The human of course.

Fortunately it wasn’t too hard. You cling to nothing with your troop. The selfish stupidity of them will see them dead soon enough anyway, and you are not going to join them. Let them raid and plunder the countryside, picking up the leavings of greater beasts and monsters, waiting for the inevitable arrow of the rangers or soldiers to spear them. You have your reward. A tight little milk maid whose body you will plunder until she worships your cock and her belly swells with your litters. You feel yourself go hard at the thought, something which, you note, did not happen when thinking of saving your brethren. You turn, and like bulge of your loincloth serves as compass, you creep back to the human.

You hear the rustle of grass from the clearing and a thump and curse. You smile to yourself and shake your head, stepping from the darkness and into the firelight. The woman looks up in surprise, the grass around her laid flat from her attempts to regain her feet. You’d like to punish her, but you haven’t the time, instead making your way to the still warm deer meat and shoving it into a bag. You gather what you can from the camp site, ignoring her questioning looks, and only once you are done do you look back to her. Her shirt is in tatters but her leggings are still in decent shape. You grin a little to yourself at the sight of her pink flesh bared for all to see, but belonging to you.

“We go. Bad thing in forest. Hunting.”

She stiffens at once. “Wh-what?”

“Monster. Looking for something. We not here when it comes.” You watch her reaction closely. The fear is instant, and specific. She knows she is hunted, and the fear of it is far more than the situation she is in. Seeing that, a thought occurs to you, and your lips curl in the cruel delight of the idea.

Again you feel yourself stiffen but stamp down the feeling for now. Time for that later. You quickly loop a piece of rope into a noose and near her. She tries to squirm away but you don’t put it around her neck. Not yet. Instead you crouch before her, dangling the collar of rope before her.

“I know good spot. Hiding spot. It never find you there. You come with me quiet, be good, I take you. Be my breeding slut. Do what I tell you, keep you safe.

“Or…” You draw out her anticipation, relishing her shaking, the fear in her eyes. “Or I leave you here, all tied up. Wait for creature to find you. You make choice.”

She looks at you in horror, then the crude hemp collar you have made. She squirms, and you can practically watch the stages of her turmoil, knowing she now wished you would simply collar her and take her by ****. To somehow accept to go with you would break something in her. Humans are so stupid.

Finally, she bows her head. “Yes. I’ll…I’ll go with you.”

Your chest swells with the power over this woman at your feet. Had you time, you would have really rubbed her face in her admission. But with her agreement you feel the urgency of the situation. You run your fingers along the rope, relishing it as you put it around her neck. She flinches as you tighten it, but not too tight. Then, you help her to her feet. She stands two heads taller than you, your face only just meeting her breasts. Not a poor view but the height difference only makes your triumph the greater. Practically beaming, you kick some dirt onto the fire, extinguishing it with a hiss and leaving you both in the forest’s darkness. Then, tugging her leash to get her moving, you lead her like a prized pet into the night.

She has some trouble adjusting at first to the rope about her ankles, but soon enough she finds her stride, her restriction keeping her apace with you. You are a tracker, so conversely, you know exactly how to not to leave a trail. You push your **** as far as you dare, doubling back, erasing tracks, always careful neither of you leave a mark.

It's in the middle of fording a gentle stream that you hear the screams. You pause and cock your head, recognizing the high pitched squealing and pleading words in the goblin tongue, along with the howl of something that curdles the blood and makes everything in the forest fall silent as ****. You look back at your female and see her face bloodless and pale. You give the leash a slight tug, recalling her to her senses.

“Don’t worry. You mine now. I protect you.”

You see a flush rise in her cheeks. Of humiliation or gratitude, you can’t tell, but you can think already of ways to turn both to your advantage.

You lead her a long way. The place you have in mind was not something you had thought much of when first seen, but that had been when you and the rest of the tribe were still on the move. You’d mentioned it to Grakk, the troop leader, but his answer had been to laugh and contemptuously brush you aside. Well, never again you think with grim satisfaction. Finally, you see it. A dark mass jutting from a small cliff, the ruined tower had doubtless once been a strong fortification, but time and neglect had shadowed it with ruin. Holes gaped at the night and ivy clutched it like hooks dragging it into an earthy grave. But it was strong yet, sturdy, and your brief foray during the day had given no evidence of inhabitation. You had thought of what an excellent place it might have been. A hideout for your patrol to raid these fertile lands and enrich yourselves on it. For a moment you stop and simply stare at the crown of the parapets. Maybe it’s time to revive some of those dreams…

You hear the faltering step of your **** and reality sinks in again. “Almost there wo-man,” you say and tug her towards it. She lets out a relieved sigh, head hanging as she obediently follows you up the thin trail and to the entrance of the tower.

It is musty within and darker still, though moonlight peers in through a hole and illuminates the ground floor. Some spider webs creep along the walls and a partially collapsed staircase leads to the second level, but you ignore that for now and lead your **** to the corner.

“Sit here.”

Gratefully she sinks down to the floor, her head falling forward with exhaustion. You’re tired too, but your wiry muscles lend you strength her softness lacks, but looking at her pale flesh, almost luminous in the moonlight, you’re far from complaining.

“We stay here. Thing not find us. You safe.”

“Th-thank you.”

You nod. “You rest now. I make sure safe.”

She seems shocked by your seeming kindness but hardly argues. Instead she leans against the wall, and almost immediately falls asleep. You wait for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her heavy breasts, their pink areolas rigid in the cold nighttime air. You wait a moment longer, then stand. Time to get to work.

You have a lot to do and little time to do it in. You creep from the tower and rush back down the path. It wasn’t just the tower you had found in those woods. It’s a gamble you’re taking, but the reward could be great indeed, not to mention save a great deal of time.

A fair distance away you find the narrow hunting trail and follow it down. At the end, squatting in a clearing with a slumped roof like a mushroom, waits the hut. A single chimney smokes and over the door jangles dream catchers and other strange charms of bone and otherwise. You approach warily the strange little hut, so innocuous in the middle of the dangerous forest, but to those who knew of such things, that only made it doubly dangerous.

You have no illusions about the danger to you. The reason you’ve lived this long is because you’re a coward. You don’t have courage, you have survival. But because you are a coward, you know you must do this. Sooner or later, the human will escape. You’ll let your guard down, she’ll unbind the ropes, she’ll figure a way out. She’ll flee, or kill you, then flee. Too many things can go wrong, and you don’t trust yourself to break her in time. Maybe with the band around, or if she was at the village, but alone, you may need to take…precautions.

You stop before the door and gather your courage, then knock. A minute passes, then the door swings wide open, and the witch stands before you.

She’s exactly as you recall from your brief foray into the forest, when you saw her wandering about her hut in the middle of the day. No withered crone this, though true youth or some sorcery you cannot be sure. She is a shapely creature with long legs leading to wide hips. A trim stomach rising further to shapely breasts and a face looking out from a wild web of black hair. She looks semi feral, but there is an appeal to such wildness that does not escape you. She is a woman of power, confidence and desire, looking down on you with vague interest, her clothing little more than rags which barely cover her, as if flung on indifferently. In one hand she dangles a goblet made of a man’s skull, within some kind of sweet smiling wine.

“Now,” she says, her voice deep and throaty. “What has a goblin to do at my door in this late hour?”

You swallow thickly, recognizing the danger here but hold your ground. “Hello Spell One. I come for favour. Want potion.”

She slowly raises a brow and leans against the doorframe in interest. She tilts the skull to her lips and sips her wine thoughtfully. “Oh? What kind of potion?”

You forge ahead in a rush before your courage fails. “Caught human wo-man in woods. Want breed her. But, she young. Want her be willing. Mate and it take at once. Need potion.”

She looks at you more attentively. “You? Caught a human in the woods?”

“Her village raided. She run.”

The witch’s eyes flash, yellow like a full moon. “The village? You mean Gutandor?” You step back as she throws back her head and roars with laughter. “So they’ve been killed! Serves them right! Maybe if they hadn’t chased me out of there, I could have helped warn them. Well!” The exclamation cracks with all the **** of an unforgiving whip. “Good riddance! I hope they suffered well!”

You had listened warily, but with that last exclamation you grin and sidle close. “Yes. Make them pay. But hu-man I have survive. She with me. At tower.”

The witch arches a brow with interest. “And you want to breed the little dairy maid? You’re bold, goblin.”

“Yes,” you cackle. “Need potion to make her mine. Nice and willing.”

The witch drinks again from her macabre goblet, but her eyes are shining with a vengeful cruelty. “Ha. Would serve the little whore right. It’s all any of their descendants deserve. Little more than a litter sow, mounted like a dog by some wretched little goblin!” Her eyes flash back down to you with a mocking grin. “Fine. You’ll have your potion, and she’ll have the fate she deserves!” She turns, strutting into her hut. After a moment’s hesitation you follow.

The interior of the hut is crowded and smoky. Over a far fireplace a black pot boils. Several shelves with ancient books of yellow paper and frayed leather covers cover the walls, more volumes climbing in small stacks elsewhere. To your right is a large table covered in more books, a mortar and pestle and jars filled with things swimming in a thick liquid. Several censers are scattered about, breathing a thick, acrid smoke into the air, clouding the thatched roof and rafters.

“I have just the thing,” the witch says, crouching, the act giving you and excellent view of her tight, pert derrier. Not as palm filling as your woman at the tower, but ample still, more firm and muscular, like the rest of her. You lick your lips a little, only just listening to her as she rummages about.

“A potion. This will make the fat titted slut little more than the cow she should be. Stupid and willing. Nothing in her empty little head but fucking and being filled with cock and pleasure. Hotter than a bitch in heat and more than happy to take even the cock of a monster like you more than happily.” She gathers several ingredients, her face leering from the smoke as she lays them out on the table. You catch yourself, noting the goblet she places on the edge of the table. She grabs the components and throws them into the pestle, her face truly demonic as she grinds the ingredients. “Some herb of fallow, maiden’s tear, and seed of a demon, mix it all together and…” She takes away the mortar and digs through the mess of her table, emerging triumphant with a small vial. She pours the powder into the small glass and seals it with a cork. Grinning with utter cruelty, she holds the vial towards you.

“Here. Pour a pinch of this in her drink and she’ll be yours. Not even you will be seen as repulsive. She’ll be your submissive little bitch. Nothing but a broodmare for you to fill to your content.”

You chafe beneath her insults but grin as you accept the vial. “Thank you, Spell One. Will use well.”

“Yes yes. But! I have something else for you.” She turns about and throws open another chest. While she’s busy, your eyes roam to the waiting goblet, the hollow of the skull’s sockets seeming to brood with malice, with opportunity. You glance back to the vial you carry, then the distracted witch.