Kabr0z Writes episode 183: Caravan Guard
Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!
Ao3 is being actually updated again!
CWs: violence; blood; forced intox; knockout drugs; noncon; restraints; group sex; size difference; intox; impregnation; mind breaking;
A/N: This is the last one that was published to Kabr0z-That-Was, from hence it's gonna be all-new content from your favourite filthy Moglin! Again, the back catalogue is going to come to Ao3 and if you really want them I can always make my PDF copies accessible, but I need to find a good solution that doesn't expose my email for that 😅
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Two hundred crowns. The standard pay for escorting a caravan the three days it took to get from Tannerton to Kingsport. It's not what you'd get going from a wealthier city, but nobody's really going to risk life and limb to raid a covered wagon of tanned hides. All in all, an easy source of drinking money for a jobbing mercenary. Three long, uninteresting days of sitting on the back of a wagon as the stink of the tanneries faded and the salt air of the coast blew in. Normally all you'd have to do was look capable in case you passed anyone on the road, maybe scare off a scavenging animal or two.
This run was strange though. You kept seeing tracks on the road, not the usual cattle tracks or cartwheels, it looked like dozens of people had been crossing the road at strange angles.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
It wasn't until it happened that you realised precisely how wrong.
A volley of arrows peppered the cart. The mule got hit through the neck, gone before you got to it. At least he didn't suffer. The trader who hired you wasn't quite so lucky. Gurgling, rattling last breaths racking his body after he made the awful mistake of yanking the arrow out of his chest. Poor fucker never stood a chance. The arrows were short and stout, flint tips and roughly flighted with whatever feathers the fletcher had lying around. You knew enough to realise who would've fired these. Goblins. Maybe a dozen of them.
Once upon a time, you were an adventurer. A small-time local hero. You’d dealt with goblins enough to know their tactics. A volley of arrows to stop their quarry short, then they'd descend on you. With any luck, they didn't have a hobgoblin leading them, or worse. There's a chance you'd make it out, but only if you made the right move.
You hit the ground, scrambling under the stopped cart moments before the next volley landed in the dirt. They'd be looking for movement now, drawing a little closer before deciding whether to nail you to the floor or leave you be before raiding the cart. It was a grim satisfaction that overcame you when you heard them babbling to one another, eleven of them. Goblins aren't shy, and aren't good at the whole “disguising their numbers” thing. Still, eleven goblins versus one of you. Your best bet was to hang tight and let them raid the cart, with any luck they'd be so busy fighting over their spoils they wouldn't notice you. If they did, well, at least it'd be quick.
They swarmed the cart, tearing off the cover and arguing amongst themselves. Leathers like this weren't worth an awful lot to a bandit, maybe twenty crowns to a square foot, but to a goblin tribe this was the difference between spending a winter warm and dry, or freezing to death. You didn't blame them, but that didn't mean they wouldn't murder you stone dead of you were caught.
The furore of grunting staccato grew to a crescendo. They weren't paying attention to the now-empty cart.
Cut and run time.
Again, that was the plan. Whatever god held your fates today really hated you making those.
The goblins heard you. You hadn't made it five yards before they were chasing, swords drawn, squabbles abandoned. You spun, weapon raised. You’d had the good sense to put on your brigandine this morning, it might save your life now even if it was a little tight on your tits. Buckler in one hand, clip-pointed sabre in the other, you roared your challenge.
“Come now, mangy curs! First one to try it gets cut to ribbons! I have space on my wall for a goblin skin!” You didn't even own a wall, hell you'd drank so much of the last job’s pay you weren't sure where you were going to shack up until the next job blew into town. They didn't need to know that. Only that your steel was sharp, and that you had enough bravado to match theirs. Goblins respond well to threats.
Again. You and plans. Someone had an axe to grind.
Three came at you at once. Not the toughest fight you've seen, but not nothing. The first poked at you with what you're sure he thought of as a spear. A deft move to deflect. The swish of steel. A spray of black blood. One less of them.
The next ducked under your off-hand, not counting on the dirk clenched in your fist behind the strapped-on buckler. An old highland trick you picked up. Another one dropped. Two more joined in. Then another three. Without a clear leader they aren't tactical, but they know enough. Namely, they know that if you're surrounded, you're dead.
So you backed off. Gave ground. Moved defensively, slashing at flankers. Clever footwork and quick swordplay is great, until you're backed up against a ditch on the roadside.
You spot an opening. The road towards Kingsport. There's a break in their line. Sure you'll need to get past the cart, but it's the best plan you've got. Switching to a reverse grip so you don't skewer yourself, you ran.
Again with the P-word.
Your break for freedom was short-lived. You forgot the goblin propensity for traps. That gap wasn't open, it was strewn with snaring wires, hidden just well enough to not be noticeable unless you were checking which of course you weren't. The first sent you stumbling, the next few had you sprawled on the dirt. You had just enough time to roll and make out one lifting a blowpipe to his thin lips before a thorn pierced your skin and the world went dark
You woke up. Much to your surprise. Goblins aren’t prone to taking prisoners. A foul taste lingered in the back of your throat. Had you vomited while you were out? Your limbs felt numb, not the “recently drugged” kind of numb, numb like you’d slept on all of them at the same time and now you’d need to wait for the feeling to return to your extremities. An experimental wriggle before you opened your eyes. Bound tight. A deep breath, and your eyes flicked open.
Ah. Fuck. That’s really not good.
You weren’t just bound. The last of the grogginess from the knockout dart left you, only a lingering headache to tell you that no, this wasn’t just a nightmare. You were suspended a couple of feet from the dirt floor, tied to a rough wooden frame. Your tits hung down, nipples pointed at the dirt floor, already damp with fluids. You were in a tent, which was a minor plus, but suddenly the awful taste in your mouth made a lot more sense. Goblins don’t generally take prisoners, with some exceptions. This was one of them: not a captive held for ransom, a broodmother. You tugged at your binds, shifting this way and that, hearing the frame creaking even as the ropes held fast. You were at risk of tiring yourself out, but from here what other options did you have?
For all you rag on them, goblins make a damn good rope, and tie an even better knot. The frame creaked as it shifted this way and that, but the ropes held firm. Of course, you weren’t counting on the tent being guarded. You certainly weren’t expecting to be loud enough to alert them to your plan.
Plan. Yeah, that’s where you went wrong. Making another one of those.
Two goblins entered the tent. You froze when you saw them, pale grey skin, wide heads, sharp gapped teeth, and those ubiquitous red-on-red eyes. They stood about half as tall as a man, the frame keeping you a couple of inches below their crotch-height, just to make sure everyone could reach you.
Fucking ingenuitive bastards
One took a place behind you, the other in front. Hides moved from between their loins to reveal their cocks, a touch above average if they were on a human, but for a creature 3 foot tall they were comical, dangling to their knees. Neither of them took long to get ready, in a few moments of them comin into the tent they were rock-hard, one menacing your face, the other poised between your tied-open legs, You knew better than to scream. You’re probably the centrepiece of the camp, and nobody's coming either way.
Maybe they knew that. Maybe they didn't. They probably didn't care either way.
The one in front tugged your hair back, forcing you to look down the shaft of his cock, slapping your cheek with it. You held your mouth closed, teeth clenched. You couldn't stop him, but you didn't have to make it easy. The one behind you wasn't so inconvenienced. His fingers rubbed against you, stimulating your cunt despite your best efforts to ignore him. You could feel it working, your juices beginning to flow as thin fingers proved and massaged. Your eyes screwed shut as you felt his cockhead part your lips, the slightly spongy tip pressing into you. You wriggled in your bonds, failing to dislodge him as he thrust in.
His cock felt bigger than it looked, filling you with an unnatural warmth as he buried the full length inside you. He used your hole with quick thrusts, gibbering and calling out to the rest of the tribe. He wasn't intere in your enjoyment, you were just a warm hole to fuck. Of course, you knew he wouldn't hold back, feeling his balls slap against your clit as he gripped your hips. He thrust as quickly as he could, the meaningless chattering turning into a wordless howl as he drew close to his peak, then a gasping, grunting wail when he finally burst. You felt him depositing his load into you, before pulling out. The other guard scurried behind you, swapping places with him before anyone else had chance to enter.
You could smell yourself on the still semi-hard cock in front of you, though this one was a little cleverer than his friend, pinching your nose until you were forced to open your mouth, then ramming himself in. The combination of your slick and the dregs of his spunk made you gag.
The guard behind you was no better than the one in front. Already open and slick with cum you were easy for him to shove himself into. Quick thrusts and grasping hands, the same rough, selfish fuck, similar jittering speech as he did, muttering interspersed with yelps as your cunt clenched reflexively against him. Then he, too squirted his spunk into your womb before yanking himself free.
More goblins entered the tent. The whole tribe was here, at least all the men.
One by one, they took turns on your cunt, then cleaned their cocks in your mouth, before rejoining the crowd of hooting, gibbering goblins, cocks in their hands, waiting their turn. You could barely feel your cunt, tingling and sore from overuse, dripping globs of mixed-up goblin cum. Your mouth tasted like a whorehouse floor, the cum of a whole tribe mingling on your tongue.
An older goblin entered the tent. This one was female, naked and wrinkled, tattooed in geometric patterns, she carried a bowl. You could smell that bowl from here. A burning, acrid smell that made you yearn for the shit-stink of the tanneries. You knew what it was. It was for you.
Goblins aren't renowned for their magical learning. Their wizards can throw fire or lightning pretty reliably, but that's the limit. Their wise-women though held a mastery of alchemy envied the world over, at least in their field. You were meant to be given this draft as soon as you woke. No goblin alchemist could turn lead into gold or mix black powder from charcoal and sulphur, they wouldn't care to. What they were exceptionally good at though, is turning stubborn women into cock-crazy sluts.
The bowl came to your lips. The ammonia-stink of the mixture made you flinch, the involuntary gasp making it all too easy for her to tip it down your throat. The potion acted fast. You retched, but nothing came out. Your vision blurred a moment. Then your cunt started to hurt. Then your throat. They ached to be filled, burned for it. Like a thousand inches all stacked on top of each other. You needed it.
Your eyes darted between the goblins, wild. They descended upon you once more.
It was different now, though they acted the same as before. Now every thrust of goblin-cock made you quiver with delight. Your mouth hung open, obedient tongue lolling out, inviting them in. You felt a pressure in your belly, your womb becoming fertile from the potion. You realised between the shuddering firecracker orgasms, you were pregnant already. In a month, you'd deliver a brood of infant goblins, then this would all happen again.
This is your life now, drugs, cocks, and birth. No longer a mercenary, no longer a person, a communal fuck-toy to be used time and time again by the tribe until you outlived your purpose.
That was the last thought you ever had
