A new is found.

Your smirk is well justified as you gaze upon the look of slavish adoration sported by the now docile goblin. Its arms hang from its sides as though it had forgotten it could use them, while a broken toothed mouth gapes and practically drools the creature is so enraptured with you. A fire of your old, domineering and conquering self is rekindled at the sight. It reminds you, a physical embodiment of your strength in this world and the power you can wield. You lounge on the forest floor for a moment, basking in the goblin’s slavish look before a sinfully delightful thought strikes you.

“****,” you order in a commanding, lazy tone. You raise a leg off the forest floor, foot arched and pointing like a commanding scepter at the miserable demi-human. “I will ask some questions, and you are going to answer. But as you do, clean my foot with your tongue.”

Had you given the monster a chest full of jewels it couldn’t have made it happier. The goblin scampers to your foot, handling it almost harshly in his eagerness to please. You magnanimously allow this, however, as his tongue begins to reverently brush against your toes.

You shiver in pleasure, less in his crude, slobbering attempts, but more in the sheer exhilaration of your power over another creature; even, admittedly, one as pathetic as this. “****,” you begin, a slight hitch catching in your throat as the goblin unexpectedly began to suck one of your dainty toes. “****, what were you doing this deep out in the forest?”

The wretch pauses in his cleaning, loathe to deprive himself of such a menial task. However, it lasts only a moment, fear of your displeasure outweighing his reverence and with a pop he abandons your toe. “Not far at all, Mistress,” the creature cringes. “Goblin camp close by. Me on scouting patrol. Heheh. Look for things. Metal and food. Things tribe can use. Yes.”

“Your tribe?” you remark, intrigued. You peer over a knee and at the slavish creature, which is positively aglow at your interest in him.

“Yes. Yes. Big tribe. Many goblins. Living nearby. We many. Strong tribe. In caves we stay. Keep others monsters away. Very safe. Many warriors and hunters. Me one of best scouts in all tribe. Find many good things. Much food and metal. Chief calls me for big missions. Important,” he crows, puffing out a bony chest.

“I see. And you say you look for useful things? Tell me…” You fold your arms behind your head, providing a cushion. As an added and, of course, calculated bonus, this pushes your entire upper body out, thrusting your breasts and the diamond nubs of your nipples out tantalizingly. You smile to yourself at seeing the goblin’s cock rigid as a bar of iron. “Was I one of those useful things?”

The goblin is positively trembling in lust for you at this. He nods with crazed fervency. “Oh yes. Yes. Sometimes tribe finds women. Or-or captures in raids. Keep women as slaves for tribe. Breeders. Give many new goblins to tribe. What makes us strong! Sometimes, give to chief as gifts. Having **** is big time! Big time honour!”

You smirk at his primitive phrases and lounge back into your arms. “Interesting.” A wave of your hand gives permission for the creature to return to his duties, which he does with a will, running his tongue in bliss under the arch of your foot and worshiping your calves with sloppy kisses.

Even as you enjoy the creature’s ministrations, thoughts germinate in your mind. Plans of vengeance against the wretched innkeeper’s wife swim through your mind, giving a particular pleasure which the devotions of your **** only emphasize. Of course, you remind yourself like a trickle of cold water down your back (your newfound caution and humility? you wonder), the fact remains that the little goblin with you would unlikely be much of a match against the bitch who had tied you to the tree. You look down at the creature worshiping your foot, a sudden surge in his enthusiasm knowing you’re looking his way making you gasp with pleasure and let a hand drift down to your pussy.

No. As skilled a bootlicker as he is, the goblin would not even the odds enough to warrant a return. But, on the other hand you think with a cruel smile, a tribe of goblins? That might be worth considering. Or, you suppose, you could conceivably simply forget this nightmare and move on, or even seek out a more powerful monster you might enthrall. The former possibility fills you with disdain, though the latter compels your fingers to rub against the lips of your slit in honeyed pleasure.

The night is young, and you have your freedom. The only question is how will you use them?