Goblin Run

By Paragonas Vaunt

On Midsummer’s Morn, the maidens come from far and wide, eager to try the Goblin Run, and win a husband. A simple task, for all a girl needs to do to win is walk a thousand barefoot paces to the cathedral on the top of the hill and claim her man.
But she had better not walk.
She had better pick up her skirts, free her legs and RUN. Just as fast as she can.
Because the goblins are on her trail, and if they should catch her, if she should catch even a hint of their scent, she will want a different prize.
And instead of a husband, she’ll win a mate...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paragonas Vaunt
• Release date: Jul 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005955106

Paragonas Vaunt

Transgressive fiction with a dark & detailed undercurrent.The hottest stories. The twistiest tales.Whether you like your stories long and langorous, brief and breathless, or dark and dirty, come with me on a journey into the crooked world of filth maven Paragonas Vaunt.

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~Goblin Run~

Paragonas Vaunt

Copyright © 2023 Paragonas Vaunt

All rights reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Reader Advisory

This is a work of erotic fiction, and a very rude one at that. Intended exclusively for an adult audience, it graphically depicts scenes of a highly sexual nature, and may include some dark moments or themes. It is not intended as a guide to healthy or even realistic sexual practices. Please consider this advice and exercise your judgement when choosing to read on. I think it will reward the careful reader, but I urge you to look after yourself. I can accept no responsibility if your loins catch fire while reading this book.

If you do decide to delve in, I hope you enjoy this story, and I'll see you at the other end.

~PV~

Cuntent Advisory

Cunt Quotient: 88

Fuck Factor: 23

Cock Contingent: 130

Cover art by Celia McKinley

Table of Contents

Chapter One – Challenge at Dawn

Chapter Two – The Thousand Paces

Chapter Three – The Edge

Chapter Four – The Wrong Alley

Chapter Five – The Scent

Chapter Six – The Want

Chapter Seven – The Burden

Chapter Eight – The Barrier

Chapter Nine – The Right Alley

Chapter Ten – The Cocksure

Chapter Eleven – The Awakening

Chapter Twelve – The Zenith

Chapter Thirteen – The Final Step

Chapter Fourteen – The Haze

Author’s Note

Hatching Now…

Connect With Paragonas Vaunt…

Chapter One –Challenge at Dawn

The rising sun at my back lit the spire of the cathedral at my front in the manner of a golden spear thrust upwards to pierce the sky. Though the sun was pleasantly warm, Midsummer’s Eve had been a clear night, thus cold, and the dawn air was still chill.

I shivered in my thin shift.

The other girls were all clustered in small groups, huddling together for warmth and reassurance, but I stood apart. Coming from a small village at the edge of the mountains, and knowing nobody in the city, I envied them their friendships and their camaraderie, though I doubted either would help them today, any more than my lack of friends would hinder me.

Every girl is alone in the Goblin Run.

Our customs may seem quaint to the outsider. Or perhaps they don’t. Perhaps a seasoned traveller will have seen stranger, more wonderful things than I can imagine, and perhaps the Goblin Run, or something like it, is practiced throughout all the lands beyond the narrow margins of my world.

But no matter. I will tell the tale, and it is for the fickle mistress of posterity to decide whether it is worthy of remembering, or whether there are any lessons to be drawn from my experience.

The Goblin Run takes place every Midsummer’s Morn. From far and wide, from the villages and the towns, and even from this city on a hill itself, come the eligible maidens, the girls who have lately come of age and are as yet not pledged.

We all seek the same thing.

A husband.

By the time we arrive, the prospective husbands – the eligible bachelors – have already been in the city a week, carousing and laughing and playing the fool. By Midsummer’s Morn, they are all drunk and dirty and ready to debauch.

And they are all safely locked away in the cathedral.

So if a maiden wants to find herself a husband this bright summer morning, she is obliged to go and get him.

A simple task, you might think.

Standing on the quayside at dawn, a girl can see the cathedral in front of her, only a thousand paces away at the crown of the hill. She can see the tall, unyielding, round-topped spire, thrusting boldly upwards at the crack of dawn, and no doubt she contemplates that metaphor as she prepares for the journey ahead.

A simple journey, only a thousand paces, through the streets of the city on the hill, from the quayside to the cathedral. It should be easy.

The streets are emptied for the day. No drover’s cart, nor market stall, nor street urchin, will stand in her way. The roads are all obsessively cleaned, the cobbles scrubbed until they gleam. No mud or straw will slip or trip her, no drayhorse road-apple will stain the hem of her shift. Nothing and nobody stands between her and her prize.

In the Goblin Run, a girl’s barriers are all behind her.

So all she has to do is walk, from the dock to the cathedral, and claim her right of marriage.

But she had better not walk.

She had better pick up her hem, free her legs, and run.

Just as fast as she can.

I glanced behind me as a boat thumped into the quay, the crew shouting to each other as they positioned fenders to protect its hull from the stone quayside. It was a flat barge, broad in the beam, much like its captain, who stood at the tiller and shouted to his crew to haul in her sail and tie her securely to the river dock.

In the middle of the deck, its cargo was securely hidden under heavy sailcloth.

I fancied I could hear faint noises from beneath the canvas.

Scrabbling. Nonsensical muttering.

Chittering.

I shivered again.

So, to the Goblin Run.

The unpledged maidens, usually twenty or thirty hopefuls each year, line up at the quayside, an hour before dawn on Midsummer’s Morn.

One by one they are called up to the pedestal. Each girl in turn mounts the five steps to the wooden platform, there to be paraded before the crowd like cattle in the market.

There is always a large and enthusiastic crowd.

The city crier, standing at the foot of the pedestal, asks each girl her name. The hubbub stills as she announces herself, in a clear, high voice, as confidently as she can manage.

Once she is named, the crier asks, Why are you here?

I seek a husband! she will reply.

And are you a maiden as yet unpledged? is the third question.

The reply, often shyly given, often accompanied by an embarrassed little curtsey, often has to be repeated, and repeated yet again until the crowd has had a little sport of it and the girl