I wobble, my legs still weak from the lack of use. My knees buckle, but Melka's tiny arm, surprisingly strong, hooks around my waist, keeping me upright. It's so bizarre, being held up by a goblin, one of the creatures who contributed to my predicament in the first place.
"Easy there, Tit-bitch," she says, her voice a soft, gruff hum. "Let's not have ya fall flat on yer face, eh?"
Each step feels like my legs are made of jelly, wobbling and unsure. My muscles strain, aching in protest as they're forced back into use. I can feel the tug of newly healed tissue, the sting of it stretching after being so long immobilized. It's odd, feeling the strength return, the strange mix of soreness and relief, the odd sensation of feeling something that shouldn't feel so alien.
"Hold onto me," Melka instructs, her voice stern yet encouraging. "Don't rush it."
I do as she says, my hand gripping her tiny, firm shoulder for support. She smells of earth and herbs, a strange mix that isn't exactly unpleasant.
"You've gotta build up strength again," she explains, leading me along a worn dirt path. "Can't be all flimsy when you're heavy with pups."
The mention of 'pups' causes a shiver of revulsion to ripple through me. The image of Grokk, the memory of him and his disgusting seed, is like a punch to the gut. Yet, there's a weird warmth in my belly, a glowing ember that's both foreign and terrifying.
It feels... strange. I'm not supposed to enjoy this, not supposed to feel good. My mind screams at the injustice of it all, at the memories that seem to fade and slip like water through fingers. I was Aldric. I had a wife, Elara. But those thoughts, those memories, they seem so distant, so foggy.
"We'll get you there, Tit-bitch," Melka assures me, her voice oddly soothing. "One step at a time, eh?"
It's hard to reconcile this kind, almost nurturing goblin with the harsh, brutal world that's been forced upon me. But then, maybe that's just the goblin seed talking, muddying my thoughts, pushing me further into complacency.
"Good girl," Melka praises, a small, pleased smile curving her lips. "See? Ya can do it."
There's a twinge in my heart, a sting of pain that cuts through the foggy warmth. This isn't right. This isn't me. I'm not some breeding cow, some creature to be used and discarded.
But as Melka leads me through the enclosed series of tents belonging to Grokk, her small form a strange comfort amidst the chaos, I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Despite the horrors, despite the fear, I'm still here, standing once again.
"Ya looked shocked when ya saw me, Tit-bitch," Melka chuckles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Didn't think there'd be lady goblins?"
"I... I didn't," I admit, trying to organize my thoughts, my words slurring together.
Melka laughs, a throaty chuckle that echoes through the trees. "Aye, we're rare. One in fifty, thereabouts. The lads don't pay us much mind, too busy drooling over human women. But we pop out occasionally.”
My face heats at that, an uncomfortable reminder of my current predicament. Melka seems to notice, giving my hip a sympathetic pat.
"So, how'd ya end up here, Tit-bitch?" she asks, tilting her head curiously. When she calls me by my arena name, it’s said almost kindly, affectionately.
I hesitate, considering lying, considering saying anything but the truth. But looking at Melka, at her small form that's been nothing but supportive since we started this... this journey, I decide to take a chance.
"I... I was a man. A warrior. I had a wife," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper.
Melka's eyes widen. "Well, fuck me sideways. Ya really are full of surprises."
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "I was cursed. By a goblin named Snib."
Melka cocks her head to the side, brows furrowed. "Never heard of 'em. He a shaman?”
I shake my head. "No, just a regular goblin. But he found this collar, this artifact."
"And that's why ol’ Grouz couldn't get it off ya," Melka murmurs, her fingers tapping against her chin thoughtfully. “Here I thought he was just a dimwit. Ya reckon ya can even have kids? With ya being a man and all. Underneath, I mean.”
I shrug, the thin material of my gown slipping off my shoulder. It's silky, clingy, every breeze a whisper against my skin. Barefoot, I can feel the roughness of the ground, the occasional sharp pebble underfoot.
"I... I don't know," I admit, my voice shaky.
Melka gives my ass a firm pat, the impact making my flesh jiggle. "Well, ya certainly look ripe enough. Them hips are begging for a nice, round belly."
Her words, as lewd as they are, don't upset me. Not really. If anything, they make this situation feel less like a nightmare, more like a bizarre dream. She's not pitying me. She's not even really mocking me. It's just... banter. Rough, vulgar, but oddly comforting.
And for now, that's enough to keep me going, to keep me pushing through the fog in my mind, to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
"Steady on, Tit-bitch," Melka gruffs, her firm grip steadying me as we hobble towards a canvas tent in the distance.
The scent of goblin jizz wafts through the air from another tent, sweet and sickly, making my mind swim and my belly clench in a peculiar, throbbing pulse. A tingling warmth flows down into my pelvis, lacing me with an oddly soothing sense of submission.
"You ever thought of having babies, Melka?" I find myself asking, my voice soft, tender. Trying to distract myself from my own situation.
Melka chortles, a sound like gravel rolling down a hill. "Me? Nah. Boys don't look my way. Too busy with human lasses like yaself."
"You're beautiful, though,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. My mind is hazy, but I know what I'm saying is true. Her features are alien, but charming in their own way. Her upturned nose, bouncy curls, and yellow but straight teeth, all contribute to an uncanny but adorable attractiveness.
Melka just shrugs, her green cheeks flushing a darker hue. "Doesn't change the fact that gobbo girls are a dead end, in nature. Goblin boys breed human girls. That's how it works."
"But what if you left?" I ask. The words slip out without thought. "There are cities like Thuulk that are more accepting of other races."
She chuckles, but it sounds hollow. "What, and risk getting skewered on sight?"
I recoil, a lump forming in my throat. The thought of Melka getting hurt, just for being who she is... it's sad. I quickly change the topic. It’s one that’s been burning in my mind.
"Is... Is it true about Grokk? About his... his babies being... dangerous?”
Melka's expression tightens, a single nod confirming my worst fears. "His whelps are large, multiple... Last one didn't survive. One before got paralyzed. The one before that only bore two pups. Sometimes he squirts as much as eight in ya.”
My heart drops into my stomach, a wave of dread washing over me. "But... But I..."
She looks at me, her eyes softening. "You're different, Tit-bitch. Grokk's previous broodmares were slender. Grouz convinced him to pick someone with... more meat to them," she says, running a finger along my wide hips. The sheer fabric of my dress clings to my body, my plump breasts, my big ass... all on display, all designed for... breeding.
Something in my mind shifts, the foggy haze wrapping around the horror, the fear. It's dulled, made manageable, tolerable even.
Melka breaks the silence. “I’ll say it. Cause no one else will. It's not right, what we do to human women. But it's how nature intends it now. That’s the cruel fact. That's why there's only one goblin woman in fifty. The gobbo bloodline is passed through human mothers, and the babies... they're all gobbo. Not half and half.”
A sense of acceptance settles over me, replacing the raw terror. I am to be Grokk's breeding mare. And somehow... somehow, it doesn't feel as wrong as it once did. It feels... natural.
"Alright, Tit-bitch, sit here," Melka directs, guiding me into the large slave tent with her bony goblin hands. The warm smell of oiled hair and the chatter of female voices fills the space. My still tender legs wobble beneath me, but I manage to perch on a low stool with Melka's help.
A woman approaches, heavily pregnant, her belly round and protruding beneath her transparent, form-fitting gown. Her dark nipples are hard to miss, stark against the pale sheer fabric. She settles herself behind me, and I feel her cool, milk-soaked fingertips run through my long raven hair.
She starts with a quick comb through, disentangling the knots with her long fingers. Her touch is gentle, and it’s almost soothing. I can see her heavily pregnant belly jiggle with her movements, the fabric of her dress stretched thin across it. Her breasts, plump and lactating, press against her dress, the soaked patches cold on her warm skin. It feels like hours as she meticulously separates my hair into sections, the soft whispers of her hands brushing against my scalp soothing my frazzled mind.
Her fingers deftly start braiding the sections, her movements swift and precise, the braid taking shape rapidly. I can feel the tug of my scalp as she pulls the braids tighter, a sensation not unpleasant but rather grounding. The final step, she secures my braids high on my head, using delicate gold clips that glimmer in the dim tent light. They look expensive, more royal than slave-like. A strange sight in a slave tent. My reflection stares back at me from a polished copper mirror, my styled hair looking almost regal, jarring against my sheer dress and swollen breasts.
Melka, standing at the entrance of the tent, grunts her approval. “Tit-bitch, your legs might feel funny now, but they're nearly mended,” she says, her goblin accent thick, her words a little slurred. “Try to stretch them when you can, it helps.”
My mind is a whirlwind of confusion and fear. I should be resisting, I should be fighting against their preparations for Grokk's pleasure. But the more I struggle, the more his cum coursing through me seems to dull my resistance, creating a warm, pliant haze.
Melka, as if sensing my confusion, tries to distract me. "So, your master, Snib, stays near the fighting ring, right?" I nod, feeling a strange pang of loss. Snib, as crude and demanding as he was, is a known entity. Grokk is an unknown.
"Ha, poor Snib," Melka scoffs, her yellow teeth flashing in a wide grin. "Losing his prized Tit-bitch to Grokk must've hurt. He'll have to make do with his other slaves."
“He doesn’t have any more,” I say.
“Ah. Only cause of the collar, huh?”
The mention of my collar sparks a small glimmer of hope. "Yes, Snib... he could release me. Remove this collar, and I... I might change back," I mumble, my words echoing strangely in the tent. “Into Aldric.”
“Aldric,” Melka snorts. “Funny name. Let’s keep calling you Tit-bitch.”
The pheromone-addled slave woman tending to my hair clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "You should be grateful, girl. Focus on pleasing Grokk, make him happy. You're luckier than you know."
Melka grunts, looking at the woman's pregnant belly. "Whose are those? One of Grokk’s lackeys?"
The woman blushes, her hand unconsciously running over her round stomach, nodding. "They're Vrog's."
Two more human slaves appear, their arms laden with what looks like yards and yards of shimmering fabric. They approach me with cautious steps, their eyes stealing glances at my newly braided hair, their bodies moving with the grace of seasoned servants.
Their fingers, gentle and quick, start by removing my current dress, the sheer, gauzy material peeling away from my heated skin with a low whisper. I watch them, my mind foggy with the haze of compliance, my body quivering under their touch. One of the slaves drapes the new dress around me, her movements graceful, her fingers deft in their precision.
The dress is obscenely luxurious, the fabric a deep, vibrant green that complements my eyes and contrasts with my dark hair. It hugs my slender waist and flares out slightly over my wide hips, the low-cut bodice designed to accentuate my ample chest. Two perfectly circular holes, framed in gold, reveal my heavy, bare tits. They add a touch of lewd ornamentation, gold tassel nipple covers that sway with each breath I take.
The dress is designed to highlight my curves, my abundant femininity. The hemline skims high on my thighs, making me look almost obscene, the sides slit even higher to showcase the fullness of my ass. The fabric, a blend of silk and satin, is adorned with intricate gold embroidery and beading, giving it an exotic tribal appeal while still conveying the opulence of goblin royalty.
They don’t stop with just the dress. My bare arms are adorned with an array of gold and silver bangles, each one a unique piece of intricate craftsmanship. A gold waist chain is draped around my slender stomach, the cold metal links sitting heavy against my warm skin, dipping low over my hips, hanging between my thighs. The chain draws attention to my flat belly, its soft glimmer emphasizing the contrasting curve of my hips.
They try to get me into high heels, the stilettos exquisitely crafted with intricate beadwork, but my legs, still healing, refuse to comply. Instead, they slip my feet into a pair of royal sandals, the soft leather straps winding up my ankles, the soles padded and comfortable.
As they finish, I can't help but look at my reflection in the polished copper mirror. I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me. Dressed for the pleasure of a goblin king, my body made an obscene spectacle of fertility and sexuality. But there's no denying the strange sense of allure, the crude yet undeniable beauty of this exotic attire.
—
The cacophony of the Gobboree feels like a distorted echo in my ears as Melka guides me, my newly styled hair bobbing with each step I take. The festival's mirth is in stark contrast to the foggy conflict inside my head. Struggling to keep my thoughts coherent, I can't shake the cloying, intoxicating aroma that seems to permeate the air around me. It's Grokk's musk, his pheromones, that sickly-sweet scent of dominance that makes my mind buzz and my body pulse with want.
I glance down at myself, ensnared in my obscene gown, my generous tits displayed like a juicy feast. With each shuddering breath I take, the gold tassels affixed to my sensitive nipples dance, sending sparks of illicit pleasure coursing through me. Every tiny detail of my attire, from the way my hips are accentuated by the low-dipping chain to the high slits that give teasing glimpses of my ass, screams the unspeakable - I am Grokk's breeding mate. There's no hiding it, no pretending otherwise.
"Oi, Tit-bitch, you're lookin' ripe and juicy, ready to be plucked by our king," Melka cackles, her rough voice shattering my thoughts. A blush creeps up my neck, my cheeks growing warm at the goblin woman's crude words. She might be shorter than me, standing just shy of 4 feet to my 5'3", but there's no denying the powerful figure she makes. Her petite, curvaceous body exudes strength, and her mirth-filled, mossy green eyes hold an inexplicable gentleness.
"But tell me, what would you do, eh? If you were free, if you were a man again?" Melka's question hits me like a bolt of lightning, shocking me out of my hazy musings.
Freedom. The word echoes in my mind, a tantalizing concept. A flicker of the man I used to be, Aldric, the legendary hero, emerges from the murk of my brain. "I would take revenge," I find myself saying, a firm resolution piercing through the haze. Aldric would not bow down. He would not yield. He was a hero, a warrior who wielded the mighty sword Whisperwind, who held magic in his veins.
Melka blinks, taken aback by my sudden fierceness. Her eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and consideration, as if mulling over my words.
But then, that familiar heat surges within me, the potent, curdling essence of Grokk squirming in my belly. My body flushes, arousal creeping up my spine, smothering my fleeting moment of defiance. I can't help but squirm, the maddening itch between my thighs making my breath hitch. My body is betraying me, responding to Grokk's potent seed, preparing itself for his touch.
Grokk's claim on me is not just physical, it’s mental, it’s in every corner of my brain, invading my thoughts, twisting my desires. It's a disturbing reality, an undeniable truth that I'm being drawn into this perverse world. Grokk's mate. Grokk's property. Grokk's breeding bitch. The lewd titles swirl in my mind, a cruel echo of my degradation. My body aches for him, yearns for him, even as my mind rebels.
I feel myself slipping, the last vestiges of Aldric dimming further as Elise succumbs to the tantalizing pull of the goblin king's influence. As the Gobboree roars around me and Melka continues to guide me, the struggle within me continues - a battle between the man I was and the woman I'm becoming.
—
The grand dining hall is awash with raucous laughter, clanging dishes, and the crude banter of goblin revelers. It's an obscene festival, a den of hedonism that harkens back to the untamed times of ancient Zaelasia. The goblins, in their simple loincloths and rough-spun tunics, are hunched over their meat and drink, their coarse, dirty laughter punctuating the din. The room is bathed in the warm, flickering glow of braziers, casting eerie, dancing shadows that twist and contort on the walls. The air is thick with the smell of roasted boar, the heady aroma of brewed rotgut ale, and the underlying musk of male goblins that I’m unfortunately quite sensitive to.
In the midst of all this, Grokk, the goblin king, sits at the head of the table. He's a grotesque spectacle of goblin masculinity - broad, muscled, and intimidating. His enormous, veiny cock is barely concealed by his royal loincloth, the bulge a lewd display of his virility. There's an undeniable authority about him, an aura of power that silences the room as Melka and I approach.
As Grokk's heated gaze lands on me, I can't help but shudder. There's something primal, something animalistic in his eyes that sends a chill down my spine. His snarl is thunderous, echoing in the grand hall. "What is THIS, Grouz?" he roars, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I TOLD you to keep the Tit-bitch locked in the BREEDING RACK!”
Grouz, the wizened shaman, trembles as he replies, "M- Melka insisted, my Lord. She feared for the human's healing legs."
Grokk's roar is deafening. "I don't give a rat's ass about her fucking legs! I wanted her on display, not dolled up like my fucking wife!" He slams his fist on the table, making the silverware clatter. "She's supposed to be a breeding slut, not some high-born human! I wanted her cunt for all to see!"
The dining hall falls silent, the goblins staring in shock at their king's rage. Even Krognar, the hulking troll, ceases his guffawing to watch.
"But look at her, boss!" Melka interjects, her husky voice trembling slightly. "She's so... fucking hot!"
Grokk scoffs, "She's not broken in yet. I'm not going to risk my royalty being questioned by an un-broken slave!"
Melka persists, but it earns her a brutal backhand from Grokk. The force of the blow sends her sprawling, a small whimper escaping her lips.
"Stupid bitch!" Grokk growls, his voice echoing through the hall. "You have no place here. I've put up with your antics for far too long. Goblin women don't understand the needs of goblin men. Humans are breeding stock, and you are NOTHING!”
His words hang heavy in the air, his cruelty palpable. Melka is on the floor, her eyes welling with tears as blood trickles from her nose.
Grokk raises his hand again, but before he can strike, I step forward. The room seems to freeze as I drop to my knees before him, my heart pounding in my chest. My gown pools around me, the slits revealing the generous swell of my hips, my ass sticking out provocatively as I prostrate myself. "Please," I beg, my voice trembling. "I will... I will please you. I... I'll be a good slave."
There's a beat of silence, the room holding its breath as Grokk stares down at me, his eyes burning into my soul. Beside me, Melka watches in stunned silence, a glimmer of hope flickering in her eyes.
The grand dining hall of the goblin king erupts into crude laughter as Grokk, the crude yet regal goblin chieftain, issues his command.
"Well then, give me a fuckin' blowjob, Tit-bitch." His voice is a coarse bark that grates my ears, but it's his words, not the tone, that make my heart pound in dread.
Melka's purple eyes meet mine across the room, her pleading gaze seared into my memory. Yesterday's taste of Grokk's seed, still so vivid on my tongue, stirs up a storm of revulsion, fear, and that shameful spark in the pit of my stomach. The goblin king's command reverberates through the grand hall, each chuckle and catcall driving it home.
With a shaking breath, I push myself to move. My body feels strangely detached, like I'm watching it from afar. My gown, that sinful concoction of green silk and scandalous cutouts, clings and slides over my curves as I walk. I can feel the prickle of dozens of lust-filled gazes crawling over my exposed skin. The dedicated metal rings in my dress allow my tits to bounce freely with each step, each jiggle drawing another wave of lecherous hoots.
A low growl rips through the room when a goblin reaches out to cop a feel. "Hands off, she's mine!" Grokk roars, his barked command immediately obeyed. As I approach him, I see a smug grin spread over his gnarled face. It's a look of conquest, a look of power. He's loving every moment of this.
Two human slave girls scurry to place a plush cushion by Grokk's feet. As I slowly lower myself onto the cushion, my aching legs protest each movement. The pain, sharp and stabbing, ripples up through my thighs, but it’s a dull throb compared to the dread knotting my stomach.
There’s a goblin symphony unfolding outside the table, raucous laughter, the clinking of mugs, snatches of bawdy goblin songs filling the cavernous dining hall, as if nothing unusual was happening. Like the king's whore wasn't about to get her face stuffed with a cock under the royal dining table. But under here, the sounds are muted, distant echoes that lend an unreal quality to my shame, the noises reduced to a low, mocking hum in the background of my situation.
Beneath Grokk's heavy, royal wooden table, his two meaty thighs open up, making room for me. I can see his bulging loincloth, the monstrous beast underneath straining at the thin fabric, seeking release. The sight makes my heart pound in my chest, the rhythmic thrumming echoing in my ears. It's like I'm staring at the barrel of a loaded cannon.
Timidly, my trembling hands reach up, my fingers ghosting over the warm, taut fabric of the loincloth, each heartbeat of his cock sending ripples across the bulge. I can feel him - hot, throbbing, throbbing with insane virility. It's intimidating, dominating, a stark reminder of the raw power contained within.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, I slowly push the loincloth aside.
The thing that springs free is monstrous. His cock unfurls like a spring-loaded weapon, a thick, grotesque battering ram. Sixteen inches of veiny goblin meat slaps against my forehead, draping heavily over my head, nestling between my high ponytails. The harsh thud of it sends a shockwave through me, a stark reminder of the potent, breeding tool I'm about to service. A hot spurt of precum jets out, a viscous rivulet of arousal that trickles down my neck, slithering along the curve of my spine.
The hot stream trickles along the bare skin of my back, slipping beneath my dress, soaking into the thin fabric of my gown. It snakes down, seeping between the cleft of my ass cheeks, searing a wet path that makes me squirm in discomfort and secret delight. I let out a soft whimper, the obscene heat of his precum soaking through the fabric of my gown, and staining my skin beneath.
My body responds, a pulsating throb of desire coiling low in my belly, a damp heat pooling between my thighs. My nipples harden further, the cold metal tassels of my dress chafing against them, each jingle echoing the rhythm of my quickened breaths.
Every moment, every sensation, only serves to further Grokk's dominance over me. The weight of his monstrous cock resting heavily on my head, the pungent musk of his arousal, the intimidating throb of his arousal against my slender fingers, the hot streak of his precum trickling down my back - everything reminds me of my place, of my role. His whore. His breeding bitch. The degradation stings, but it also sparks a deep, primal yearning in me, a lewd acceptance of my surrender to this potent goblin king.
The girth and heft of Grokk's cock are more than my small hands can encompass. I wrap both my palms around the hot, thick length, fingers pressing into the veins that mar the spongy, green flesh. The touch of it feels like handling some kind of primal weapon, a potent instrument of biological warfare. Even semi-hard, it's heavy enough to make my wrists ache.
I scoot backward, the soft cushion beneath me groaning under my shifting weight. My legs, still mending, shoot sparks of dull pain up my spine as I move. It's a clumsy, slow effort to extricate Grokk's engorged member from the tight confines of my high ponytails. Each slight tug pulls at my scalp, making me whimper. The throbbing shaft is like an anaconda in my hands, sliding heavy and obscene from between my raven locks, the precious tresses clinging wetly to the glistening skin of his cock.
As I reposition, the immense cock falls forward, slapping against my face with a lewd thwack. A hot streak of precum trickles down my forehead, bisecting my face. The sensation of it, slick and hot, dribbling down my cheeks, makes me shudder in humiliation and something else. His cock is drooling, leaking arousal like a faucet, the lewd stream glistening on my skin, painting my face with the proof of his potency.
My body responds with a humiliating eagerness, as if primed for this shameful servitude. My massive breasts press together in the too-tight confines of my bodice, the sensitive flesh spilling out from the gold-encircled holes, nipples peaking under the pressure. Each shift of my body makes them jiggle, each jiggle reverberating through the golden tassels, setting them jingling in a lurid rhythm. The sound is sharp and crisp, an obscene counterpoint to the muffled cacophony outside.
With a soft grunt, I reposition myself on the plush cushion. My wide hips dig into the soft material, the plump globes of my ass jiggling with the movement. The dress hikes up, the soft fabric bunching at my waist. The movement exposes more of my thighs, the golden chain about my waist catching the dim light filtering in from the outside, a sensual wink of gold against my pale skin.
Under the heavy table, in this shadowy world of servitude, I position myself for the impending blowjob. My chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, the gold-encased openings of my dress giving teasing peeks of my flushed cleavage with every gasp.
Grokk's glans is monstrous, a veritable fruit-sized helmet of swollen, orange flesh that winks at me through its vertical slit, throbbing with each beat of his barbaric heart. It’s drastically different from the rest of his green cock, like a fiery crown atop a verdant scepter. The bulbous head is an obscene, juicy target, spattering a steady stream of putrid precum that trails a hot, slimy path down my voluptuous breasts, staining the delicate fabric of my dress and pooling in the deep valley of my cleavage.
With a shaky breath, I part my thick lips, a slow, deliberate action that somehow feels more daunting than facing a dragon. The first contact of my lips against his glans is a shock to my senses - it's scalding hot, twitching against my lips. I whimper at the contact, the brutal reality of what I'm about to do flooding my senses.
Then, I wrap my lips around it.
Taking him in my mouth is a trial by fire. Grokk's massive size is too much for my inexperienced mouth. My jaw strains painfully, the flesh stretching to accommodate his invading girth. My mouth aches, each passing second quite agonizing, each movement a reminder of the debauchery I've been reduced to. But after a few slow, gag-inducing attempts, I manage to get the head of his cock fully past my lips, the putrid taste of his precum exploding against my tongue.
My eyes water, the corners crinkling with the strain, but I press on, my mind foggy with the potent pheromones flooding my senses. My lips grip against the base of his glans - as far as I can go.
The muffled grunt from above tells me that Grokk is aware of my struggles. His deep, guttural voice rumbles through the wood of the table, the vibrations reaching down to where I'm splayed in obscene submission. As he grunts, he twitches, his cock-head growing another side, opening my strained jaw up even more.
"No teeth, Tit-bitch," he warns, his words a chilling promise of further punishment should I disobey. I whimper around his cock, the sound muffled by the invading length.
The taste of him is objectively vile, an affront to my senses. Each twitch of his cock, each fresh hot spurt of precum is a test of my resolve, a battle against my gag reflex. I force myself to swallow it down, the musky essence sliding lazily down my throat. Each bob of my head is a struggle, the taste of him a salty reward for my efforts.
I can feel the wet heat pooling between my thighs. I gurgle.
My outfit feels tighter as I shift, trying to find a more comfortable position. The tight dress hugs my curves, my tits bobbing with each movement. The bangles on my wrists jingle with each jerk of my hands, the sound mixing with the lewd, wet noises of my mouth working over his cock.
The strain in my jaw is horrific, an aching burn that is not going to subside anytime soon.
The taste is overpowering, each fresh spurt of precum a devastating assault on my senses, heating me from the inside out . It's raw, putrid, a smorgasbord of curdled goblin flavors that leave my head reeling. I grimace, trying to adapt to the taste, my tongue brushing against the throbbing underside of his massive length, exploring every pulsing vein and sweaty crevice.
I try to avoid it, but my mouth gets more and more sullied with precum, the viscous liquid sliding down my throat, pooling in my stomach. The potent essence of the goblin chieftan taints me from within. My body responds to the invasion, my pussy clenching, a slick wetness building at the apex of my quivering thighs.
Every shift in my position sends ripples through my body, my breasts jiggling within the confines of the dress, my nipple tassels jingling with each weighty flop. The heavy gold chain around my waist slithers against my skin; the metal is cold against warm flush spreading across my skin.
I can feel my ponytails brush against the small of my back, their gold-adorned weight tugging at my scalp with each nod of my head.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, the sting unexpected and alarming. Is it from the strain of accommodating Grokk's massive cock, or the shameful realization of what I'm doing? I don't know. All I know is that I can't stop. The slow leak of precum down my throat, the muffled grunts of satisfaction from above, they're all demanding my submission.
I try to use my hands, the bangles on my wrists clinking as I grip the base of his cock. It's a daunting task, my slender fingers barely able to circle his thickness. The feel of him is tough to bear, the mammoth erection sweaty under my touch. My mind recoils at the contact, the haze of pheromones doing little to curb the feeling that I’m pleasuring a monster, an enemy of my people.
The burn in my jaw is becoming unbearable. But the fear of Grokk’s drunken wrath keeps me going, the threat of punishment for disobedience a terrifying prospect. At least I am not getting bred.
I can feel the heat coiling in my lower belly, a slow simmer of want that I can't deny. My womb clenches at the thought of Grokk's virile, invasive cock intending to impregnate me. My chest tightens, a lump forming in my throat.
As I continue my shameful, slobbery task, the cacophony of the goblin feast overhead is a constant reminder of my status. The raucous laughter, the clinking of goblets, the guttural roars of conversation, they're all a testament to the depravity of this place, the Griznak Gobboree, where humans are degraded, subjugated, used.
The tent above me is alive with goblin revelry, their grotesque forms a blight on the beautiful Zaelasian landscape. Grokk, the leader of them all, sits at the head of the table, basking in his vile glory. I am merely a footnote in his story, a human plaything for his amusement.
Despite the rising bile in my throat, the burning in my jaw, the shame in my heart, I don't stop. I can't stop. I'm trapped in this obscene servitude, my body a tool for the goblin king's pleasure. Every bob of my head, every lap of my tongue, every soft whimper around his cock punctuates my degradation, a silent prayer for an end that seems far out of reach.
So I continue, each sob a muffled echo in the grand tent, each tear a glistening symbol of my struggle, each spurt of precum a bitter taste of my future. And through it all, the goblin feast continues, the revelry a stark contrast to my humiliation, the sounds of pleasure a cruel mockery of my suffering.
My jaw can’t take anymore, so my tongue just laps at the sides of his length, an awkward attempt to provide him pleasure. The sour taste of his sweaty skin is nauseating, but I persevere, my face flushed with effort and humiliation. Whimpers escape me as I struggle, the sound muffled by his cock.
The shuffling of my movements causes my dress to shift on my body, my breasts jiggling within the confines of the bodice, nipple tassels chiming with every sway.
For a moment I sit back, overwhelmed.
From above the table, muffled grunts and growls resonate, Grokk's impatience seeping into the noises he emits. The sounds grow more frequent, more agitated, a telling sign of his growing dissatisfaction. He's not pleased with my efforts, his frustration tangible in the guttural noises he makes.
Suddenly, there's a violent jerk on my hair, his rough hands grabbing my ponytails. I'm pulled out from under the table with a harsh tug, my eyes watering from the sudden pain. The jeering crowd of goblins comes into view, their grotesque faces twisted in cruel amusement.
"Yer not servin' properly, bitch," Grokk's gruff voice booms, his words a death knell to any hope of escaping further humiliation. "If bitches don't serve, they can be made to."
With that ominous declaration, he yanks me upwards by my ponytails, the sting radiating from my scalp as I'm hoisted. The sensation of being pulled up by my hair is excruciating, each strand feeling like it's being ripped from its roots. My back arches from the sudden pull.
The sight of Grokk's erect cock aligning with my mouth is terrifying. It glistens with my spit and his precum. It mocks me, lewdly, for failing to please him. As I stare down at the monstrous length, the horrible reality of my situation sinks in.
The drunken goblin chief doesn't give me a moment to brace myself before he's brutally shoving his monstrous cock into my mouth. The intrusion is immediate and overwhelming, his thick length pushing past my lips, which stretch painfully, pathetically to accommodate him. I feel my jaw strain, the ache getting worse, throbbing at the hinges, as he forces himself further inside, each inch a brutal invasion of my mouth.
My eyes are wide, I can’t even make a single sound of protest - his cock shuts me up.
His engorged member slides along my tongue, the taste of him spreading throughout my mouth.The monster prods the back of my throat. My eyes water, a strangled gasp escaping me. The audience hoots and hollers as he starts to force his way down. Down my throat.
I have no choice but to swallow AROUND him, my muscles convulsing against the immense foreign intrusion.
The world begins to blur around the edges, my vision clouding as I struggle for breath.
My lungs cry out for air, but all they receive is cock.
Grokk's massive length fills my mouth and throat, pressing against my windpipe, blocking my air supply thoroughly - just one more thing for him to dominate. I feel my collar tighten around my neck, its cold, metal surface pressing against the swelling skin of my throat that's stretched to its limit around his member.
Panic grows within me, a primal fear taking hold as I realize I can't breathe. My vision swims, stars bursting behind my eyelids, as I fight the impending blackness threatening to engulf me. But the lack of oxygen and the onslaught of sensations are too much, and my eyes start to cross.
The jeering of the crowd becomes a distant echo as the reality of my situation settles in. I'm being used, brutally face-fucked by the goblin king in front of his minions, my body on display for their amusement. My breasts, hanging from the dedicated holes in my dress, swing wildly with each of his brutal thrusts, their movement causing the nipple-tassels to jingle louder.
Grokk roars with pleasure, his grip on my ponytails tightening as he uses them to guide my head onto his cock. My body jerks with each violent thrust, my ass jiggling in time with his savage rhythm, the sight drawing cheers and applause from the watching crowd.
All I can see is the expanse of his hairy, muscled lower body as he forces himself further and further down my throat. I can feel his heavy balls swinging close my chin, as he presses and prods farther down. The jeering from the crowd seems to egg him on, their laughter and cheers pushing him to use me more ruthlessly.
I catch a glimpse of Melka, her hand clamped over her mouth in horror, her eyes wide as she takes in the brutal scene. But her reaction is drowned out by the cheer of approval that rises from Krognar, the troll who defeated me in the arena. His booming laughter fills the tent.
A rush of air floods my lungs as Grokk momentarily withdraws, a reprieve as fleeting as it is precious. I gasp, coughing and spluttering, drool mixed with spit and his musky precum trailing from my lips in a lewd display. My throat burns with the harsh intrusion, every swallow a reminder of the violent invasion.
But I hardly have time to catch my breath before he plunges back in, his monstrous length filling my throat once again. The hold on my ponytails tightens, and he starts to pump his cock into my mouth, forcing me to take his length deeper than before.
I feel the veins on his cock, engorged with blood, sliding along the soft, sensitive tissue of my throat. The sensation is overwhelming, a cruel mix of pain and a perverse thrill that I can hardly comprehend. I feel the brutal stretch of my throat as he forces more of himself inside, the walls of my esophagus yielding under the relentless assault.
His massive balls are now properly clubbing my chin - he’s that far down. 16 inches of cock buried in my throat.
His grunts and growls of pleasure fill the air, competing with the cheers and lewd remarks from the goblin horde. "Yeah, chief, show that bitch who's boss!" "Bet she's never had a real cock before!" The cacophony of voices fuels Grokk's lust, his thrusts growing increasingly urgent, more violent.
A high-pitched squeal cuts through the noise, and I recognize Melka's voice. She's pleading with Grokk to be gentle. I can't see her, but I hear her distressed cries, a stark contrast to the jeering crowd. But her pleas are quickly silenced, drowned out by Grokk's cruel laughter and the increased vigor of his assault.
Suddenly, I feel a shift in Grokk's movements, a change in the rhythm. His grunts grow louder, more animalistic, his words harsh and guttural as he roars out his dominance. "TIME FOR YOUR DINNER, HUMAN!"
His cock twitches violently inside me, the convulsive throb stretching my throat. It's buried deep, so deep that it feels as though it's lodged directly in my stomach. And then it happens: the first pulse of his climax.
A shudder races through my body as I feel the rush of his hot, thick cum spurting directly into my stomach. The sensation is indescribable, a horrifying mix of repulsion and a twisted, perverse thrill that I can't quite suppress. Each jet is a physical force, a pressure that fills me in a way I never thought possible.
My ears ring with the muffled sounds of his ejaculations, the sounds distorted by the obscene length of his cock buried in my throat. The feeling of his hot, putrid cum filling me is nauseating, an intimate invasion.
Yet, there's a part of me that responds to the onslaught, a primal, base reaction that I can't control. Despite my mental protestations, I can feel a flush of heat coursing through me, a perverse arousal that spreads outward from my fast-filling stomach, to the rest of my body. My toes curl, my nipples throb.
His cock continues to spasm, twitching and pulsating as it continues to pump his seed into me. The sensation of being so brutally stretched by his massive member, the crude violation of my throat, is a perverse reality I struggle to accept. My throat clenches around his cock, milking it, the muscles instinctively reacting to the harsh invasion.
Another jolt of pleasure courses through my body. I can’t stop it.
Grokk's cum is hot and thick, filling my stomach with an uncomfortable warmth. Each throb of his cock delivers more of the putrid substance, the pressure of it creating a perverse bulge in my throat.
Finally, Grokk withdraws from my throat, his massive, cum-spurting cock sliding up and out with a wet, obscene squelch. With a gasp that comes out more like a desperate wheeze, I gulp in mouthfuls of air, the freedom to breathe suddenly a luxury. My throat feels stretched and raw, like I've swallowed an iron rod coated in sandpaper.
I take in as much air as I possibly can, gasping. For a single second, I feel numbly incredible.
My stomach is another story. The sensation of being so incredibly full, of carrying around what feels like a gallon of hot, wriggling goblin cum in my belly, is indescribable. My body feels heavy, overstuffed, the heat radiating from my distended tummy intense. It's a wet, slimy heat, squelching and jostling with each breath I take. I can feel the goblin seed wriggling inside me, as if it's alive, turning and churning in my stomach, the sensations of it writhing only intensifying the intense arousal continuing to flood my system.
Pussy juice dribbles down my leg as Grokk completes his long, grunting orgasm.
The last few spurts of his obscene climax take me by surprise. One heavy, sloppy spurt splatters against my chest, drenching the deep green of my bodice with thick, off-white cum. It runs down in rivulets, soaking into the fabric, turning it translucent, ruining the lustrous sheen. Another spurt goes higher, streaking across my face, getting into my eyes. The stinging is immediate and fierce, forcing my eye closed as it pastes my lashes together.
His last spurt dislodges one of my nipple tassels, the heavy cum overwhelming the adhesive holding it to my breast. The tassel falls, revealing my bare nipple, the aureola painted with a glaze of cum. The crowd of goblins roars with laughter, their cheers echoing in the tent as they revel in my utter ruin.
"Tomorrow, I breed you, human," Grokk snarls, wiping his slimy, deflating cock across my forehead. His words send a shudder of revulsion through me, but they also send a spark of heat to my pussy. The effects of the pheromone-laden cum, combined with the degradation of the ordeal, war inside me, creating a bitter dichotomy between my mind and body. I want to scream, to fight, to resist, but my body craves more. My body enjoys it, throbbing in a carnal rhythm that matches the pulse of Grokk's cum in my belly.
I stand there, feeling utterly pathetic, my quite expensive gown thoroughly ruined. But I am not left alone in this state of disgrace. Melka rushes to my side.
She wraps an arm around me, guiding me out of the room. "Come on,” she grunts, giving me a look of sympathy. "Let's get you into a bath."
I hobble beside her, our journey taking us to a large tent erected on the outskirts of the royal cluster. The bathing tent is crude, an afterthought in the grand scheme of goblin civilization, yet it represents salvation in my current state. Slave girls immediately block our path, their eyes taking in my cum-soaked appearance.
Typically in goblin society, cum is not to be so quickly cleaned off, but rather allowed to sit. But Melka, fierce and protective, snarls at them. "Grokk asked for it," she lies smoothly, and the slave girls immediately back off, their eyes wide with fear.
With the path clear, the goblin girl leads me into the tent.
The first thing to go is the sticky dress. It peels away from my body with a disgusting squelch, cum-soaked fabric leaving a trail of sticky residue on my skin. The ruined dress lands in a heap on the floor, its lewd adornments hanging limply. My sandals are next, a gloppy mass of cum pooling in the soles, leaving sticky footprints on the floor.
Under Melka's patient ministrations, I'm soon completely naked, the air in the tent cool against my cum-slicked skin. My belly is heavily distended with Grokk's cum, and I can't help but feel a twinge of arousal, the goblin pheromones fogging my brain. My body, despite the degradation and the pain, reacts in ways I'd rather it didn't, heat continuing to radiate low in my abdomen.
Soreness laces my throat, the echo of Grokk's monstrous cock throbbing with every swallow. The remnants of his domination linger on my skin, matting my hair, and filling my belly with a warmth that radiates obscenely outward. With a sob, I lower myself into the bath, the water steaming and slightly goblin-scented but welcome nonetheless. My high ponytails float, a gross strand of cum dangles from one, streaking my face. The sensation of the water against my cum-slicked skin is soothing and discomforting in equal measure.
A gentle touch against my shoulders breaks me from my thoughts. Melka, her upturned nose wrinkled in sympathy, her purple eyes glowing in the candlelight, begins to cleanse me. The throbbing pain in my legs eases slightly, my wide hips spreading out in the water, my fat ass nestling into the tub's curved bottom, the heat soothing the ache.
“Thank you, Tit-bitch," she says, in earnest, “for saving my hide. Ya suffered for it.”
Her words prompt fresh tears to spill from my eyes, sliding down my cheeks to join the bathwater. My hands drift down to my distended belly, the skin stretched and hot from the massive load of goblin cum pumped into it. I press down, hoping to expel some of it, but the dominant, virile semen stays put, wriggling inside me, asserting its claim. I feel it permeating my body, seeping into every corner, sullying me even more. It's the second load in two days, my sanity buckling under the weight of the obscene cum-meals.
Melka's hands are in my hair now, the goblin girl barking orders at the slave girls loitering around the tent. She's washing the strands, combing through the sticky mess Grokk left behind. Several hairs fall out in the process, the roots screaming in protest from their rough treatment earlier. As she works, my big breasts bobble in the water, floating and bumping against my belly.
The feeling is disconcertingly feminine, a reminder of my transformed body, and I find myself strangely attuned to the sensation now. But the descending haze, the potent goblin pheromones, keeps me from dwelling too much on it, the woozy heat spreading outwards, making my body tingle with arousal, a sensation that fills me with an equal measure of shame and yearning.
Fresh from the bath, my skin glows under the dim torchlight. The haze of goblin pheromones permeates everything, it's like I can almost taste it. My body pulses with arousal, the sensation intensifying with each passing second.
Melka's voice, husky and low, filters through the fog in my mind. She asks me something, but her words come as distant echoes, and I just blink at her, my mossy-green eyes lidded and unfocused. My hands reach for the loaf of bread she offers, but the thought of eating something othernthan cum makes my stomach churn uncomfortably.
With a sigh, Melka guides me away from the bath, her strong hand wrapped around my elbow, steadying my unsteady gait. The heat of arousal feels as though it's seeping into my bones, suffusing my being with an obscene desire that I can't shake off, no matter how hard I try. It's like a wildfire, slowly consuming my mind, leaving only carnal lust in its wake.
The sight of the breeding rack fills me with dread, yet a perverse anticipation bubbles up within me. As Melka gently eases me onto it, my heart races, and I can't help the gasp that escapes my lips as the cool metal touches my skin.
"I'm sorry, tit-bitch," Melka murmurs, her voice laced with genuine regret. But there's no escaping it, not for me. As she secures the leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles, the reality of my situation comes crashing down. I'm spread wide open, my body bared for all to see, my pussy sopping and glistening.
Melka chuckles, a soft sound that echoes eerily in the room, "Look at you, drippin' like a ripe fruit." Her words make me blush.
With one final tug, the cuffs are secured, and my body is stretched taut. The room grows silent, save for my ragged breaths and the soft whisper of Melka's movements. Every inch of my being is consumed by the burning arousal, my mind foggy and clouded, the pulsating need in my pussy becoming an urgent demand. My clit throbs in time with my heartbeats, a constant, insistent reminder of my situation. The potent goblin seed wriggles inside me, its alien warmth intensifying my desire.
The door creaks open, and in walks Grouz, the old goblin shaman, a hunched figure shrouded in tattered robes. The room grows colder, an icy chill creeping into the very marrow of my bones. My heart pounds in my chest, my pussy throbbing in time.
Melka and Grouz speak in hushed whispers, their words a mere murmur against the throbbing in my ears. Melka gestures towards me, her face set in an expression of grim determination, while Grouz's eyes rake over my body, causing a shiver of disgust to run through me. Yet, in my hazy state, the feeling quickly melts away.
Grouz begins his ritual, his gnarled hands moving in slow, measured patterns over my body. His touch is surprisingly gentle, though his palms are cold and clammy, making my skin pucker under the chill. There's a strange hum in the air, like a low, resonating thrum that sends shivers down my spine, coursing through my pussy and tightening my nipples. The sensations dance over my skin, weaving an intricate tapestry of sensations.
I feel a wave of relaxation washing over me, like a sigh echoing through my body, easing the aches and pains. The tension in my muscles slowly dissipates, my body growing heavy with exhaustion. But the heat in my belly remains, the cum stirring restlessly within me, a constant reminder of my subjugation. The desire doesn't leave, it just dulls, becomes more manageable. It's a small mercy, yet one that I'm grateful for.
As the ritual concludes, the room falls silent. My eyes, heavy-lidded and clouded, blink up at the dimly lit tent ceiling, the fabric a blur of shapes and shadows. My mind is wrapped in a fog, the world around me a dizzying whirl of colors and sounds, all seeming to melt into each other.
"I've got somethin' I need to do tonight, Tit-bitch," Melka says, her voice sounding like it's coming from the end of a long tunnel. “Jus’ - hang in there. One more night.”
I try to respond, to ask her what's happening, but the words die in my throat, replaced by a heavy yawn that stretches my jaw.
Melka's face, bathed in the dim torchlight, becomes an island of tranquility in a tumultuous sea. There's an emerald iridescence to her skin, starkly contrasting the gloom around her, a beacon cutting through the darkness. Her sparkling amethyst eyes, normally filled with goblin mischief, now glimmer with a strange depth.
I see sorrow - a ghost of the past, a whisper of the forgotten. It’s a moment that's as swift as it is poignant, leaving an indelible impression upon me.
The shaman’s magic takes deeper hold. As Melka’s cryptic words echo around me, a lullaby of melancholy, sleep begins to wrap me like a soft blanket. My eyes flutter shut, my body surrendering to the darkness.
