! My bathroom is larger than this! Speaking of which, ah...“

Looking around, Amberlynn doesn’t see anywhere to relieve herself, as the urge grows. Deciding not to mention it for now, because surely the goblin has a toilet, even a latrine, he can let her use somewhere, she stays quiet.

Apparently not offended by the comparison, Iktik unclips the chain from Amberlynn’s collar, before loping off into the room. It’s roughly L-shaped, with the door on the tip of one side, and a single bed in the corner of the other. A desk sits to one side of the door, with a small armchair and some books, beside a small, sooty hearth. And besides all that... quite a lot of what can only be described as trash.

“Oh, an’ don’t run off, okay? Watchmen’d find ya anyway, an’ they wouldn’ kill ya, but... I don’ wanna have to pay for healers.”

Amberlynn shudders at the thought of getting caught by one of the heavily armed men roaming the streets. Deciding to stay put, she steps a little further into the hovel, trying to hold back her ire. In situations like this, at the mercy of a loathsome creature like Iktik, Amberlynn falls back on some of her courtly training.

“So... are you employed, Iktik? I thought that your kind were all layabouts, but... you could afford me.“

In the back of her mind, Amberlynn is well aware that the coin purse on Sir Puck’s hip could’ve also afforded the price that Iktik paid. Perhaps that would’ve been a more prudent solution. Turning away from a small chest, tucked behind his bed, Iktik gestures towards a rickety wooden handcart beside the door.

“Trash collector. Some’a the stuff I pick up is worth a few coppers, an’ I been saving up!”

For a moment, Amberlynn gets lightheaded again, as the situation somehow gets even worse. Not just bought by a goblin, but one at the very bottom of society! Opening her mouth, no doubt ready to deliver a scathing retort, she’s interrupted by a heavy banging on the door—and a familiar voice shouting through it.

“Hello?! Is this the abode of the goblin named Iktik?”

Grumbling under his breath, Iktik shoots Amberlynn a look, then goes to open the door. As he does so, Sir Puck is on the other side, one hand on the pommel of his sword, and the other on his coin purse. Stepping into the room, although he does have to duck, the difference between the gallant Sir Puck, and the treacherous Iktik is staggering. For a moment, Amberlynn feels a surge of hope in her breast, eyes widening—before the goblin dashes them.

“Slave! If ’e tries to steal ya away, yell insults at the nearest guards.”

Now that was downright cunning. Shouting at the Slavers’ Guild watchmen is not something that a slaveowner would allow, but it’s also something that Amberlynn definitely wants to do. And which, with the collar urging her to act, she wouldn’t be able to resist... which would get her and Sir Puck caught.

Her knightly ‘protector’ seems to understand that as well, and his hand reluctantly loosens on the sword. Instead, he goes for a different tactic, pulling out his coin purse.

“Don’t worry, Ik... uh, Mister Iktik. I’m not here to steal your... your slave. I’m here to buy her! How about eight gold pieces? That’s double what you paid!“

His tone is a little patronising, trying to impress upon the goblin that this really is an amazing deal. Amberlynn thinks she should be worth a hell of a lot more than that, but keeps her mouth shut, because this might work! She could be out of here-

“Hah! You really think I’m gonna sell ’er? Lemme show you what I think o’ that offer. C’mon, slave, follow me out to the alley.”

And Amberlynn does exactly that, because even if she doesn’t like what the goblin is planning, she does still want to leave his ‘house’. This collar is irritating. It’s not complete control, but given a suitably worse alternative, a victim might find it hard to resist some pretty nasty orders. But elves are renowned for our mental fortitude, and Amberlynn resolves not to let this foul creature humiliate her!

“Now squat down an’ piss in the street.”

As soon as Amberlynn processes the words that have just come out of the goblin’s mouth, she knows deep down that she’s going to comply. She still resists, of course, clenching her kegel muscles, resolutely trying to stay upright, but...

“What? Surely you can’t mean to comply with this wretch’s orders, m’lady!”

She really, really, needs to pee. So, after a few seconds of trying not to, Amberlynn sinks down to the ground, and releases her bladder. A stream of fragrant elven urine splashes down from between her naked thighs, watched by Sir Puck and Iktik—and anyone that happens to spot her from the end of the alleyway. Her face burning with embarrassment, she can’t even meet Sir Puck’s eyes when he addresses her.

“Ah... w-well, um... I will try and s-speak to someone about this. I’ll d-do what I can, but in the meantime... uh... stay strong, m’lady!”

And then, as the piss slows to a dribble, Amberlynn hears his heavy boots striding away, and the low snickering of Iktik, who obviously finds this all very funny.

Sometime later, Lady Amberlynn has calmed down. A tiny bit. She’s stopped trying to yell at Iktik, at least, especially after he gave her a bucket of water to clean up with. As the night draws in, and the unappealing taste of street vendor food sits in her belly, Iktik moves from his chair and pats his bed.

“Now c’mon up. I ain’t havin’ a lady sleep on da floor.“

Lady Amberlynn had been sitting on a short stool, fuming, for most of the evening. But admittedly, she is starting to get a little tired, and there’s no way she’s going to sleep on one of Iktik’s moth-eaten rugs. Letting the goblin do that instead, she does as he asks, climbing up onto the lumpy mattress.

And then Iktik scrambles up to join her.

“Oh no, there is no way you’re coming up here! I am... I am a pure, elven maiden, and will not share a bed with some nasty goblin!“

But Iktik is spry, and has already gotten between Amberlynn’s legs, looking down at her perfect, pristine pussy. As she tries to move away, the collar lights up, as her attempted actions conflict with his order to get on the bed. Even worse, as she squirms ineffectually, Iktik loosens his loincloth to reveal...

“Do ya know what this is?”

Amberlynn wanted to lie. She wanted to shake her head and deny it all and tell this horrible creature to get away from her crotch, and to choke on a fireball. But the collar can even drag the truth from her throat, though she tries to stop it.

“Yes.”

It’s about three inches long, wrinkled and sad-looking, with an acrid, pungent stink wafting up. Smaller than elven penises, of course (if only just), even if Amberlynn is only familiar with that comparison from anatomy textbooks. She nods, although can’t help but sneer a little. Obviously, a small, ugly race would have small, ugly anatomy.

Except, when Iktik’s hand moves down to his crotch, rubbing at the loose skin, it starts to twitch... and then grow a bit. And then grow some more, as it opens up—and Lady Amberlynn realises that it wasn’t his penis. It was his sheath. Like a stallion lusting after a mare, the leathery folds open up and a fleshy pink, disgustingly knobbly shaft extends, and grows, until Iktik slaps it down on his new slave’s belly.

“G-get that thing... get it away from me!“

Around ten inches long now, it has an ugly, flared tip, with a bulbous rim, and a central nub poking forward, as if to aim at a cervix. Iktik’s hand keeps on jerking it as well, and it’s clear that the shaft is fairly squishy and pliable, yet firm underneath, with a thin layer of glossy, malodorous lubricant.

“Heh... don’ worry, I ain’t gonna fuck ya. Not jus’ yet, anyway. You’d prob’ly break the collar, an’ burn me to a crisp, eh?“

Steeling her resolve, Amberlynn tries to do that right now, starting to draw a flame sigil in the air—but with the immediate threat gone, she can’t quite manage it. Iktik is flirting with death here, keeping his actions bad enough to push her boundaries, but not so objectionable that Amberlynn can fully resist them.

Glaring down at the repugnant shaft, Amberlynn is horrified to see a stream of precum start to seep from the tip, thick and sticky and wending its way down the goblin length. But as well as that, now that she’s so close to Iktik’s genitals, there’s something else that she can sense...

As sentient races go, goblins really are at the shallow end of the gene pool. Humans, dwarves and elven males can all interbreed fairly freely, and even orcs can edge their way in with some effort, but goblins...

They have other methods of sowing their oats.

Of course, the precise mechanics aren’t taught to noble elven girls, and are barely even known to learnéd elven scholars. Right now, all Lady Amberlynn knows is that, for some strange reason, Iktik has some mana in his balls.

“Stop it... stop, this instance! You disgusting beast, this is no way to treat a lady of the Golden Forest!“

Her indignant demands have done nothing to prevent Iktik from jerking off, a salacious grin on his lips as he stares at Amberlynn’s naked body. A perfect paragon of elven beauty, it’s no wonder he’s enjoying the view. But she should’ve never gotten into this position! Sir Puck should have struck the goblin down, and taken her out of the city-

Past hundreds of heavily armed city guards, and the many Kanzibari inhabitants, who would also be opposed to a slave-thief-

Thus, potentially preventing her father from buying her out when he eventually arrives.

But a rational assessment of the situation doesn’t make her feel any better about the goblin furiously rubbing his cock to her body. It seems that her calls for him to stop just excite him even more, and as Iktik’s pace increases, the concentration of mana in his testicles also starts to build...

“No... d-don’t, I... you can’t! P... nngh... please, Iktik!“

Even a begrudgingly polite request doesn’t work, and the next moment is punctuated by a guttural goblin grunt. From the tip of Iktik’s shaft, a thick rope of disgusting, porridge-thick semen is sprayed over her body. The mana leaves with it as well, and fearing the worst, Amberlynn concentrates on sensing what it does.

And it circulates for a moment, then fades. Almost as if there was nothing for it to do. Like casting a spell to freeze water in the middle of a desert; with no valid target, the mana just dissipates harmlessly. Which is good, right? Well, as good as getting covered in foul goblin nut could be. Although it does present the question of what the purpose of that magic is.

Glaring daggers at her greenskinned captor, whose mottled pink shaft is finally starting to retract, Amberlynn tries to ignore the wet warmth dripping down her torso, and even over her cheek. Meeting her gaze for a long moment, Iktik then cracks a smile.

“Tha’s a good girl... Amberlynn, righ’? Hmm... yer name’s a bit too fancy. Maybe I’ll think up a better one later...”

That doesn’t sound good, but words are just words, and those spoken by a goblin are worth less than most (in Amberlynn’s eyes). But in contrast to that, what he says next is pretty horrifying, especially to a girl born with a mithril spoon in her mouth.

“But anyway—tomorrow, yer gonna make me back some’a that coin it cost for me to buy ya. Ever worked in a tavern?”