Goblin Troubles Ch. 02

"It's a simple proposition," I smirk, staring into the beady eyes of the goblins across the table. "You pay us a tax of sixty percent of your take, every month, and in return the Red Hand does not burn your filthy little neighborhood to the ground."

There's only two of them, and they sit hilariously low in their human-sized chairs. Goblins, my gods. Of all the wretched things I thought would happen this year, talking to a pair of fucking goblins, of all things, was not on my list.

Next to me, Harrison leans back, folding scarred arms over his barrel chest. His armored travelling leathers creak in the relative silence of the empty room, emphasizing my threat further. Harrison is big even for a human, almost orc-sized. Compared to the goblins, he's colossal. I don't bother checking, but I know he's staring balefully at these tiny punks, these upstart fucks who would dare come to speak with me.

The quiet goblin, the female one (as if there's much of a difference- both of the scrawny green runts are gnarled and hideous), inhales and holds my stare, measured and dead-faced. The male, their 'boss', cracks his knuckles. Neither of them look like they're about to say anything. There are no windows into this room, and no fires. Just the quiet noise of gas lamps and the cold of underground air.

"I know about you dipshits, out west in the slums," I continue. "I sent two men out to get answers from you. Neither came back. Did something happen to them in the shantytowns? Did you, in your absolute idiocy, harm them in any way? Because if you did, I assure you, death would be the nicest thing I'd do to you."

That one got a response. The boss speaks lightly, but firmly. "We didn't harm your men, Red Robert."

Harrison gets up, heavily. The female goblin glances over at him, running her eyes over the huge width of his shoulders, the knives strapped to his chest and hips. He unfurls to his full height, then lumbers over to the bar, tapping a handful of the hundreds of wine bottles we keep on the shelves. When we set this meeting, we discussed the potential risk for goblins to poison our drinks with something dangerous. But there are probably close to a thousand bottles around the place, and it's under constant guard. As long as we're not dumb enough to accept anything from them, we'll be fine.

I snort contemptuously, bringing my attention back to this goblin boss. Gortan? Can't even remember his fucking name. "Like I care about what happens to a couple of low-level thugs. You saw how many men I can bring," I gesture loosely to the locked, soundproof door, where twenty five Red Hand bruisers are currently guarding the room. "Compared to what, your little goblin horde of a hundred? You can do nothing to us. You want to try some kind of magic trick, to get the better of me? Not a chance."

I hold my hand up to my face, showing the heavy ring. "You see this? Anti-magic sphere. One press on the jewel, and whatever bullshit you try to do gets counterspelled. You see him," and here I point to Harrison, who's still leaning ominously. "He'll kill a hundred of your best, easily. We're trickier than you. We're stronger than you. And we're smarter than you, because we're meeting in my bar, not yours, and there is nothing you can do to change that. You dumb green fucks."

The floorboards creak as Harrison makes his way back, placing a dusty bottle of vintage red in front of me, along with four glasses. I grab a corkscrew from one of my coat pockets, taking a moment to theatrically wipe some dried blood off of its twisted length. The bottle is twenty years old, and after a moment's labor it opens with a very satisfying pop.

"To our new relationship," I say, grinning. Gortan is watching me, chin held in his gnarled little fist. His assistant, the quiet one, stares intently at each of the four glasses. What, is she going to try to break one and stab me? I pour four nonchalant measures.

At least they can clink drinks correctly, without breaking the glassware. Neither swirls their wine in a civilized way, they just sip at it tentatively. I down my entire glass, as does Harrison, and return for a second pouring.

"Friends. New friends. Why the long faces? It is a fairly simple relationship. The Red Hand controls a certain amount of territory- say, half the city. You're dingy little homes lie at the very, very west end of our zones of control. So feel free to continue your little charade, where you rob merchants and sell drugs and whores. As long as you pay your donation to the Red Hand, and you stay out of our way, you'll be completely safe. Well. From us, at least."

They're outclassed, defeated. Little shits. Asking for an audience with me. Like they have anything to negotiate with.

"Actually," I continue, drawling. "I've heard a bit about your whores. About how they're particularly talented."

"And what did you hear, exactly?" That, from Gortan. He's perked up, tilted his head. Harrison and the other goblin seem to be in some kind of weird staring competition.

"Oh, you know. Stories that can't be true. There's no chance you have elves working for you. That must be drunken bluster. Probably talented humans that you've disguised. It's revolting, thinking about humans, working for goblins. Sickening."

Both goblins smirk, simultaneously. The disrespect infuriates me, and I take a quick bolt of wine. "But the fact that they fuck for hours, without resting? That they're addicted to sex? The rumors filter back, through our networks. I heard that one slut was so cock-hungry that she managed to fuck an entire guardhouse in one evening, twice."

Gortan grins. "That would be Dixie, yes. She's uniquely talented."

"Well then, consider this an addendum to our previous agreement," I sneer, sipping from my glass. "Add in your best whore, sent straight to me, and we can consider this deal signed. What do you say?"

They look at each other. "But Red Robert," the female goblin says, speaking for the first time. "What of your wife?"

"My what? My WIFE?" I laugh, involuntarily, an actual honest reaction. Harrison, beside me, rumbles deeply. "Oh gods goblins are so fucking stupid. I could not care less about her opinion. Now would you please shut the fuck up. The men are talking."

She does so, frowning slightly. Her boss isn't as good at hiding his reaction as he thinks he is, and I can't help but notice the concern in his face.

"So it's a deal, Gortan?" I ask, swirling my glass contemptuously. "You have until tomorrow to bring me your tax and your best whore. And don't even think about shorting me. I'll have an accountant visit you, to check your books- and I assure you, you dumb bastards, if something happens to him there will be a huge amount of trouble." I harden my voice, letting them hear the edge. You don't get to rule the criminal gangs of half a city without knowing how to cut.

I almost feel bad for these little runts. Almost. The boss looks defeated, hanging his ugly little head slightly. In his too-big chair at the too-big table, he looks exactly like a child who's being chastised. Hard to believe we're basically the same age.

He doesn't say anything. The hairs on the back of my hands start tingling.

"Well? What's it going to be?" I say, impatiently. "Your choices are either to pay the tax and give me the whore, or go outside and be beaten to death by my men. It's your decision, little goblins."

"Red Robert," Gortan sighs, crumpling even further into his shabby black suit. "We accept."

"Wonderful!" I clap my hands. "A toast, then. To the continued success of the Red Hand."

"Actually, Red Robert," the goblin speaks. Harrison bristles, right at my peripheral vision. "I was wondering if you might do me a favor before we leave."

"Of course, of course. Anything for a new business partner. Well. I say anything. Almost certainly nothing."

"Would you please stand up and shake my hand?"

I'm up almost before I think about it. This is going to be easier than I thought. Harrison flexes slightly, moving to a stronger position, and I realize why- maybe this is some play, some weird goblin trick. Still, can't show weakness. I march up to the goblin, sizing him up for any secret knives or poisons. My anti-magic ring is dormant in my hand, pulsing just the tiniest warning blue.

No trickery. Just his tiny hand, somehow both gnarled and clammy, and a sad little handshake.

"Now would you please sit on your hands and not move?" I sink to the floor.

Harrison bolts to his feet, knives already in both hands. The other goblin flows like quicksilver, leaping onto the table with a length of garotte wire held loosely between her fists.

Wait. Why am I on the floor.

And how did she sneak that weapon past our guards?

She kicks the wine bottle, a pricey vintage that's only a few years younger than she is, directly into Harrison's throat. His head snaps back, bloodied, then his whole body seizes when Gortan starts talking.

"Harrison, hold still."

The bottle starts rolling along the floor, clanking loudly and spilling wine over the stone. I can't move a single muscle.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Is.

Happening.

"Should I kill him?" The goblin girl asks, reaching up to loop the garrote wire around Harrison's barely-shaking neck.

"What? No!" Exclaims Gortan, now standing in front of me. "Take care of him. Make sure he's not bleeding into his own throat. We need him for the next part. Now, you," and here he focuses down at me. "Are going to march over to that chair, and you are going to be a nice little boy and not say anything while we tie your hands behind your back. Yes?"

I don't comprehend what happened until I feel the silky bite of goblin rope around my body. They don't just tie my hands down. Ankles, neck, even my individual fingers- they're all bound and knotted until the only way I'm completely and utterly bound to this chair. The whole time, I try everything: struggling, screaming, breaking free. Nothing works. At one point I spot the anti-magic ring I'm wearing, before Gortan the goblin works it off of my finger. It's flashing bright blue. He looks at it, grinning, then pats my face contemptuously.

"Probably should've pressed that jewel earlier. Now be a good boy and be quiet. We'll be right back."

He tightens a length of soft rope over my mouth. Not that I could say anything, even if I wanted to. The only control I have over my body is with my eyes. I scream, shout, cry out in alarm. I try to reach the warning magic sign that's engraved under every table, the one that'll alert the guards outside. Nothing. Like I've just been totally dislocated from my senses. The goblins disappear somewhere behind me.

I dart my eyes around the room. How did they do this. The ring should've told me if any hostile magic was being cast. I ingested enough magical herbs and elixirs to render me immune to every poison we know about. This place is watched, day and night, by Red Hand members. There's no way they could've broken in here, poisoned a bottle with something unknown, then made it out alive. It's just not possible. I hear the door to the cellar open, then some muttered goblin sentences.

I realize suddenly that I can feel the presence of someone behind me. Harrison. They paralyzed him, too, which means this isn't unique to me. We're not literally back-to-back, but he must be in the same position as me- I feel him, doing exactly what I'm doing. Shaking, trying to break free. At some point I hear the faintest creak, like a rope being stretched barely half an inch. Then nothing.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

FUCK.

"So here's what just happened."

Gortan reappears in front of me, and he's brought more goblins with him. Short fucking green runts, beady-eyed and grotesque, shorter than me even when they've tied me to a chair. He's changed his demeanor totally, infused himself with some prideful swagger that he wasn't wearing half an hour ago. Behind him, some of the other goblins get to work, talking in low whispers. They're barricading the door.

They're barricading the fucking door.

"Eyes on me, Robert."

I flick back to Gortan, who's leering at me, from barely a foot away. I summon all my strength, all my willpower, and try to break free. For my efforts, I'm rewarded with the faintest twitch- my jaw strains, my shoulder shrugs ever so gently. The goblin chuckles. I swear, somehow, I feel Harrison behind me move. Like he's somehow gotten out of his bonds, ready to retaliate, ready to murder these fucking vermin. I wait for it, wait for that glorious moment.

Nothing.

"We poisoned all your wine glasses, if you were wondering. No way we could've hit all of the bottles, not without you noticing. But your outfit really needs to work on cleaning up. A thousand wine bottles and twelve wine glasses? That's just a bad ratio. Vyli, that is, the goblin you were just such an asshole to," and here the female goblin appears in front of me. She's changed her attire- gone are the polite court clothes. The dark grey armor she's dressed in is both form fitting and shadowy, and my eyes slide around her, like they can't focus correctly. "She broke in last night. Not through the front door, obviously. But through your cellar."

I blink a few times, confused. The cellar? The locked cellar that has no other entrances? I hear the noise of heavy tools being used, behind me. The hard noise of metal being slotted into other metal. Sweat starts to bead on my forehead.

"Well, technically she broke through the sewers adjacent to your cellar," says Gortan, like he can read my mind. "But really, your security is pretty bad, Robert. We'll definitely work on that in the future."

Vyli disappears, joining the ever-swelling noise that's happening behind me. Harrison has a front-row seat to whatever it is they're doing. Whatever they're building. Holy gods, what are they going to do to us.

"Anyway, as you can imagine, you're not in the best position right now. We all drank that suggestive poison, from the glasses, but luckily for us you didn't realize that there was a half-minute period where we would've followed any order you'd given us. Metabolic differences. You being so big and all. Non-magical, by the way, but setting it off does require a little magical catalyst. That's why your ring took so long to notice it. Also it's a goblin specialty, so those cute little wards and antidotes you prepared didn't do very much to protect you. Anyway. Here's what's about to happen."

He leans in so close that I can see every detail on his gnarled face. His teeth flash bright white, rapacious. A bead of sweat runs from my forehead down my temple. He pulls out a metal chain, a little thing of dull red links, and starts swaying it in front of my face, like some cheap stage magician. He's slid my anti-magic ring on his own grubby little finger, and it begins pulsing a shocking blue.

"We're going to play a little game. And you're going to sit there, not moving a muscle, not doing anything, unless I say so."

The ropes fall away from me, worked free by squirrely goblin hands. I want to leap to my feet, to kick Gortan in his fucking face, to go down fighting. I want to shout for help, to grab a chair and destroy whatever they're building behind me. I want to do all these things, but I can't.

"If you're wondering, Vyli and I already took the antidote for the poison. So we're not quite as suggestible as you are. You are going to stand up, then freeze."

I do, as quick as I can, then find myself locked in place against my will.

"You're going to strip off your clothes and gear until you're naked."

This one takes a little bit longer. My body obeys instantly, and I find my hands scurrying all over me, loosening buckles, shucking my belt. In just under a minute I'm standing in the middle of a pile of clothes and weapons, wearing nothing. A few goblins have crowded in behind Gortan, and they chortle and point when I free my cock from my underwear. One of them darts behind me, dragging the chair away.

"You're going to step backwards about, say, four feet."

I take little tentative steps, feet cold against the bare stone floor. I cringe, internally when I make contact with a- with a- with a... carpet? My feet keep marching backwards, unbidden.

"And stop. Good boy, Robert. Now on your hands and knees."

It's only when the goblins slip leather manacles around my hands, then chains to those manacles, that I feel the absolute dread of what's about to happen. I can't move anything, except for my gaze. And what I see if a semicircle of leering goblins, some holding tools, some dressed in combat attire. Gortan turns around, says a simple sentence in that slimy goblin tongue, and gets a heartfelt cheer from the crowd. I stare at the door out, the soundproofed one, the one that they've been barricaded. Whatever they've done to it, I doubt anyone will be coming through there any time soon.

There's a sound from behind me. Directly behind me, where I can't see. Something bulky, something with presence, being wheeled into place.

When I feel something cold and slick press gently against my naked asshole, I almost jump out of my skin. Or I would, if I could move. Vyli, the only other goblin I can identify, places some rectangular slab, just next to my right hand.

"So here's the fun part, Robert. Fun for us, and eventually, fun for both of you. We've got you and someone you know quite well in a little competition," Gortan drawls.

Harrison. Fuck. Whatever they're doing to me, they're also doing to Harrison.

"These devices are magical engines that we've been working on for quite some time. Elves love them. I mean, really love them. It's pretty amazing to watch. You see that control panel that Vyli just slipped you? Why don't you both do me a favor and press that first button, on the left? You can move your head and your hands, by the way."

I look down at the metal box that the goblin placed next to my hand. Without even thinking, I press the button he asks me to.

My eyes shoot open as the device pushes inside my totally vulnerable ass, only a tiny amount in. It's slick head feels like a fucking truncheon, and it shoves an inch in, holding itself there. There's a second noise from behind me, followed by the tiniest, almost inaudible grunt. Harrison must be experiencing the same thing.

"So here are the rules, Rob. We've found out that human men, no matter how tough they think they are, no matter how strong they think they are- all of you, deep down, love the idea of getting dominated. Tell me I'm right."

"You're right, Gortan," the words spill from my lips. There's a titter from the goblin crowd. I try shaking my head, aghast.

"But it's no fun for us just to command you to act like a total whore, to get gangbanged by us goblins. Rather, to let you have all of your secret desires realized, we've strapped you both to a machine that'll pound you to your heart's content," Vyli says. "You see all those buttons? They all tell the machine to fuck you in a slightly different way. You feel the dildo that's lodged inside of you now? Well, if I press this button..."

She kneels down and fiddles with something on the left hand side of the panel. I notice that the switches and dials on the left are all green. As my gaze drifts further to the right, the buttons start to shade to deeper and deeper reds.

I gasp as the dildo scrapes out of me. Relief. But, short-lived, because it grinds back in, pushing back to exactly where it started. Then again, it retreats. Pumping in and out.

"That gives you a head start on your friend," smirks Gortan. "Because here are the rules. First person who cums gets to stay on as a Red Hand member. The leader of the Hand, actually, under us goblins. Just because you'll know what'll happen to you if you cross us again."

It's hard to focus on what he's saying, as this machine slowly and lackadaisically pumps in and out of my virgin ass.