The First Arrival (Furry/F)

Selections from the Mirth Collection
Part 1: The First Arrival (M/F)

The pouring rain, combined with the empty cobbled streets of the dingy alleyway conspire to create a most gloomy atmosphere. I can hardly complain; after all, I am here to engage in the purchase of smuggled goods.

A drop of rain drips off the hood of my cloak and onto my muzzle. I wipe it off with the soft fur on the back of my hand. Even this oppressive rain can’t dampen my spirits. After many long years of searching and hoping, I’ve finally managed to procure my prize. At least, I will, once those damned smugglers arrive. I hate waiting. The butterflies careening around in my stomach are half created by my jittery anticipation, and half by the worry that something has gone wrong and my prize will not be coming. Some might worry about being caught in the pursuit of illegal activities, especially those people had as much to lose as I. I myself have few worries about the local nightwatch. After all, my “bodyguards” are more than sufficient to handle the threat.

The simultaneous growls from both my left and right shoulder alert me that we are no longer the only people foolish enough to get caught in the rain. My sharp ears begin to pick up the sound of squeaky wagon wheels and hoofsteps. My heart skips a couple beats as I realize my prize is arriving.

It is arriving in less than grand style. An old and plodding oxen is dragging behind a cart containing two drivers and a huge wooden cage. The walls of the cage are thick and reinforced with steel. Only a grill set onto the side with the door allows a view in or out of the cage. The drivers of the cart are obscured completely by their thick, brown cloaks. One of them holds a loaded crossbow, thankfully not pointed anywhere near me. His partner hops off the cart and walks towards me, pulling up his hood to get a better view. I can see one of his eyes is covered by a leather patch. His other eye widens, and he takes a step back.

“What the hell are those?” His gravely voice is thick with surprise and fear.

I glance to my left and my right, trying to see my guardians from his point of view; to my eyes, they’ve become normal. My guards physically resemble wolves, albeit with a few glaring differences. Their coloring is pitch black, with deep, blood red backs and glowing red eyes. As they growl at the smuggler, they reveal clear, red fangs, as if carved from rubies. They are hellhounds, summoned from the burning realms and bound to me as my allies and guardians. The falling rain steams as it strikes their hides, surrounding them in clouds of mist.

I turn to the smuggler. “As I am unharmed, they will not harm you. You could hardly expect me to turn up here with all this gold without a little protection. Now, come closer so we can talk business.”

The smuggler still seems hesitant, though his eye shines with greed at the mention of ‘all this gold.’

“Tell your hounds to back off a bit, and I will.”

“Very well, but trust in me that should I be hurt, they will end you. Fell, Garmr, step back.”

Fell and Garmr each take precisely five paces backwards, their eyes following the smuggler’s every move.

He steps forward, and stares down at me. In order to gain a view of anything except his navel I have to stare up, letting the rain drench all over my face fur and drip water onto my spectacles. This is why I hate dealing with humans. I should have brought a stepladder.

“Now then,” I say, pulling the sack of gold from my satchel, “I trust you’ve procured her.”

He grins, his eyes eagerly watching my sack. “Sure did. Fresh from a freak show in Southpoint. The manager didn’t part with her easy.”

“Really. I heard she savaged a few paying customers and the manager sold her for a song. Now, don’t look at me like that. I intend to pay you the full price I offered… after I inspect her. After all, I want to make sure she is authentic.”

“Alright, but don’t get to close. She’ll take your head off.” He glances nervously back at my hellhounds, no doubt nervous about my previous ‘as I am not harmed’ line.

I give him a curt nod, and approach the cage. Again, the human ethnocentric design is present. I’m too short to see into the grill. The smuggler chuckles.

“Would you like me to give you a lift?”

“No need. Garmr, to me.” Garmr slowly walks over and stands before the cage. I climb onto his back, feeling the head radiating off him into my boots, warming my feet. With Garmr’s aid, I’m just tall enough to see into the cage.

At first all, I can see is darkness. A series of low hisses is my only warning of the coming attack. A blurred image of red scales and fangs fills my vision. Though prepared for such an assault, it almost catches me off-guard. I barely have time to invoke my enchantment. The magic rushes up from my center, up my arm and out my extended hand, right into the oncoming face. It pauses for a moment, and then collapses onto the floor of the cage. I summon a ball of light into my hand, and with its illumination, gaze upon the creature I have just rendered unconscious. I smile, baring my canines. Perfect.

As I hop down off Garmr, I toss the back of coins at the smuggler.

“It will suffice. Here is the promised price; you are welcome to stand here in the rain to count it. I’ve also included a small extra for the cart and oxen. I will require them to return this creature home.”

The smuggler opens the sack and grins. He gives me a studying look, possibly thinking about double-crossing me and taking both the creature and the gold. He glances at Fell and Garmr, at the cage where I just cast two spells in rapid succession, and reconsiders. He makes a gesture to his partner, who steps down off the cart. Just before they vanish into the night, the smuggler turns back to me.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what the hell are you doing to do with a gorgon?”

I study my claws for a few moments.

“Oh, don’t worry. I have plans.”


I stand in front of a mirror in my private chambers, wiping sweat and rain off my facefur. Moving my newly acquired guest has caused me to work up quite a sweat. Well, truth be told, my old flying carpet did the actual lifting and carrying, but controlling such a powerful magical item takes a great deal of concentration and stamina, even for one trained at the Sky Towers. I stare into my own green eyes and smile, revealing my sharp canines. It was worth it. However, I must clean myself up a bit before the fun may begin. After all, it simply wouldn’t do to greet my guest without looking my best, though I doubt she’ll appreciate it.

First, I remove my various silver rings and place them in one of my dresser drawers. Silver has a repellant effect on most creatures of magic, and I have no wish to harm my new guest. I unbraid my long headfur, and run a soft brush through the black strands. Once it is smooth as a river of ink, I rebraid it and brush my short, brown facefur and the black fur on my sharp, pointed ears. I then take a small file from a drawer and hone my claws, so that they are pointed without being razor sharp. After all, I would hardly wish to shred my fine cloths, among other things.

Following my grooming routine, I make my way over to my wardrobe. First, I remove my soaking boots, and place them on the floor of the wardrobe. The cold stone feels good upon the pads of my feet. I hang up my hooded cloak and my leather satchel. I glance down at my remaining clothes. A simply black silk tunic, emblazoned with a white dragon, and a pair of leather breeches. They’re still damp, but they’ll dry out before my job is completed.

Fell and Garmr are waiting for me at the doorway. As I walk down the stone corridors, I marvel at the fine workmanship. Just a few years ago, these tunnels were catacombs, filled with the dead chieftains and holy men of some ancient kingdom. Now, glowing firegems light the hallways, keeping away the dark, the damp, and the chill. The once mold-covered, crumbling walls have been replaced with cool, marble tiles. The redesign had not been cheap, but luckily my business dealings had put into contact with an elite team of dwarfish craftsmen. An exchange of services had taken place and the end result was an extensive underground system, as well as enough living quarters for a regiment of soldiers. Several of the rooms were furbished with some ‘questionable’ furnishing, but I make sure to deal only with the most discreet of merchants.

The room I enter possesses such a furnishing, as well as a delightful occupant. Fell enters first, as he always does, to check for danger. Garmr remains slightly behind, to make sure no one attacks me from behind. Fell sniffs around my new guest, comes to the conclusion that she cannot threaten me, and takes a post next to Garmr at the door.

Fell needn’t have been so cautious. The spell I cast in the alleyway was no ordinary sleeping enchantment. It was the Sleep of Kings, powerful enough to render even a creature of considerable power completely unconscious for as long as I desire. She will not wake, nor age, nor require food or drink until I remove the spell… or until true love’s first kiss. Even the most powerful of enchantments has a countercurse. Besides which, even without the Sleep of Kings, she is tightly bound. As I inspect her bindings, I also examine in full detail this unique being that has come into my power.

Physically she’s not much larger than a human male, though still large enough to tower over people of my race. Her skin is blood red, with thick scales covering her forearms, her calves, and her back. Her hands and feet each possess six digits which are tipped with murderous green claws. She goes bare-breasted, with only a brown leather loincloth protecting her modesty. I will not molest her there; my desires run in a different direction.

Her face, in slumber, is calm and serene. Her round cheeks, dusted with a thin layer of scale, her soft, full lips, her perfectly shaped nose, all call to mind the image of a goddess, though the red hue probably indicates a goddess of war. Her eyes are hidden, bound behind a metal band that wraps over her face, behind her ears, and is fastened behind her neck. It was placed there when I received her, and I’m not foolish enough to remove it… yet.

Instead of normal hair, flowing from her head are a mass of small thin snakes. For the moment, I’ve bound their necks together with a series of steel rings, running them down her back, giving the effect that she has a ponytail of vipers.

Her wrists are bound in metal cuffs, inlaid with sheepskin to avoid chaffing, though probably unnecessary. Much of her arms are covered with near-unbreakable scales. The metal cuffs are attached to a long chain, which hangs from the ceiling and pulls her upper body taunt.

She sits upon a soft, lounge chair, padded with goosedown pillows and bolted to the floor. Her long, bare legs have been bound to the long seat of the chair with troll rope, soft as Eastern silk, but stronger than steel. At the end of chair a set of ornate stocks have been fastened. The stocks are a combination of woodwork and steel, quite sturdy, with the ankle holes again lined with sheepskin. On the top of the stocks are set ten small horn facing away from the feet. I have run a strand of troll rope from each of these horns, down to the claws on each of her toes, binding her bare feet back and spreading her toes. Her feet are two handspans apart, completely immobile. All in all, she is a lovely package, and a great way to start off my collection.

After fully drinking in this vision of sleeping beauty, I decide it is time to retrieve my enchantment and awaken my pretty guest. I call upon the Sleep of Kings, and feel it lift from her body and return to my essence, awaiting my command once more. As the spell’s energy revitalizes me, my guest begins to stir. I pull up a stool, and take my seat in front of the stocks. She shakes her head and gives light moan, before unleashing a violent hiss. As she opens her mouth wide, I catch a glimpse of her sharp fangs and a long, forked tongue.

“Where in the Five Hells am I? What lowlife scum has bought me now? By Fate’s cold nipples, why am I chained up like this?”

In the face of her triad of questions, I sigh in relief. She speaks the tongue of man. That makes this entire process much easier. I possess the magics required to translate her native speech into mine, and mine to hers, but maintaining those sorts of spells is exhausting. Luckily for me, we have a common language, though her common tongue definitely displays traits of the Southern pirates.

I give a short cough, to announce my presence. She jerks her head in my general direction, her ears and nose twitching.

“Being the good host that I am, I will answer each of your questions in turn. As to your present location, we are currently in the underground dungeons of the Blackwood Forest, on the northern edge of Freehold, which is still under the rule of Queen Anora the Usurper. As for who purchased you and brought you here, that would be me, your humble host. As you may know, we goblins do not share our birth names outside our own people. Among the humans, I have chosen the name Mirth. I am a mage by trade, specializing in the healing arts, as well as basic demon summoning and golem creation. With such arts I have a built up a vast fortune, which not only arranged for your release, but also your present accommodations. As to why you are bound, you are a greater naga, commonly called a gorgon or medusa. Your kind are widely regarded as the most lethal and dangerous of all the humanoid races. The magic inherent in your gaze brings instant, inescapable death. That is why you have been blinded since birth.” The slight tremble in her lip at the mention of her sight does not go unnoticed. “In addition, your venom renders even the most powerful creature senseless and, properly trained, you kind possesses great shapechanging magic. I would be a fool to allow a complete stranger to enter my house such armed. Especially with the naga’s reputation for sadism.”

She curls her pretty lips into a sneer
“You’ve got a fancy tongue, for a upstart little toady. What, did your evil baron die before you could finish licking his boot? Well, you do right to fear me, goblin. Where I come from, your kind is prey!”

I give a brief shudder, before reminding myself of who is in control of whom. “My dear, while it is true that your kind once hunted mine, we live in an age of reason, an age of peace. Surely if I can forgive and forget such hostilities against my kind, so you can forgive my need to keep you presently bound. Now, I have given you my name, such that it is. It is only polite to enquire yours.”

“Oh, no you don’t, goblin. When the raiders tore me from my sisters, from my family, they took everything from me. Even my Helldamned freedom. The only thing they never took from me was my name. Call me gorgon, call me monster, but by the Five Hells, you shall not have my name.” Her voice is full of defiance and scorn, but I cannot help but feel a touch of pity. I harden my heart to her story. I cannot allow sympathy to relinquish this chance.

“My dear, trust must be given, before it can be received. If you will not trust me with your name, how can I trust you with your freedom and my safety? Once we build a foundation of trust, perhaps we can become allies?”

“Oh, I’ve been fed that story before. You claim you want to help me, but what you really want is to tame me, to make me dance around in a ring, to leap through flaming hoops. Keep your Helldamned trust! You won’t get my name from me.”

I give a false sigh. After all, this would not be nearly as fun if she immediately agreed to me. The destination is divine, but it is the journey that is truly a delight.

“Then we appear to be at an impasse. I cannot release you until you trust me, and that cannot happen until you at least give me your name. But, trust or not, I will have your name. If coercion is my only option to cooperation, then so be it.”

She throws a rueful laugh at me. “Hah! You think I haven’t been tortured before? I’ve been beaten, whipped, burnt, and starved. What the hell could you possibly do to me, goblin?”

“Oh, never fear, my dear. I may just know a punishment you’ve never experienced.”

With that, I place a single claw on the heel of her naked sole, and run it all the way up to her toes. She gasps, and then starts giggling as I pull my claw back down the length of her foot.

“Whahahahat the hehehell are you do-oing?” she asks, completely failing to sound menacing around the sound of her chuckles.

I grin. “Punishment without pain.” I then place a second claw on her other foot, and begin to run it up and down the length of her tantalizing sole. Her feet are smoother than I’d imagined, completely uncalloused despite her years of imprisonment. Her natural regeneration was working against her now, as she began to laugh harder and deeper.

I switch tactics, putting all of my claw tips on each of her heels. I then begin to scritch and scratch at them, adoring in the sound they make. She calms a bit, giggling lightly as I wiggle my claws around. But, then, just when she begins to get used to my touch, I begin to work my upwards. She feels what I’m doing, just as I reach the top of her heel.

“Oh, by thehehehe gods, don’t, don’t do-oo thahahahat!”

As I enter the soft, creamy plain of her arches, she shrieks in laughter! Hardly able to resist such an obviously invitation, I linger, slowly and agonizingly dancing my claws upwards, bit by bit. My journey is accompanied by her hysterical laughter. I glance up from my work, never pausing, to watch as her body dances in time to my fingers. The chain jingles, her body sways, bouncing her magnificent breasts in a futile attempt to escape the touch of my claws on her ruby red skin. I notice tears beginning to leak from beneath her steel blindfold.

As I sadly bid farewell to the arches, and begin to work my way up the balls of her feet, I can hear the insane edge to her laughter begin to recede. She is still giggling up a storm, but she seems to be a little more in control. Well, I certainly can’t have that.

“Tell me, my dear, have you ever heard the poem, ‘Ten Little Soldiers?’ Humans tell it to their children when they tuck them in at night.”

She breaths deep for a few moments, catching her breath.

“What in the Five Hells do I care about some stupid song?” Then, like a burst of light on a cloudy day, it dawns on her.”

“Oh, no, don’t tickle my toes. Oh, by the gods, no more tickling.”

“But I simply must teach it to you. It is the most adorable little song. Here, I’ll show you how it starts.”

Ears completely deaf to her pleading, I descend upon the biggest toe of her left foot.

“Ten little soldiers, lined up in a row, here they stand, and here they go. Here is the footman, with his sword and shield,” I say, as I tickle the tip of her toe. She squeals like a little girl, as I dip my under her toe, to tickle the softest part. Then she closes her mouth, obviously trying to resist the tickly sensation.

“Here is the pikeman, tall upon the field,” I continue, as I move to the largest toe of her right foot. She scrunched up her nose, face full of smiles. She tries to hold in the laughter, but I can tell she’s going to break again.

“Here is the archer, steady with his bow, here is the knight, ready for any foe.” As I move along her next two toes, alternating from foot to foot, giving each one full consideration, I hear a quick “Eep!” followed by a sharp intake of breath. Her battle of will continues.

“Here is the bannerman, colors held up high, here is the scout, hiding in the rye.” I explore the tiny, tickly place between each toe, wiggling my claw into the tight space. She shakes her head violently, and for the first time, I can hear her snake hair hissing in protest.

“Here is the captain, voice strong and true, here is the cook, stirring up the stew.” She begins to giggle under her breath, loosing control, but still refusing to give in. I almost have to admire her spirit, even as my nimble claws try to break it.

“Here is the drummer, beating on his drum, here is the squire, with his master’s rum, ten little soldiers, standing in the sun, ten little soldiers, and now my song is done.” As I finish tickling her bare toes, she gives a sigh of relief, and gives me an almost coy grin of success.

“Oh, but wait, my dear. It seems we have two little soldiers left. We mustn’t neglect them.”

The grin vanishes, as she realizes I haven’t yet tickled the tiniest toes of each of her feet.

“I guess I must invent two new lines for out poor, forgotten soldiers. Wait, I have just the lines.”

I grasp each of her little toes between my thumb claw and my index claw. As I finish up the song, I pinch and wiggle them to my heart’s content.

“Here is the mage, dispensing so much mirth, here is the lady, laughing for all her worth!” And laugh she does, completely overcome by my surprise attack. Were it not for the chain, she would be rolling on the ground, beating her fists. As it is, she can only grasp her hands feebly and laugh like a drunken barmaid.

As much fun as her delectable feet are, I decide to change my general position. I walk around her long, luscious legs, and hop up into her lap. My eyes are directly level with her beautiful breasts. She gives a sharp “Oomph!” as I land upon her.

“What in the hellfire are you doing? Get off of me! I’m not a horse! You can’t mount me!”

“Oh, but my dear, I’m sure you give the most excellent rides.”

I stretch my arms up, and sink my claws into the hollows of her underarms. She howls at my first touch. As I mercilessly tickle her smooth, hairless underarms, I am hypnotized by the bounce in her breasts. Her nipples wave past me, deep red, the sort of red you only see in sunsets. My hands begin to slide down her sides, along her ribs, every dancing. Her laughter deepens, becomes huskier, as sweat pours down her body. I pull in closer, letting the fur on my chest rub against her bare tummy, adding a soft tickle to my relentless claws. She’s laughing to hard to beg now. As my claws near her waist, I begin to kneed the slight pudge around her waist. I feel her hysterical tears, along with her sweat, fall from her chin and drip onto the top of my head. I’m reminded of the rainy alley.

I withdraw my claws and listen to her ragged breaths and after giggles. She shakes her head, showering me with yet more salty water. I hardly care.

“You merciless whoreson! You’re no goblin, you’re a demon in goblin form!” she yells at me, though not without a hint of admiration. The naga have always viewed sympathy as a weakness, and admire controlled cruelty.

“My lady is too quick to judge. Our dance has barely begun. Tell me, my dear, have you ever wondered how ticklish you are… upon your breasts?”

“Oh, by all the gods, not there! Anywhere! Tickle my feet, my sides, tickle me anywhere but there!”

“How can I resist them? Here they hang in front of me, begging for my attention. See how eagerly they await my touch.” I emphasis my statement by running a claw along the underside of her left nipple. I’m rewarded with a slight moan.

“Oh, don’t do that!”

“Very well. Perhaps you would prefer if I did this.” I place a single claw upon each of her nipples, and begin to spiral outward, letting my claws glide upon the layer of sweat. She madly giggles at my soft, smooth touch. As the rings get wider, the tickled area gets larger. As I get nearer to the edge of her breasts, I turn my attention to the area where her breasts meets her sides, and tickle that sensitive boundary with all my claws. Her soft giggles instantly turn to mad cries of laughter. I swing my tickling claws downward and dip into the tender skin hidden underneath her bulging breasts. My plunge into a sensitive, virgin region drives her wild. She thrusts her head back and forth, as if the act will drown out the maddening sensations my claws provide.

As her laughter turns voiceless, I relinquish my hold upon her breasts, and let her once again emerge above the waves of laughter. Though I cannot see her eyes, the position of her lips, the tilt of her head, all speak to me. They beg, they plead for a release, for a moments breath. For the first time since I entered the room, I let the grin leave my face.

“Do you surrender?”

At the sound of that word, that most hated word, the fires in her mind are reborn. She lifts her head up, her meek behavior driven back by her boldness.

“Goblin, do your worst!”

Once again, my goblin grin reveals itself. I expected nothing less.

“My dear, now you force me to use my most secret trick.”

I turn my head to the doorway.

“Fell, Garmr, feeding time!”

The two hellhounds prowl into the room, and head straight for the stocks. While they may take the appearance of dumb beasts, hellhounds are actually quite intelligent, and teaching my pair this particular trick was quite easy. They each approach a bound foot, and begin to sniff around it.

She doesn’t bother begging this time. Completely resigned to her ticklish fate, she scrunches up her face. Unless my ears deceive me, she lets out a tiny squeak.

I watch over my shoulder as Garmr unrolls a long, dry black tongue, and takes a tentative lick at the bottom of the naga’s ticklish sole. The response is a smattering of giggles. Then Fell gives a long breath, warming up her bare foot, and then almost lazily runs his tongue across her arch. She squeals with laughter. Then both satisfied, the hellhounds begin to patiently lap at her bare soles. Her screams of pure laughter rattle the walls. I watch as her leg muscles twitch, futilely attempting to draw her ticklish feet away from sandpapery torment. Once more, her tears fall upon me like rain.

But I have only begun. For my final trick, I put my hands back to back, palms and claws facing out, and I thrust them down between my legs, and between hers. Once there, I run my claws up and down the silky skin of her inner thighs.

Though I jokingly referred to my position as ‘riding her,’ I suddenly find the metaphor a fact, as her stuggles nearly thrown me from her seat. The grating whine of the chain being strained oddly harmonies with her hysterical laughter. Her wild, tickled tantrum lasts for only a few moments though, as her strength finally begins to give way. Her arms go loose, her head falls down with her chin against her chest, with only the constant flow of laughter showing she’s still conscious.

As I look up, into her gorgeous face, made even prettier by its sweet smile, a strange feeling overtakes me. I stop tickling, lift up my arms, wrap them around her neck, pull myself up, and kiss her. My lips touch hers, and suddenly her laughter is flowing into me. I can fill it expanding within me, rattling my body. I loose track of time, lost in her laughing kiss.

Slowly, like coming to surface after a deep dive, I regain my self. With a sharp word I barely hear, I call off my hounds. I lift myself off of her legs, my shirt and breeches soaked with both her sweat and mine, and stand next to her, watching her face. I decide.

I summon up what remains of my energy, and release a single spell. A whirlwind of air appears, and climbs up to the manacles far above my head. It makes a slight whistling noise at it unfastens the manacles. It then whistles it way down to the leg bindings, releasing them one by one. It moves onto the stocks, untying the toe strings, and lifting the latch holding down the top of the stocks. My power completely spent, I stand before her.

For a long moment, she doesn’t move. She just breaths, her chest heaving up and down. When her voice finally comes, it is deep and husky.

“Why, why did you…”

“Why did I release you? Because, my dear, I meant what I said, earlier. Trust can only be gained by being given. I give you must trust, and hope that I am worthy enough to receive yours. For it is not as master and slave that I wish to speak with you. It is as equals. And as equals, I wish to give you an offer. Will you listen to it?”

She still doesn’t move. I take her silence for agreement.

“I wish to employ you, not as a slave or a sideshow, but as an ally. You are but the first among many I seek to recruit to my cause, and I need a second in command. Someone dangerous and fierce enough to command respect from those who only respect power. Someone who knows what its like to be treated unfairly and cruelly, and thus will not treat those beneath her in the same fashion. Someone I can trust, completely. And in return, I offer not only your freedom, but a precious gift, one which has been long denied to you. As I told you before, I am well versed in the healing arts.” I lean in close to her ear. “I can give you back your sight.”

I watch her for a moment. Her face is impassive, completely blank. For a moment, I fear I have misjudged the situation, misjudged her. Then, from beneath her metal mask, flow clear, clean tears.

“For… for a chance to see, to not be trapped in darkness, I would do anything!”

I smile at her. “Then join me. Rise up and take my hand, and I promise, you will never again have to face the world alone.”

I see her smile, for the first time, from pure and simple joy.

My goblin blood courses through me, as I hear my mouth speak without my mind.

“After all, you’ve already received the worst punishment you ever will from me.”

I clap my hand over my mouth, marveling at my own stupidity.

She stands up in a single motion, moving so fluidly, like a dancer. Her bare feet pace along the ground; her steps falling directly in front of each other. She towers above me, as her ears pinpoint my position. Her hands darts out, faster that my eye can follow. She grabs my tunic and jerks me upwards. I am taken aback by her raw strength. I hear Fell and Garmr growl, but silence them with a gesture from my hand. She lifts me up to her face. I eyes fall not upon the metal plate in front of her eyes, but rather on the purple blush that has fallen upon her cheeks. She brings me closer, and kisses me on my forehead.

She lets me down gently, and smiles at me. The blush deepens.

“Actually, though it was complete hell, I sort of enjoyed it.”

I cough, trying to hide my sudden embarrassment.

“Well, after all, you are not the first to fall for the touch of laughter.”

“Is that what you call that tickle torture?”

“That is what we goblins call it. Would you be interested in possibly planting the touch of laughter on other young ladies like yourself? Feel the taste of it from the other side?”

She giggles. “I think I’d like that, Mirth.”

I smile at the sound of my chosen name come from her sweet lips. Suddenly, I recall.

“I don’t believe I ever received your name. Might I once again inquire?”

“Sure,” she says. “My name is Madira.”

“Madira… my dear. My dear Madira, I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

I hope you enjoy this story and please comment. I intend to keep writing these stories, and feedback not only improves my stories, but increases my desire to write them.