Thrown To The Goblins, For Impudence

In the book Captive by Aishling Morgan, the heroine offends a well-connected noblewoman, who tries to have her tortured and executed. Fortunately, the Count has a sense of proportion, and he maintains a pit full of lusty goblins whose scent has a certain powerful effect on human women:

‘Is this truly a matter for me?’ he demanded.

‘Indeed, Lord,’ Yasma answered. ‘You will need to instruct the torturers to follow my will and sign the warrant for her death.’

‘Torture, death, for impudence?’ Alanthor demanded. ‘Come to your senses woman, have you no concept of proportion? If you want to requite your shame, throw her in the goblin pit! My apologies, Prince, for the interruption.’

Yasma gave a low curtsey and turned for the door, her mouth set in a hard line of frustrated fury.

Grathor followed, tugging Aisla with him. They marched out into a sunlit courtyard, then down a flight of steps into gloom. The smell of damp stone caught Aisla’s nose, then another, stronger scent that made the hairs rise on the nape of her neck but also filled her with the urge to spread her thighs or sink to her knees and lift her bottom. In front of her Madame Yasma made a little throaty sound, then stopped, no less subject to the impact of Goblin musk on women than Aisla.

‘Won’t you be watching, Madame Yasma?’ Grathor enquired innocently. ‘They haven’t had a girl for months, so it should be a fine display.’

Yasma answered with a grunt and walked on down the steps to a door which a grinning guard let them through. Aisla could feel the juice running down between her thighs, while her nipples were hard and aching. Behind them the door slammed and she felt a sudden urge to run, only to have it change to pure lust as a stronger waft of the scent came up to them. Madame Yasma screamed and ran, back up the steps to the sound of Grathor’s deep laughter.

The stairs turned and they came out over a drop, with pale sunlight filtering in from slits high in the wall above. Aisla looked down, trembling with need, her vagina and anus both pulsing in anticipation of cock. In the pit below were a dozen goblins, smaller and a darker green than those of Korismund, but with cocks no less huge in proportion to their bodies. They had obviously smelt her, just as she had smelt them, as they were gathered in a knot below among a mess of half-eaten cabbage leaves and bits of carrot and fruit. Every single one was erect, big green penes rising to the level of their faces.

Aisla swallowed hard, fighting the urge to jump down, only for Grathor to push her in the back. Her balance went and she fell, landing on her hands and knees in the pit. Immediately the goblins were on her, their long, spatulate fingers pawing her body, squeezing her breasts, spreading her bottom. A cock was pushed into her face and she gaped for it, unable to stop herself. Another goblin slid under her, his fat cock penetrating her sopping tuppenny at the first push. Thick lips closed on her nipples, hands took her hair, pulling as one rode her back, rubbing his penis in the shallow grove over her spine. Wet sperm splashed across her bottom and she knew one had lost control, coming on her before getting his penis to the target.

With the scent of the sperm her last effort at resistance collapsed. She began to suck eagerly on the cock in her mouth. Her hands groped out, finding stiff cocks to pull at. Bucking her hips she fucked herself on the one below her, and wiggled her bottom when a long, fat penis was laid in the groove between her cheeks. Above her Grathor was laughing, enjoying the sight of her giving herself to the man-beasts. As she was rolled onto her back she saw that his cock was out and he was masturbating over what was happening to her, stroking his cock in an unhurried fashion as another goblin penetrated her vagina and sperm splashed over her breasts.

Again she was rolled, to her side, to allow the biggest goblin to get at her bottom. She felt his erection press between her buttocks, then to her hole, still slick with Grathor’s sperm and her own sweat. The goblin penetrated her, pushing hard to pop her anus and forcing its full length up her rectum. For a moment she gagged on the cock in her mouth, choking on meaty cock head. Her penetration was complete, with the big, green, ugly cocks in her mouth and both hands, between her breasts and against her flesh in several other places, jammed deep in her vagina and bloating out her rectum. A tongue found her clitoris, adding the final touch to her ravishment as she immediately started to come even as Grathor’s sperm pattered down on her naked, used body from above.

Aisla was left in the goblin pit for the night, used over and over again until she had lost all track of time in a haze of goblin musk. She even ate with them, face down in the food trough eating slops while one of them buggered her upraised bottom. Only when the morning meal was brought did men climb down, retrieving her while the satiated goblins were busy with their food. After being washed she was allowed to dress in a plain smock of dull grey calico and taken to Madame Yasma to apologise…

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Goblin Market

Think those Victorians were all stuffy? Well, here’s a read for you: Deborah Lutz‘s Pleasure Bound: Victorian Sex Rebels and the New Eroticism. It’s a rich text which I shan’t attempt to review here. Instead I’ll dwell on one little thing it brought to my attention which by itself made the book worth its purchase price.

In 1862 Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) a distinguished poetess and sister to the pre-Raphaelite painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti published a volume called Goblin Market and Other Poems. The title poem (you can find the whole text here) was about two sisters Lizzie and Laura who would sleep

Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other’s wings,
They lay down in their curtained bed:
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fall’n snow,
Like two wands of ivory
Tipped with gold for awful kings.

All very innocent, I’m sure. Here is the cover illustration by brother Dante Gabriel.

Unfortunately not all is well, for goblin men with succulent fruits and tempt Laura. Paying the goblin men with a precious lock of her golden hair, Laura goes, well, hog-wild.

She dropp’d a tear more rare than pearl,
Then suck’d their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flow’d that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She suck’d and suck’d and suck’d the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore;
She suck’d until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away
But gather’d up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turn’d home alone.

“Suck’d and suck’d and suck’d the more.” Obviously this cannot be good because hey girl, it’s the twenty-fifth year of the reign of Queen Victoria and FEMALE PLEASURE BAD!

And of course Laura promptly starts wasting away, unable to hear the call of the goblin men anymore or get any fruits. But fortunately redemption is available in the form of an act of sacrifice by heroic sister Lizzie, who seeks out the goblin men, silver coin in purse, to buy more fruits. The goblin men try to force fruit into her mouth and basically beat her up but Lizzie resists to run home covered in juice and declare to her sister

She cried, “Laura,” up the garden,
“Did you miss me?
Come and kiss me.
Never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me;
For your sake I have braved the glen
And had to do with goblin merchant men.”

Redeemed by this act, both sisters can now grow into proper womanhood. I am not making this stuff up, people. This was children’s literature from 150 years ago, but today — and not just for people who read ErosBlog — it feels almost impossible to read it as such. Which I guess goes to show that certain kinds of innocence really do go out of the world. (Playboy in 1973 apparently redid Goblin Market with rather ribald illustrations, but I have been unable to find usable pictorial excerpts.)

Thank you, Professor Lutz! And I’ve barely even gotten to all the stuff about Algernon Charles Swinburne yet…