Hot Goblin Girls

By Paul Lucas

A quartet of battle-weary goblin females capture a lone army courier named Joren while desperately hiding out from the hostile human forces surrounding their swamp. The green-skinned women are half his size, but prove more than a match for the inexperience young man. They have unusual plans for their prisoner, which start with a forced marriage to the warrior Vexation and only get more depraved from there.

Can Joren win his freedom, much less survive, as the plaything of four fierce and horny monster girls?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Lucas
• Release date: Apr 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310597268

Paul Lucas

I grew up on the shores of Lake Erie, just a few snow drifts away from Buffalo, NY. I am a life long science fiction and fantasy fan, and avidly keep up on developments in the fields of science, technology, and ancient cultures.Currently I am a freelance writer and artist, with fifteen years of experience in the field. In 1998 I had a tabletop RPG published, and in 2005 my first novel CREATURA came out. My shorter works have seen the light of day in publications such as Strange Horizons, Afterburn, Tales of the Talisman, Fables, and others. Currently I do a lot of personal commissions and ghost writing work.

Book preview

HOT GOBLIN GIRLS

By Paul Lucas

Copyright 2015 Paul Lucas

Cover Art by Paul Lucas

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CHAPTER 1

Joren of Bindelridge grumbled crossly as he threaded his way into the murkiest depths of Thistelwood Swamp. That idiot Guldel had no idea what he had been talking about, saying that this little-used ‘shortcut’ through the swamp would save a day’s worth of travel. If anything, it would make him at least a day late and Captain Roderick would reward him with a few choice kicks in the arse for taking such stupid advice in a warzone.

His progress had been encouraging at first, but the deeper he got into the tree-choked bog, the slower his pace became. Branches and brush edged in on every side of the barely-discernible foot path. Muck caked his boots and leggings. He occasionally ran across logs laid into the winding trail by foragers to mitigate the worst of the mud, but most were old and rotting away.

The marsh covered over a hundred square miles, nestled between a great curve in the Undine River and the mountainous foothills to the south. He'd heard folktales of how the swamp had once been a minor lake a thousand years ago, but was slowly drying up because of some petty god’s whim. Or something ridiculous like that.

Joren was a reluctant conscript in the Kingdom of Raelen's military. He’d been hauled out of his farmhouse at swordpoint along with a handful of other young men from his village half a year before. The last he saw of the only home he’d ever known was from a mile away as they were force-marched through the hills. A burly bear of a sergeant swatted him on the head for daring to look back.

Six months later, the army he’d been forced to join had just decimated the ragtag forces of the rebellious province of Crenmoore. The main army was still chasing down stragglers that had scattered into the countryside. His brigade was in the process of surrounding Thistelwood Swamp to chase down any enemies who might have sought refuge there.

Joren, with his lanky build and long legs, had proven to be a natural courier, charged with running messages between officers. He hated the army, but had resigned himself to army life. He knew nothing waited for him back home anymore, even if he could get away. His mother had run off with some textile merchant some years ago and his father had drank himself into an early grave soon after. Joren was sure that as soon as the town’s miserly elders had figured out he was not coming back, they would have seized what remained of his family’s farm and sold it off to line their own pockets.

Still, the young man had half a mind to find his way out of the swamp and just keep running until he was kingdoms away. But he had no idea where he would go and what he would do. Plus the military tended to summarily behead deserters if caught…

An ominous rustling sounded in the underbrush ahead. Joren tried to peer closer at the source, but whatever it was, it was swallowed up by the dense greenery. A rat? A wyvern, maybe?

Or it could be some scattered elements of the Crenmoore army. His hand shifted to his sword hilt.

A big mass slammed into him from behind, knocking him face-first into the muck. He looked up to see a huge shaggy gray wolf standing on his shoulder blades, snorting at him derisively. Then other shadows fell on him all sides, wrestling him immobile with ropes before he had a chance to throw the animal off. He managed to catch a glimpse of a compact green-skinned body wielding an oversized sword just before a heavy blow to the head knocked him out fully.

CHAPTER 2

Regaining consciousness was a slow and painful affair. He became sharply aware of a splitting migraine and aching limbs before it occurred to him to open his eyes.

He blinked into daylight. The blobs around him slowly resolved into distinct shapes at the same time he began to discern voices around him. We should just eat him and be done with it, came a raspy feminine voice.

Joren saw that he was in a small camp on a rise slightly above the muck and water of the swamp, flanked on all sides by thick clusters of trees and brush. A small campfire glowed with spent coals, flanked by three simple hide-covered lean-to shelters.

By the campfire were four goblin females dressed in piecemeal armor and leather, talking among themselves. They kept glancing his way.

The oldest and plumpest of them shook her head. Save the theatrics, Stiletto. We’re nowhere near that desperate and he did have supplies on him that should add to our own for a few days. Plus that wasn’t our deal with Vexation.

Goblins were a short-statured offshoot race of Orcs, averaging slightly above four feet in height. They were proportioned just like full grown humans or orcs. Judging just from their curvy figures, all four females were clearly adults despite being nearly child-height for his own race. They bore skin of a muted green hue, with large pointed ears and exaggerated noses and brows. A few of them sported tattoos and scars, but none of the gross warts and growths he’d heard were supposed to be a feature of their race.

Joren tried to move, but found himself bound fast. Both arms were strung out behind him at an oblique angle, wrapped very securely around a broad tree stump. His legs were bound tightly together at the ankle and just above the knee.

The most heavily-tattooed goblin wore a shaggy wolf’s