In the early days of my curse, the cruelest part seemed to be the loneliness. In between my visitors, the caverns were quiet. I remembered when they had rung with laughter, and with frivolous joy, I had reigned over them all.
When the women came to me, even though their very presence was a large part of the curse, I was glad to have companionship. Where I had once seduced only the most charming women available, now I had no choice in the matter. The only stipulation in the curse was that they must be of child-bearing age, unmarried, and human.
Humans were not very amenable to goblins, but they were amenable to money, and most of the women who appeared at my door were experienced prostitutes or very desperate.
I knew this, and I tried to make the experience pleasant for them, as much as I could. I had never been a cruel man, or at least not intentionally.
Each time, it was much the same. They almost always picked a rose. I was awakened from my sleep when they passed through the gate, and it was never enough time to reach the door and stop them. Maybe it wasn’t possible to stop them, in any case. I could count a handful who had resisted the lure of the flowers of their own accord.
My enchanted home, still graced with the presence of my people if not their voices and dancing feet, would provide a warm meal and bath for them. By the time they went to their beds, my loins would be aching with desperate desire, even if the woman was ugly, scowling, and sharp-tongued. The anticipation of relief was the only happiness I knew anymore.
And yet, I tried to remain the gentleman I had once been. I could usually manage at least five or ten minutes before I had to fuck them. I would come to their bed, summoning all my compliments and charm. I would read their own deepest desires (they almost always had them) and try my best to tease them to the forefront. I would touch them in places that made them shudder and gasp, my ugliness hidden by the shadows, until they began to relax beneath my expert hands. I would ask their names, and not hesitate to tell them my own, so that when I was bringing them to their peak they knew what to scream.
But no, it was not long before this plan showed its flaws. When I made love to women, they were inclined to fall in love with me—or into infatuation, at least—and I might develop feelings for them, especially certain ones. The ones who reminded me of someone I had once known and loved were the worst. A wild lock of hair falling across a pale brow, a wicked gleam in a girl’s eye, a raised eyebrow, an unexpected quip—such things might ruin a night. Or a month of nights.
Because they always had to leave. They were always tripped up by the second test, just as they had been by the first. And in the rare event that they did pass the second test, when the rose wilted, they failed the third.
Three tests the witch had set for any woman who hoped to save my life.
It was not long before I realized I would die before my kingdom was restored. No one would pass such tests, for they required, above all, a girl who was capable of seeing the good in me and loving me for it, all within the space of a week.
And rapidly, all that was once good within me was dwindling.
I tried to fight it at first. This is what she wants, I thought, stubbornly. If I give in, she will have won.
But could anyone not have crumpled under such a life? I gave my heart over to hope again and again, only to be left alone at the end, every damn time.
Soon all that was left was my carnal desires. The women, a parade of selfish of flesh, of hands reaching for their coins. I had grown exhausted by love, restraint, and even conversation. I thrust my cock into them without any concern for their pleasures; they knew what they were getting into.
I had ruined it now, my careful detachment.
I had hope again, tonight, because this girl—
Sabela…
My subjects had also long since stopped revealing themselves to my visitors, but they trusted her. She had given me so many signals of hope. Her endless questions, her curiosity, her apparent attraction to my beastly features. She was intrigued by the life of a goblin maiden! Such a statement, coming from the mouth of a human girl. I could imagine her now, with leaves in her hair and soil ground into the soles of her feet, after a night of revels, catching my hand and asking me for one more dance. She would fit in, I thought, even with her human beauty.
For the first time in a long while, I wanted to make someone happy.
I thought of all this as I strolled my moonlit grounds, where fires had once burned and feasts had once been savored under the stars. I already missed her, not just my body but my mind. But as always, after a couple of hours, the physical urge was unbearable. My cock was straining against my trousers as I practically ran to her room. I stroked it before I entered, dying for relief, but my hand was incapable of satisfying me now.
Even as desperate as I was, I hesitated before waking her. She was so beautiful, her long chestnut hair spilled across the pillow, her pink lips so kissable. I pulled the covers off her body, admiring her full breasts, her curves. She was not as wiry and nimble-looking as a goblin maiden, but rather more soft and fertile looking.
I wanted her to enjoy waking up.
I pulled the sheet away from her hips and legs, which were already slightly spread, as if she was leaving herself ready for me. Gods, it was even harder to wait when I thought of that. I laid down between her legs and gently stroked her clit with my tongue.
She stirred, just as I wished, with a soft moan.
“Nyar?” she whispered. “What are you…oh…” Her thighs fell open, and she dragged her hand across her forehead, her entire body writhing and stirring. I could hardly stand it, but I forced myself to go slow with her. The joining would be all the better when I allowed myself to have it.
Damn it, you told yourself you would never do this again.
I could feel my true self stirring, wanting to let this girl in.
And then she will be gone, like all the others.
I teased my tongue at her entrance, tasting her wetness. She smelled sweet and thick with arousal. She was so very ready for me, but if I could bring her to climax first…
Growing impatient, I thrust my tongue inside her several times, drawing small gasps from her, before returning to her swollen clit, stroking it fast.
“Oh, please,” she cried, urging me on. Her feet wrapped around my back, and then she moaned with a complete lack of abandon. Her climax pulsed under my tongue. Finally, she wriggled away from me.
I could wait no longer. I spread her thighs for me, and she resisted just a little.
“I’m so tender now. Why do you do this to me?” she groaned.
I did love to fuck her after she had already come once, when she was burning inside, her limbs as limp as a rag doll, her eyes hooded lazily and her mouth slightly open, like she was trying to look surprised and couldn’t manage it.