The heat of the Zaelasian sun is relentless, its powerful rays searing the landscape into a dazzling gold panorama of the Shifting Sands. The surreal beauty of the dunes is beguiling, shifting and shimmering like an elusive dream just beyond grasp.

I'm squeezed onto the saddle in front of Snib, the coarse, sun-warmed leather rubbing against my scantily clad skin. My pride, once a mighty force within me, is now a muffled echo, drowned out by the humiliating tableau I present, the damsel reduced to a subservient creature.

Yet, amidst the heat and humiliation, I cling to a tiny kernel of hope. Just a few more days, I tell myself.

The abrasive material of my metallic bikini grates against my skin, transforming every jostle and bounce into a torturous experience. My breasts, constricted by the bikini top, move in rhythm with Jarkrond’s galloping hooves, the constant jiggling an unwelcome reminder of my predicament.

I hear Snib's husky voice, tainted with crude amusement, whispering in my ear, "Excited for da caravan, cow tits?" His hands, rough and surprisingly strong, dig into the soft flesh of my ass, making me grit my teeth.

The saddlebags, heavily laden with our provisions, bounce against Jarkrond's muscular flanks. They hold an assortment of essential goods - food, water, the condoms I had bought in a burst of foresight, and my precious vial of Moonshade potion, a secret weapon that Snib is thankfully oblivious to.

My mind wanders amidst the monotony of our trek, and I find myself drawn to thoughts of Elara. Her soft gaze, the tenderness in her touch, and the lingering taste of her lips offer a beacon of hope. It soothes the raw and aching wounds of my spirit, but it's a bittersweet solace, stirring a longing that can't be quenched in this desolate landscape.

And then I feel it, an insistent pressure against my lower back, an unwelcome, pulsating heat. I don’t need to look to know what it is. Snib’s arousal. I suppress a shudder, refusing to let the lewd contact break me. I am more than the sum of these degrading moments, I remind myself, focusing my gaze on the distant horizon.

The constant motion of Jarkrond's stride wedges Snib even closer, causing him to grind against me with a jarring rhythm. His fat cock, an unsettling presence nestled between the curves of my ass, twitches with a life of its own. Each rhythm of our joined bodies sends a sickening thrill through me as his rigid, pulsating mass scrapes against my sensitive skin.

An involuntary gasp escapes my lips as I feel something hot and sticky against the small of my back, an unmistakable sign of Snib's virility. His precum, as revolting as it is warm, seeps through his threadbare loincloth, slathering my skin with its wet presence.

The sensations are overpowering, each vividly etched into my psyche, forcing me to experience his nauseating arousal in high-definition detail. I can feel the heat of his cock against my skin, the throbbing pulse that echoes his every heartbeat. The texture of his loincloth, worn and thin, does little to temper the sensation of his cock grinding against my ass.

The base animalistic nature of his actions sends a shockwave of reluctant arousal through me, a shameful ripple that moistens my bikini bottom. Yet, the Moonshade potion that I ingested in the morning works its magic, dulling the typical reactions of my body, making this degrading situation slightly more bearable.

However, the potion cannot mitigate the reality of having a goblin's engorged member sandwiched between my bouncing ass cheeks. The cloth barrier, inadequate as it is, does nothing to dampen the sensation of his monstrous cock, thick and hot against my bare skin. The intense heat radiating from his arousal is palpable, his precum acting as a disgusting lubricant that allows his cock to slide rhythmically in the crevice of my ass.

I am acutely aware of his hard, insistent length throbbing between my cheeks, the uncomfortable mix of heat and wetness sending shivers down my spine. The physical reality of the situation is crude and stark, and even the Moonshade potion can't erase the looming presence of Snib's grotesque virility.

His hand tightens on my hip, his knobby fingers digging into my soft flesh as he adjusts his stance in the saddle. His other hand finds my bouncing ass cheek, grabbing it with a disgusting eagerness, his nails scratching against my skin. He shifts his hips, aligning himself with the cleft of my ass, the heat of his excitement pressing against my lower back.

Without a word of warning, he begins to pump himself between my ass cheeks, using my body as nothing more than a masturbatory tool. The steady rhythm of Jarkrond's galloping fuels Snib's pleasure, his movements becoming more frenzied with each stride.

I can feel every twitch, every pulse of his enormous member as it grinds between my soft cheeks. His cock, slick with precum and coated with a layer of smegma, slides with an obscene ease. The sticky residue, nauseating in its consistency, adds a layer of slime that mixes with his precum, turning my back into a canvas of his arousal.

I whimper.

Each thrust sends a fresh wave of lewd sensation radiating through my body. His member, engorged and throbbing, leaves a trail of its repulsive essence on my skin with every forward motion, its heat burning into my senses.

His rough hands continue to manipulate my ass, kneading the ample flesh with a perverse delight. His fingers find purchase in the soft roundness, spreading my cheeks apart to accommodate his slick, turgid intrusion. The raw, unforgiving heat of his arousal against my sensitive skin is overpowering, the pulsating rhythm of his pleasure like a cruel metronome, keeping time with our journey across the desert.

My eyes squeeze shut as I fight against the sensations, against the gut-wrenching reality of Snib pleasuring himself against me. But no amount of mental fortitude can erase the reality of his pulsating cock as it grinds between my ass cheeks, leaving its revolting mark with each undulation.

I swallow hard, a small whimper escaping my lips as Snib's groans of pleasure fill the air. My body convulses with each push against my cheeks, a visceral reminder of the disturbing, degrading dance being performed on horseback, under the merciless Zaelasian sun.

Gritting my teeth, I manage to squeak out a request. “Master… please… a condom... put it on, “if you’re going to be doing that…”

His chuckle is low, a grating sound that sets my nerves on edge. "Oh, I think that's your job, slut,” he says, a sickening glee in his voice.

For a moment, I freeze. I can barely even touch him without feeling nauseated. But it’s far better than the alternative of getting my back and asscheeks plastered with insanely gross goblin seed.

I reach into the saddlebag, my fingers shaking as I fish out one of the tiny packages. The thing is cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the sweltering desert heat and the infernal warmth radiating from Snib's member.

I tear the paper packet open, the rubber condom spilling onto my trembling fingers. I steal a glance at Snib's massive cock, my stomach twisting in repulsion at the sight of the raw virility pulsing between my ass cheeks. It's almost alien in its size and shape, monstrous and intimidating.

I stretch the condom between my fingers, taking a deep breath before reaching back. My hand trembles as I make contact with his cock, his member twitching at my touch. I wince at the feel of his slimy, pulsing flesh against my fingers, the sticky smegma coating his shaft making my hand slip.

I struggle to roll the condom down his massive girth, the magical material called “latex” stretched thin over his member. It's a battle against his size, the condom barely managing to cover half of his length. It seems to resize itself slightly, imbued with magical properties - yet woefully insufficient for a schlong as enormous as Snib’s. His cock throbs beneath the material.

I fight back the urge to vomit, my fingers slick with sweat and precum as I pull the condom as far as it'll go. The hot, pulsating member strains against the thin barrier, pulsating with a need that makes my stomach churn.

"There," I gasp out, my voice barely above a whisper as I pull my hand away, quickly wiping it against Jarkrond’s rough hide. I feel filthy, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

Snib lets out a throaty chuckle, the sound reverberating in my ears. His hands move back to my ass, the roughness of his fingers amplified against the raw sensitivity of my skin. I can feel the coolness of the latex against my cheeks, an unnatural contrast to the fevered heat of his arousal.

Without wasting a moment, Snib resumes his lewd assault, his monstrous member sliding between my ass cheeks once more. But this time, there's a strange, alien sensation that accompanies each thrust. The condom, stretched thin over his pulsing length, provides a barrier between us, yet it can't dull the sensation of his hot, twitching flesh entirely.

His thick girth slides against my cheeks with each pump, the latex-covered monstrosity leaving a trail of alien coolness in its wake. The condom, slick with Snib's precum, slides against my skin with a sickening ease, a constant, disturbing reminder of the debasing spectacle unfolding atop Jarkrond's back.

His movements grow frenzied, each thrust of his hips driving his condom-covered member deeper between my ass cheeks. The perverse squelching noise it makes with each undulation fills the air, mixing with the grunts of pleasure that escape Snib's lips.

Each thrust sends a fresh wave of lewd sensation coursing through me. His pulsating member, straining against the thin latex barrier, grinds against my ass cheeks, his aggressive rhythm matching the steady gallop of Jarkrond's hooves.

"Listen well, cumdump," he rasps, his voice coarse against my ear, “At the Griznak Gobboree, your tits and ass will be earning me a fortune in the fighting pits." He punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrust, causing me to gasp out. “No one will think that under dose pretty titties is a fighter’s brain! Gonna earn us so much gold.”

I can feel his monstrous member, even through the thin sheath of the condom, twitching between my asscheeks, pulsating in time with his cackling laughter. Each of his thrusts sends a jolt through my trembling body, the sensation amplified by the rhythmic bouncing of the horse beneath us.

"I’ll put you to fight against the other slaves, slut. Your jiggling tits and fat ass bouncing around as you try to fight," he says, reaching around to cup one of my massive breasts, squeezing hard enough that I cry out. His thumb flicks over the sensitive underside, and despite my disgust, a flare of unwanted arousal sparks within me.

"No," I protest, but my voice comes out as a whimper.

"You’ll be begging for my cock soon enough, won’t ya?” he asks, his tone maliciously gleeful. He's squeezing my left breast so hard now, the tight constriction of my skimpy bikini top offering no protection against his brutal fondling.

"I... I won't!" I grit out. But even as I say the words, I can feel the dampness growing between my legs. I can’t control it. The musky scent of his precum, even with the latex barrier, is potent in my nostrils, and despite the Moonshade potion, I can feel a responding pulse of desire from deep within me. It dulls the sensation, but doesn’t prevent it completely.

His laugh is a horrible thing, a grating cackle that makes my skin crawl. But beneath that laughter, there's a sickening pleasure, a delight in my discomfort that only fuels his arousal. "Your words be sayin’ no, but your slutty body be sayin’ YES,” he says, his words dripping with satisfaction.

His hand leaves my breast to run over my exposed stomach, tracing the curve of my waist before coming to rest on my jiggling ass once again. “Soon, dat fat ass will be bouncing on my cock, ye’ll be moaning like a bitch in heat.” His words send a shiver down my spine, and I bite back a whimper. “And you’ll be beggin’ for more!”

"No, I won't... I won't...," I repeat, but my words are drowned out by the harsh slap of his hand on my ass, and his deep, throaty laughter.

His cock is a throbbing heat between my asscheeks, grinding into me with each bounce of the horse. The sensation is overpowering, a relentless pressure that sends waves of humiliation and arousal coursing through me.

"I look forward to our nights together, cumdump. I'll never need to force you," he says, a malicious glint in his eyes. "Ye’ll be beggin’ for it.”

My stomach churns at his words, bile rising in my throat even as I feel my cheeks flush. The potent smell of him, his constant degrading comments and the way his colossal cock - encased in a condom but very much potent beneath - grinds against my sweat-slicked ass cheeks, adds to the cocktail of humiliation and involuntary arousal. It's maddening.

His grimy hands grip my wide, feminine hips, using them as leverage as he starts thrusting in earnest. His hips jerk forward in rhythm with the horse's gallop, causing the monstrous member between my buttocks to twitch and pulse. My green eyes, wide and full of despair, dart towards his looming, virile form. His veiny, purple-tipped goblin cock, monstrous and so unfairly stimulating, throbbed against the latex sheath, a bead of his musky pre-ejaculate inflating the tip of the condom obscenely.

I can't help the shiver that travels down my spine. There's something carnal about the way his cock twitches and pulses against me, something that rouses the traitorous wetness between my legs even more. He's repulsive, but my body's betrayal makes his lewd actions feel like a perverse massage.

His other hand moves from my hip to snake around my body, finding the underside of my heavy breasts. His rough fingers pinch and roll the soft flesh, sending shockwaves of unwanted pleasure rippling through my body. The horse’s galloping motion only adds to the sensation, causing my breasts to bounce uncontrollably, their obscene jiggling further serving as a source of pleasure for the goblin. I feel a moan escaping my throat, immediately cut off by a sob.

"Like that, don’t you?" he grunts, pulling my head back by a handful of my raven hair, forcing me to arch my back, my bouncing tits presenting a delicious view for his perverted eyes. "You're a dumb slut, you're loving every moment of this, aren't you?" His words are a slap to my face, the humiliation of my predicament piercing me deeper than his cock ever could.

His grip on my hair tightens painfully as Snib's thrusts reach a fever pitch, each one driving the throbbing length of his cock against my sweat-slicked ass cheeks with fervor. His grunts become harsher, more animalistic - the unmistakable prelude to his climax.

"That's it... Take it, slut, take that gobbo load,” His words are seared into my brain, their demeaning echo mixing with the steadily increasing pulse of his cock against my back. His grunts turn into roars, the guttural sounds echoing in the silent desert. It's terrifyingly powerful, an echo of his potent virility, a testament to his domination.

I can hear the first heavy, muted spurt - a wet, barely audible sound, not unlike the squelch of wet mud under heavy boots. It's immediately followed by the sensation of the rubber against my skin stretching, bloating. It inflates, a perverse testament to his virile goblin seed, the heat from it seeping through the thin barrier and warming my skin.

Each subsequent throb of his cock, each guttural grunt that escapes his lips is accompanied by another muted spurt, the sound barely audible over the sound of the galloping horse and his harsh breathing. But I can feel it, the condom swelling between my ass cheeks, filling rapidly with his prodigious, potent load.

Every sensation is magnified. The heat of his seed, trapped inside the condom. The gentle, obscene sloshing as it fills, each spurt forcing the rubber to stretch even more. The wet, sticky sounds of his release, as if each heavy glob of cum is a physical manifestation of his demeaning words, of his violation of my body.

It's a sickeningly realistic sensation, an exaggerated simulation of what his seed would feel like inside me if not for the magical barrier protecting me. My body involuntarily shudders as he continues to fill the condom, his seed warm against my lower back. His release seems endless, the heavy, creamy load stretching the condom to its limits, turning it into a perverse, inflated mockery of a fertility charm.

Finally, the twitching of his monstrous member slows, his grunts growing less frequent until they eventually fade away. But the weight of his load remains, the filled condom heavy and obscenely inflated between my ass cheeks, a constant reminder of his virile, alpha dominance. It's an almost surreal sensation, the way it bobs and sways with the motion of the galloping horse, slapping against my lower back and thighs.

I tremble as I reach behind me, my fingers slipping around the taut latex that swells grotesquely with Snib's sticky, off-colored virility. The condom is hot, radiating an obscene warmth against the small of my back, a sick testament to the potent force of goblin life seething within.

The galloping rhythm of Jarkrond jostles me, causing my own body to quake against the filled condom. My heavy breasts, bouncing uncontrollably with the horse's strides, chafe against the hard metallic constraints of my bikini armor. My asscheeks jiggle, clapping together, squishing the bloated condom between them, forcing a muted, glutinous sound from the strained rubber.

"Look at 'ya, cow tits. Strugglin' wit' that balloon of goblin juice," Snib grunts, his gnarled hand gripping my leash and yanking my head back as his other hand fondles my jiggling assets. The taste of humiliation coats my tongue, thick and sour as the acrid stench of Snib's musk invading my senses.

I attempt to maneuver the slick, overfilled condom, but it's a nightmare. It wriggles obscenely against my touch, the latex stretching around the volume of Snib's disgusting load, seeming ready to burst. One thick spurt of cum suddenly squirts from the pressurized condom, the muted, sticky, horrid plop of it landing on Jarkrond's back echoing in my ears. I shudder, a wave of relief washing over me as I realize that I managed to avoid getting any on my own skin.

With each jolt from the horse's stride, the condom wobbles in my fingers. It's heavy, nauseatingly warm, and disgustingly virile. Each touch feels like dipping my fingers into the very essence of my daily degradation.

"'aving trouble there, bitch?" Snib cackles as he gives my ass a sharp spank, his slimy laughter intertwining with the squelching noises from the overfilled condom.

My ass stings, but I grit my teeth and focus on the squishy sensation of the cum-filled condom. I whimper, my shaky fingers fumbling to tie off the latex pouch, my once-heroic hands now trembling with the sickening task.

I bite my lip, fighting the welling tears of humiliation as I secure the knot. It's still pulsating with virile life, each ripple in the translucent material a grotesque dance of Snib's seed. I toss the filled condom onto the desert floor, the soft thud of it hitting the sand barely heard over Jarkrond's hooves pounding against the dry desert ground.

"Good job, cumdump," Snib praises, his condescending tone ringing clear as the morning bells of Eboncrest. His slimy fingers trace the curve of my waist, moving to grope my breasts once more.

I swallow hard, feeling a lump in my throat, a physical manifestation of my humiliation. The desert horizons blur as I watch the condom disappear in the dust, lost to the relentless desert winds. Hopefully no poor adventurer comes across it…

As the desert rolls by, my goblin master has a tight grip on my waist, his fingers digging into the soft, porcelain flesh of my belly.

"You know, cowtits,” Snib's voice slithers into my ear, the reek of his breath fills my nostrils.

My body rebels against my revulsion as he licks my back, the all-too-familiar warmth of arousal spreading through my belly. 

"We're headed to the Griznak Gobboree," Snib continues, ignoring my discomfort, his fingers idly trace a line along my bare thigh. The distinct grating sound of his claws against the metal boot send chills down my spine. “Not just any caravan.”

"The...what?" I manage to choke out, my voice shaky.

"Named after Griznak the Ghastly, the chiefest of chiefs, it's a gathering of the biggest, meanest, and dirtiest goblin tribes from all corners of the continent." His words echo in my ears, painting a terrifying picture of what I'm about to face.

His claws drum against my thigh as he chuckles, the sound causing a shudder to pass through my body. “It’s the biggest party ye’ll ever see,” he says, "Goblins betting on bloody fights, drunk on rotgut brew and reveling in debauchery. Tis beautiful.”

I swallow hard at the thought, but he doesn't stop.

"The slave fights are a spectacle to behold, lass," he says, his voice tinged with excitement. "We pit our slaves against each other, to fight for our amusement.”

"Fight?" I gasp out, my heart pounding in my chest. The idea of having to fight someone else for entertainment is abhorrent, let alone the thought of being Snib's betting tokens, against a sea of other vile goblins.

"Oh, don't ye worry, cowtits," Snib cackles, patting my thigh reassuringly. His laughter vibrates through me, increasing my discomfort. "It’s mostly hand-to-hand. No weapons. Weeel. Sometimes wooden sticks. Ain't no fun if a slave dies too quickly. We bet on how long they can last." His voice holds a horrifying glee that chills me to my core.

"I..." I trail off, at a loss for words. I can hardly fathom the extent of the brutality he is describing. The world I once knew as Aldric, filled with honor and valor, is disintegrating, leaving behind the twisted, perverse reality of my new life.

His hand leaves my thigh, slipping under my metallic bikini top again, and he squeezes my breast. “Look at ya, all dolled up in this fancy armor, barely able to swing a sword. They'd bet against ya in a heartbeat. But that's where they'd be wrong. That’s why we’re gonna be rich!"

Snib's words hammer into me like a punch to the gut, the realization of what he's suggesting sinking in.

"If ye can’t handle dungeons, this is the best way to make some coin. How much you got left to pay me off - was it, nine thousand, seven hundred gold? That’s a lot.”

He laughs again, his hand returning to my thigh as he talks about the goblin caravan, painting an increasingly grim picture. The Griznak Gobboree, a gathering of goblins, of violence, and debauchery. I'm to be part of it, a spectacle for Snib's amusement and profit. The thought fills me with dread, but also a spark of defiance.

Snib's gnarled hand continues to grope and prod at my breast, his nails scratching against the metallic bikini top. His grip is uncomfortably tight, his fingers digging into my soft, vulnerable flesh. He seems to relish in the squishiness of my voluptuous breasts, his claws kneading and squeezing. His grip is hot and sticky, the dampness of his palm pressing against the sensitive skin, the stench of his smegma tainting the air around us. He's just violated me a few minutes ago, his musk still clings to my body, making me shudder.

"Ye should see 'em, Elise, all dem gobbos at the Gobboree," Snib murmurs, his voice barely above a gruff whisper. His hot, fetid breath rolls over the nape of my neck, causing my skin to crawl. "Ye've got the perfect body for 'em. All soft an' ripe, with yer fat tits and fat ass."

I feel a sickly blush creep up my cheeks at his crude words. His hand leaves my breast to drift lower, coming to rest on the curve of my hip. I squirm at his touch, the pressure of his hand against my side igniting a bitter taste of humiliation on my tongue.

"They love a good, thick woman, see?" Snib continues, his voice full of glee. "The hourglass shape, the way ye sway when ye walk. Drives 'em mad, it does. Especially them tits, they're like a pair of ripe melons. All the gobbos go crazy for a set of udders like yers." His hand kneads my hip, a lewd squeeze that makes me whimper. "Can't wait to show ye off to my cousins, they're gonna lose their minds over ye."

His excitement is palpable, his words seething with anticipation. It's enough to make me sick, the thought of being paraded around like a piece of meat for goblin amusement. My body is burning with a wave of embarrassment, the very thought of Snib's disgusting, wart-covered cousins ogling me making my stomach churn.

"But don't ye worry, cowtits," Snib drawls out, his hand leaving my hip to grab a handful of my buttocks. The sudden intrusion forces a yelp out of my lips. "I ain't gonna let any of 'em fuck ye. No, no. That's gonna be MY privilege."

His words are a punch to my gut. My heart stutters in my chest. The thought of Snib - or any goblin for that matter - violating me like that... I push the thought away, focusing instead on the uncomfortable sensation of Snib's hand kneading my behind, his fingers pressing into the pliant flesh through the skimpy metal bikini bottom.

"Ye’ll come around, Elise," Snib says, a note of confidence in his voice. "Ye’ll be begging me for it soon enough."

A chill runs down my spine at his words, at the sheer certainty in his voice. But I refuse to let him see my fear. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his words affect me. Instead, I focus on the steady rhythm of Jarkrond’s galloping hooves, the scorching desert wind that whips past us.

—

As we approach, the Gobboree materializes on the horizon like a twisted mirage - a collection of mismatched tents of various shapes and sizes, arrayed haphazardly. I can see flickering flames dancing against the evening sky, while a cacophony of noise - discordant music, crude laughter, high-pitched squeals - wafts towards us on the desert breeze. Snib chuckles next to me, a perverse sense of satisfaction in his voice as he says, "Welcome to the Gobboree, cow tits."

Entering the heart of the Gobboree, it’s a fever dream of goblin debauchery and vibrant chaos. Fires crackle amidst tents dyed in every shade imaginable, as goblins of varying sizes and grotesqueness congregate in raucous revelry. Some squat and warty, others tall and wiry, but all bear the characteristic goblin lewdness. Their lusty, grating laughter echoes across the makeshift fairground. It's a melting pot of tribes, the diversity surprising me. Snib points out various tribes – the Thornbacks with their spiny protrusions, and the Foulmouths with their grotesquely large jaws. I can barely contain my revulsion, yet there's a morbid curiosity in me.

Amidst the festivities, human slave-girls move around. Some are visibly pregnant, their swollen bellies a testament to the goblins' lustful endeavors. One scene in particular catches my attention - a beautiful blonde-haired woman, on all fours, being taken turns by a group of goblins. Their sizable members, not quite as large as Snib's but still formidable, pound into her with frenzied eagerness.

One goblin, smaller than the others, clumsily mounts her from behind. His bony hips thrust, accompanied by wet squelching sounds and a chorus of depraved cheers. With a grunt, he unloads himself deep inside her, a filthy chuckle escaping his lips. The woman whimpers, a mix of pain and pleasure marring her features. To my horror, my own body responds with a familiar tingle of arousal. Snib's chuckle next to me sends a shiver down my spine. "Another one soon to be ripe with a goblin spawn, eh, cumdump?" he grunts, amusement dancing in his beady eyes.

Serving women, beautiful and flushed, move amidst the frenzied goblins, offering platters of raw meat and overflowing mugs of some frothy brew. My heart aches at the sight of them, their once-cherished freedoms stripped away. Likely missing women from various human villages, now reduced to servitude.

The scene is a grotesque spectacle of primal urges. Goblins mate openly, their perverse enjoyment on full display, human women subjected to their lusts. It's a tableau of debauchery, a twisted tapestry of flesh, desire, and conquest.

Despite the disgust clawing at me, I am forced to confront the chilling reality - this perverse carnival, this Gobboree, is a glaring testament to goblin society's disturbing hierarchy. A place where their base desires are not just condoned but celebrated. The air hangs heavy with the scent of sex, earthy and pungent, overpowering the smell of roasted meats and ale. The underlying musk of goblin arousal seeping into my senses, making my body respond with an unwilling flush.

A part of me wants to look away, to deny the horrific reality before me. Yet, I can't. My wide-eyed horror is mirrored by a captivated fascination, a nightmarish truth I have no choice but to accept. I am Elise, once Aldric the Great, now a mere plaything in this goblin den of debauchery.

The stench of hot musk and flesh is inescapable. I can taste it, coppery and obscene on my tongue. A labyrinth of tents stretches out before us, pulsating with a sickening, carnal energy. The lustful cries of women and the savage grunts of goblins merge into a relentless cacophony. I feel my cheeks warm with the color of shame, my stomach churns with a sense of despair.

As Snib guides Jarkrond deeper into the carnival, I catch sight of a fighting pit. Here, slaves, both human and otherwise, are forced to brawl for goblin amusement. A massive, muscular orc, probably twice my size, has a human woman pinned down. She struggles beneath him, terrified and outmatched. Despite her impending defeat, the goblins around the pit cheer, throwing coin into a growing pile. The smell of sweat, blood, and fear fills the air as the orc's fists pummel the woman into unconsciousness. Instead of killing her, she is dragged out of the pit - unconscious and battered, but still a valuable piece of breeding stock.

Turning away from the pit, I see a group of goblins gathered around a collection of slave women. The women are on their hands and knees, their bodies visibly shaking under the effort to stay upright as they serve drinks to the raucous goblins. Some of them are interrupted mid-service, goblins gripping their hips and thrusting themselves inside. Moans and cries of pleasure mix with laughter and cheers, creating a symphony of debauchery.

Beside a large bonfire, a young woman, a blonde beauty likely stolen from some remote village, is pinned under a goblin. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused, her cheeks flushed. Her bare legs are hoisted in the air, her body rocking rhythmically with each of the goblin's thrusts. Even from here, I can hear the obscene squelching sounds. She whimpers, gasps, her body betraying her mind's horror with undeniable pleasure.

Nearby, a woman, her belly swollen with pregnancy, serves goblets of wine to a group of chattering goblins. Her body is adorned with nothing more than a transparent, gauzy fabric. It does little to hide her engorged breasts and rounded stomach. The goblins grope her without thought, their rough hands trailing over her body with possessive familiarity. Despite the ongoing violation, the woman maintains a stoic calm, her eyes glazed over in resigned acceptance.

A pair of twins, indistinguishable except for the color of their hair, one brunette, the other blonde, are servicing two goblins simultaneously. Their identical faces twist in pleasure, their cries harmonizing in a lewd chorus. I see the goblins' muscled backs tense as they climax, their bodies shuddering, their cum spurting onto the twins' faces and chests. The sight is repulsively fascinating, my eyes drawn to it even as my stomach revolts.

I see a brunette being claimed by a goblin on her hands and knees. He's small, even by goblin standards, but he mounts her with an animalistic fervor that makes my skin crawl. His tiny frame bounces with each thrust, his grunts echoing around the firelit space.

The most shocking sight is yet to come. As we draw closer to the heart of the carnival, I see a sight that will haunt my dreams. An array of women, dozens of them, all on their backs, legs splayed wide. Above them, goblins move in a grotesque rhythm, their bodies slick with sweat and other fluids. The women moan and whimper, their bodies writhing in a twisted dance of pleasure and degradation. The ground around them is slick with spent cum, the smell so pungent it makes my eyes water. The goblins move from woman to woman, their virility seemingly unending. Some women bear the roundness of pregnancy, others are still marked by the goblins' seed.

As we pass the revolting spectacle, Snib chuckles, his voice a nauseating purr in my ear. "Ain't nothing like a good ol' Gobboree, eh slut?” His laughter reverberates through the night, a mocking echo to my despair.

As we press deeper into the sprawling network of tents, the orgiastic revelry of the open grounds gradually gives way to a more intimate, yet no less obscene, series of encounters. The shadows cast on the tent walls become private performances in their own right. Goblins and their human chattel, engrossed in acts of primal dominance that send shivers up my spine.

The first tent to our left houses a sight that almost makes me fall from the horse. Through a poorly drawn flap, I see a woman, high-born from her refined features and the remnants of a fine silk dress. Her hands claw at the dirt floor, her body shaking under the assault of not one, but three goblins. Despite her initial protests, her words have since turned into incoherent moans and whimpers. Her hips undulate in rhythm with the thrusts, her body arched back in a bow of surrender. "Pl-please... my family... they have money... they'll..." Her sentence is cut short by a loud, guttural cry as one of the goblins goes balls deep inside her. The obscene squelching of his climax echoes through the tent, followed by a rivulet of thick, milky cum spurting from her pussy. She gasps, her eyes rolling back, her body convulsing in what looks like a simultaneous orgasm. Her words turn into drooling moans, her body shuddering beneath the relentless assault.

Next, we pass a tent with a dark-skinned woman, likely from the southern regions of Zaelasia. Her lithe form is bent over a low stool, her voluptuous ass in the air and thick thighs spread wide. A particularly large goblin, dwarfing his brethren, looms over her, his hands sinking into the soft flesh of her jiggling buttocks. His thrusts are powerful, causing her body to ripple with each stroke. I hear her whimpering, her hands clutching at the edge of the stool, her face buried into a pillow. Suddenly, the goblin's grunts turn into a roar. I see his cock twitch, then erupt, sending a cascade of thick, creamy cum onto her dark skin, contrasting obscenely against her. His pleasure is so potent it splatters up onto her back, over her shoulders, even reaching her curly black hair.

The final vignette is one I cannot see, but it echoes in my ears with haunting clarity. It's a shadow on a canvas, two bodies writhing against each other. The woman's moans sound so innocent, and yet the depth of her pleasure is unmistakable.

With each passing tent, each torrid scene of dominance and submission, I feel a knot of discomfort twisting in my stomach. Shame, fear, horror, and yet... underneath it all, a heat I cannot deny. It's a perverse reaction to such a spectacle, but it's there nonetheless, a flush of arousal that has my cheeks hot and my breath hitching.

Snib, oblivious to my internal turmoil, leads me towards a larger, more elaborate tent. His rough voice breaks through the cacophony of moans and grunts as he haggles with a fellow goblin. I can only assume it's the tent-master. Meanwhile, the drums continue to pound in the distance, the rhythm syncopated with the grunts and moans that fill the air, a lewd symphony of decadence and debauchery.

The images of the women being used in such a grotesque manner are seared into my mind. Women from all walks of life, reduced to nothing more than sex slaves for these goblins. The sight of their bodies, their surrender, their pleasure... it's more than just shocking, it's heart-wrenching. But at the same time, it's frighteningly fascinating, the animalistic dominance striking some primal chord within me. It's a feeling of powerlessness, of overwhelming despair... and an undeniable, shaming arousal.

I quickly fish through the saddlebags and take another sip of the Moonshade potion while Snib isn’t looking, hoping to dull the onslaught of his overpowering scent.

Not a moment too soon, Snib returns, pulling me inside the tent. We approach a burly goblin, his skin the color of rotten moss, muscles rippling under his dingy vest. A thick wad of chewing leaf bulges in his cheek as he watches me with a predatory gaze. A woven silver chain hangs around his neck, indicating his rank.

Snib releases a guttural snort, his beady eyes glinting. "Ey, 'ou get a good look at my bitch,” he slurs, tugging my leash again, closer to the tent-master.

I wince, a crimson blush sweeping across my porcelain skin as he assesses my body.

"She's a ripe one, ain't she? Big melons, a jigglin' rump, 'n soft as a nargle's belly, she is," Snib brags, grinning through his grotesque, yellowed teeth.

He makes me bend over, exposing my barely covered posterior to the leering tent-master. The tent-master grunts.

"'Ere for the pits, she is. Not much of a fighter, this one. She'll make for a quick round, she will. But good show,” Snib cackles, his words laced with a disturbing sense of pleasure. The tent-master grunts in agreement, producing a bracelet from a leather pouch. It's a simple bronze band, but a series of unfamiliar, crude symbols etched into it tells me it's more than just an ornament.

He locks it around my arm. "Gonna get a lotta bets on this one," he grumbles, his voice raspy. "Pits love a bit of beauty 'n blood. Gets 'em roarin', gets the coin flowin'. Startin' tomorrow, she is."

Snib's putrid laugh echoes in the air, and I swallow a bitter lump in my throat, steeling myself for the battles ahead.

We're shown to a spacious tent, by goblin standards at least. It’s lined with luxurious looking - for goblins - furs and hides of various beasts, dyed in deep shades of crimson and green. The scent of wet earth and decaying leaves fills my nostrils as we step inside. My eyes flicker around.

"But there's only one bed," I point out, glancing at Snib with a mix of apprehension and disbelief.

He simply grins, his eyes gleaming in anticipation. "That's right, bitch. Ain't no two beds in 'ere."

There's a moment of silence as I take in the implications, the deep grating laughter of Snib echoing around the tent. This feels like another one of his cruel games, a taunting jest to belittle me, to take me down another peg.

He leers at me, his jagged teeth visible under the dim, flickering firelight from the lantern hanging from the center pole of the tent. "Tonight, you're restin' early. Tomorrow's your big day."

I swallow hard, my hands instinctively coming up to clutch at the metal bikini that feels all the more inadequate now. It digs into my flesh uncomfortably, the cool metal contrasting starkly with the warmth of my skin.

Taking a deep breath, I turn my back towards him, doing my best to shield my body from his intrusive gaze. My fingers fumble with the clasp at the back of the metal bra. It takes a few tries, the metal clinking loudly in the otherwise quiet tent. Finally, it gives way, the front of the bra dropping away.

The sudden freedom is a relief and a torment at once. The weight of my massive breasts immediately pulls them down, the full globes bouncing with a slap against my belly. I can feel my nipples stiffen against the cool air, my breasts jiggling gently with the motion. They feel achingly bare, vulnerable under Snib's voyeuristic gaze.

Ignoring his coarse laughter, I reach for the high-waisted metal g-string. It digs into my thick hips, the tiny piece of metal all that's between my intimate area and his leering eyes. It takes more effort to undo the small buckle at the side, my fingers trembling with anxiety. The sound of it hitting the ground seems to echo in the tent, reverberating through my entire body.

Last to go are the metal stiletto heel-boots. I unbuckle them slowly, sliding my feet out of their confines. My feet feel light, tingling from the sudden release of pressure. Standing naked, I clutch an animal fur to cover myself.

Snib just chuckles, stretching out on the fur-covered bed as though it's the most natural thing in the world. "You ain't got nothin' I haven't seen before, bitch," he remarks, grinning devilishly. “Quit actin’ so prissy.”

The bed, if it can even be called that, is piled high with various furs and hides. Some dyed deep crimson and others in garish greens. It's the height of goblin luxury, a far cry from the sparse straw pallet I'm used to.

I climb into it, the furs tickling my bare skin. There's a certain richness to them that contradicts the foul goblin who's sharing it with me. Lying on my side, my breasts stack on top of each other, squashing under their weight. They jiggle as I try to find a comfortable position.

The sounds of the Griznak Gobboree fill the air, a cacophony of revelry, debauchery, and breeding. The horrid symphony serves as my lullaby, the cruel reminder of the fate I'm fighting to avoid.

"I won't let it happen," I murmur to myself, my resolve steeling as I glance at Snib. "I won't become another one of your broodmothers."

Snib just laughs, turning to face me. "We'll see, cowtits. We’ll see.”

My chest rises and falls, heaving under the rhythm of my ragged breaths, my nipples rubbing against the rough fur. I'm hot, uncomfortably so, my skin slick with sweat that's beading between the valley of my breasts and trickling down the small of my back. The heat seems to seep into the marrow of my bones, stoking the simmering desire that's been stirring in the pit of my belly for the past few days.

Snib's chuckle makes my skin crawl, but there's a shameful part of me that also shivers with perverse anticipation. I turn my head, green eyes darting towards him, taking in his repugnant grin. "You could be like 'em," he says, gesturing vaguely to the outside of the tent. "Cummin' their brains out on gobbo cocks."

His words are a punch in the gut, a humiliating reminder of what my body seems to be yearning for. My body aches with a gnawing emptiness, a void that's growing harder and harder to ignore. It's like a fever, an incessant itch, an alien impulse that keeps me on edge. I can feel the wetness pooling between my legs, the evidence of my betrayal clinging to my inner thighs, a constant, damning reminder of my body's traitorous desires.

I close my eyes, trying to push down the feeling, but it's like trying to submerge a buoy underwater. My mind races, picturing the women outside in the other tents, their moans and cries of pleasure so clear over the raucous sounds of the Gobboree. The cacophony is a maddening symphony of debauchery and breeding, punctuated by the guttural cheers of victorious goblins and the squelching sounds of wet, primal rutting.

I squirm on the bed, the furs scratching against my sensitive skin, exacerbating the sensations. It's a torture rack of desire and shame, each move, each breath, each pulse of my heart sending waves of hot, throbbing need coursing through my veins. My legs squeeze together, the muscles in my thighs tensing as I try to provide some sort of relief.

I run my hands over my body, tracing the curve of my waist, my fingertips sinking into the flesh of my hips, the generous swell of my ass. It feels foreign, alien, yet undeniably mine. The black waves of my hair spill over my shoulders, a cascade of midnight silk that brushes against my bare breasts. The contact makes my nipples harden, a jolt of sensitivity that sends another pulse of yearning through me.

I bring my hand to my mouth, biting down on my knuckle, trying to stifle the whimper that threatens to escape my lips. The taste of my own sweat on my lips is a cruel mockery, a reminder of the shameful, debasing arousal that's holding me captive.

I hate it. I loathe it. But at the same time, there's a primitive, insidious part of me that revels in it, that coils tighter and tighter with each second, like a spring waiting to be unleashed. I can't help but writhe, my hips arching, my belly undulating, the outline of my hourglass figure stark against the furs. It's like I'm a puppet, my strings pulled by the humiliating, maddening arousal that courses through my veins.

My mind's a battleground, caught between revulsion and need, denial and acceptance, defiance and submission. I want to resist, I need to resist. But my body, it yearns, it hungers. It feels primed, ripe, like an apple ready to be plucked from a tree. It feels... it feels fertile. The thought brings a fresh wave of shame crashing down on me.

I try to ignore the lewd moans and grunts from the neighboring tents, the unsettling stench of sex and goblin musk thick in the air. The noise is a constant cacophony, the terrible soundtrack to my tormented arousal. My chest rises and falls heavily, my full breasts bobbing with the motion. The thin fur I use as a cover chafes against my tender nipples, the sensation sending further waves of discomfort through my already heated body.

As I lie here, my body aching, pulsing with unwanted heat, I close my eyes and turn inwards. The pounding rhythm of the goblin orgy, the smell of Snib's earthy virility, the sense of being on display in the dimly lit tent, I push it all away. Instead, I find the quiet corners of my mind where the murals of the Ephemerals are painted.

I clutch the fur tighter, feeling the rough texture under my fingertips as the heat of my body seeps into the material, warming it. My heart pounds against my chest, the ache within me throbbing in time with it. Each pulse sends a flood of warmth down to my very core, a twisting knot of pleasure and shame coiling within me.

Against the backdrop of this visceral turmoil, I begin my prayer, whispering urgently, my voice drowned by the debauchery outside. I'm thankful for the noise, for it keeps my  pleas hidden from Snib's ears.

"Eon, keeper of the past, cradle me in the wisdom of what once was. I am Aldric, I am Elise. Teach me to reconcile my identity, my self, my flesh with my spirit. Guide my remembrances so I may not lose myself in this nightmare."

I feel my body, my unfamiliar curves and swells and the unbearable heat pooling within me, pressing against the rough fur. I wince at the thought, a small whimper escaping my lips.

"Flux, embodiment of the now, I am in the throes of your realm. I am shifting, changing, like water trying to find its shape. The curve of my hips, the weight of my breasts, the throbbing need within me, I acknowledge it as your influence. Help me find solace in this present, as tumultuous and painful as it is."

I curl into myself, my body slick with sweat, a sheen visible on the swells of my chest. A rogue tear slips from the corner of my eye, trailing down my cheek and dampening the fur beneath.

"Verge, beacon of the future, I stand at the precipice of uncertainty. I look towards a tomorrow that is shrouded in a fog of fear and apprehension. Grant me the strength to believe in a transcendence, a future where I am more than a plaything, more than a body forced to succumb to primal urges."

My voice grows softer, the words tumbling out in a shaky whisper. I clutch at my belly, feeling the cramping sensation of my body's betrayal, the wetness between my legs a testimony of the torment I'm being put through.

"Triad of the Ephemerals, I ask for your guidance, your compassion. I am lost, tossed upon the tumultuous sea of change, my body alien, my mind a battlefield. Eon, Flux, Verge, help me navigate through this storm, help me find the courage to face the dawn."

The last words hang in the air, dissipating like a fragile echo in the night. I release a shuddering breath, my grip on the fur relaxing. A sense of tranquillity begins to seep in, pushing back the waves of torment. The throbbing, the heat, the shame - it all dulls into a distant murmur.

I curl tighter into the fur, the coarse material providing a semblance of comfort against my bare skin. The noise outside continues its cruel serenade, but I feel a layer of detachment now, an armor of prayer shielding me. And so, against all odds, I find a sliver of peace.

In the symphony of the Gobboree, my heart finds its rhythm, lacing it with a quiet resilience. For in this night, in this cruel mockery of existence, I have whispered to the gods, to the universe, a plea born of despair and determination.

And for the first time in a long time, I sleep - not a sleep of defeat, but a sleep of resistance, of hope for a dawn that carries the promise of change, the whisper of a better tomorrow.