The Goblin’s Pet (18+) (Now a CYOA!)

The midday sun hangs mercilessly overhead, bathing the vast expanse of desert in an unforgiving light that turns the sands into a blinding, shimmering mirage. Dunes rise and fall like the waves of a troubled sea, their rough, granulated surfaces shifting and changing shape with the whims of the arid wind. The air carries the taste of heat and dust, parching my throat and stinging my eyes.

An enormous statue rises above the desert, a relic from a time long forgotten. It's a head, tipped on its side, half-submerged in the dune, with a gaping maw, weathered and chiseled by time and sandstorms. The empty eyes stare blindly at the azure sky, a mute witness to the relentless march of time.

"A dungeon. Treasure, no doubt.” His repugnant smirk sends shivers down my spine, a feeling that intensifies as his rough hand unceremoniously gropes my breast. My cheeks blaze in humiliation, his touch making my traitorous body react despite my revulsion.

My heart quickens. The petrified statue is a remnant of the K'Tarrans, an ancient and immensely powerful race that once roamed Zaelasia. Rumor has it that their downfall came from the dangerous entities they sought to harness and control. Even now, centuries after their extinction, the mere mention of their name invokes fear and trepidation.

Sleep, Maraan, in chambers deep,

In shadows where no sunbeams seep,

Caught in time's relentless hands,

Lulled beneath the Shifting Sands

Rest, Thul’nara, in vaults unseen,

Where dreams dissolve and fates convene,

Stay your wrath, your reign delayed,

Beneath the desert's silent shade

In halls where echoes come undone,

Silent lie, Zor'ethun,

In slumber deep and deathless trance,

Beyond the dawn's first wary lance

Hearken, children, to this decree,

Let ancients in their slumber be.

Make no clamor, stir no sound,

On sacred sea or hallowed ground

"This is madness, Master,” I manage to say, each word punctuated by the rising anxiety inside me. "We should turn back. This place... it’s a tomb, a grave for the foolish and the greedy."

Yet even as I protest, the goblin breaks into cruel laughter, tightening his grip around my waist, making my flesh squirm beneath his touch.

"Oh, ain't you just precious, Elise-deary?" He snickers, his fingers tracing the outline of my soft, ample breast, igniting a blush that creeps up my face. "Scared of a few rocks, are ya? Don't you fret now. Your Master will protect ya."

His smug words make my blood boil, yet my retort dies on my lips as the magical collar around my neck tightens, choking the words out. A painful coughing fit ensues, my breasts bouncing, my vision blurring as I struggle for air.

“Please - okay,” I whimper. “We’ll go in.”

As the collar loosens again, I bend over, heaving. My large tits hang heavily, almost spilling from the scanty bikini armor, the metallic surface chilling against my skin, nipples hardening in response. Sweat trickles down my cleavage, the salty taste filling my mouth as I pant for breath. Snib's delighted chuckle feels like another slap to my face, the mockery etched in his voice unbearable.

"Remember who’s in charge here, my voluptuous vixen. Now, onto the dungeon," he commands, tightening his grip on Jarkrond's reins. The horse snorts, pawing at the sand nervously. “And no magic. I don’t want you getting any ideas about taking me down if you get in trouble.”

Unfortunately, my once-might magical abilities had been neutered by the collar. The spells that I could once weave effortlessly, my powerful incantations now lie dormant, imprisoned within my mind.

"Ignisurge," I recall the incantation of the Searing Bolt spell, the words echoing hollowly in the cavern of my mind. The invocation that once sparked an orb of concentrated, roaring flames at my fingertips, now nothing more than a cruel mockery of my former prowess.

The power to command the elements, to shape them to my will, the intense rush of raw magic coursing through my veins – all snatched away, locked behind a barrier I cannot breach without Snib's nod of approval.

The hilt of Whisperwind in my grasp is a bitter consolation, a cruel reminder of my lost freedom. The blade, once a symbol of my heroism and valor, is now just a tool for Snib's torment.

The iridescent alloy, the intricate engravings, the magical gemstone on the hilt – they all feel so foreign, so detached. It's as if the sword no longer recognizes its bearer, no longer responds to the touch of its master. The once harmonious connection between us, the seamless melding of intent and action, has been shattered. It's as if I'm holding a stranger's weapon.

The cold, metallic surface of the collar around my neck feels heavier than ever. The mark of my subjugation, my surrender. Each time I feel the urge to cast a spell, to summon the familiar rush of power, it tightens its grip, suffocating my magic, suffocating me.

Each choked word, each stifled incantation, each thwarted spell, deepens the wound of my loss, the agony of my humiliation. And through it all, Snib's sneering face, his cruel laughter, his vile touch, only serve to further degrade and torment me.

I am no longer Aldric, the hero of Zaelasia. I am Elise, the voluptuous, big-titted servant of a disgusting goblin master.

It's a reality that chokes me even more than the collar ever could.

Even the normally eager Jarkrond, adapted for desert life, seems to sense the malevolent aura surrounding the tomb. He refuses to approach, his wide eyes rolling in fear. A pang of sympathy for the horse slices through my fear. We're both enslaved to this goblin's sadistic desires.

The stone beneath my heel-boots is worn smooth, the steps themselves sloping slightly under centuries of use. The small clack that reverberates through the stairwell is a harsh reminder of how claustrophobically silent the surroundings are. As we delve deeper into the heart of the desert, the sunlight gradually fades, replaced by an eeriness that seems to pervade the very air around us.

The stone passageway we are descending spirals deep into the bosom of the desert. Its narrowness and descending nature make it feel more like a winding pit than a stairwell. The walls are marked with ancient K'Tarran glyphs, interspersed with eerie effigies of the forgotten creatures they once worshipped. Ghoulish faces with many eyes and too many teeth leer at us from the walls, each sculpted with an attention to detail that makes them appear all too real.

The darkness grows denser as we descend, pressing against us like a tangible force. The stone walls, hewn from a dark granite-like material found only in the furthest reaches of Zaelasia, gleam ominously, absorbing any stray light and giving it back as a deathly, otherworldly glow.

After what feels like an eternity of descending, we finally reach the bottom. The atmosphere is dense with the weight of the past, the stone walls seeming to pulse with the long-ago echoes of rituals and ceremonies. In this lightless abyss, it is impossible not to feel like an intruder, a blight on sacred ground.

"Stay close," Snib grumbles, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. A nauseating mix of arrogance and excitement oozes from him, his confidence growing with each step further into the tomb.

My heel-boots, however impractical for this excursion, click against the ancient stone floor, the echo bouncing eerily off the cavernous walls. The clacking seems to echo endlessly, as if the very dungeon itself were trying to swallow the sound and any traces of our intrusion.

Though Snib has barred me from casting any spells, the primal magic of this place reacts to my latent abilities. An icy sensation prickles at the back of my neck, the heavy burden of unseen eyes watching us, judging us. There is an uncanny sense of foreboding, as though we have awoken something that had been sleeping for centuries.

The air itself feels different here, thicker somehow, and tastes like iron on my tongue. A vague sense of vertigo washes over me, my heart pounding in my chest. Is it fear, or a warning from the magical collar clasped around my neck?

Silent as the grave, the dungeon stretches out before us, a monstrous monument to the past, a testament to the hubris and glory of the K'Tarrans. The hushed whispers of long-lost secrets beckon from the darkness, luring us deeper into its cold, unyielding grasp.

Shadows dance on the sandstone walls, shaped by the sparse light from a dwindling torch. Its flickering illumination reveals signs of movement in the periphery, glowing red eyes darting in and out of sight. Skralls. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of those wiry, fanged creatures.

I feel Snib’s grip tighten on my leash, his grimy nails digging into my porcelain skin. For a fleeting moment, I sense fear in his grasp, a stark contrast to his usual demeaning and confident hold.

My heart rate accelerates, beating a chaotic symphony against my steel-clad chest. The Skralls hiss in the shadows, their piercing red eyes glowing ominously in the darkness.

Can I still even do this sort of thing? Fight?

“I’ll find out soon enough…” I mutter under my breath, ready to protect Snib, not out of any sense of duty or respect, of course.

"I hope yer worth all this trouble," Snib sneers, his voice a hoarse whisper against my ear, his every word a degrading reminder of my subservient position.

The first Skrall lunges at me from the darkness, its tiny eyes glowing an eerie red. In a swift motion, marred by the sudden sway of my fat, unrestrained tits, I draw Whisperwind from its scabbard, the blade gleaming under the dim dungeon light.

The Skrall's weapon, a jagged piece of bone, comes crashing against my sword. I block, parrying the attack. My heels almost slip on the dusty stone, but I manage to hold my ground, my large ass wobbling as I fight for balance. My retaliation comes in a swift thrust of my sword, forced awkwardly by the pull of Snib on my leash. The Skrall squeals, jumping back just in time.

Another Skrall leaps at me from my left. Reacting instinctively, I sidestep the creature, but the unfamiliar high-heeled boots throw me off balance. My ass, wide and jiggly, slaps against my thighs, drawing a crude laugh from Snib.

I curse under my breath, just focusing on the enemy in front of me. I feign a lunge at one Skrall, its eyes widening in alarm, before swiftly turning to strike at another that was trying to flank me. My bulky breasts swing with the motion, brushing against my arms, a lewd reminder of my situation. But I push through, driving Whisperwind through the Skrall's abdomen. It squeals in pain before collapsing to the floor.

Fueled by the adrenaline and the small victory, I push past my inhibitions, using my new body as a weapon. I pull my sword free, swing it in a high arc above my head, and cleave down onto another Skrall trying to attack from my rear. The force sends my breasts heaving upwards, nearly spilling out of their metallic prison.

In the heat of the moment, a Skrall lunges at me from my blind spot. With no time to use my sword, I react the only way I can – I kick. My sharp metal heel drives into its midsection, puncturing its skin and forcing it to stumble back.

The kick throws me off balance too, of course - wide hips swaying, my ass jiggling wildly. But the Skrall's surprised squeal makes up for it.

The remaining Skralls, discouraged by the fall of their companions, retreat into the shadows. I pant, clutching my sword tightly. Despite the spectacle, I've managed to fend off the Skralls.

"Well, well," Snib murmurs from behind me, his grasp loosening on my leash, "You're not entirely useless, titsy."

They were tiny ones. I’ve fought bigger Skralls. Much bigger. And I’m not sure I could handle much more than I just did.

Their retreat leaves us in silence, but the respite is fleeting. We proceed further into the bowels of the K'Tarran crypt. Its ancient walls moan under the strain of time, echoing with the lingering whispers of the past.

Suddenly, the path drops away into a gaping maw, a pit filled with what appears to be loose soil, but my warrior’s instincts recognize it instantly. Quicksand.

"Go on, cowtits," Snib sneers, tugging my leash towards the pit. A precarious stone path stretches across the pit, a tightrope walker's dream. But with my awkward high-heeled boots and disproportionately heavy body, it's a nightmare.

“You first,” he slaps my ass, pushing me forward. My cheeks burn red.

Reluctantly, I step onto the first stone, feeling my heels sinking slightly. I steady myself, my massive breasts throwing me off balance. Swallowing my dread, I hop to the next stone. Then the next.

Halfway across, a stone shifts beneath my weight. Panicked, I lurch for the next step, but my heel slips, throwing me off balance. I flail. And then, I'm falling.

The quicksand swallows me greedily, each frantic movement pulling me deeper. Its gritty texture clings to my skin, coating my voluptuous body. My breasts and ass, those twin burdens, sink faster, dragging me down. The sand feels like a thousand tiny fingers, clammy and insistent, violating my already scant modesty.

"Help... Sn- Master!” I gasp, sand filling my mouth, clogging my throat.

Snib simply laughs from the safety of the ledge, his green eyes twinkling with sadistic pleasure as he watches me flounder.

“Okies,” he finally says, cruelly. "I'll help you. If ye agree to write off the 400 gold you earned yesterday."

The proposal is repugnant, a painful reminder of the mortifying hand-job, his hot, virile seed covering my hand, the noxious scent of his musk clinging to my skin, triggering a shameful, unwanted response in my body.

I choke out a desperate “Y- yes,” fighting the tears that sting my eyes. “Fine.”

His laughter rings out, echoing through the crypt, chilling me to the bone. Suddenly, the leash tightens around my neck, yanking me forward. I grab onto it, digging my fingers into the cold, metallic links. My body surges forward, my breasts and ass jiggling with the movement, sand cascading down their ample curves.

Each tug brings me closer to the edge, my body scraping against the gritty sand, the collar tightening with each pull. The scent of damp earth fills my nose, threatening to suffocate me. But I hold on, letting Snib pull me from the sand's deadly grip.

Finally, I roll onto solid ground, coughing up sand and gasping for air. My body is coated in a thick layer of gritty sand, every curve, every crevice filled with the stuff. Snib walks over, a cruel grin plastered on his face.

"That was fun," he chuckles, delivering another sharp slap to my sandy ass. The sudden spank sends my cheeks bouncing, sand flying off them. “An’ thanks for the free handy last night," he adds, his laughter echoing in my ears long after the sound fades.

I can do nothing but lay there, my chest heaving, sand gritting between my teeth, the taste of my own humiliation heavy on my tongue. We were far from done with the K'Tarran crypt, and yet, my heart sank knowing that the worst was yet to come.

—

The narrow walkway gradually expands into a massive, sand-filled cavern, shadows playing off the high, vaulted ceilings. The walls are adorned with ancient carvings, depicting horrid monstrous beings that defy description, their forms twisted and grotesque. Relics of an ancient civilization, one with a far different understanding of the world than our own. And far crueler, as well.

The historical value of these carvings is immense - archaeologists from Thuulk would pay dearly to know of them. The adventurer inside me flickers; I yearn to take a closer look, to decipher the stories etched into the walls. But Snib is quick to shatter my moment of awe. "Come on, slut,” he grunts, tugging harshly at my leash. "We ain't here for a history lesson."

His narrow-mindedness grates on my nerves, but I swallow down my frustration. With a last, longing look at the carvings, I follow Snib deeper into the crypt.

Every step forward feels like a sin, an invasion of this ancient sanctum. Sand crunches under my boots, the rough granules scraping against my skin. I rub at the sand stuck between my thick thighs, trying to clean myself as best as I can while we march onward.

The cavern narrows once again into a winding pathway, the carvings on the wall now dim, fading shadows of a past long forgotten. As if on cue, a distant skittering noise echoes through the crypt, bouncing off the stone walls.

Out of the darkness, monstrous forms slink into the faint, torchlight. These are not the small, gangly scavengers from before. These Skralls stand taller, their bodies bulkier, eyes gleaming with a cruel, menacing intelligence. There's a predatory hunger in their gaze, their focus solely on us, on our intrusion.

"We've got company," I murmur, pulling Whisperwind free from its scabbard. The steel sings in the silent crypt, the sound resonating off the stone walls.

"I see 'em," Snib growls, his grip tightening on my leash.

“I NEED my magic,” I say. “Please.”

“No.”

A cruel grin splits across the lead Skrall's face, its beady eyes alight with sadistic pleasure. It motions to the others, their bodies poised to pounce. I ready my stance, shifting Whisperwind to my right, knees slightly bent.

They charge, their bone weapons gleaming in the faint torchlight. I sidestep the first one. My high-heeled boots sink into the sand, each movement precarious, a potential disaster.

In a flash, I counter, Whisperwind flashing like liquid silver. I thrust forward, aiming for the Skrall's throat. But my advance is hampered by my cumbersome, jiggling breasts. They smack against my bare arms. I wince, my attack falling short.

Even as I struggle to regain my footing, another Skrall lunges towards me. A quick step back, another desperate parry. A riposte.

It's as if my body is fighting against me. The scanty bikini strains against my huge tits with every movement, my fat ass-cheeks constantly jiggling, a lewd spectacle for all to see.

One Skrall swings its bone club at me. In a desperate attempt, I feign a lunge to the left, my wide hips swinging, my body jolting forward. The Skrall falls for it, shifting its attention. It gives me the split-second I need to swing Whisperwind, the blade singing as it slices through the air. My enemy gurgles and falls away.

The Skralls keep coming, relentless in their assault.

A handful of sand finds its way into my grasp. With a swift movement, I fling it at a Skrall's face, momentarily blinding it. I take advantage, driving my sword through its chest. It lets out a screech, another body falling limp onto the sandy floor.

My triumph is short-lived. They close in from all sides, their monstrous forms a grotesque dance in the dim torchlight. My breaths come out in sharp, ragged gasps, the weight of my new body slowly taking its toll on my energy levels. I’m desperate, my mind racing, trying to find a way out.

"Master!" I cry out, the word a bitter taste on my tongue. “Please! My magic!"

"No," he says, his voice a cold, hard steel in the echoing chamber.

In that moment of desperation, a thought flashes through my mind. I twist my body, Whisperwind raised high. The strain is agonizing, my scant bikini digging deeper into my flesh, my ass jiggling wildly, my breasts straining against the fabric. I bring the blade down in a powerful diagonal cleave, cutting down two Skralls at once.

But even as they fall, others take their place. I'm overwhelmed, my body weakening, each parry, each riposte a monumental effort. Despair seeps into my bones, their leering faces growing larger, their cruel laughter filling the cavern.

"Master, please!" I plead once again, my voice echoing in the crypt. “We are BOTH going to die!”

The situation deteriorates rapidly.

With a hasty parry, I manage to divert a Skrall's blow, the impact sending vibrations up my arm, making my oversized breasts jiggle uncontrollably. I retaliate with a quick thrust, Whisperwind finding its mark, but another Skrall lunges, its bony weapon narrowly missing my face. I feel my unruly hair whipping around, obscuring my vision.

My heart pounds against my constricted chest, each breath a painful gasp. I attempt a risky maneuver, turning on my high-heeled boots, my ass clapping loudly, my sword slashing through the air. Two Skralls show slash-marks, but the victory is pyrrhic. There are just too many, and I'm weakening.

A sudden wrenching pull on my leash snaps me back. A reluctant, growled, "Fine, cowtits. Use it.”

The effect is instant. A torrent of relief floods my body, tingling energy igniting every nerve ending. It feels like awakening from a long, torturous sleep, a sudden realization of power held captive. I feel my magic unshackling, the neutered force within me springing back to life, pulsating and raring to be unleashed. It is the strength of Aldric, the power I once held command over, now rushing back to me in an overwhelming wave.

With a roar that shakes the crypt, I throw my head back, the energy building within me focusing into a potent force. "Ignisurge!" I cry, the incantation reverberating off the stone walls, a stark reminder of my power.

The world seems to hold its breath. Then, with a cry of release, I unleash a blinding bolt of searing magic, the explosive energy pouring forth from my outstretched hand. It sails through the air, its path a streak of blazing light, before crashing into the nearest Skrall. The creature screams, its form engulfed in flames.

Again and again, I cast Searing Bolt, the magic flowing through me, its raw power intoxicating. Each Skrall that falls under my onslaught is a catharsis, a release of pent-up frustration and fear. Each blast is a proclamation of my will to survive, to reclaim my strength despite my humiliating transformation. It is the rage of Aldric, the resilience of Elise, the defiance of a warrior trapped in a lewd spectacle.

Snib's eyes widen, witnessing the deadly magic that I wield. His grip loosens on my leash, surprise etching across his features. Perhaps he underestimated the strength that lay dormant within me. Perhaps he underestimated the lengths to which I would go to survive.

The Skralls reel back, their cruel laughter replaced by panicked shrieks as they burn under the onslaught of my magic. One by one, they fall, until the crypt is silent, save for the crackling flames and my ragged breathing.

With the last of the Skralls defeated, I finally lower my arm, the expended magic leaving me exhausted but victorious. The relief is palpable, my body trembling with the aftershocks of the intense fight. But amidst the exhaustion, there's a glimmer of hope, a spark of resolve that refuses to be extinguished. I am Elise, but within me, Aldric still fights, still persists. And with each battle, each hardship, I will reclaim my strength, one step at a time.

Breathing heavily, I collapse onto the cold, unforgiving stone floor, my body exhausted from the battle, the echoes of my magic still tingling in my fingertips. My breasts heave with each gasp, my chest tight in the constricting bikini. The weight of victory is bittersweet, tinged with the taste of my humiliation and fear.

"Snib," I rasp out, struggling to lift myself up from the ground. "I need... my magic... going forward."

The goblin's chuckle echoes in the silence of the crypt. "Admitting weakness already, cowtits?" His voice drips with mockery, his amusement clear in his gleaming eyes.

Anger sparks within me. "I am not weak. This body... it's not mine. I need time to... to adjust. Without my magic, I'll be..."

His grip tightens on my leash, jerking me forward. The metal collar digs into my neck, cutting off my words. I gasp, my body lurching, my breasts jiggling with the sudden movement. Fear spikes within me as I claw at the collar, desperation seeping into my eyes.

"Let's get one thing straight, ye pathetic cunt,” Snib growls, leaning close, his eyes glinting menacingly. "Yer not in charge here. Yer my pet. My toy. If you need magic to play, you’ll prove yourself loyal to me first."

"I won't be your..." My words are cut short as the collar tightens further, my breath hitching. I feel my face reddening, the strain of the fight and the humiliation making my vision blur.

"What's that? Can't hear ye.” His voice is a taunt, a challenge. But I know I have no choice. If I want to survive, I need my magic. And for now, that means swallowing my pride.

"I'm s- sorry," I choke out, my voice barely a whisper. “Sorry… Master.”

Snib's grip loosens, the relief of breath flooding back into my lungs making my knees buckle. "That's better. Alright, cowtits. Only while we're in this crypt. Afterwards, no more magic."

His words are a knife in my gut, the reality of my situation settling heavily upon me.

"And..." Snib's voice drops to a lecherous purr, his eyes sliding over my body. "You owe me a dance when we're back at my hut."

My face heats up, but I stifle the wave of indignation threatening to spill over. Survival first, I remind myself, survival first.

—

The air grows colder, the stench of decay and mustiness growing stronger. Through the murky darkness, a hulking figure lumbers into view, its grotesque form illuminated by the flickering torchlight.

The Skrall King.

He towers over us, a monstrous aberration of the Skralls. Thick, gnarled muscles ripple under his rough hide, his hunched back pulsating with a vile, sickly green light. In his hand, he wields a jagged bone club, the edges gleaming ominously. He bellows a deafening roar, sending shivers of fear through me.

I grip Whisperwind tighter, the blade feeling alien in my petite hands. My heart pounds against my constricted chest as the Skrall King charges. Each thundering footfall shakes the ground beneath us, a herald of the oncoming assault.

Twisting my body, I manage to barely evade the first blow, my breasts swinging heavily with the movement, the momentum throwing me off balance. With great effort, I regain my footing, my eyes trained on the towering beast.

"Ventusfury!" I shout, thrusting my free hand forward. A surge of wind magic roars forth, spiraling towards the Skrall King. It slams into him, tossing him back a few steps. But the creature roars, charging through the gusts towards me.

Cursing, I twist and duck, feeling the whoosh of air as the bone club narrowly misses my head. My breasts bounce with the movement, their jiggling distracting me momentarily.

Sweat trickles down my face, dripping onto the cold stone beneath my boots. My magic drains with each spell, the energy ebbing away. I can feel my strength waning, my body growing sluggish, the exhaustion setting in. But I push through, calling upon the last of my reserves.

I dart around the Skrall King, landing quick jabs and slashes wherever I can. My wide hips sway with each movement, my plump buttocks clapping with the frantic rhythm of my dance with death. The scant metal bikini bottom scrapes against my sensitive skin, the discomfort merely another challenge to overcome.

A lucky break presents itself. I leap forward, plunging Whisperwind into the beast's chest. The Skrall King bellows, stumbling back. But he doesn't fall, his glaring eyes full of rage. I withdraw the blade, stepping back as the beast lashes out in a blind rage.

I have no magic left, only my sword and my will to survive. I can feel my breasts heaving against the tight metal bikini, the cool steel chafing my sensitive nipples. My limbs tremble, my body screaming for respite, but I ignore it. With a primal roar, I charge at the Skrall King, a final push against the monstrosity.

It's a struggle, a brutal dance of survival. Every swing of my blade, every dodge, every parry is fueled by desperation. My mind is singularly focused, blocking out the distracting jiggle of my oversized breasts, the scrape of the bikini against my skin, the mocking whispers of the goblin behind me.

With a final, gut-wrenching scream, I plunge Whisperwind deep into the Skrall King's chest. The beast roars, lashing out with one last futile swipe. His monstrous form shudders, his eyes rolling back, before collapsing onto the cold, stone floor.

I stand there, panting heavily, my body trembling from the strain. I feel a wave of exhaustion wash over me, threatening to pull me down. But I fight it, my grip on Whisperwind never wavering. I have won. Despite the odds, despite the humiliating transformation, despite my loss of magic... I have won.

But the victory is hollow, a testament to my perseverance rather than my power. I am Elise, but within me, Aldric still fights.

As I stagger around the chamber, panting from exhaustion,I spot a small chest in the corner, barely visible under a pile of broken bones and shredded armor. I reach out, struggling to lift it with my weak arms.

With some effort, I manage to pry open the chest. The glimmer of gold coins shines brightly amidst the surrounding gore and grime. I count them quickly - a hundred gold pieces, a fraction of the ten thousand I need to pay Snib and break the curse. A pit forms in my stomach as the enormity of the task ahead truly hits me. But there's something else in the chest too. A worn, dusty journal.

I pick it up, opening it carefully. Its pages are filled with a flowing, delicate script, recounting tales of a long-forgotten age. As I skim through the pages, I sense that it speaks of the lost K'Tarran ancients, the original denizens of this land. There are sketches of strange artifacts, maps of hidden cities, and cryptic notes on powerful magic. My heart skips a beat. This could be important, a key to understanding the mystery of the K'Tarran ancients.

But just as I'm about to dive into the journal's intriguing contents, a loud, grating laugh fills the chamber. I look up, my heart sinking as Snib hobbles over to me, his hideous, warty face split in a nasty grin. His massive, veiny schlong swings between his legs, half-engorged below his loincloth, drooling viscous pre-cum.

"What's that?" He asks, pointing at the journal with his pudgy finger. I try to explain, but he dismisses me, his attention riveted on the glistening gold coins. As he reaches for them, his monstrous member slaps onto the journal, splattering it with his potent pre-cum.

The filthy liquid soaks the delicate parchment. It dribbles down the handwritten notes, smearing the ink and causing the pages to crumble. The musky scent of his virility is overpowering, permeating the room and making my head spin. It's repugnant, suffocating, and the smell alone is enough to make my pussy respond involuntarily, lubricating itself in shameful reaction to his dominance.

"No! Sn-" The collar tightens abruptly, choking off my words. I cough, struggling to get out the word "Master". I watch helplessly as he intentionally ruins the journal, his phallus still slowly oozing pre-cum onto it. The stench of it is so thick, so cloying, it clings to everything it touches, impossible to wash off.

As he carelessly flicks the ruined journal aside, his cock thwapping against his green thigh with a sloppy wet sound, he smirks at me. His lust-filled eyes roam over my jiggly tits and wide hips, encased in the uncomfortable metallic bikini. His grin widens at the thought of my performance later tonight, my humiliating dance back at his hut.

As I watch him scoop up the gold, a sense of despair washes over me. The lost knowledge of the K'Tarran ancients, the mystery of the ancient magic, is now forever out of my grasp, ruined by the thoughtless actions of this vile creature. His repulsive virility has not only claimed my body but also this sliver of hope I had found.

And I am left with nothing but the daunting task of finding the remaining 9,900 gold coins to pay him, all while fighting off his sadistic glee and my own involuntary, humiliating reactions to his dominance.

—

Of COURSE he’d make me dance nude. There was bound to be a catch, some new low.

As I stand there, naked in Snib's dimly lit hut, I feel utterly vulnerable. The air is thick with the musty scent of damp earth and goblin swea. The intense sensation of my own bare skin, the coolness of the evening air raising goosebumps on my flesh, feels foreign and uncomfortable. The only thing I’m allowed to wear, is the heavy slave collar clamped around my neck.

His goblin eyes glint as he reclines on his pile of furs, stroking his 12-inch cock slowly, leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world to savor the spectacle of the evening’s entertainment.

Mercifully, I won’t have to touch him tonight. I’m just required to put on a show.

I've seen the tavern girls perform before, their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music. Unsurprisingly, Snib was not to be breaking out a lute. But in my head, I try to conjure some of the dancing songs I know. Something that might help me find a sort of rhythm.

In the heart of Eboncrest, 'neath a weeping willow tree,

Sat a Silver Lark, as fair as fair can be.

With feathers kissed by moonlight, and a voice so sweet and clear,

She'd make the grizzliest warlord shed a solitary tear

Hesitantly, I step into the center of the room. My arms are crossed over my chest, in an attempt to hide my breasts which are threatening to spill over. I chew my bottom lip. I DID promise to do this, but…

“Dance, cowtits!” Snib commands, stroking his engorged, pre-drooling member as he sprawls out on his filthy bed. “Gimme somethin good. Ye should be thankin’ me for being so good ta ya today. Savin’ your life and all.”

Gingerly uncrossing my arms, I expose my massive, jiggling breasts to Snib's lecherous gaze. I take an awkward step forward, my hips wobbling from side to side. I've never had to move like this before, with the intent to provide a show. But now, I'm Elise, cursed to please this vile creature.

Oh, Silver Lark of Eboncrest, sing your song for me,

Guide me through the shadowed vale, across the Azure Sea.

Through the hills of Ambergold, where the Crystal Rivers flow,

To the Sands of Sapphirine, where the Silver Nightflowers grow.

I take a few more steps, my hips swinging awkwardly, attempting to imitate a specific type of dance I’d seen at the tavern, set to one of my favorite childhood songs. I can feel the muscles in my lower back and hips working in ways they never had before, the exertion causing beads of sweat to roll down the curve of my back and between my ass cheeks.

Now I sway my upper body, a rhythmic movement that makes my breasts jiggle and bounce in a way that feels so alien. This is not a bounce that comes as a result of some attempted combat move - this is a bounce I caused. I wanted to make happen. My long, black hair swings around me, the ends brushing against my nipples. I stumble slightly when I try to incorporate a hip roll, the unfamiliar movement throwing off my balance. I catch myself before I can fall, my ears burning as Snib chuckles.

He just continues jacking himself off lazily. I’m stuck between the two opposite evils - dancing too well, and not well enough. Both prospects are quite unappealing. I wince as I audibly hear another spatter of goblin precum hit the floor. I need to lose myself back in the song.

The Silver Lark, she fluttered, on a sultry summer night,

Her melody so enticing, her sparkling eyes so bright.

With each enchanting trill and coo, she set all hearts ablaze,

And in the whispers of the wind, you could hear her lilting praise

My thighs and calves scream in protest as I continue the dance. The muscles are unused to the strain, reminding me of my initial struggles with the physicality of my new body. But I push through, repeating the hip roll with more success this time.

Next, I lift my arms, sliding my hands up the curve of my body, tracing the swell of my breasts and the narrowing of my waist. Snib's cackles echo through the hut, making my skin crawl. His pungent pre-cum fills the air, its scent nauseatingly potent. I fight the urge to vomit, the smell mixing with the sweat and dust in the room.

"Show me your ass!" Snib demands. Blushing fiercely, I turn, revealing my bare backside to him. Doing so purposefully, feels so obscene and wrong. I try to mimic the bouncing I've seen the tavern girls do, the shaking causing my round, firm buttocks to jiggle. The sensation is unfamiliar, and I'm hyper-aware of the cold air against my exposed pussy, causing me to clench involuntarily.

Snib's laughter fills the room, the mocking sound echoing in my ears as I continue my dance. His disgusting words, his blatant ogling, and his obscene sounds fill the room, mixing with the squelching of his monstrous member, creating a vile symphony of degradation.

As I dance, I try to block out Snib's voice, focusing instead on the strange sensation of my body moving in such an intimate, sensual way. The burning in my muscles, the foreign sway of my breasts, the way my hips roll - it's all so strange, so new. But I continue, driven by the need to please Snib and hopefully reduce my debt.

The dance seems to last forever, the minutes dragging into what feels like hours. I can't look at Snib, can't bear to see the lewd enjoyment on his face as he continues to stroke himself, his pre-cum leaking onto the dirt floor of the hut.

I stumble again as I attempt to bounce my ass, one cheek at a time. The loud clap of my flesh smacking together echoes in the silent hut, my face burning hotter as I push away the humiliation crawling up my spine.

"Ah, yes, that's the way," Snib grunts, the wet squelch of his own pleasure filling the room. "Keep doing that."

With another deep breath, I straighten up, forcing my body to move in time with an invisible rhythm. One hand reaches behind, gliding over the curves of my buttock as I bounce it rhythmically. The sensation of my own touch sends a shiver down my spine, my heart thudding heavily in my chest.

"Faster, my pretty," Snib barks, his voice hoarse, the frenzied rhythm of his pleasure escalating. I grit my teeth, increasing the speed of my movements, the smacking sound growing louder as my ass claps together. Each bounce brings an unwanted tingle between my legs, a strange sensation that I try hard to ignore but continues to persist.

With a soft whimper, I arch my back, accentuating the curve of my rear as I continue to bounce. My legs quiver, fatigued from the awkward movements, but the persistent command from my collar forces me to continue. The physical exertion has a strange rhythm to it, and with every bounce, I find myself sinking deeper into the movements, my body adjusting to the unfamiliar sensations.

"More, more!" Snib demands, his breath ragged. I bend my knees, adding a vertical bobbing movement to my hips. My ass jiggles with each bounce, the intensity of the sensation almost blinding.

The next movement is the hardest, my hips making a circle as they bob up and down. It's awkward, uncomfortable, but the collar doesn't allow me any respite. I push on, forcing my body to adapt to the lewd dance.

The wet squelching of Snib's pleasure ratchets up a notch, the obscene sound permeating the room as I bounce my ass cheeks rhythmically. I try to focus on the physicality of the movement, on the heat building in my thighs, on anything but the deep, grunting noises he's making.

"Look at you, wiggling your ass like a common whore," Snib sneers, his voice thick with lust and nearing climax. My cheeks burn at his words, shame igniting a fire in my belly.

The wet, squelching sound gets louder, more frantic. It's followed by a grunt so primal and raw, it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

“Just like a bitch in heat."

A shudder runs through me, my mind reeling back to the three times I had been forced to witness this. Once, when he had defiled my sword, Whisperwind. Then, two nights ago, when he came while I was masturbating. And then of course, last night in the tavern bathroom. All three of those times were absolute disasters for my mental state… so I force myself not to look.

As I continue to bounce, I can hear the disgusting spurting sounds, thick and sloppy. The air in the room gets even denser, the musky scent making me lightheaded. "NGGH... yes... keep that ass bouncing," he growls.

The first thick rope of his climax hits the ground with a wet slap, the color a sickening shade of yellowish-white. The reality of what it is, and what it signifies, hits me hard. My stomach churns and I gasp, my body stilling for a moment in shock. “Don’t stop bouncin’, whore," he commands, the word making me wince.

I force my body to move again, the rhythmic clapping of my ass cheeks resuming. His grunts get louder, the splurting noises intensifying. I can almost feel the heat of it, the virility that's tangible even from a distance.

I'm hit by a stray spurt, a hot, slimy glob landing on my butt. I squeal, my body jerking in surprise and revulsion. The thick liquid is disgustingly warm, sticking to my skin in a way that's really unsettling.

I have no choice but to keep moving, to keep bouncing, even as my mind reels at the feeling of it on my skin. The overwhelming musk of him fills my nostrils. There's an unexpected heat that flares in my belly, a reaction to the dominating display.

His grunts turn into a continuous groan, the spurting sounds becoming a cacophony of grotesque splurts and squelches. I can't help but feel my body react, a dampness between my thighs that I try to ignore. A part of me is horrified at the response, at the fact that my body could find pleasure in such a demeaning situation.

I shudder as the last spurt hits the ground with a wet splat, the reality of the moment sinking in. I had caused this. My dance, my humiliation, had brought Snib to this climax. And yet, there was a part of me, a small, dark part of me, that took a twisted sort of satisfaction from it. That I had the power to make him lose control.

And then, just like that, it's over. The room falls silent except for Snib's heavy breathing and the echoing clap of my ass cheeks. The scent of his climax lingers, a heavy musk that's hard to ignore. I continue to bounce, the dampness between my thighs a stark reminder of the raw virility on display.

My body trembles as the collar finally allows me to stop, the residual heat from the dance still simmering under my skin. I swallow hard, trying to dispel the lightheadedness from the intense sensory overload. There's relief too, an overwhelming gratitude that it's finally over, that only one stray rope of his spunk had hit me.

But the worst part? The single strand of Snib's disgusting climax smeared across my ass, a tangible symbol of my shame and humiliation. It's warm and sticky, grossly reminding me of the alpha goblin's climax. And despite the revulsion, despite the self-loathing, I can't help but shudder at the primal show of dominance, a stirring deep within me that I'm too afraid to acknowledge.

Once the room stops spinning, I grab a nearby rag, wiping the sticky residue off my butt. The texture of his climax is unlike anything else, thick and lumpy. It's like trying to remove a stubborn stain, a mark that refuses to be erased.

—

Night falls heavily on Snib's crude shack, the air thick with an ominous silence that's only occasionally punctuated by the braying of some distant, nocturnal creature. A chill seeps into my pores from the cool straw that serves as my makeshift bed, sending icy tendrils coursing along my spine. I lay there, naked, my legs restlessly shifting on the rough straw as my mind races with unbidden thoughts.

It's in these solitary moments, the deep quiet of the night as my only companion, that the awful reality of my predicament hits me with even greater force. The taint of Snib's belittling words, the sting of humiliation from my performance, the lingering scent of his overpowering, alpha musk... they claw at my sanity, attempting to shred my resolve. The aching truth, the gnawing guilt eats at me, "Did I... did I cheat on Elara by doing that? Dancing for him?”

Snib's snores echo through the darkness, the sound grating against my ears. I wince at every gruff grunt, each strangled wheeze a stark reminder of the loathsome goblin and the power he wields over me. The indignity of it all, his sick enjoyment of my degradation, it sends a wave of repulsion washing over me.

And yet, to my utter shame, there's another sensation that's been quietly gnawing at the corners of my awareness, insidiously seeping into my consciousness. A tantalizing wetness pooling between my thick thighs, a throbbing pulse in my unfamiliar core. A flood of arousal that betrays my horrified mind, my body responding in the most mortifying manner to the goblin's crude dominance.

Gritting my teeth against the shaming heat of my need, I hesitantly let my hands explore my soft, jiggling curves once again. My palms glide over the taut mounds of my G-cup breasts, the nipples pebbling under the gentle kneading. The sensations are still new, foreign, a part of me instinctively recoils from them.

But another part is getting familiar.

My heart thuds heavily against my rib cage, a staccato rhythm that syncs with the wandering trails of my exploring hands. They wander lower, the fingertips tracing the enticing dips and curves of my plump hips, my thick thighs. Then, almost as if they have a mind of their own, they dip even further. A strangled gasp escapes my lips as my fingers brush against the swollen lips of my sopping pussy, the intimate touch sending a jolt of wicked pleasure ricocheting through my heated body.

I'm lying on my front now, the cool straw tickling my nipples, my pert ass raised high in the air. This weird masturbation position I’ve gotten used to. My hand snakes behind, the fingers delving into the moist depths of my slick pussy. A shudder courses through me, the soft mewls of pleasure flowing unhindered from my parted lips. My body jerks rhythmically, instinctively thrusting against my questing fingers.

Each dip of my fingers into my squelching pussy, each tingle of pleasure that my roaming fingers evoke from my engorged clit, only fans the flames of my arousal. It’s an intoxicating brew of humiliation and hedonistic pleasure. I can’t help but remember the first time I found myself lost in this solo dance of passion, the memory of that massive climax adding an extra edge of humiliation to my already intense arousal.

My hips gyrate against my hand, my body succumbing to the overpowering tide of carnal desire. My mind swirls with indecent images of my round ass in the air, my jiggling tits crushed against the cool straw, my slick digits rhythmically plunging into my pulsating cunt. It’s all too much, the crescendo of lewd sensations hurtling me towards a precipice that I’m both desperate and terrified to reach.

I'm on the brink now, my body shaking, the knot of tension in my belly threatening to unravel at any moment. My chest heaves with my ragged breaths, my whimpers of pleasure echoing in the stillness. But I pull back, biting down a groan as I withdraw my fingers from my throbbing center, the impending climax fading to a dull, frustrated pulse. The night stretches on, and I'm left squirming in my arousal, the release still a distant, maddening promise.

But just as I start to tumble into the abyss, a grating voice slices through the thick silence, dragging me back to the harsh reality.

“Slut!” Snib's crude, jeering voice permeates the quiet darkness, shattering the bubble of my desperate solitude. "Put those fingers away. No cumming for you, tonight.”

An unwanted whimper escapes my throat as the intrusive collar tightens around my neck, like a vice of humiliation and obedience. Its cold, metallic embrace constricts my throat, interrupting the decadent dance of my fingers. My hand jerks away as if scalded, a jolt of unreleased tension lurching through me. I'm left gasping, robbed of the precious release that had been so tantalizingly within reach.

For a moment, I allow myself the luxury of pure, unadulterated indignation. But the hard, restricting pressure of the collar serves as a stark reminder of my captive state. I'm forced to curl my trembling fingers into a fist, the slickness of my own arousal cooling on my skin as the wave of need crashes against the harsh barrier of Snib's command.

The air seems to thicken, congealing into a swamp of frustration and indignity. The taste of unfulfilled desire is bitter on my tongue as I curl up on the straw mat, my body coiled tight with pent-up energy. Every muscle is tense, every nerve alight with thwarted passion. A shudder racks my voluptuous body, the cool night air pricking my hypersensitive skin.

The curve of my generous breasts heaves with each ragged breath, my flushed cheeks burning in the dim light. My plump ass presses into the rough straw beneath me as I twist onto my side, the sensation a hollow mockery of the pleasure I had been denied. My legs coil tighter, thighs pressing together in a vain attempt to alleviate the throbbing ache between them. But there is no escape from the relentless pulse of my arousal.

My heart pounds a furious rhythm against my ribcage, the echo of my thwarted climax pounding in my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut, the darkness behind my eyelids swarming with lewd images of my own debauchery. My lush lips part in a silent moan, a plea for a release that's denied to me.

The night stretches on, each second an eternity of longing and resentment. Each rustle of straw, each gust of wind seems to mock my predicament, the torment of my unfulfilled desire a cruel serenade. The hot sting of tears prick at the corners of my eyes, my breath hitching as I try to stifle the sobs. My body writhes, twists, shifts restlessly on the straw bed, the ceaseless ache of my arousal a constant, torturous companion.

Eventually, the tears dry up, the sobs fading into ragged, weary breaths. The tension in my body slowly unravels, leaving a dull ache in its wake. Sleep, when it finally comes, is fitful and restless, my dreams haunted by images of unfulfilled desire and cruel dominance. Even in the sanctuary of slumber, there is no escape from the torment of my captive existence.

Now, the Silver Lark lies captive, in a cage of cruel decree,

Her wings are clipped, song stifled, she’s longing to be free.

O whither wilt thou flutter, O Lark of Eboncrest?

No songbird tied so cruelly, can ever love her nest