Nicole's Note: In the real world, playing with fantasies of hypnotic nonconsent requires a foundation of deep trust, as well as things like safewords and aftercare. This is a fantasy, as I hope the goblins and witches make clear. ;)
Also, if you're reading this in August, please keep wearing masks and social distancing. We don't get to act like the pandemic's over just because we "got bored of it".
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Balsam grimaced and squirmed in his chair.
Oh. This... this was bad.
Balsam wasn't an arrogant man, but he really hated being kept waiting.
It wasn't about the insult. Balsam was proud of this assignment—he was one of the king's most trusted ambassadors, and he knew he was well-regarded for his discretion, his attention to detail and decorum, and his easy way of talking to people. Being a diplomat to the Monster Lands was not easy. Everyone expected you to be silver-tongued, and the girls who called the dangerous valley home knew how to handle a silver-tongued diplomat—especially one cursed with Balsam's generally good looks.
Balsam didn't try for any of that, and that was why he'd been sent. He was humble, good at deflecting attention, and happy to be able to be of service here. He didn't mind that the Witch Queen obviously had more important matters to attend to.
But Balsam also knew how dangerous it was to spend too long in the Witchkeep.
Almost as infamous as the Witch Queen herself was the castle she had spelled into being, a crown of scorched charcoal spears piercing the sky, a cursed edifice of metal and dark, smoky glass. Shapes always seemed to twist out of the corner of his eye, writhing through every reflection in the opaque colored crystal that made up the walls of the waiting room.
It was a pleasant sitting room. The couches and chairs were woven of fine silks and covered with ornate patterns, no doubt embroidered by the most skilled silkwyrms. Thanks to the glass filtering the moonlight above, a pleasing rosy hue shone down upon him. It was warm, and the fireplace crackled with green fire. Next to his chair rested a small table, upon which stood a silver platter with a crystal chalice full of deep violet wine. The wine bubbled occasionally. He hadn't touched it.
It was a pleasant place to wait for his meeting. In theory.
The trouble was, Balsam knew with a pang of dread in his heart, every second spent here was a second for one of the ladies-in-waiting, one of the knights, the chefs, the maids—
any
of the Witch Queen's servants, frankly—to get it into their head that, oh, Balsam the human diplomat was
so
handsome indeed, with his wide green eyes and his slender build, and
what
a wonderful loveslave he would make to a smiling holstaur or a bewitching wraith...
Every second he spent waiting here was a second for one of the Witch Queen's servants to lose her will to resist—and try to take away his will, too. And while Balsam was quite prepared to head off any
advances
, and he was
quite
confident his willpower would suffice to handle any basic temptation... well, not all the monster girls here would bother to ask permission before trying to 'seduce' him, nor would all of them restrain their seduction to words and eye contact. Balsam was what the soldiers who had delivered him had not-so-diplomatically termed 'soft'. Delicate.
Breakable
. He was a man of words, not action, on an assignment where most of the ladies he spoke with were very...
vigorously
action-oriented.
So when someone who was
not
the Witch Queen entered the sitting room, his heart positively fluttered into his throat and flew for cover, and he barely held in a cry of alarm.
Which promptly turned into him barely holding in a slight laugh.
It wasn't any wraith or holstaur or witch-in-training.
It was, he realized, feeling
somewhat
relieved, merely a goblin. One of the lowest of the Witch Queen's forces, with essentially no innate mind control whatsoever—and, well, standing at about his waist-height (including those perky, pointy ears of hers), her physical prowess couldn't be much better!
She was gorgeous, though. She blinked up at him as she entered, her eyes only partially concealed behind a parchment-thin veil of lavender silk wafting over the top of her face. Her long ebony hair was done up in impossibly elaborate braids, no doubt woven by those very long and nimble fingers she was using to straighten her outfit, or what little of it she wore.
She was dressed like a... Balsam bit back the less-than-kind word. She was dressed like a
dancer
. The risque variety. The silks wrapped around her body concealed little and suggested much, and with her ample assets so lewdly on display, Balsam couldn't
imagine
how she would be able to dance with them. She did walk with grace, though, quite heedless of the way her massive tits—positively shining in the rosy light shining down upon her—jiggled with every step.
She walked demurely over and around his chair, and he snapped back to facing straight ahead as she came to stand before him. As she circled, he tried very hard not to admire the way her plump ass swung and swayed with every motion. Surely she was walking that way on purpose. Surely she knew.
Oh, gods, but she was breathtaking. Balsam was looking forward all-too-much to her attempted 'seduction', if that was what he was in for. As she pulled up the veil, revealing her striking rosy sunset-colored irises, he vaguely realized he was staring right into them without hesitation or concern.
But surely she couldn't be a threat. Surely this gorgeous goblin girl, with those full, pouty dark lips, that cute pointy nose, and that almost adorable belly dancer outfit, would prove little more than a brief reprieve from boredom.
In fact, he told himself, forcing himself to keep staring into those eyes rather than
elsewhere
, this could be dangerous in another way. He had to keep from enjoying this
too
much. Any diplomat entering the Witchkeep always kept a protection to prevent any, ah, intrusions under his trousers—a simple chastity lock that would instantly activate if anyone other than him tried to touch him in an untoward manner—but it didn't protect him from his own... well, mischief.
And as indecorous as the monsters here could be, he also knew it would shame his kingdom and his king if a diplomat sent to speak with the Witch Queen were found guilty of any remotely improper conduct. They might not even intervene on his behalf. It would be a humiliation—and one for which his punishment might be decided
here
rather than by his homeland, if it was especially egregious.
He reminded himself of this with firm resolve, all while the goblin maid stared up at him, pouted her lips to one side, and fluttered her eyelashes. "Good evening, m'lord," she said, her voice sweet and surprisingly meek. She curtseyed. "What a pleasure it is to meet you this fine evening!"
He smiled slightly, unable to hold it back. A goblin trying to speak formally was like a cat trying to fly after a sparrow. "It's wonderful to meet you, too, Miss...?"
"Mijya." She smiled shyly. "Princess Mijya."
A
Princess
? So she wasn't just a random guard or serving maid, then. He kept smiling. "Wonderful to Mijya, then."
The Princess blinked, and then her eyes widened with surprise and humor as she understood the word play.
"
Pfft
!" She covered her mouth quickly with a hand, flushing a bright pink against her pale opal-blue skin. "I—really? That's how you're leadin' here?"
"Well..."
"No, seriously!" she pressed. "I guess that works! I mean, evils below, I bet half the girls here would lose interest
immediately
if that's the kinda lines you've got! It's genius!"
He couldn't help but laugh. Okay, she was kind of cute. The thought only reminded him, though, of the more subtle danger here. "Princess Mijya—"
"Mijya is fine." Her eyelashes fluttered.
"Mijya, honestly, I think I know why you're here." He sighed. "And I am
flattered
, but it would be simply—" He hesitated. Mijya was smiling. "What?"
"No, no!" She waved for him to continue. "I didn't say anything!"
He frowned. "Well, I just... " he shifted slightly, unsure as her grin widened. "I just mean to say that I have nothing but the utmost respect for the Witch Queen and her servants, and I would just as soon avoid any..." He swallowed, seeing her grin widening to positively manic proportions, gods, he'd forgotten how large goblin's mouths could be. "... indiscretions."
She giggled. "Well, naturally, m'lord." She gave her hips a shimmy. "Oh, did you think
I
was going to disagree?"
He hesitated.
Mijya took a step closer, resting her chin on her bare shoulder as she reached forward and... didn't
quite
tip his chin up. "M'lord," she said sweetly, "Her Majesty, my 'aunt', has bade me attend to you while you wait."
"A-Attend—?" Her finger was still quite close to his chin, and her eyes were very, very bright, almost eager.
"As a performer, silly!" She giggled and hopped backwards, giving her cute butt another little shake and twirl. "We goblins make
fine
dancers, you know."
"R-Really?" Balsam was taken off-balance now. She seemed fully sincere, but he smelled danger. "Well, I, um..."
"In fact," she continued, her eyes flashing with merriment as she casually, rudely talked over him—though as a diplomat, it was best for him to just shut his mouth and let the Princess speak—"Decorum is
very
important to us goblins!" Her lashes fluttered. "We would
never
break with decorum."
"Oh." He flushed. "Well, ah, now I feel a little foolish..."
"That's okay!" She beamed, shaking her head slightly. "It's common t'feel foolish in front of a goblin, y'know, m'lord." She winked. "We're quite clever, and humans, well, bless them..."
"H-Hey!" Balsam kept his voice quiet and neutral, but couldn't contain his indignation—or his little smile at the sheer
gall
of this goblin.
"Oh, they're good for plenty of things," she said sadly, shrugging her shoulders. "And there's plenty they can do we lowly goblins certainly can't. Plenty they've got I haven't got." Her eyes shot to him. "But nothing that can't be affixed, hm? That's why
you're
here."
"Yes, I... suppose so." He felt unsure now. The goblin was speaking awfully quickly, and confidently, in spite of her malapropisms, and her voice was very slick and smooth and easy to listen to. A very pretty, musical voice, like chimes. But he kept his guard up. "This... dance is customary, then?"
"Of
course
, m'lord." Her eyes were heavy-lidded, as if all the innocence contained within those thick, dark lashes weighed too much to hold up. "It's a standard performance. Her Majesty
despises
keeping our wonderful guests waiting without entertainment, you know."
"I... I see." He straightened slightly in his chair, his worries easing a little. "And it's... it's not, ah..."
"Hypnotic?" She giggled. "Mind-melting?"
He bit his lip.
"Relax, m'lord." She tilted her head cutely to the side, her eyes shining with goodness and light. "I pledge now by the Moon and Stars that I'll not lay a hand on you. You're here under protection, after all." Her eyes darted downwards toward his trousers, and he swallowed, realizing what she was looking at. "Besides, with m'lord's
mighty
,
invincible
magics, I doubt there's much I'd be able to do. The likes of me ain't much of a spellster." She winked.
It was true, and he could feel himself relaxing in the armchair as he looked down at her. Aside from a few, more physically focused powers and a certain aptitude for spices, goblin maids didn't have much, um...
magic
, per se. And even a goblin would be bound by her word if she really was a Princess under the Witch Queen's tutelage.
In theory.
Something ate at him all the same, and he tried to find the words to describe that gnawing feeling in his gut. "But, um..."
"It's just the custom, m'lord," Mijya smiled, and her hips began to swing slightly. "It's just polite."
Her hips swayed so slowly. So... enticingly. Like a swinging pocket watch. Hourglass. Or... or something like that.
"... but, um..." His voice sounded smaller to him, somehow. Groggier. More reluctant to object. Gods, her tits were positively...
"It's only polite, m'lord," Mijya said smoothly, sweetly, as she began to sway her whole body, eyelashes fluttering low indeed. "It's... only...
decorous
."
"I... yes, but..." Her eyes filled his vision. He felt so unsure. The pink light shone on her so prettily, reflecting in her pretty eyes, and he was having so much trouble convincing the lower end of his mind—the part of his mind in his legs, currently bound and rather displeased about it—that there was any possible danger from one who was so small, so petty, so sweet...
Her voice descended to a sultry purr. "It would be
rude
