The Goblin’s Pet (18+) (Now a CYOA!)

Crisp dawn filters through the chinks in the shabby hut, assaulting my senses as sleep refuses to release me from its comforting grip. A bird's call echoes in the near distance, a shrill warning bouncing off the silent desolation. The land of Sandwalkers, making the most of the early morning quiet, casts a gloom over my waking moments.

It's cold. Even the desert freezes toward daybreak, the bitter nip of the air making goosebumps pop on my bare skin. My nipples harden, their peak tracing against my upper arm held tight against myself. A sharp sting yanks me rudely back into wakefulness, ripping sleep's comforting shroud away.

THWACK.

A large, rough hand collides with my naked exposed buttock. The sharp sting radiates from my soft globes, turning my cheeks a fierce red as the cool air assaults the sensitive skin. My legs curl tighter against my chest as I yelp into my balled fist. Leaving an imprint of Snib's crude, gnarled hand on my round, delicate asset. A harsh contrast of my humiliation.

A chain rattles close by, reminding me of the cold, rough collar around my neck - Snib's favorite toy. The noise of the forged iron speaks volumes of my debasement. The raw intimacy of my nudity, shadowed by Snib's perverse amusement, fills me with an unbearable loathing. My shift in personality - from hero to slave - is an ugly realization that hasn’t sunk in yet.

"Git up, cumdump! Got a long day 'ead of ya!" Snib's grating voice barks.

Groaning, I push myself upright, the metal of the collar digging into the tender skin of my throat, the chain brushes against the roundness of my large breasts. The heavy globes jiggle every time I move, amplifying the sense of strange unfamiliarity. I try to hold my chest, my hands sinking into the soft flesh - a fresh wave of humiliation crashes through me.

I suppose Snib’s definition of 'feast for the eyes' now embodies the sexually provocative sight of my bare body struggling to get up. The mossy green eyes, which used to flare with courage, now tear up a bit as Snib laughs and throws something cold and metallic at me.

His sick laughter echoes around the hut as I catch the offending object. It's the armor, the disgraceful, scanty metallic bikini armor. Instinctively, I attempt to cover my voluptuous nakedness with it.

The coldness of the metal feels unsettling against my skin as I fumble with the bikini top. I'm not sure where to place my hands. My fingers tremble as I try to fit the tiny, metallic cups over my resplendent tits. I squirm and wriggle, trying to wrestle my breasts into the restrictive piece. It barely encases them, miniature shields futilely attempting to cover the massive territory of my tits.

As I finally clasp the hooks behind, I feel the weight of my bosom straining against the insufficient support. It's fascinatingly painful - the cold, hard metal cutting into the tender underside of my boobs, leaving them bulging out from all sides. The already limited coverage diminishes further as my hard nipples scrape against the cold steel - another grim reminder of my altered biology.

Next comes the bikini bottom. The metallic piece is embarrassing in its minimalism - just a small front plate attached to a string. But then, when has anything about this entire ordeal been becoming... or comfortable?

I step into it and pull it up. It’s a battle of its own - the tight string embracing my full buttocks, the small metal plate barely covering the front. My mound is shaved barren, the slick folds of my new pussy exposed to the cool desert breeze tickling it's way into the hut.

The high metallic waist pinches into my flesh, amplifying my curvaceous shape and accentuating the part of me I'd much rather conceal. I feel exposed, cold, and stark naked, even though now technically armored.

The high heels make my feet wobble. My once sturdy footing replaced by an undignified totter. The waist-to-hip ratio amplified grotesquely by the added height, forcing me to sway my hips—an unwanted alluring image.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, I pull myself to a stand, waiting for the next cruel demand from my tormentor. Underneath the hard metal pressing into my soft flesh, my heart pounds a melancholy rhythm. Is this to be my life - cruel awakenings and humiliating garbs? But I know better than to provoke Snib. I swallow the bubbling rage and focus on the mocking leer of the goblin. In his devilish grin, I see not just my torment but also the resolve I need to overcome it.

"Up, cow," Snib barks, tugging my leash with a harsh jerk. I stumble as the world tilts around me, already unsteady from the high heels strapped to my feet.

The trauma of my new reality hits me again as I feel the absurd weight of my breasts swing with the abrupt action, the chill desert morning air whipping across my bare skin and teasing my sensitive nipples into hard points.

I glance at Snib and the revulsion washes over me again, the goblin dressing in mock casualness amidst his wreck of a hut. He scratches at his groin through the rags he calls clothes, ogling at my naked form without a shred of remorse or respect.

"Now the 'ouse needs a good cleanin', come 'ere," He grunts, motioning me over to the decrepit, lopsided table strewn with yesterday’s leftovers and spilled ale.

With a sigh, I comply, feeling humiliated as I bend over the table, my breasts swaying underneath me and my bare bottom jutting out vulnerably. I can feel the goblin’s gaze on me, a sinking feeling of dread settling deep within my stomach.

The smell of stale ale fills my nose and I can’t help but let out a disgusted wretch, my mind reeling with the surreal state of my circumstances. Once a renowned hero, now nothing more than a pretty present for this stinking, despicable creature to play with.

From the corner of my eyes, I watch as Snib lounges on his makeshift throne, grinning under his warty nose and flicking a lazy glance around the rotting shack. This is my new prison, the mere thought makes a lump form in my throat.

—

The auburn glow of dawn paints the desert sky in hues of tangerine and violet. The cheery warbles of sand-owls and glimmer finches filter through the chilly desert morning, a sweet counterpoint to my gruesome morning chore. With a final heave, the well bucket emerges from the depths; wooden slats groaning under the weight of brackish water.

"Now for the fun part," Snib chuckles, thrusting a soggy pile of fabric into my arms. My stomach lurches as the stench hits me; a mix of dried cum and goblin musk assaulting my senses.

"Ye better get to work, Elise," Snib grumbles, watching me with beady eyes, masked in grotty delight as I pick absentmindedly through the unsanctified collection of smegma-soaked loincloths that serve as his clothing.

My gaze keeps returning to the front of the queer loincloths, now crusty and faded. A sour taste permeates my mouth as I ponder the stains; hefty clusters of dried goblin seed, each one a potent reminder of my new place in this world. I dread the task, knowing that goblins are fabled for their obscenely large and vigorous sperm. Just about visible to the naked eye once in contact with moisture.

There I stand, two heaving mounds of flesh making mockery of my once flat chest, looming over a filthy pile of jizz-crusted goblin loincloths. The absurdity of it all threatens to strangle the last dregs of dignity I've been desperately clinging onto since waking up with this cursed body.

With great reluctance, I begin to scrub through the stiff garments, ice-cold water splattering against my heavy breasts and firm thighs. The rhythmic movement is instantly ruined by the feel of Snib's crude, slapping hand against my rounded ass—a caricature of encouragement. I see no mocking amusement in his twinkling eyes, just hints of depraved expectancy that promise a long, arduous day.

The clothes soften in the bucket, the whisk of soap and scrubbing revealing the horrifying squiggly tadpoles. Thousands of microscopic goblin sperm wriggling amongst the filth. The sight is repulsive, yet fascinating, forcing bile into my throat. But this is my reality, my servitude under Snib’s lecherous reign.

Finishing up, I pin up the wretched loin cloths to dry. The glint of rising sun on the damp material amplifies the ghastly mental image of tadpoles zigzagging out of the fabric and jumping at me, desperately seeking an egg to impregnate.

__

I steel my nerves, glancing over my shoulder as the musky scent of the recently jerked-off goblin wafts towards me. Pangs of disgust wrack my body. Snib leans against the side of the well, a filthy grin spreading across his wart-studded face.

“Ye did a good job with me delicates Elise," he muses, the edge of light caught behind him silhouetting his loathsome form. “Now 'bout you earn some gold?”

A glimmer of hope sparks within me at the mention of gold. Gold that could buy my release from this squalid existence. Gold that could rid me of this revolting collar. I ready myself to shine his boots or fetch his dinner. But then I notice the lustful glint in Snib's eyes. That predatory gaze I've come to recognize and loathe.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, a tinge of apprehension clouding my voice. Snib's grin widens, revealing crooked, stained teeth.

“Thought ye’d never ask, lass,” he chuckles lewdly, reaching down to fondle his overgrown phallus through his loin cloth. My heart thunders in my chest at his crude gesture. “Fancy givin’ me a handy?”

My eyes blow wide open, every inch of my skin recoiling as I take in the full meaning of his words. He wants me to touch his filthy tool. The thick, veiny nightmare that spews his nauseating seed. My cheeks blaze crimson as a wave of humiliation washes over me.

“You’ve got to be joking,” I retort, hoping it’s a cruel jest that I can laugh off. But the expectant hum in his voice leaves little doubt about his sincerity. A chill runs down my spine as reality settles in.

Snib wants me to give him a hand-job for gold. Gold that could buy my freedom. It’s an unexpected proposition, and my brain teeters between refusal and consideration. The taste of bile lingers in my mouth, a reminder of my already debased morning. Disgust battles desperation. Yet, I glance back at him - a troubled expression etched on my face, tight-lipped and eyes ablaze with torment. The obscene proposal tugs at the corners of my mind.

The gust of silence is broken by Snib's raucous laughter echoing against the stony walls, disappearing into the grim air of the morning. For me, each echo etches another chapter into the tragic parody of my new existence. The taut reality of my captivity tightens another notch in this grotesque morning ritual.

—

Grimacing as I hang the loincloths up to dry, the repugnant smell still etched in my nostrils, I become a spectacle under Snib's watch. My hefty breasts bouncing and coated in the splashback, my nubile butt bobbling with every move, makes Snib chuckle ominously.

"Elise my sweet, why don't ye make yerself useful," Snib laughs, sitting back against the hut. His putrid goblin dick-free of that foul loincloth- stood proud and throbbing in the morning air. His words crush my hope for solace. He leers at me, a grotesque smile of crude suggestion appearing on his lips.

"Look at this," he croaks, tapping his fat goblin schlong. A disgustingly large, twelve inches and veiny. He layers more particulars as if selling an exotic dish, "it's aching, swollen, like a bad tooth."

Revulsion swells within me like bile at his suggestion, yet a tinge of curiosity pokes amidst the disgust. It is accompanied by the realization that a goblin's sexual fantasies often come with a heavy dose of bargaining. The prospect of any form of agreement with Snib nauseates me.

"See," Snib continues, ignoring my violated expressions, "you give me a nice handjob while I lay here, and I'll knock off 500 from the grand total." His hideous grin broadens at the sight of my mortified face, my stormy eyes sparkling with both resentment and reluctant consideration.

The idea is vile, yet twisted with a perverse sense of fairness. "You'd get practice with this big fella," Snib adds as an afterthought, giving his monstrous schlong a playful waggle. A gag threatens to spill from my throat as the veiny beast salutes me ominously. It takes every ounce of control to suppress it. Though the precious gold on offer is not a favor, but more of a reprieve from the tedious debt, his twisted proposal toys with my sanity.

Yet I am no fool. Even in this torturous servitude, I understand Snib's filthy game. He hopes to turn my desperation into compliance, trading gold for my dignity. It seems like he’s not planning to rape me - even though he could by using the collar to compel me - he’d rather wear me down.

The thought of my hand grazing against his fleshy monstrosity sends despair crashing down on me. It's a chilling reminder of the chain around my neck, the leash of my existence controlled by a grotesque goblin with a perverted sense of humor.

—

Shakily, I rise from my chores, the repugnant scent of Snib's loincloths still clinging to my pale, soft fingers. My voluptuous breasts strain against my scanty bikini top, desperately seeking solace away from the ghastly odor.

"Better move on to here, Elise." Snib chortles, a twang of wickedness coloring his command. He stands at the entrance of his dilapidated hut, the Dominion Leash toggling in his rough claws. A nauseous dread fills me as I follow him, my legs wobbly in the ill-conceived heels of my armor that sink into the shifting sands.

The blistering Zaelasian sun casts long shadows across our path, intensifying the imposing vibe of the crude abode. Its lopsided structure, teeteringly jagged against the stark landscape, is as unstable as my quivering heart.

"Start there," Snib commands, pointing at the hut's darkened corner. A sense of revulsion floods me as my gaze travels over the grotesque mess of discarded bones, rotting food, and gruesome paraphernalia. I can see remnants of his semen, on the floor drying and crusted. Snib has regrettably lewd personal care habits. Each jutting artifact punches my once-treasured bravery, reducing it to a mere whimper.

With a fraction of my remaining spirit, I cinch my jaw, feeling a jarring pain in my delicate gritted teeth. Realizing my formidable strength could no longer rely on muscle and sword, I turn to the resilience of my mind and heart. There's a war to be fought, even if it's waged amidst grime and filth.

With each rummage through Snib's sadistic collection, a stronger sense of dread creeps in. A raunchy rag, ragged and crusty with what I can only assume to be dried goblin spunk, makes my stomach churn. His semen must be disgustingly thick to visibly crust up like that. I hold it by its clenched center, as far away from my face as possible, trying to minimize the olfactory insult.

The scraping sound of pottery against the dry, hard dirt, as I gingerly pile the filthy scraps aside, forms a melancholic metronome to my tedious task. Snib finds a comfortable spot against the doorpost, his squinted eyes glued to every exaggerated sway of my full breasts and round butt. A self-satisfied smirk outlines his cruel, green face; the visual feast of a subjugated warrior serving as his pleasurable pastime.

Next is a daunting fortress of bones, remnants of his meals, or worse, that I don't want to contemplate. My fingers, already aching, toil against the arduous task. The contrast is overwhelming - from holding swords and shields, being revered for my heroism, to grasping repulsive waste, my valiant past painted in torturous tones.

Close by, Snib rotates his hefty dick, a perverse demonstration of his focused gaze. Each of my buttocks shivers come from not just revulsion, but the feminine form's newfound sensitivity. My skin registers the tangy air of the desert, the crisp texture of the disheveled rags, the stalky plushness of my raven hair, and more discomfortingly, Snib's invaded space.

My mind frequents the memory lanes of my past life, the heroic sagas and victorious tales of Aldric the Great. Each squeeze and swish of my womanly attributes becomes more unnerving as I march through Snib's filth, cleaning his den under his calculating stares. I can't help but recall my wife Elara's accustomed verses praising my might, her sapphire eyes gleaming with pure love.

Contrary to her subtle scent of gardenia and sweetness that often perfumed our intimate moments, I'm beckoned back into the reality of Snib's malignant odor. Rotting fish, stale sweat, and a potent tinge of his masculine musk paint the air with profanity, segregating me further from cherished past sensibilities.

There's an echo to his obscene enjoyment as he watches me bend and rise, the rigid bikini armor barely restraining my prodigious assets. I feel hyperconscious of my womanly physique, my subconscious fighting against the body's natural movements leading to awkward, faltering motions.

—

As the day recklessly loses itself within the parched desert horizon, I find myself lost within a pressing question – how can I get through today?

Despite this grim uncertainty, I know two things. Firstly, there's an unending heap of utter filth that needs cleaning. Secondly, there's a goblin who's unnecessarily amused by my discomfort from it.

Everywhere around me, there's filth. At first glance, the chaotic jumble of debris seems like an intimidating dragon I would have otherwise slain with my sword. But I'm not Aldric the Great anymore. I am Elise, a voluptuous woman, held on a leash by a vile goblin named Snib - tasked to vanquish the beast with nothing more than a twig broom, a small tin bucket, and an old rag.

I start by sweeping the hard dirt floor, a cloud of dust immediately engulfing the congested hut. Each stroke of the broom against the cold floor sends a chill up to my chest, the strain making my colossal tits bounce inside the restrictive metal bra. The feeling is bizarre, my large orbs marvelously jiggling with every breath I take, their warmth standing stark against the rest of my exposed body.

Snib watches with interest, his beady eyes focused on the rhythmic jostle of my large, soft breasts. Grotesque fascination is written all over his face, a sickening grin plastered onto his frog-like lips. His unyielding stare fuels a dangerous knot in the pit of my stomach, my anger simmering with every passing moment, yet I persist in my domestic chore, my will unwavering.

Over the hours, I pick up every bit of detritus, inspecting everything from discarded bones to the crushed remnants of indistinguishable inscriptions written in a bizarre script. Each item holds its morbid tale, their ghostly echoes adding to the haunting orchestra created by Snib’s entertainment at my expense.

Soon, Snib grows restless and hands me a crude knife, pointing at a pile of food he had scavenged. Not wanting to give him any cause to yank my leash, I set to prepare the lunch. To my surprise, the creature he has brought back is much alike to the field rabbits back home. Familiarity stirs a faint smile on my lips, but it's short-lived as I slice the creature open.

The memory of crisp sunlight pouring onto Elara's bright face, as her gentle hands taught me to prepare dinner one summer afternoon, washes over me. The comfort of her kind words, the melody of her laughter rings in my ear as I start cooking over the small fire pit outside. The aroma of the roasting meat brings a pang of hunger amidst the cloud of my anguish.

With lunch prepared, I serve Snib on one of the newly dusted off wooden plates. The crude satisfaction he expresses at his meal inadvertently stirs a sense of achievement within me. For a brief moment, I'm back in my sun-kissed courtyard, serving my wife Elara a lovingly prepared meal.

The fantasy quickly breaks as Snib belches out his compliments, a cruel laughter punctuating his enjoyment. The offensive smell of fermented beef and vile goblin spit permeates the air, crumpling any fleeting semblance of home I had constructed within my worn-out soul.

Forced to succumb to the reality, I spend the rest of the sweltering afternoon cleaning up. The gruesome smell of Snib’s belched out compliments still hangs heavily in the air. Yet, a more pressing concern takes priority over my discomfort. My bladder, bearing the torment for hours, looks for sweet relief. A quick glance at my leash tied to a rusted iron ring and Snib snoozing comfortably convinces me that any peaceful trip to the latrine is far from possible.

—

"Master," I call out as delicately as my enraged spirit allows me to. "Master, I need to pee."

Snib opens one bulbous eye, regards me with a gleam of amusement, his scaly green lips curling in a grotesque smile. "Then pee," he grunts, a soft chuckle in his repulsive voice.

"I've gotta go outside," I explain, hating the softness in my voice. My desperation intertwines with the humiliation he'd forced down my throat.

"No need, pet." His laughter echoes in the dismal hut. He points a gnarled finger towards a corner where a bucket of forgotten filth rests. "There's yer toilet."

My face flushes, burning with the shame he’s just dropped on me. So this is the next level of my humiliation as his pet. I feel the protest bubble up, almost slip past my lips but catch it in time. Pointless. I've learned the game well enough; it’s best to shut up and get with it, endure and survive.

As I walk towards the rancid, rusty bucket, one careful step at a time on my high metal heels, I feel Snib's piercing gaze etch into my jiggling ass and thick thighs. I bite down hard against the shame that rises with each tiny, humming vibration of his disgusting laughter that hangs in the air.

"Squat right over it, cow. Ye don't wanna be missin' the target," he hoots, tugging on the leash, the wicked runes of the collar biting into my tender skin.

The sound of him laughing is like nails on a chalkboard as I head for the bucket. My face is on fire, heart pounding as if trying to escape the humiliating situation I’m being coerced into. Squatting down is a delicate balancing act in these heels, and despite Snib’s ruthless tugs on the leash, I keep steady, staring at the filthy mouth of the bucket.

“Ah, look at those fat, plump cheeks of yours,” he comments from where he’s leaning, lecherous gaze roaming freely over my bare, round ass as I struggle for balance. His words are like acid sizzling along my skin. “Your milky tits hangin' like ripe melons, wobblin' with every breath. Gettin' a good show here, slave.”

Silently, I grit my teeth, swallow down the bile at the back of my throat. I curl one hand protectively around my right breast to steady myself, the fullness surprising me once again. The cold bucket rim against my bare, full ass sends a shiver up my spine.

"Get on with it, 'cow tits,' don't keep your Master waiting," he barks, tugging the leash to make me yelp.

I inhale deeply, summon my composure, and attempt to surrender to the natural call. I reckon this shouldn't be that hard, just... well, different.

But it's just not coming. The lewd spectacle is too much - the unfamiliarity of my new female body, a man-turned-woman in a degraded bondage of a perverse master.

My cheeks burn brighter at Snib's echoing sniggers. Any sense of privacy shattered by his lewd remarks. “Make sure y'don't miss the bucket and piss all over the floor. Don't want my cow making a mess now, do I?"

Without a word, I close my eyes, hoping it will help shut out the surrounding humiliation. Waiting for the sensation of release. Eventually, and to my surprise, I hear the quiet, feminine hiss of my pee hitting the inside of the bucket. It’s a rush, a release, and for a moment, I revel in the surprising comfort of it. It is a sensation I need to get used to, the high pitched sound, the position, the warmth of release, it’s all so new.

"Fucking finally, huh, Elise?" Snib draws out my name with a derogatory sneer plastered on his malodorous face, "What's taking so long? It isn't as if yer blastin' out a mighty stream with that little piss slit. Now, stand still or ye'll make a mess."

I grit my teeth but remain silent, focusing on finishing the business that he's made hellishly public. Snib is watching intently as I pee, his satisfaction at my discomfort evident. I’m forced to remain a captive audience to my own humiliating spectacle.

The sound of my pissing is quiet, humiliatingly feminine - a stark contrast to the thunderous piss-shows men present. I notice it, how the pee barely makes a sound as it leaves me, only becoming noticeable when it hits the bucket, a small shower of piss that makes Snib chuckle with delight. My own dismal situation is enough to make this reality come crashing back.

Just as I’m finishing up, Snib unexpectedly stands from his bed, sauntering over to the other side of the bucket where I'm desperately trying to keep myself from falling over. "Move yer ass, Elise. Don't wanna splash piss on ya."

I can't believe what I'm witnessing. In what feels like slow motion, Snib is getting ready. Lowering his filthy loincloth, his swollen monstrosity is being unleashed.

"You'll see how a real goblin pisses, bitch." Snib grins wickedly, his engorged member pointed at the bucket. He's angled right in between my legs. I whimper a little.

Feeling the cold iron leash restricting some of my movement, I look down between my own jiggling bosoms as his goblin member is exposed, a snaking monstrosity that sends shivers up my spine. He adjusts his stance, causing his member to bob and sway, pointing at the bucket. The sight ignites a new wave of torment that washes over me, making my stomach churn and thighs quiver.

He aims, like a vulgar marksman, unflinching under my inadvertent gaze. My tits sag and heave with each quick intake of breath, mind oscillating between disbelief and humiliation.

The air grows still, the world silent in anticipation until a harsh, roaring stream of yellowing piss rockets out of Snib's proud cock, the thick glorious stream arching right toward the bucket. It's thick, robust, powerful, and confident; the antithesis of my own meek, timid tinkle. I gasp outloud, my trembling thighs almost touching the hideous wetness from his heavy, pissing cock. It rolls along like a thunderous waterfall, causing small splashes to tickle my barely-concealed pussy and ample, quaking ass.

"See, tits-for-brains? That's how to take a piss!" Snib brags, actually managing to talk through his volcanic urination. "Like a hero, ain't it?" He chides, his usual haughty grin widening. The revulsion bubbles within me, barely contained as Snib conducts his bestial spectacle, overlaying my own debilitatingly shameful show.

Unable to avoid it, I feel droplets of hot piss splashing up against my plump, sweaty asscheeks, trickling down mightily. It comes off like the aftermath of a man’s cum, gross, sticky and warm, clinging to my pale flesh. Every droplet draws a shuddering gasp from me, each one accompanied by sardonic chuckles from him.

I have to squint between my massive tits and wide-spread thighs to keep my eyes from watering at the mere sight of his powerful, virulent piss, forming a fat, golden stream between us. The smell of him and his pissing fills the air, mixing with my own shame, the stench almost as unbearable as the sight in front of me.

Eventually, blessedly, the deafening noise of his piss dwindles to a trickle. The final drops of his urine dance around the rim of the bucket, mixing with my own, his barbaric commentary tainting my thoughts. Freezing in humiliation, I wait for him to finish, the excruciating moment stretching on indefinitely before he finally steps back, tucking his still-dripping cock back into his loincloth.

I shrink back against the hut as he turns to me with a triumphant grin, the final drops of his piss gathering down my trembling legs into the sand below. He struts off with a wink, leaving me to pull the bottom part of my bikini armor back up, hiding my trembling pussy and dripping ass under the scanty gear. As I rise from my squat, I feel the cold breezes of the desert contrasting with the warmth of my cheeks, a burning sense of humiliation coursing through me. I manage to stay upright despite the precariousness of my high heeled boots sinking into the sand and my newly-acquired proportions swaying dangerously.

"Good girl, bitch-tits," Snib calls out over his shoulder, “ye’d betterclean yerself up.”

With the day's humiliating tasks almost at an end, Snib tosses me my once-prided sword, Whisperwind, now a mockery of its former glory. The sight of it plunges my heart into despair - the weapon that once spelled doom for evil is now desecrated, a tragic symbol of my fallen heroism.

Splatters of dried, crusty cum mar every inch of the glorious blade – a twisted tribute from Snib's vile climax. A foul bastardization of what Whisperwind once was. The sight of the once gleaming silver steel, now faded under the white, crusty streaks, makes my heart wrench. 

Like his foul cum after he spends himself, the stains are sickeningly thick, stubborn, and revolting. It cling to the blade in pearl-like globs; just the sight of this sad state of my once beloved sword makes my stomach churn - it's Snib's perverse mark.

Grimacing, I reach out and carefully try to lift the stained blade, balancing my bulbous breasts against the weight of the aftermath. It isn't easy - each time I move, my pendulous melons threaten to upset the precarious balance. But I do this out of spite - out of defiance. To clean Whisperwind is to expunge Snib’s sickening influence over me.

I grip the dried cum-laden hilt, making a face at the not-so-ephemeral reminder of Snib’s musk mixed with the sharp metallic tang of Whisperwind. I start scrubbing, the rough surface of my leather rag chafing my delicate porcelain skin. As I fight to cleanse my sword, his depraved laughter echoes within the confines of my memory. Each stroke of my arm sends my oversized bosom into an obscene jiggling, each sway of my hips puts my colossal bottom on unhindered display for Snib's lecherous gaze.

A painful whimper escapes me before I can stop it. The realization of how far I've fallen sinks in deeper than Whisperwind ever has his enemies. I am now a woman, reduced to scrubbing cum stains off my sword, a buxom prize for a goblin master. But it doesn't matter - I have to clean it. I have to strip away the thick remnants of Snib’s shame and restore my sword to its former glory. It feels like the first step - the first stroke on my quest to reclaiming my honor. Whisperwind will be mine again, gleaming and true, just as I will be Aldric once more - I vow.

Snib watches me, making all sorts of mocking comments.

As much as I want to hate the way his grotesque words make my cheeks flush, I can’t stop a faint throbbing in my core. The disgusting, bleachy scent of his semen lingers on the blade and on my fingers, bringing to mind Snib’s humiliating act from the previous day. The amount of cum it must've taken to saturate the blade so thoroughly sends my thoughts spiraling. The goblin's schlong is vile, yet there's something viciously virile and fascinating about it. Under my humiliated scowl, something horrifying boils: curiosity, an insipid base arousal I cannot name, let alone admit to.

Suddenly, Snib breaks me from my dangerous thoughts. “Ye know, I was thinking of selling that sword,” he announces casually. His words impact me like a physical blow; my hands falter, my heart pounds in my chest, a cold sweat breaks out on my skin. The thought of my precious sword - my only remaining tie to my former pride and glory - being sold off like an ordinary trinket fills me with a raw, helpless panic.

“No!” I gasp, horrified at the prospect. My throat is dry, eyes watering. I can’t bear the thought of losing Whisperwind, my partner in many battles, the symbol of my brave past. Snib seems pleased at my reaction. His cackling laughter rings out, echoing sharply against the walls of the hut.

“Hah! Got ya there, didn’t I?” He’s trying to catch his breath between fits of laughter, clutching his stomach. "I ain't gonna sell yer fancy toothpick, milady," he mocks. A wave of relief washes over me, and I huff, brushing a tear from my cheek.

But along with the relief, there's something else: a growing dampness between my thighs, a heat that seems to tickle my senses. It's as though the lingering scent of his dried semen has awakened something forbidden within me. My body – this traitorous, bewitched body – responds to his crude demeanor, his revolting threats, in a way my mind could never comprehend. Disgust and arousal tangle into a confusing knot I can’t seem to untie.

As much as it frightens me, disgusts me, the continuation of this hellish day in this grimy shack under the malevolent eyes of the goblin nudges my burgeoning sexuality further into the light. I am left with a deep-seated dread of the day that the arousal turns into something more potent, something that paints me in Snib’s colors irreversibly.

—

The grueling day of toil finally trudges to a close.

I survey the immaculateness of my forced labor. I see the splintered table rid of rotten crumbs, the stone floor sans the dry trashes, the sleeping corner, still a mess, but at least free of stinking fur. I yearn for the comfort of cleanliness, yet it's soured by the circumstances. This is not my home. This is my prison, my nightmare. At least the cleanliness is one thing I can control in this sea of uncertainty.

And there, near a corner, Whisperwind stands, free of Snib's disgusting defilements. Restored, but I know it's different now, tarnished in its prestige like my own self. The humiliation seeps deep, recognizing my former glory now replaced with the disgusting memory of Snib's seed.

Snib announces his plans for tomorrow, his grotesque form ambling towards the pile of filthy furs he deems a bed.

His cackling laughter continues for a minute more before he settles, and a few minutes later, the hut is filled with the disgusting sound of the goblin's stentorian snoring.

Left alone with my thoughts, I find myself glancing down at my restrictive bikini "armor." The pieces valiantly holding together my mountainous breasts and obscenely wide ass is a horrid reminder of my transformation, yet offers a dubious comfort - the only barrier between my naked flesh and Snib's constant, perverse gaze.

At least, he doesn't force himself on me. That's a surprise.

After a day of discomfort, my skin cries out for mercy. In front of the cracked mirror, I cautiously begin unclasping my metallic bikini top.

The skimpy steel scrapes against my sensitive skin, biting into the soft, plush flesh of my humongous jugs as I ease it off my chest. The moment the last clasp pops open, my knockers fall free with a meaty slap against my belly, their obscene weight resonating in the hut's suffocating silence.

The release sends a tremor through my massive globes, jiggling like jelly mounds, the slight vibrations popping off in sparks down to my core. My hard nubs throb painfully at the disturbance.

As embarrassed as I am by my proportions, the oversized mammaries hanging off my chest are incredibly beautiful. Like two gigantic orbs of the juiciest, ripest fruit, pale skin stark against the dirty surroundings.

With a groan, I shift my attention to my calf-high heel boots. Designed more for lascivious appeal than any practical purpose, they seem to sagely epitomize my predicament. Just like the rest of my farcical attire, they're form fitting and intensely disciplined, painfully crushing my feet into a brutal arch. I swear I can hear the soft protest of my delicate, white toes, squashed like a damsel in the grasp of a monster. Resisting the urge to gnash my teeth, for the first time since this hellish dawn, I bend towards the menacing accessories.

The strain is real. Every bend sends a significant udderquake through my voluminous chest, resulting in a slapping tangle with my knees. My tits were used to the free fall in the midst of gravity; and in their enormous glory, they seem to celebrate their freedom. The resulting swing is visibly noticeable, sending an obscene jiggle through my pendulous breasts. Their momentum sends me reeling back a few times before I master the act of ducking while accommodating my titanic tits.

Laboring under the weight of my chest, my manicured hands finally make headway to my boots. I trace along the detailed lacework, fingers fumbling around unfamiliar folds and hardened leather soles. It's a challenge to concentrate, especially with my heavy hooters swinging like wild pendulums, their unseen sway sending shivers fluttering directly to my damp pussy.

But relief, when it comes, is euphoric. The lashes give away, I loosen the fist around my trembling toes. The sensation is akin to the first gasp after being underwater for too long, life-giving and desperate. Reprieve floods me, my toes splaying and flexing with barely concealed joy.

Peeling off the boots takes a bit of devious wiggling, a fight against the biting cold and the rigid shackles of steel. Every scrape of my delicate skin under the metallic edge adds to my misery. But then, with an act of ultimate scorn, the boots slip off, thudding heavily against the damp wooden floor. The harsh echo reverberates into the confined space of the room, stirring the eerie silence to life.

Finally free of my steel-hardened captors, my feet grope clumsily against the rough wooden floors. I cringe as I feel the uneven texture of the filthy floor beneath my clean soles, the unpleasant squelching sensation between my toes. Of all the ways to touch base with this reality, this was depressingly grounding.

Unbuckling the metallic g-string from my wide hips, each tug sends jolts into my belly, stark reminders of the day's persistent humiliation. The stingy piece of metal that bisects my plush asscheeks has no pity, biting into my swollen pussy lips, a cruel chastity belt designed for mockery rather than any practical modesty.

Peeling off the metal frame secures the cringe on my face, gingerly sliding the thin strip from the heated groove of my slick pussy. My pussy folds quiver, sensitive to the uncomfortable scrape and the cool night air that washes over them. A shaky sigh escapes me.

The obscene squelch rings loud in the eerie silence of the hut, the cold metal strip glistening with the “mystical potion” concocted in the depths of my womanhood.

It’s humiliating to acknowledge, but my pussy DROOLS, an involuntary response to the constant barrage of depravity I've been subjected to since dawn. My lush lower lips throb and tingle, the heady scent of my own arousal wafting insultingly into my nostrils.

Sharp, cool air floods the sudden emptiness as the bikini bottom relinquishes its hold, leaving my damp pussy mound exposed.

A chill courses through my abundant assets, nipples hardening atop my overgrown breasts, hard buds straining in the open air as if reaching out in sympathy to their lower counterparts left awash in the cool gust. 

I toss the drenched piece aside in distaste, it jingles on the floor.

Well, I’ve reached a new low - shivering naked in a dirty goblin’s hut, with the stark evidence of my unwanted arousal pooled at my feet.

Gods, being a woman is confusing, messy… and cruel. I attempt to lie down on my assigned “bed”.

Every small movement grates against the straw, a sharp prickling sensation that brushes against the soft, sensitive swells of my vulnerable body. I recall the time when my hardened warrior's muscles would've barely acknowledged such petty discomfort, but now...

The unwelcome jiggle of my fat tits brings a blush to my cheeks. Attempting to maneuver this troublesome body without aggravating the annoying wobbling of my fat orbs, I shift awkwardly - sending tremors through the oversized melons.

I know I’m mentioning them a lot. But seriously. I had to deal with them ALL DAY.

Resting on my side, it's near impossible to ignore the oppressive weight of one mammoth udder smothering and squashing the other, a testament to their absurd, mindboggling, obscene size.

And let's not forget about my fat ass. My poor tits get a lot of attention, but my huge round buttocks could compete in their own obscene league. They smother the pile of straw beneath, crushed under their lush fullness - a testament to their own massive, awe-inspiring voluptuousness.

Despite being a faithful husband, I’d have marveled at such a womanly rear in my Aldric days. And now, I have them.

I roll over, attempting to lie on my stomach. Squirming, I try to ease the gargantuan tits and dump-truck ass into a hesitant compromise of comfort. Gods, it seems there's no position that doesn't set my ass and tits smushed uncomfortably against the “bed”. As a man, my body was relatively flat, finding a good sleeping position was no problem.

Alone with my ruminating thoughts, I tentatively start exploring the full extent of my femininity. Starting from my absurdly swollen breasts, I lift one, cradling the hefty globe, testing its weight.

The flesh is soft, malleable, and exquisitely sensitive, responding to even the lightest touch. My nipples, now constantly pebbled into tight buds due to the cool draft, tingle even further.

Inhaling, I experimentally tweak one. A bolt of lightning shoots through my body – my pussy clenches involuntarily. My breasts have been turned into erogenous zones of pure desire, each caress of my nipples causing my nethers to bloom in excitement.

It’s like I can feel my HEARTBEAT in my pussy, the way it throbs as I explore.

Lowering my hand, my fingers trace the dip of my slim waist before blooming into the wide expanse of my hips. My body could be an artist's exaggerated fantasy of the prime mating measure among the females – the perfect pear shape meant to incite lust in men. My fingers descend further, skimming the moistened folds of my womanhood, feeling the foreign shape of my lush lower lips.

Swiping one finger between the aching folds, I feel an initial resistance before it yields under my touch, pooling my fingers in a surge of warm slickness. The tight knot of desire in my belly tightens even further – my heart feels like it actually skips a beat. 

Ignoring the guilt gnawing at me, I explore further, tracing the petals of my new flower, dipping my fingers into my wet, syrupy humidity. Betraying blushes heat my cheeks as I probe deeper, a soft gasp escaping my lips while the sensation intensifies. Realization dawns - this fat tits-and-ass body was MADE for pleasure at the slightest stimulation.

This bottom-heavy, pleasure-focused femininity, constantly in heat, dripping arousal - the cruel truth about being a woman. The womanly trap of Snib's humiliating curse.

I lay there, eyes wide open, heart pounding with the discomforting rush of this new-found arousal.

I make a hasty decision. Shuffling awkwardly to get on all fours, my sizable tits swing wildly, their weight pulling them down. The fullness of my breasts jiggles obscenely with every movement, the plush pillows of flesh responding with eager bounces. The sensation of the rough straw against my sensitive nipples sends shivers down my spine, causing my pussy to clench and line itself with more of the sticky honey.

Glancing over my shoulder, my heart pounding nervously, I verify that Snib is still deep in his slumber.

Sighing a soft breath of relief, I unclench my stiff muscles, a small moan of sweet respite escaping from the corners of my pouty lips.

But the visual of the scenario, me on all fours, ass lifted high in the air, makes me all too aware of the vulgarity of the position. The restless G-cup milkers mashed against the straw, the splotchy flush covering my exposed round ass, the demanding pulse in my aching cunt, everything felt branded under the crude heat of sex.

Emboldened, I reach my free hand back, forearm brushing against the topside curve of a rounded buttock. My slender fingers dip lower to probe my wet slit, the ragged gasp escaping my lips the moment my digits come in contact with the heated flesh. The alien wetness coating my fingers startles me, my pulse quickening at the rushing sensation.

The moisture sticks to my fingers unlike anything I've felt before, viscous and slippery and strangely inviting. My knees clench as I gingerly probe at my entrance, the unfamiliar touch drawing a pleasured moan. My nimble fingers dance around my throbbing clit and I grind my hips instinctively, a low arch forming in my back as I push back onto my hand, controlling my pace.

The heady mix of pleasure and humiliation is dizzying. My wild bucking elicits an obscene orchestra of squelching sounds that echo throughout the room. The only comfort amidst this mortification is the incessant, guttural snoring from Snib.

The noises I produce make my face burn in shame, my nerve endings sparking in time with each squelch. But my mind is elsewhere, the relentless onslaught of carnal pleasure rendering me blind to reality.

The throbbing pulse in my core rhythmically undulates to an unheard tune. On a weird impulse, I ball my delicate hand into a fist. Then, I grind my pussy against my knuckles. It makes an obscene squelch.

My actions fall into a gyrating rhythm, my manhood a distant memory in that little moment.

The soft pants and moans growing louder with each passing moment, building and building.

Too far into this decadent soft-stickiness, my humiliation slowly ebbs, replaced by a dizzy fog.

I grind harder, crying out when the straw pricks me; it doesn’t matter. I’m hurtling toward release now - the ship can’t be stopped.

Fat ass bouncing one way, heavy jugs jiggling in rhythm, simultaneously I start lazily fingerfucking myself, the slap of my ass fucking my hand echoing crudely in the dim hut.

Without realizing, I begin rotating my hips in soft circles, dragging my pussy against my fingers. Which is stroking which?

My thick labia run slick against my knuckles, the pooled wetness between my thighs coating my fingers in a sheen of my arousal.

Right then, a sharp jolt of pleasure runs up my spine as my thumb brushes against my erect clit. A startled yelp echoes in the silence of the hut, my hand freezing mid-circle as my body tenses with the sharp sensation. My eyes widen.

My body shudders, a tremor rocking through my core as a rush of overwhelming necessity swirls inside me. There’s no way I can stop.

My eyes squeeze shut as I nibble my lip. My other hand unconsciously tweaks a harlequin nipple, the hardened peak aching under my touch. Deft fingers pluck at the sensitive nub, sending another surge of pleasure crashing through me.

Suddenly, a horrid sound jerks me out of the hazy fog of my pleasure. A moment's silence, then the distinct, disquieting noise of a wet hand fapping fills the room. My heart drops, the realization hitting me hard - Snib is awake!

And worse, the goblin is jerking off to my obscene display.

A rough, guttural grunt cuts through the silence. "Oh fuck... Cowtits, look at you... your fucking cunt... your fucking tits... What a view…”

My cheeks flame red, the embarrassment multiplied manifold as his heavy precum musk invades the air. The thick stench of goblin cock-smegma sears my nostrils, the jarring sensations and raucous noises combining into a stark, warped soundscape.

He loves the show I’m putting on.

The sight of me on all fours, titties hanging and swinging, my back arched, fat ass high in the air, my freshly finger-fucked slit leaking in uncontrollable arousal. His obscene grunts and moans are the background track in the dingy chamber, escalating my rush of emotions.

I quickly push my face down into the straw in a vain attempt to muffle the embarrassing sounds. My hips instinctively resume their sensual dance against my palm, fingers slipping through my folds, collecting my slick dew. I gasp shamefully, aware of Snib's raucous snorting in the background.

In a daring leap of bravery, I insert another finger, the new sensation proving far different from what I had with Elara. The familiar tug of her name triggers guilt in my belly, quickly squashed under the thriving need to just FINISH already.

My soaked digits piston inside my twitching hole, a wild desperation driving my actions. The pace hastens, the squelching of my fingers inside my tight, soaked pussy merging with Snib’s coarse grunts into a lewd choir.

I NEED to finish before him. I need to just get it over with!

Suddenly, a grumbled "I'm gonna fuckin’ nut, cumdump,” sends ice down my spine. The grotesque spurts of Snib’s thick, rank seed spattering the wall echoes in the room, the potent, bleachy stench of his hot goblin jizz filling my lungs.

My hips stutter their obscene grind against my wet palm again, repressing any thoughts - or morals -  left in my perverted mind.

A sickly haze curls around me, the nauseating smell of his spent jizz clogging my nostrils as I gasp in despair. I gag at the potency I detect, even from across the room.

I can’t help but peek - seeing heavy, glittering ropes of putrid goblin semen heavily painting the wall, jet, after jet, after jet, after jet, after…

All thought and dignity flee as my climax crashes into me, a debilitating tsunami of pleasure so sharp and gushing, it wracks through my body, shaking my tits, reducing me to a writhing, whimpering mess. I feel my juices coating my inner thighs in hot, glistening rivulets and spurts, making a sodden mess of the straw beneath me with every jerk and twitch of my greedy pussy.

Ecstasy lights up my vision with a burst of starlight, a sweet cream of realization seeping into my thoughts that this, this is what it feels like to climax as a woman. With this release, this sweet, guity, joyless, unending moment of pure pleasure pleasure, I’ve progressed a part of my feminized existence.

My gasping moans of pleasure turn into hysterical sobs, echoing around the dimly lit room with a sorrowful desperation as I lie prone in my own puddle of wetness - and it’s not over. The tremors of my orgasm spark trembles through my tense inner thighs, making them quiver uncontrollably, knees clapping against the straw in a humiliating, jiggling, dancing frenzy.

Immense shivers of pleasure quake up my spine, sending my fat ass cheeks into a quaking, juddering dance of their own, clapping together, squirming and twisting with every after-pulse of my climax.

Tears continue to slip down my blushing cheeks. Sobs rack my sinews, my constricting throat produces strangled hiccups as I succumb to the humiliating, heart-wrenching episode. Every convulsion of pleasure rolls the taint of degradation over my bountiful figure, each tremble reminding me of how adrift I've strayed from my previous, masculine nature.

A saccharine, overwhelming post-climax lethargy takes me over, making my overtaxed muscles sag with fatigue. Each heavy pant carries away some of my strength.

My vision swims with the residual shockwaves of orgasm and tears. I'm sprawled on the strawbed, defeated, my body reacting in ways it never had as a male. The fringes of my mind cloud with a fog of sensual ecstasy. An incredible numbness spreads through my buxom body, seeping into my senses. The soaked straw underneath me clings to my flesh.

Snib's crude, belittling laughter breaks through my foggy stupor, pinching into my senses with an alarming clarity. "Ah, Elise, yah ben more fun than a barrel o’ ale!" he crows, getting bawdier with every comment, his delight so infectious it would have made anyone else join in his laughter.

But, beneath the waves of debilitating pleasure, I discover an unyielding undercurrent of anger creeping in. I try to bury it, but the sparks of it seep into my soul, prickling at the corners of the disgust coating my consciousness. The reminder of what led to my first female orgasm, my inability to keep the image of Snib's disgusting goblin cum out of my foggy brain during that peak, triggers a new wave of tears, wracking my post-orgasmic form with its intensity.

Inconsequentially, helplessly, I drop forward, my heavy tits squashing onto the straw below.

I sleep.