The Goblin King's Elf-Bride

Another hand rustled through the leaves arranged carefully over her breasts. It found a nipple, and tugged at it.

More congratulations were exchanged, but it was becoming harder for her to focus on the words.

A callused hand cupped her face. A thumb brushed her lower lip. Gentle talons parted her jaw, teased her tongue, lingered there. A sandpapery Goblin voice was complimenting her husband on how fine her teeth were. She watched a droplet of drool escape from her mouth and plop onto the stone.

Finally, the fingers left her mouth. The Goblin wiped them off on her hair before walking away towards the feasting hall.

The next foot to step up into her limited vision was an elegant leather slipper. Emathiol, the one Elf from her home city who had dared to show herself.

"You've really done it this time, haven't you?" sang the soft voice in her native tongue, and Emathiol broke into laughter, the bright laughter Thanaleth remembered from long nights on the marchwardens' watch, when for a brief moment the facade cracked.

"Should I...?" Emathiol faltered, hesitant.

"Please," Thanaleth breathed. "Tonight I am merely a cheap amusement. Treat me as you would a plaything."

Slender fingers stroked her then, from her shoulder down to her hip.

"If your regal mother could only see you now, I do think her spirit would fly right off to Valinor."

Emathiol trailed to Thanaleth's wet spot, giggling, then up to the pucker of her ass, which she circled lightly through the fine material.

"King Ishbolg," she said, her fingertips disappearing. "I hope you understand what a special footstool you have, and treat it always with the love and respect it deserves."

She paused.

"If you don't, I will find out about it."

At that, Ishbolg laughed a deep, rumbling laugh.

"I won't forget it," he said.

When at last the entire line had passed through, and the boisterous sound of a hall full of Goblins had turned distant and muted as it moved fully into the nearby feasting hall, Thanaleth felt a weight rise from her back, and she sighed with pleasure at the sudden lightness.

"You are a true Goblin Queen, my sweet, dirty whore," Ishbolg breathed, coming to his feet. "I'll fight anyone who wants to argue."

She only continued to cast her eyes downward, though they were welling with tears as shame and joy mingled with minutes, hours, days of tension loosing itself from her.

"Look at me, my Queen."

She did, rising to a kneeling position to lock eyes with him. He brushed at her wet and burning cheeks.

"We're alone now," he said. "Speak. What do you want?"

"Please, my King. I am all yours, flooded with desire. Fuck me."

He didn't move, only glowed down at her. She hesitated.

"But...but first. I..." she swallowed, and continued in a smaller voice. "I do very much need to piss."

Thanaleth had gone days without sleep or other relief in times of war and emergency, but there were limits to the physical prowess of even a Marchwarden of the Woodland Realm, and Ishbolg had challenged her to push those limits in advance of the festivities.

In other words, she hadn't been to the latrine since well before arriving in Lime Hollow.

He laughed softly, unbuckling his belt.

"Tell you what, piglet," he went on, freeing his cock from his trousers, "If you ask me very politely, maybe I'll give you my piss, and when I'm done we can see about your little problem."

"Please, my King," she said. Her mouth felt dry. Her bladder was throbbing. "Give me your piss."

"I think you can be more polite than that," he said. She was staring at his cock, standing at attention before her. It was so much more beautiful than the replica, dark and strange and catching the light in shifting ways.

"Please, my King, my most gracious Lord," she tried. "I most humbly entreat you—"

He laughed. "Maybe too polite. Why don't you try telling me why I should give you my piss."

"Because..." she felt like she was about to burst. "Because for four hundred years I've been pretending to be a pure and virtuous maiden who thinks pure and virtuous thoughts..."

She looked up into his eyes again.

"And all I want is to be free of all that. I want you to make me your dirty little whore. Please, my King. Piss on me like a fallen log. Ruin my beautiful dress. Let me drink of it like a worm in the ground!"

The stream hit her forehead at the very moment she finished her plea, and her words were shocked into a laugh as the hot, vile liquid danced across her face, catching her hair, running down her lips and chin.

He aimed it into her mouth, and she let her jaw fall open, tasting his bitterness on his tongue, swallowing down as much as she could.

He was cooing words of love and praise, and her spirit rose like a leaf on the wind. How could it feel so good to become so low and repulsive, and to be loved for it?

Her own need to piss had become almost unbearable. Trembling at the effort, she distracted herself by considering the open door nearby, facing into the feasting hall where Emathiol and all the Lime Hollow Goblins were gathered, waiting for the food to be served. Any one of them could glance in and see her in this disgraceful state.

She didn't think her body had ever seethed with need like it did now.

Ishbolg swept his stream down her body, streaking her dress with lurid yellow, letting the drops patter against one of her breasts, teasing the stiff nipple.

She leaned forward slightly, opening her lips wider, extending her tongue and looking into his eyes, and he rewarded her by renewing his attention on her mouth, letting her swallow more of the intoxicating brew.

When she had swallowed down the very last of it, rivulets still running down her throat and between her breasts, she smiled up at him.

"Thank you, my King. Please, may I relieve myself now?"

"Yes, my beautiful, sweet piglet. Piss yourself for me. Wallow in it."

The relief she felt when she let it go at last was indescribable. Her piss splashed furiously against the stone floor, splashing her feet and thighs, spreading in a puddle that inundated the hem of her dress where it piled up around her legs.

She moaned in abject relief, not caring who heard or saw.

Looking up again she saw her husband's cock again, inches from her lips. Like his muscular body, it was thicker than that of a man or elf, and slightly twisted in form in a way that some claimed to find ugly, but to her seemed like a welcome truth.

"Are you prepared to take me?" he said, slitted eyes casting down at her in the dim. "I won't be gentle."

She purred low in her throat as she continued to blessedly empty herself, emboldened, almost giddy. "We Eldar can endure trials far beyond mortal limits."

* * *

If he were a lesser King, Ishbolg thought, he'd have spent right then and there, just from the sight of his beautiful, defiant wife, loose strands of golden hair streaming down her face like the piss beading on her collarbone, elaborate bridal makeup beginning to blur and run down her flushed cheeks.

But he, too, could endure trials beyond mortal limits for the sake of his beloved.

Instead, he stepped forward, his talons scoring her dress where it puddled around her, staining in the expanding yellow morass, and brought his rigid cock into contact with her lips.

She closed her eyes and caressed him with her face, delicate nostrils flaring as she ran her cheek and forehead along his length. She took the fly of his trousers between her teeth, parting it wider, letting her pointed nose brush against the hairs around his base, breathing deeply of him.

He couldn't take much more of this. He planted a fist in her damp hair, jerking her head back. She made a sound of surprise that turned into a laugh, and she opened her mouth wide, inviting him — then stretching even wider to accommodate him as he pushed his way in.

"Show me how well you've practiced, little whore."

He leaned forward slowly. She made a small choking sound, but held fast, breathing slowly, shudderingly through her nose, and then pressed further, advancing to meet him. He could see her eyes beginning to tear up, but she didn't back down.

He remembered meeting her during the War, long ago. She had twisted her ankle badly in a fall from her horse, but she fought on with a greater fury than before.

Now, she locked her watery gaze on his as he took a careful grip on the sides of her head.

"Next feasting day," he breathed, "I was thinking we might honor our new Queen by allowing you to suck every cock and cunt in Lime Hollow."

He began to rock his hips, each stroke taking her throat as deep as she could go.

"But if they're not satisfied, they may just throw you on the trash heap when they're done with you."

Thanaleth moaned around his cock, seeming to bear his long thrusts with an immortal fortitude that compensated for her inexperience.

She was breathtaking.

"Then again, they may just throw you on the trash heap even if they are satisfied, because they know how much their whore Queen loves to be put in her place."

Fire and lust shimmered in her eyes, and he was undone.

He pulled back, freeing himself from her lips, concentrating on maintaining his suddenly precarious balance.

Thanaleth gasped raggedly, closing her eyes as his spend striped her face and chest, a triumphant smile forming on her wet lips.

"Thank you, my King."

Ishbolg allowed himself to stagger back onto his throne, sitting down in surrender. He shook his head, breathing hard, watching spit and come roll down her chin as she regarded him with a pleased expression. Her smeared and running makeup had been joined by the remains of a ripe berry that had tumbled from her hair and been squashed against her forehead.

Somewhere in all the activity, her bodice had lost a few leaves and flowers, and now one of her breasts stood uncovered, quivering heavy with her breath in the lamplight, plump and wet.

"I don't think any King there ever was has had such good fortune," he said.

With an effort, he rose again from his throne.

"Shall we join the band?" he said, extending a hand to her, which she took gingerly. He helped her rise, and began to lead her towards the archway leading into the feasting hall. "Everyone must be getting hungry."

He felt her hesitate, stop, just before the threshold.

"Please, my King — am I not to wash, before the feast?"

He half-turned to her, front foot still planted in the doorway. Only his body blocked the sight of her from the buzzing crowd beyond, and she leaned back, blushing.

He touched the tip of her nose with a finger, running it down her lips and chin, feeling her breath catch as he continued down her throat.

"I ordered your bath laid out in the feasting hall," he said. "But if you're not ready to walk among your people in full regalia, I understand."

She had a distant, worried look, and he felt a pang of regret for having pushed her too far, too soon. But instead she stepped forward. Steel glinted in her gray eyes. Sodden dress leaving a trail of piss, Thanaleth brushed past him.

The buzz in the hall quieted, and then rose again. There were hoots and cheers and scattered clapping and pounding of tables that crested into a roar of approval.

Ishbolg followed behind her, grinning a little bit meekly.

He stood at the head of the royal table, lined with his family and his closest companions, as well as Emathiol, the Elf lady who had come in Thanaleth's support. He beamed at her. She looked slightly dazed.

Corgoz, his regular hunting buddy and Lime Hollow's demolition expert, was dabbing away tears.

Next to his chair, where the Queen's would normally be, a bath had been placed, and someone was helpfully adding a fresh tin of hot water.

A lackey brought him a washing-bowl for his hands.

His mother handed him a huge ceremonial goblet of dark beer. He raised it high, calling for a toast to the new Queen, and all sang her praises.

Together, the King and Queen drained the cup. In the silence that followed, Thanaleth gave a delicate little burp, and said, "I've had better piss."

Officially, Ishbolg had ceased to be top dog in Lime Hollow the moment they said "I will." But now it was so much more than official.

* * *

Helpful hands led Thanaleth to the tub. A trio of Goblins she was beginning to recognize as members of Ishbolg's household staff — her staff — peeled her out of her befouled dress. One of them gave her breasts a quick squeeze in the process.

An Elf could be comfortable in water that would set a Man's teeth chattering. Thanaleth was accustomed to bathing in the cool stream that ran through her mother's palace, which a clever architect had channeled into little artificial waterfalls that tumbled through a handful of hidden closets for washing and other needs.

But as Thanaleth eased into the steaming Goblin bath, she very quickly decided it was going to be hot water for her from now on.

She sank down as far as she could, trying to let the water obscure her nudity. She had given everyone quite a view already, and she was terribly conscious of the lecherous eyes darting her way all around the hall. She hoped they would soon be distracted by the food.

One of her attendants started lathering her shoulders with soap, and she leaned in, purring. Something touched her mouth, and she opened her eyes to her husband pressing a chunk of warm, buttered bread to her lips. She parted her lips to receive it, and began to chew gingerly.

It was delicious, and, fortunately for her weary jaw, soft.

Her blush rose again, thinking of the work that her jaw had recently done.

The replica cock had given her some preparation for the size of him in her mouth. But to use it herself, for practice, had been nothing like the reality of Ishbolg seizing control, squeezing every inch of himself down her throat.

He must have noticed her faraway expression, because he asked her softly what she was thinking of. She swallowed the bread. The attendant at her shoulder, a fat little Goblin with long, braided hair, was now massaging soap into her breasts.

"You," she said. "That is, your cock."

Her husband barked a laugh.

Thanaleth gasped as the Goblin pulled sharply at her nipple, twisting it, as if this was quite a normal part of the bathing routine.

The enormous, fluffy Warg was curled around Ishbolg's chair, and he fed it a morsel of meat, then ripped off another piece and pressed it into Thanaleth's mouth, caressing her lower lip with his thumb as she chewed.

Another attendant, tall and skinny, lifted her feet out of the water one at a time and carefully washed them, soaping between each toe.

Her husband continued to feed her from his hand as the feasting went on around her. Someone lifted up her arm to wash underneath. She was being treated like she didn't have the wit to even act on her own behalf. Part of her was enjoying luxuriating in a kind of helplessness.

The stocky, heavily tattooed attendant who had been washing her feet gradually pushed the washcloth further up her legs, and soon was massaging her inner thighs. It was a region that had been desperate for attention all day, so that in spite of her embarrassment at the glowing eyes shining down at her all around, she found herself bucking her hips against the washcloth.

"Now don't forget, my Queen," Ishbolg rumbled. "Not yet."

Thanaleth heard herself make a throaty sound halfway between a moan and a whine as the washcloth was taken away.

Someone spat on her forehead, then began to nonchalantly wipe the area clean.

Strong hands spun her around so that she was looking down into the water, hair tumbling around her face and her backside raised up out of the bath, fully exposed to her new subjects, a few of whom hooted with prurient glee.

Fingers spread the cheeks of her ass open wide, and a soft brush was used to scrub between them. When they were finished, she received a ringing spank before being turned over again.

As they ate, Ishbolg regaled the table with stories of their courtship, and she occasionally piped in with a funny detail or opposing perspective. She found herself becoming less regardful of whether her breasts were concealed by the water, a battle that seemed increasingly lost.

She felt hands gathering her hair behind her head, followed by a strange rhythmic tugging sensation. Ishbolg fed her some spicy fried dumblings from the table. More of her hair was gathered up and a second rhythm joined the first.

Turning her gaze back as well as she could, she realized with dawning dismay that the attendants at her back were each fucking a fistful of her long hair. She nearly shouted in shock, but when her mouth fell open her husband popped another dumpling into it. As she watched out of the corner of her eye, blushing furiously as she chewed, the Goblin at her left shuddered with release, pumping his cock into her wet locks.

When they were done, they began to massage their foul spend into her hair with the help of big jeweled combs. The third attendant was carefully trimming her fingernails.

She shook her head at the next bite Ishbolg proferred.

"I have many powers," she said, "But I doubt I'll ever match your capacity for feasting!"

He tossed the chunk to his Warg instead, and grazed her cheek with a light touch of his knuckle, making her shiver.

"I look forward to learning all your powers, and their limits."

He reached down further, thumbing Thanaleth's nipple, and then caressing her belly and waist under the water. Her hair was now being subjected to some sort of black and fetid muck that seemed even worse than the last treatment.

Someone began to brush her teeth, lathering them with a sharp-tasting concoction that made her gums tingle.

When her mouth and hair were fully rinsed out, she was lifted entirely from the water by all three attendants, and found herself being spun around, patted and brushed and swaddled all over with soft, warm towels.

She was set down on her feet, head spinning, and the hands and towels fell away. She looked around to see the three attendants rubbing sweet-smelling oils into their hands from a little cart covered in strange bottles. Around the hall, feasting tables were being cleared.

One Goblin carefully anointed her face, another her hair. The third slathered the stuff all over her arms and breasts. Her feet and legs got it next. The fat little attendant got out a special little bottle and a tiny comb and worked a few drops of the contents into the hairs around her sex.

Another attendant produced a pair of bottles labeled, respectively, CUNT GREASE and ASS CREAM, and hands guided her into a bent-over position. She was so close to release, and it took all of her will not to let go as they began to massage the lotions into her. But Thanaleth had a strong will, and she had no intention of disappointing her husband tonight.

She felt one of the fingers rubbing around the bud of her ass slowly push into her, and begin thrusting in and out. She groaned in an agony of overwhelming sensation. Just when she could no longer stop herself from shamelessly rutting against the hands, they left her, and for a long moment she just stood there, feet spread apart, hands on her knees, displaying her backside to the hall, dripping with arousal and mysterious substances.

Into the silence came a loud squeaking sound as someone pushed the little cart away.

Then Ishbolg was sweeping her into his arms, and he kissed her, long and deep. As she tentatively touched her tongue to his sharp teeth, he clasped the gold-and-bronze royal collar once more around her throat — a covering so meager that it only emphasized her nudity.

"Let's dance," he said, spinning her towards the center of the hall as a rhythm of drums and pipes and twanging strings rose up, from a band she hadn't noticed assembling at the far end.