The Hag's Hot Date

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A hag and a goblin share a romantic evening together.

Submitted: May 18, 2017

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Submitted: May 18, 2017



The Hag’s Hot Date


‘Eye of newt, skin of frog, gizzard of lizard!’

The hag dumped all these parts into the cauldron and her eyes bulged as the broth tinged into a more sickly green. The red and black veins in her eyes inflated and throbbed and spittle dripped from her agape mouth. The smell of nausea snuck into her flaring nostrils and when it reached her receptors she inhaled all the harder.  A normal human brain would have vomited that smell right back into the cauldron from whence it came, but the hag shivered with the pleasure of it. She withdrew the ladle, which was caked in crusty slop from the innumerable years of cooking and lack of washing, sipped on its slime-like contents and smacked her lips with her rough tongue. It was good, but it needed something else. She stared into the cauldron and knew what would perfect this. It was a special occasion, and this was as good a time as any to add the ingredient.

The hag ran a clawed finger across the rim of her cauldron, digging out the years of mould, and she flicked chunks of it into the broth, where they floated on the top amongst the bubbles like drowned rats. She dug out all the crumbling white mould that she could and once it was all dunked in, gave it a hearty stir. The broth absorbed it all. When she stuck a grubby finger in to taste her new and improved recipe, she was delighted to discover that the mould was just the spice she needed to complete the dish.

Three knocks on the wooden door of her rotted shack. He was here.

The hag looked in the cracked mirror in front of the door. Her sweat was shining, her hair was lank, her teeth brittle and yellow, and that rash below her left eye was coming along nicely. Satisfied, she opened the door.

A three foot tall goblin with bug eyes and a deep frown stood there, his hands clasped behind his back.

‘Mildred the Ghastly,’ he drawled.

‘Glock the Dreadful,’ said the hag.

She bent down and they engaged in a passionate kiss. She forced her sandpapery tongue into his mouth, and his long, oily tongue sucked and slurped, relishing in the way her tongue grated and damaged him. A loose tooth transferred from the hag’s mouth to his own, and together they swapped it between one another, relishing in its erotic, dead fish taste. When they stopped, a rope of discoloured saliva stretched out between them, and it broke only when the goblin sucked it back into his bleeding mouth. He retained eye contact with the hag as he swallowed her tooth. Mildred the Ghastly’s dull heart pulsed and Glock the Dreadful walked into the hag’s shack.

‘What are you feeding me with?’ he asked.

‘The Hag’s Bile,’ said Mildred.

The goblin’s frown deepened, a sign of satisfaction. ‘Very well.’

Mildred the Ghastly stirred her broth more, eyeing up her suitor. He had big, frog-like feet, and the webbing between his toes made her bite her lip. She would be nibbling on that webbing later. She appreciated the black, coarse hairs that sprouted randomly about his body; they were long and thick. His belly protruded as if he were about to give birth to goblinspawn, and the wrinkles on his face showed an age so ancient that it was almost impossible that Glock the Dreadful wasn’t yet dead. Glock caught her staring at him and he blinked slowly at her. Then he craned his head back to facing the wall, silent and staring.

Mildred fished out two bowls from the corner of the room, picked off the feasting maggots and offered some to Glock. He took a handful without a word, and threw them into his mouth. He chewed slowly. Mildred picked off the caked food with her teeth and then poured the broth into each bowl. The broth was slightly alive, and she hit both portions with a spoon to stop it from jumping out of the bowl. Her eyes watered at the sight of its chunky green goodness. She set a bowl in front of Glock, and he slammed his head into the bowl and gorged, simply sucking up the goo into his mouth like a vacuum. Mildred sat at the table and held the bowl over her head. She waited for the slop to slowly fall into her mouth in drips and drabs like slow rain. Things wriggled and breathed inside the broth, but so thick and jelly-like was its texture that anything still alive was trapped inside as if it were some great spider web.

The two of them finished their meals in silence, and then they looked at one another. It was time to do what needed to be done. The goblin waddled to the haystack in the corner of the room, spread-eagled. Mildred began removing the flour sack she had stapled to her own body. It fell to the floor soft as a feather, and several lice hopped out and jumped back into the rolls of meat that were her body. Her skin was off-grey and pockmarked with black crevices, some of which housed live creatures. Some of her skin was sloughing off, particularly around the armpits and genitals, and the smell of dead flesh permeated the air. The goblin grew restless as he observed her hunched figure, and it was clear he wanted to get his claws on her. Mildred smiled and turned around.

She bent over in front of him and too horrifying for words was what was revealed to Glock, and that’s when he commanded, ‘Get over here.’

Mildred sauntered to the haystack, and before she could even lie down, the goblin jumped at her like a frog. He latched his arms and legs around her, and viciously did he begin biting at her swollen lips with his pointed teeth. And the pain and pleasure of it made Mildred collapse to the floor. Glock tore and crunched on her, and the more she bled, the more eager his urges. Mildred, almost several magnitudes heavier than the goblin, then flipped him over and sat on his face, which, almost boneless as it was, was flattened into the floor like paste. Mildred felt his lizard-like tongue flick and explore her, and when it became too intense, she jettisoned viscous dark liquid over his crushed face.

She peeled his face off her rear end, and then buried her face in the pit of his lap. She gobbled and he gurgled. After feasting, Mildred sat on his lap and his sharp goblin member cut and sliced inside her. Together they rocked and sweated, and their parasites crawled and crept into one another’s crevices. Their filthy bodies smacked and cracked against one another, and every so often the stickiness of their flesh would mean they’d had to pry themselves apart, which only added to the intensity. When all the gnawing and penetrating and wounding was done, Glock ripped out of her and padded to the door. Mildred lay on the ground, a marooned, bloody salmon.

‘Tomorrow,’ Glock told her.

Mildred nodded, and she couldn’t wait to be re-introduced to the sexy walking disease that was Glock the Dreadful all over again.



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