The Goblin’s Pet (18+) (Now a CYOA!)

In the half-light of the next dawn, the pit-master waits for us in his canvas-covered domain. Snib, his demeanor unusually sullen, stands before the pit-master’s hulking figure. The morning chill permeates the damp, dank interior of the tent, prickling against my scantily clad flesh. I am nothing more than an object in this world of crude exchanges and brutal combat.

The pit-master grins, revealing a jagged row of stained, yellow teeth. "Snib," he chortles, “Today your ‘Tit-bitch’ will face Krognar.”

Krognar? My heart sinks even further. It sounds like a troll name.

"He's Grokk's personal bodyguard," the pit-master continues, his voice heavy with suppressed mirth. "A mountain of flesh and muscle, standing over eight feet tall. No opponent has ever lasted more than a few minutes against him. He's crushed the skulls of hardened warriors with one swipe of his hand, snapped limbs like twigs. Rumor has it, he's a deserter from the Skullcracker Brigade, the most infamous troll warband in the East. A brutal monster, even among his brutal kin."

He chuckles at Snib’s expression, my master’s face paler than I've ever seen it. “Grokk's instructions were clear though. Krognar ain't to kill her. Seems Grokk wants your juicy morsel intact for breeding."

That revolting statement stops my heart. A hot wave of revulsion crashes over me, a tsunami of dread washing away all other thoughts. If I’m taken by Grokk… I’ll never get home to Elara. I’ll never get out of this collar. I’ll be birthing goblin whelps until it kills me.

I have to swallow back bile, my body trembling. I hate this. I hate them all. But I remain silent, staring at the ground, my cheeks flaming hot.

Snib bristles at the pit-master's words, his fists clenching at his sides. "This ain't a fair fight, it’s rigged. She's a fuckin’ human, not some indestructible beast."

The pit-master just chuckles, a coarse, unpleasant sound. "You got your fill yesterday, Snib. Now, it's Grokk's turn. She's your Tit-bitch, yes, but remember that the slave's fate is always in the master’s hands."

It's a horrid revelation, my despair deepening. There’s no hope for me in the arena, no hope for escape. There’s no way I could face a troll, in THIS body. My past life as Aldric the warrior, the legendary fighter from Eboncrest, feels like a distant dream now. A memory from another lifetime.

“Let me use magic," I blurt out, ignoring the biting chill that makes my nipples tighten against the metal of my bikini armor. "If I could use magic—"

But Snib cuts me off, shaking his head. "It ain't allowed in the pits, Elise," he mutters, his eyes dark with worry. "It’s be a loss anyhow."

With that, he turns and leaves, his heavy footsteps echoing around the empty tent. I stand there alone, my heart pounding in my chest. The pit-master's cruel laughter rings out behind me, a grim soundtrack to my impending doom.

Tears blur my vision. I choke them back, forcing myself to breathe. To think. This isn't the end. It can't be. I won't let it. But as the tent flaps close behind Snib, the weight of my plight presses down on me, a thousand times heavier than any armor I've ever worn. And far, far more terrifying.

—

My boots sink into the coarse sand of the pit, my heart pounding with dread and determination. The mocking cheers of the goblin spectators cascade around me, their words vile, degrading. Once again, they call me 'Tit-bitch' and their laughter is a sickening harmony to my fears.

I raise my eyes, past the jeering crowd, to the throne perched high above the pit. Grokk sits there, lord of this disgusting spectacle, grinning with vile anticipation. My eyes narrow, my stomach clenches. If I survive this, it will be for Elara, not for his twisted enjoyment.

But my imminent opponent is what truly commands my attention. Krognar, the troll, a beast of truly hideous proportions. He towers over me, over eight feet of scarred muscle and bone. Each ridge and fold of his flesh looks like it's been carved from stone, his skin a grotesque patchwork of battle marks. His arms are grotesque tree trunks, capped with hands that have the strength to snap a warrior's skull like a ripe melon. His eyes are coal-black, filled with the promise of violence and blood.

His chest rumbles with a guttural growl that reverberates through the sand beneath my boots, a horrifying war drum to the cacophony of the crowd. This isn't just a troll. This is a troll war machine, a Skullcracker deserter, the kind of monster that has haunted my nightmares since I was Aldric.

My hands tighten around the wooden spear I took from the Wailing Widow. It's heavy, sturdy, the wood smooth from use and time. Against Krognar's monstrous bulk, it feels about as significant as a toothpick.

The weight of my G-cup chest seems suddenly heavier in my metal bikini top, the high-waisted armor biting into my hips as I brace myself, making my lush figure a startling contrast against the troll's grotesque physique. My ass jiggles slightly with the shifting of my stance, the sensation feeling foreign to my warrior's instincts, alien against the muscle memory of my former male self.

There's a ripple of excitement through the crowd, a shift of energy in the air that sinks heavy in my belly. I look around the pit, my eyes searching for anything, any small advantage. But all I see is sand, the high walls, the jeering crowd.

A pang of despair courses through me but I force it down. My body is unfamiliar, yes, but the mind of Aldric, the legendary warrior, still resides within.

With a huff, I pull my raven-black hair back from my face, quickly tying it in a high, tight knot. It whips around me like a dark curtain as I move, getting it out of my way. But even in this dire moment, I cannot ignore the odd sensation of its weight lifted from my shoulders, another reminder of this damned transformation.

The crowd roars louder, the fight about to begin. I square my shoulders, grip my spear tighter, and take a deep breath, readying myself for the monster before me.

My thick thighs strain against the metal bikini bottoms as I begin to circle Krognar. His beady eyes watch me, amusement clear on his hideous face. His laughter, a gurgling, sickening sound, grates against my ears, his gaze crawling over my jiggling body like a filthy touch.

The sharp crunch of my metal stiletto heels on the gritty sand cuts through the crowd's raucous jeering. Each step is deliberate, my footwork precise even in these absurd boots. I can feel my wide hips sway, my large ass bouncing lightly with each step. Every movement causes my ample breasts to sway and jiggle beneath the restrictive metal bikini top, a sensation I'm still adjusting to. My body is a strange, lewd spectacle in this grotesque theatre. Deep down, past the layers of voluptuous flesh and the shell of femininity, the mind of a seasoned warrior pulses with anticipation.

Over the jeering crowd, the announcer's next lewd comment cuts through the air, crude words about my body and my chances in the fight. The crowd's laughter burns into my skin, their gaze feasting on my body. My skin crawls under the weight of their stares. The plushness of my body, its softness, feels like a mockery in this brutal setting. I'm not a hardened warrior's body, but a curvaceous, voluptuous form meant for their lewd enjoyment.

But that doesn't mean I'm helpless.

I keep my eyes trained on Krognar, the troll's amusement feeding my determination. My grip tightens on the wooden spear, the weapon's weight reassuring in my hand. The wood is sturdy, and the tip sharp, a valuable asset against the brute in front of me.

Krognar's towering body is a fortress of muscle and scarred skin, a formidable defense. But every fortress has its weaknesses. Every breath he takes, every shift of his weight, the way his hulking body moves, I take it all in. I'm looking for a crack in his armor, a weakness in his defenses, anything I can exploit.

The sight of the monster before me is daunting, but I push the fear aside. I need to keep him at a distance, to use my spear to my advantage. I'm not as strong or as big as I used to be, but I still have my agility, my speed. I need to play this smart. I need to survive, for Elara. For myself.

Every time Krognar shifts his weight, his massive body sways, causing his meaty stomach to jiggle. A slow target. His movements are sluggish, the troll's large frame clearly not built for speed. I watch his flat feet shuffle across the sand, leaving deep imprints with every step. A lack of agility. Two points I can exploit.

But it’s not enough, not with my voluptuous body limiting my movements, my massive tits and wide hips throwing off my balance. My once firm warrior muscles have softened into plush flesh that jiggles at the slightest movement.

My strategy starts to take form. Speed and deception, that's how I’ll win this.

I force my mind to view my body not as a curse but as a weapon, a diversion. I can distract him. Krognar's beady eyes keep falling to my jiggling breasts, his disgusting leer widening every time my tits sway with my movements. A distraction.

I take a deep breath, drawing myself up to my full height, and my breasts thrust out, straining against the restrictive metal top. Krognar's eyes follow the movement, and I see my chance. If I can keep him focused on my body, on the jiggling and swaying, I can catch him off guard.

With the crowd's jeering fading into background noise, I force my attention back to my opponent. I twirl the wooden spear in my hand, testing its balance, feeling its weight. The reach of the spear is my only physical advantage here. I need to keep Krognar at a distance, poke and prod at him, find that weak spot.

I spring into action, closing the gap between us in a few quick strides. The sand shifts and slides under my stiletto boots, and I must fight to maintain my balance, my big ass jiggling with the effort. I lash out with my spear, driving the sharp point towards Krognar's massive torso. The troll casually swats the spear away with a bored grunt, my attack barely phasing him.

I dance back, breasts bouncing with the sudden movement, just as Krognar swipes lazily in my direction. I twist away, barely avoiding the blow. Despite his size, he’s faster than he looks. But he’s clearly not giving it his all, his sick grin telling me he’s enjoying the spectacle of me, trying to fight him in my metal bikini and high heels.

He's toying with me, waiting for the right moment to crush me like a bug. But every swipe, every growl, every movement, gives me information. Krognar is slow to retract his arms after a swipe, his enormous bulk limiting his agility. I keep darting in and out, launching a series of quick, jabbing attacks with my spear, studying his movements, finding his rhythm.

My spear whistles through the air, my body moving with a mind of its own, my warrior instincts kicking in. One of my thrusts grazes his chest, drawing a thin line of black blood. It’s not much - his hide is thick and tough - but it's a start.

A chorus of laughter echoes from the stands, and I glance up to see Grokk, comfortably seated on his throne, chuckling at my efforts. But I ignore him, focusing on the task at hand.

Sweat trickles down my back, the salty droplets following the curve of my spine, disappearing into the small of my back. The fight has barely begun, and I can already feel the strain in my muscles. But I can't afford to stop. I can't afford to lose. I need to find a way to bring this monstrous troll down, and fast. My eyes flit back to Krognar, his amused smirk inciting a surge of determination within me. I ready my spear for another attack, my resolve hardening. I will bring this troll down, one jab at a time.

The goblin announcer's grating voice fills the air, his crass words bouncing off the walls of the arena. "Looks like our Tit-bitch is trying to poke Krognar to death. You're going to need more than that to scratch our champion, love," he jeers, setting off another round of raucous laughter from the crowd.

Despite the crude mockery, I steel myself for another attack. My chest heaves with exertion, the weight of my breasts pressing against the constraining metal bikini, my heavy breathing causing them to jiggle obscenely. Yet, there's no time for self-consciousness - I have a battle to fight.

Determined, I rush at the troll again, my spear arcing through the air. Krognar deflects my attack with a swing of his massive arm, the impact reverberating down my spear and into my hands. I quickly recoil, using the momentum to pivot away from his retaliating swipe.

"I hope you're not tiring out, Tit-bitch. You haven't even made him sweat yet," the announcer chimes, his cackling laughter mingling with the jeers of the crowd. But I ignore him. I'm starting to learn Krognar's movements, the rhythm of his attacks and defenses. I just need to keep pressing, keep prodding, keep pushing.

I dive forward again, feinting an attack to his midsection before switching at the last second to aim for his knee. But he's too quick, his foot stomping down and causing me to misstep. I stumble, my high-heeled boots sinking into the soft sand.

"Watch your step, Tit-bitch. We wouldn't want you to twist an ankle," the announcer jibes, and the crowd roars with laughter. I grit my teeth, quickly righting myself, my wide hips swaying with the effort. This isn't going as planned, but I need to adapt. I need to be creative. So, I decide to change my strategy.

Rather than using my spear for direct attacks, I start to use it as a vaulting pole. I run at Krognar, planting the butt of my spear in the sand. Using the leverage, I vault upwards, aiming a sharp kick towards his head with my steel stiletto boot.

The surprise tactic pays off. My heel connects with a solid thud, leaving a bloody gash on Krognar's cheek. He reels back, clutching at his face, a guttural roar of pain and fury echoing throughout the arena. The crowd goes silent, their jeering laughter abruptly cut off.

"Oh, it seems Tit-bitch has some fight in her after all," the announcer states, a note of surprise in his voice. But there's no time to savor the moment. The success of my attack has enraged Krognar, and he's no longer laughing. Now, I've really got a fight on my hands.

Krognar is a monolith of malice, a titan of muscle and savage strength, a twisted parody of nature's grand design. His body is a grotesque blend of corded muscle and raw, bulging flesh, a clear testament to a life marred by unrelenting brutality. The sight of him is enough to strike fear into the heart of the bravest warrior, and standing here, my jiggly G-cup chest heaving with breathless anticipation, my stomach knots in fear.

I see the rage ignite in his eyes, replacing the previously bored amusement. The change is terrifying, his towering figure somehow growing even more imposing. His roar is deafening, rattling me down to my bones. "Well, ain't this a sight!" The announcer's voice booms, the excitement in his tone adding to my trepidation.

The troll charges, the ground trembling beneath his weight. Panic flares in my chest as I turn on my stiletto heels, my wide hips swaying with the abrupt movement. My long raven hair whips around as I start to run, heart pounding, adrenaline surging.

"Run, Tit-bitch, run!" The goblin announcer's voice follows me, echoing in the arena. The crowd is screaming, some laughing, the noise a deafening backdrop to my desperate evasion. My scant armor offers little protection against the rampaging troll, my voluptuous body a soft target for his murderous rage.

Every step sends an agonizing jolt up my legs, the sand slipping beneath the metal soles of my boots, making my escape more difficult. My thighs burn with the exertion, my ass bouncing with every panicked stride. His enraged roars are growing louder, closer. Fear tastes bitter on my tongue as I try to outpace the hulking beast.

I attempt to twist away from an incoming blow, but my high heels catch in the sand. My heart pounds against my chest, a wild bird desperately trying to escape its cage, as I see Krognar's huge fist come swinging towards me. There's no time to dodge. No time to do anything but brace myself.

The hit lands hard and brutal, sending me flying through the air. The world blurs as I tumble over the sand, the wind is knocked out of me. I finally skid to a stop, groaning, my body aching from the harsh impact.

For a moment, the arena is silent. And then, the crowd goes wild. Cheering, laughing, the noise is deafening. "And there goes Tit-bitch! Looks like our champion isn't holding back anymore!" the announcer crows, his words a sickening echo in my ringing ears. I grit my teeth, a defiant glare directed at the troll standing over me, my voluptuous body sprawled across the sandy floor.

The wooden shaft of my spear lurches upwards as I jab at the troll's underbelly, aiming for a soft spot in the creature's bulging flesh. A painful roar bursts from its maw as the tip of my weapon connects. But my victory is short-lived.

Krognar's meaty fist slams downward, and instinct takes over. I roll, narrowly avoiding the blow that would surely have crushed me. Springing to my feet, I retaliate - a hard, brutal strike with the sharp heel of my metal boot to his foot. Again, he roars. But the fury in his eyes promises retribution.

I twist my hands around my spear, bracing myself for the onslaught. But the troll is faster, his massive hand batting away my weapon with terrifying ease. A guttural roar erupts from the crowd. I hear the goblin announcer's crude commentary over the roar, but it's distant, muffled.

In the split second I have to react, I dive out of the troll's reach, narrowly evading another bone-crushing blow. But my luck runs out. Before I can recover, Krognar's massive fist slams into me, sending me sprawling in the sand once again.

I see his massive foot moving towards me. My mind is screaming, 'Move!', but my body isn't obeying. And then it happens. My leg, my curvaceous leg, snaps with a loud, gruesome crack that echoes through the arena. An animalistic scream tears from my throat as the white-hot pain sears through me, reducing my world to nothing but agony.

But Krognar isn't done. He grabs my other leg, and my mind whirls with the memory of the first bone shattering. I can't. I can't take it again. I struggle, I plead. But the troll's grim expression doesn't waver as he delivers another sickening snap.

Pain floods my senses, an unrelenting torrent of agony that drowns out everything else. Tears stream down my face, mixing with the sand and grime on my cheeks. My ears ring with the ecstatic cries of the crowd and the goblin announcer's merciless commentary. My vision blurs and my breaths come in ragged gasps.

Finally, I feel the troll let go of my shattered legs. I try to drag myself away, but the effort is too much. My body fails me, giving in to the pain. My eyes flutter shut, the roaring crowd and the harsh floodlights fading away as I surrender to the darkness.

—

I wake up to a world of pain.

Every inch of me hurts, the throbbing in my broken legs a pulsating drum beat, echoing a cadence of agony that numbs all other senses. My throat is dry, parched, aching from the cries of pain that must have been torn from it. The scent of herbs and healing salves assaults my nostrils.

My eyelids feel heavy, resisting the urge to open. When I finally force them to part, a blinding flood of light sears my retinas. I squint, trying to adjust to the brightness. After a few seconds, shapes start to form. The sight of my legs, awkwardly held together with crude splints and wrapped in rough, green goblin cloth, sends a fresh wave of pain ripping through me.

"I... where am I?" My voice, hoarse and strained, feels alien to my ears.

"Ahh, the Tit-bitch awakens." The source of the voice steps into my line of sight. A goblin, clothed in strange, worn out rags and holding a staff topped with a pulsating crystal, his wrinkled, green face is etched with cruel delight. "You're in Chief Grokk's tent."

Grokk? A fresh wave of terror washes over me. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to sit up, but I can't. There's something holding me down. A chill runs through me as I look around. I'm stuck in a strange contraption, a rack of some kind.

"Why... why can't I move?" Panic seizes me, a bone-chilling dread that grips my heart.

"Ah, this," the goblin shaman motions to the device, his expression twisted into a malevolent grin. "This is a breeding rack, dear. For your comfort and convenience, of course."

"Breeding rack?" My voice is a choked whisper, horror slicing through me like a blade.

The rack is a crude but effective apparatus. Sturdy wooden arms branch out to hold me immobile, my arms and legs splayed wide. My body is laid bare, my pussy exposed to the open air. I'm naked, vulnerable. A cold, cushioned platform supports my back, its surface harsh against my tender skin. It's humiliating, degrading.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" I rasp, my voice barely audible.

"Two days," he says, his voice dripping with a twisted satisfaction. "You've been out for two days. Your legs, they're almost fully healed. Goblin magic, see?" He chuckles, his tone one of perverse pride.

I barely register the words, my mind stuck on the phrase he used earlier. "Breeding rack?" I repeat, my voice hollow. The room seems to spin. A breeding rack?

"Ah, yes. Keeps you in the perfect position for when you're ready," he says, as if discussing the weather. "For Grokk."

"No... no, no, no," I mumble, desperately shaking my head. I'm not some breeding sow. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

But it is. The cold reality hits me like a punch to the gut. I'm trapped. Even if I could free myself from this horrific rack, my legs are useless, broken.

I rattle against my bonds, but it's futile. The laughter of the goblin shaman rings in my ears, echoing my despair.

"Chieftain Grokk!" The tent flap parts, and Grokk, the hulking goblin king, steps into the dimly lit space.

Grokk is a behemoth of a creature, even amongst his kin. His massive, barrel-chested figure looms over the cramped enclosure, an imposing silhouette that threatens to fill every nook and cranny of the tent. The gruff, commanding figure is draped in royal furs and metals, announcing his authority to all who dare look his way.

He casts an appreciative gaze over me, his eyes lingering on my naked, vulnerable form. I shrink under his lecherous gaze, my skin prickling under his obvious evaluation.

The shaman, Grouz, shuffles closer to Grokk. "A perfect specimen, my lord,” he croaks. “Perfect in every way. Her hips are wide, designed for birthin' goblin pups. Her virginal pussy untouched, a ready vessel for your seed."

“Hah. Snib never broke her in proper.”

My stomach churns at his crude words. My cheeks burn with a mix of anger and humiliation.

He steps closer, his gnarled fingers tracing the swell of my breasts. "And her tits... oh, the milk these will provide," the shaman says to Grokk, a vulgar grin spreading across his toothless mouth. "I'd estimate... two, maybe three gallons a day once the pregnancies hit full swing. The whelps need strong, nutritious milk, and she’ll be brimming with it."

Grokk grunts, his crude hand reaching out to cup my breast fully. The touch sends a shudder through me. I squirm, but the sturdy rack holds me firm. I feel the leather of the straps digging into my skin, confining my movements. My legs ache, the shattered bones protesting any movement.

He looks at me like a butcher would look at a piece of prime meat. A fresh catch, ready for breeding, ripe for the taking.

His gaze turns to Grouz, a question lingering in his eyes. Grouz clears his throat, "There is one... minor concern though, Chieftain. She's not in heat yet. Her body is not ready for conception."

Grokk raises a questioning eyebrow, his thick fingers still toying with my breast. Grouz continues, "I suggest we start her on a regimen of gobble-goo'. It'll prime her body for breeding quick enough.”

I blink, struggling to process his words.

Grouz grins, revealing his yellowing, decaying teeth. "A potent mixture, Chieftain. Three days of feed, and she'll be ready for you."

Grokk grunts, releasing my breast and stepping back. His lecherous gaze scans me one last time before he strides out of the tent, leaving me alone with the disgusting shaman and the unfamiliar fear of what's to come.

Grouz shuffles towards me, his hunched frame illuminated by the dimly flickering torchlight. He produces a small, wooden totem from the depths of his tattered robe. Carved in the likeness of some phallic deity, its hollow eyes seem to burn with an eerie, otherworldly light.

"Nighty night, my pretty," he rasps, a sinister grin twisting his sallow features. His fingers dance in a complex pattern around the totem, whispering unintelligible incantations under his breath.

My eyelids begin to grow heavy as he chants, a potent weariness seeping into my bones. Every sound seems to recede into the background, the world growing fuzzy around the edges. Even the relentless throbbing in my legs starts to fade, replaced by an encompassing warmth.

"Don't fight it, my dear," Grouz says, his words wrapping around me like a cloak. "This is a healing sleep. It'll restore your strength. You'll need all of it.”

I want to scream, to struggle, but the potent spell wraps around me, pulling me down into its warm embrace. My vision blurs, Grouz's grinning face becoming nothing more than a distorted smear of color.

The last thing I hear before I surrender to the heavy pull of sleep is Grouz's whisper, a lullaby from the depths of hell, "Rest now, pretty. Tomorrow, we begin."

Darkness wraps me in its welcoming embrace, my consciousness slipping away as the healing spell does its work. All that's left is the echoes of Grouz's chilling words.

—

My eyes flutter open, a dull fog of confusion pulling at the edges of my consciousness. A slight crick in my neck, the harsh taste of something foreign on my tongue, and a steady, muted hum... what's going on?

The world snaps into focus. The leather cuffs grip my ankles, the splints feel stiff and cold on my shattered legs. My wrists are in similar restraints, held out to the sides. My heart kicks into overdrive, pumping adrenaline through my veins.

But the most alarming sensation isn't the position of my body. It's the foreign object lodged in my mouth, thick and intrusive. Panic flutters in my chest as my tongue pushes against the rubbery end of it, each attempt to dislodge it only confirming how secure it is. I can't talk, can't shout for help. A leather strap around my face keeps it firmly in place, the cold material digging into the corners of my mouth.

Grouz's shadow stretches across the tent floor as he ambles in, a self-satisfied smirk on his ugly mug. He leans over me, a bony finger tracing the tube down to where it's strapped around my head. "That's a good girl," he croons, his sickly-sweet voice grating my nerves. "Keep it nice and tight now. You must be hungry."

Fear laces with a pitiful surge of nausea as I realize what he's saying. My first 'royal meal'. They intend to feed me through this... this thing in my mouth. The panic simmers in my chest, mixing with a potent cocktail of dread and disgust. But what can I do? I'm trapped, helpless in this breeding rack, my body on show for Grokk's perverse entertainment.

There's a rustle of heavy fabric at the entrance of the tent, a sound that jerks me back to full alertness. Grokk's broad form fills the doorway, flanked by two human females, their bodies outlined in the morning light streaming from outside. They are beautiful, their eyes lidded and heavy with lust, skin smooth and shining. Their bodies are draped in gauzy outfits, so transparent that it leaves very little to the imagination.

Grokk grins at them, eyeing their exposed flesh with a gleam in his eyes. He gestures towards me, his voice a low rumble that shakes the ground beneath me. “Girls, this is Elise," he announces, an underlying tone of pride in his words. "She's going to bear my pups.”

A chorus of excited coos follows his statement. The women look at me, their gaze flickering over my displayed body. The way they react, praising my form, it’s as if Grokk has presented them with a gift.

"She's perfect," they say, the tone of their voices almost envious. "She'll make a great mommy.”

Their words cause my stomach to churn, and I bite down on the rubber tube, but it only muffles my discomfort.

Grokk grins, scratching at his belly. "She isn't ready yet though," he says. The women frown, their brows furrowed in confusion. "She's not in heat."

They laugh at that, their sounds tinkling through the tent like sweet, high notes. They share a look between them, their cheeks flushed with laughter. They say, batting their eyelashes at Grokk, "We're always in heat."

Grokk laughs, a deep guttural sound that reverberates through the tent. He moves over to me, looking down at my exposed body. "You can help," he says to the girls. They tilt their heads, eager for his instruction. "You can help prepare Elise."

A cold shiver runs down my spine at his words. I'm stuck, unable to do anything more than listen to this obscene conversation unfold. The mirth in the women's eyes gives way to excitement, a sadistic spark ignited by the promise of a new game. I can only squirm, my voice stolen away, as I become the topic of their lewd dialogue.

Grokk points to the feeding tube secured in my mouth, the glistening rubber cruelly silencing any protest I might want to make. "Time for her first royal meal," he announces, his voice grating and gruff. "She's never tasted gobbo goo before."

The girls titter in response, their eyes lighting up with glee. It's like a grotesque, perverted version of tea time, and I am the unwilling guest.

Grokk continues, “her first serving needs to be big."

They respond with eager nods, their hands delicately reaching out to the cloth covering his waist. It falls away, revealing his monstrous, flaccid cock. The sight is enough to churn my stomach, dread seeping through my veins. I know what goblin cum does to women, the effect it has on their minds. The goblin seed is not just sperm; it's laden with potent pheromones that, when ingested, imprint on the brain. It’s a very hard effect to remove, taking months of medical attention and therapy.

These last few days, I haven't had access to Moonshade potion, my only shield against the mind-bending effects of goblin cum. My thoughts race and panic sets in, making my heart pound against my chest. The grim realization washes over me, and all I can do is watch in horror as the two girls move towards the awaiting funnel.

Grokk's massive, green cock lays between his legs. It's enormous, at least sixteen inches long and thick as a human forearm, its appearance both fascinating and repulsive. Veins bulge along its length, giving it a brutal, monstrous look that sends shivers down my spine. His cock head is a dark, angry orange, already drooling with viscous pre-seed. The sight of it is petrifying, my blood freezing in my veins.

The two slave girls hover over him, their expressions full of lascivious anticipation. One of them, a brunette with wavy locks that cascade down her back, bends down, her lips pressing against the goblin king's soft cock. A soft, cooing sound escapes her as she lavishes it with her affection. The blonde at Grokk's other side follows suit, her full lips puckering to plant delicate kisses up and down his length. Their nimble fingers explore the intimidating size of Grokk, causing it to twitch in response.

They speak in soft, breathy tones, "Oh, Elise, you're going to love this," the brunette purrs, her eyes on me while her hand continues to stroke Grokk's cock. "You're going to be such a good mother... your wide hips, your beautiful face, perfect for Grokk's offspring."

Grokk's phallus continues to grow under their ministrations, each twitch bringing it closer to its full, terrifying size. The girls giggle, commenting on its size, the girth, the length, and the formidable weight it carries. Their small hands struggle to encompass its monstrous proportions, and the sight sends a shudder of revulsion through me.

The goblin king's cock twitches again, more vigorously this time, pre-seed seeping from the tip. It's hot and potent, a visual reminder of its intended purpose. The gooey liquid drips down, a bead of it landing on the edge of the funnel. The sight sends a chill down my spine, my eyes widening in horror as the reality of my situation sinks in.

"Oh, just imagine it," the blonde murmurs, her voice a sinful whisper. "You, heavy with Grokk's children. Your belly round and full. Your tits... oh, your tits, all swollen and milky." Her eyes gleam with a perverse excitement, her words spurring a new wave of panic within me.

The pre-seed continues to drip from Grokk's now fully erect cock, pooling at the base of the funnel. The girls continue to coo and purr, their fingers deftly coaxing more from him. Their hands, slick with his fluids, glide effortlessly over his length. The grotesque tableau unfolding before me seems to stretch on for an eternity, each passing second another notch of dread lodged within me.

The pungent scent of the pre-seed fills the air, a musky odor that clings to the back of my throat. It's an odor I'll become all too familiar with, a stark reminder of the biological reality of my situation. The liquid gathers at the base of the funnel, a thin pool that glimmers under the light. My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat at the sight.

The brunette runs her tongue along the underside of Grokk's cock, her eyes twinkling with glee. She murmurs soft praises, her words slurred by the massive girth in her mouth. The blonde giggles, her fingers playing with the strands of pre-seed that string between her fingers. Their enthusiasm, the joy they find in this obscene act, turns my stomach.

Each twitch of Grokk's cock, each droplet of pre-seed, sends a new wave of horror washing over me. I'm trapped, unable to escape, forced to watch as these two girls prepare to feed me with goblin seed. The reality of my situation settles over me like a suffocating blanket, my mind reeling at the prospect of what's to come. The feeding tube, lodged firmly in my mouth, feels like a mockery, a cruel twist in this nightmarish scenario.

The girls continue their work, their hands stroking, their lips kissing, their tongues licking, each movement driving Grokk closer to his climax. His massive cock twitches violently, the thick vein that runs along the underside pulsing with his impending release. I watch in mute horror as they coax more pre-seed from him, the thick liquid dripping down into the funnel, a precursor to the flood that's soon to come.

Their lewd whispers fill the room, their descriptions of my impending maternity sending spikes of fear through my already frantic mind. My gaze darts to the glistening cock, to the funnel, to the feeding tube lodged firmly in my mouth. This is my reality, my impending fate. As the first real spurt of Grokk's potent seed spills into the funnel, my heart sinks with a dread realization: my fight is far from over.

My gaze flicks between the funnel, the tube lodged in my mouth, and Grokk's monster cock. It's pointed directly at the funnel's wide mouth, pulsating under the attention of the two slave girls. The stench of goblin lust permeates the air, a heady scent that makes my head spin. I watch, my heart pounding in my chest, as the blonde girl reaches under Grokk, her dainty hand cradling his heavy balls.

"Mmm, Grokk," she coos, her voice dripping with lewd enthusiasm. "Your balls are so full, I can feel it. You're gonna blow such a massive load."

The brunette girl, her fingers continuing to glide up and down Grokk's enormous shaft, adds in her own voice, breathy with anticipation, "Can't wait to see it. Shoot it right into the funnel. It's gonna be so hot."

My heart hammers in my chest, fear and disgust turning my stomach. The two girls are entranced, completely under the influence of goblin pheromones. Their minds are gone, consumed by an insatiable lust that I can't begin to comprehend.

The blonde takes a moment to spit into her palm, her hand glistening with saliva as she reaches to join her companion. Their hands move in harmony, stroking the massive cock in tandem, their slender fingers struggling to encompass its girth. Their soft, submissive murmurs and praises fill the room, a lurid chorus that accompanies the obscene sight before me.

The feeding tube is a cold, unyielding presence in my mouth, a vile tether connecting me to the imminent grotesque spectacle. I feel trapped, so utterly powerless. The sensation of the rubber against my tongue, the taste of it, is a cruel reminder of my plight. Each breath I draw is laced with the musk of the goblins, the primal, animalistic scent of arousal. It's suffocating, filling my nostrils and coating my throat.

I watch as the girls service Grokk, their delicate hands stroking him, their wet mouths whispering filthy praises. Their obedience, their eagerness, is terrifying. The sound of their hands sliding over his slick, engorged member echoes around the tent, adding another layer to my torment.

My mind races, thoughts whirling as I try to comprehend my predicament. I don't want this. I don't want to be forced to swallow goblin seed. Fear rises, a harsh lump in my throat that I can't swallow down. What will it do to me? Will I end up like those girls, lost to goblin pheromones, my mind reduced to a sexually obsessed shell?

A cold dread settles over me as I watch the girls coax Grokk closer to his climax. Each stroke, each lustful whisper, brings him closer to the edge, the sight of his cock twitching and throbbing a terrifying promise of what's to come. I watch as the first glob of thick, pearly seed spills from his cock, my stomach churning as it lands in the funnel. The grim reality of my fate echoes in the hollow pit of my stomach. This is just the beginning, and there's no way out.

The squelching noises fill my ears, drowning out the frenzied beat of my heart. Grokk's cock, engorged to a monstrous size, throbs heavily in the girls' hands. Its drooling head is glossy and wet, twitching with every stroke they give it. Their chatter grows more feverish, their words slurred and heavy with arousal, as they pump faster, more eagerly.

Grokk places his hands on their heads, patting them condescendingly, his fingers twining in their hair. His ragged breaths mingle with the lewd symphony of their praises, and I can't tear my eyes away.

The terror gnaws at my insides, my body quaking with a primal need to escape, to get away from this obscene spectacle. My body tenses, straining against the soft but immovable restraints of the rack. The leather bites into my wrists, my ankles. My body jiggles with each futile struggle, my splinted legs aching with a renewed pain.

My frantic attempts to dislodge the feeding tube are met with failure. The thick rubber is lodged too deep, too secure. My tongue prods uselessly against it, my muffled cries echoing hollowly in my throat. My breaths grow harsh and ragged, the rubber taste of the tube making me gag.

I can feel every jiggle of my breasts, every shift of my hips, accentuated by the wide spread of my legs. I can feel the cold air of the tent on my exposed pussy, a cruel reminder of my vulnerable position.

Grokk's cock twitches, and my stomach drops. A bead of pre-cum, thick and milky, drips from the tip, landing in the funnel with a sickening plop. I watch, frozen in horror, as another drop forms, hanging precariously before it joins the first. My mind screams in protest, the reality of my imminent fate settling over me like a heavy shroud.

The girls' voices reach a fever pitch, their praises growing more explicit, more vulgar. They tell Grokk how much they want to see him blow his load, how they can't wait to see my belly swollen with his seed. The words are like a slap, each syllable a blow that hits harder than any physical strike.

I strain against my bonds, but it’s pointless.

Grokk grunts, a deep, guttural sound that echoes around the tent, and his cock twitches in the girls' hands. A moment later, the first spurt of cum erupts from the tip. It comes out in a thick, heavy jet, a steaming, off-colored stream that's so potent it misses the funnel entirely. It splatters across the tent floor, a grotesque display of virility that makes my stomach churn.

His balls tighten in response to the release, visibly shifting in the blonde girl's grasp. They both exclaim in surprise, their voices a heady mix of disappointment and encouragement, and hurriedly adjust the angle of his cock. They point it directly at the funnel, their hands working in a frantic, apologetic frenzy to correct their mistake.

My heart drops as the second spurt of cum lands directly in the funnel. It's a monstrous spurt, heavy and putrid, the curdled yellow substance plopping into the funnel like some horrendous pudding. The scent hits me then, a bleachy, tangy odor that's so intense it makes my eyes water.

The cum begins to travel down the tube, its consistency heavy and sticky, making its descent agonizingly slow. The tube is transparent, which only adds to my horror as I watch it fill. I can see each spurt of Grokk's seed, every thick, ropey strand of it, as it's pushed down the tube, carried by the weight of the semen following behind.

It's the most disgusting, nightmarish sight I've ever witnessed. It feels like a grotesque version of an hourglass, each spurt of Grokk's cum a grain of sand counting down the seconds to my doom.

Grokk's ejaculations continue, each one a loud, virile announcement of his dominance. Each spurt is a proclamation, a declaration that he's the alpha, the king, and we are nothing more than his subjects.

His cock keeps pumping out those horrible ropes of cum, the girls milking him eagerly, their hands slick and shiny with his seed. Their praises fill the tent, their voices high and excited, lost in the throes of their pheromone-induced devotion.

As the tube continues to fill, the scent grows stronger, the bleachy odor intensifying. The first hint of the taste hits my tongue, an awful, bitter tang that makes me want to gag. The tube is only partway filled, but the sheer amount of cum Grokk has produced is already overwhelming.

My panic escalates, my mind racing as I try to find a way out of this. I can't take it, I can't accept this, I can't let this happen. But my body is immobile, my pleas silenced, my cries for help reduced to muffled whimpers.

There's nothing I can do but watch, helpless, as the tube continues to fill.

I see the yellowish sludge steadily sliding closer. The odor intensifies, making my eyes water. My stomach roils in disgust, but I'm unable to turn away. There's a cold dread pooling in my belly as the seconds tick away.

The sight of the off-white slime inching closer is mesmerizing in a horrifying kind of way. It's like a slow-motion disaster. My lips are sealed around the rubbery end of the tube, my throat reflexively closing off in a futile attempt to keep the impending invader out.

The first contact is nothing short of catastrophic. It lands on my tongue with a tangible splat, a droplet of creamy invasion that I feel in the very marrow of my bones. The flavor hits me like a punch to the gut, an obscene cocktail of salty, musky, bleachy semen that screams of Grokk's virility. It's soul-shattering. It's everything I don't want to feel, everything I don't want to taste, everything I don't want to experience.

It's wet, slick, and hot. So blisteringly hot. It's not just warmth, it's heat. A pulsating, fervid heat that carries the imprint of Grokk's insatiable lust. I can feel it, alive and wriggling, a teeming mass of life eager to spread, to conquer. It feels like it's squirming, writhing on my tongue as if each individual sperm is alive, kicking, fighting to fertilize the first thing it touches.

The consistency of it is a new level of degradation. The hot semen rolls onto my tongue, a sticky, gooey mass that has the audacity to be chunky. It's like a perverse soup, the thick broth dotted with curdled, heavier globs that just add to the vile texture.

Every second brings a new surge, each pulse of the tube forcing more of the repugnant substance into my mouth. It's a cruel parody of intimacy, a gross mimicry of the act of passion. This is not a lover's seed. This is the result of Grokk's grunting, brutish orgasm, a tribute to his goblin potency.

I try to resist, to push back against the torrent that's inching its way into my mouth, but it's useless. The sheer volume is overwhelming, steadily pushing against my closed throat, demanding to be let in. It fills my mouth, stretching my cheeks, invading my senses.

My cheeks are flushed, burning from the heat.

I try to hold it in my mouth, keep it from sliding down my throat. But the pressure is relentless, and with each passing second, the task becomes more impossible. The taste is so overpowering it's hard to think, hard to focus on anything else.

Despite my best efforts, I can't keep it from happening. The pressure becomes too much, the disgusting liquid threatening to spill from my lips. With a whimper of despair, I finally swallow for the first time.

The sensation of it sliding down my throat is one I'll never forget. The thick, sludgy substance leaves a burning trail in its wake, filling my stomach with warmth. I can feel it churning in my gut, its heat radiating through me.

With the first swallow, something shifts in me. It's subtle at first, but it soon becomes impossible to ignore. A foggy haze settles over my thoughts, dulling my senses. My body feels heavy, as though I'm sinking into the cushioned bench beneath me.

As the slimy goblin spunk continues to fill my mouth, and as I continue to swallow, the sensation grows. A tingling that starts in my skin and slowly spreads throughout my body. It's like I'm being filled from the inside, the virile cum seeping into every part of me.

I can't think. The taste, the smell, the warmth of it - it's all too much. The tent ceiling spins over my head, my body humming with a foreign energy that's both invigorating and terrifying.

The last burst of Grokk's cum dribbles into the funnel as his massive orgasm concludes. Even from a distance, the heady musk of his virility saturates the air, his goblin seed potently strong, stinging my nostrils.

Grokk, spent and flushed, yanks his loincloth back onto his colossal cock. He grunts, amused at my desperate plight, then exits the tent with one of his slave girls. The blonde one, her eyes half lidded and mouth curved into a coquettish smile, leaves with him, looking back over her shoulder to tell me, "Enjoy your meal, honey."

I'm left with the brunette, her curvaceous figure scantily dressed in a gauzy outfit that leaves little to the imagination. She lifts the funnel, securing it high on the bedpost, the tube still heavy with Grokk's potent sperm - I’ve hardly made a dent in the supply. Then, she crouches next to me, her eyes wide with sadistic excitement as goblin cum continues to pump into my mouth.

"Just relax," she coos, her voice drips with false empathy. "You're going to love it eventually, I promise. The taste of his gobbo goo… it's like nothing else. So potent, so virile."

Another dollop of goblin seed enters my mouth, my taste buds assaulted by its distinct flavor - heady, salty, bitter with a tangy, bleach-like aftertaste. It's nauseatingly hot. It's just been brewed in the goblin's hefty balls, and oozes onto my tongue in a sickening wave.

Overwhelmed, I choke, but the brunette just giggles, "Oh, you'll get used to it, darling. Take it slow."

The gelatinous texture sticks to my teeth, the roof of my mouth. The flavor is complex, potent, overwhelming. Salty, metallic, a hint of a pungent goblin aroma that fills my nose.

It invades my senses, my throat clenching as the next mouthful forces itself down. My stomach churns as the hot, wriggling mass settles there. But there's more to come, and the next mouthful is easier, the one after easier still.

The girl coos words of encouragement as I continue to swallow, "That's it, Elise. Swallow it all down. Savor the taste. Feel the heat of it, the virility. Mmm, so thick, so creamy. It's divine, isn't it?"

My mind is getting foggy as the pheromones work their insidious magic, my body growing increasingly hot. My nipples harden again against the cold air, my lower belly starts to thrum with unwanted arousal. The heat rises in my chest, a dull ache begins to form between my legs, a feeling I can't ignore.

Each swallow becomes more natural, more automatic. The flavor becomes less overwhelming, more familiar. Each mouthful brings an increase in my temperature, a fogging of my mind, an arousal of my senses.

All the while, the girl's voice is a constant background hum, her words starting to blur and fade into the background as the fog of arousal grows thicker, "Yes, Elise, that's it. Take it all in. It's not so bad, is it? You're doing so well... Smaller mouthfuls… bigger gulps…”

The wetness between my legs grows, a trickle of moisture slipping from my pussy. Arousal, not of my own making, forces itself upon me, making me squirm in my bonds. My skin flushes, a heat sweeping over my body, as the last bit of the goblin's seed slides down my throat. My nipples are pebbles against the cold air, my pussy aching, wet and wanting.

My body betrays me, my mind is in turmoil. The goblin's cum is a burning, wriggling mass in my stomach. It's seeping into me, changing me, marking me. His taste lingers in my mouth, the sickly-sweet scent of his seed fills my nose. The heat in my belly spreads to my chest, to my breasts, making my nipples tighten more, my pussy clench around nothingness.

But there's no release, no relief from the building tension. I'm trapped here, exposed, humiliated, filled with goblin seed. The taste of it lingers in my mouth, the memory of its heat, its texture, its potency forever imprinted in my mind.

The brunette's words become a distant echo as I lie there, panting, flushed. My mind is foggy, my senses overwhelmed. The heat of the goblin's seed burns inside me, marking me, branding me. I'm his now, whether I want it or not.

The pressure in the stream relaxes finally… I don’t even know how much I’ve consumed. Though my stomach has gone from empty to full, so it must have been a lot…

The brunette girl leans back, a satisfied smile on her lips as she watches me. Her eyes are wide, filled with perverse delight, "That's it, Elise. You did so well. You took it all in. You're one of us now. One of Grokk's girls."

I can only groan in response, the taste of Grokk's seed still strong on my tongue, the heat burning intensely in my belly.

I feel the brunette girl’s hands touch me, drawn to my heat between my legs, like a moth to a flame.

"Look at you. All ready and wet. Bet you're already halfway to being in heat." The words resonate within me, a perverse affirmation. A slow dread spreads, mingling with the mounting, unwanted desire.

Her fingers drift over my pussy, tracing a path through the wetness pooled there, and I gasp. The feel of her fingers against me, a jolt of electricity.

The brunette's thumb finds my clit and begins to stroke it in a circular motion. Her touch is gentle, yet insistent, and I can't suppress a groan, muffled by the tube still fastened to my mouth. My back arches off the cushioned platform, body jerking involuntarily.

"There you go," she croons, "just enjoy it."

She doesn't penetrate me - that, as she reminds me with a salacious grin, is Grokk's privilege. But her touch is enough to ignite a fire inside me. The heat from the goblin king's seed in my belly, the tormenting touch on my clit, it's a potent combination that makes my body react in a way I don't want it to. Each swirl of her thumb sends sparks shooting through my lower belly, tightening something deep inside me.

My legs, splinted and healing, tremble on their restraints. They're mostly healed, but the pain is still there, a dull throb that underpins the waves of unwanted pleasure. The pain is grounding, a tether in the overwhelming sea of sensation.

My body is on display, splayed out, voluptuous and bouncy as ever. My breasts, heavy and flushed with heat, jiggle with each labored breath I take. My nipples are hard under the chill of the air, goosebumps breaking out across my skin.

"You're going to make such a wonderful mommy to Grokk's pups," she whispers, her voice laced with a cruel, gleeful anticipation. Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.

The tension builds, a tempest in the pit of my stomach, and it's unbearable. My toes curl, my fingers grip the restraints. Every touch, every stroke, pushes me closer to the edge. It's a precipice I don't want to cross, but my body has other ideas.

My moans, stifled by the tube in my mouth, cause the last remnants of Grokk's seed to trickle into my mouth. Each drop, cooled by now, cements the reality of my situation. I'm being made ready, prepared for Grokk.

The brunette keeps up her steady rhythm on my clit, her fingers slick with my arousal. Each pass of her thumb fans the flames inside me. Each whispered word of praise twists the knife in my gut. It's obscene, perverse, and yet I can't ignore the pull of it.

As my body teeters on the edge, I feel an unstoppable force barreling towards me. A crashing wave, inevitable. My muscles tighten, an uncontrollable tension building, demanding release.

The brunette's touch becomes my world, my universe. It's just her fingers on my clit, just her words in my ears, and the taste of Grokk's seed in my mouth. That's when it hits me. My body convulses as the orgasm rips through me, tearing a squeal from my throat. It's a pathetic, desperate sound, muffled by the tube still lodged in my mouth. I bite down on it, the rubber yielding under the force of my clenching jaw.

Every muscle in my body contracts, my belly clenching tight around the heat of Grokk's seed. The taste of him, strong, potent, overwhelms my senses, further intensifying the powerful tremors shaking me. It's a pleasure twisted with humiliation, underscored by a bitter sense of despair.

I feel my pussy clenching, tightening, then releasing in a rush. The warm squirt of my juices hits the cold floor beneath me in a loud spatter. The brunette giggles at my display, her fingers still circling my overly sensitive clit. My body jerks at her touch, aftershocks of my climax making me twitch and shiver.

In the aftermath, I don't feel normal.

A languorous warmth spreads through me. It creeps along my veins, seeping into each muscle, each fiber of my being. I feel it in my belly first, a gentle heat that stirs low and deep.

I lay there, strapped and helpless on the breeding rack, my pussy still throbbing from the brunette's attention. My skin feels too tight, my curves too full. I'm a woman, a fact that seems absurd and foreign to me, mentally. Yet, I can't ignore the truth of my body, the evidence of my femininity etched in every inch of me.

The seed, thick and hot inside me, wriggles like a living thing. I can't help but imagine it, a million microscopic creatures swimming inside me, their virile potency awakening a primal response within my body. The thought both repulses and terrifies me, but there's an underlying curiosity there, a terrible fascination.

My nipples tighten again, a sensation that sends a bolt of electricity straight to my groin.

A throb pulses deep within me, a low, heavy ache that feels rooted in my very core. It's a feeling that I can't quite place, a sensation that I can't properly name. My mind is foggy, my thoughts disjointed and chaotic.

The soft hum of my body feels like an inevitable surrender. The sensation is undeniable, unignorable, and yet, inexplicably tantalizing. I feel the pheromones doing their work, soothing the raging fury inside me, replacing it with a calm acceptance of my fate. A chemical seduction.

I lay there, my body slowly succumbing. My belly tightens.

As I lay there, I try to think of my hatred for the goblins. But somehow, the venom, the rage, it feels diluted, subdued. It's as if the seed inside me is tampering with my emotions.

A strange acceptance washes over me, a sense of being a small cog in the grand scheme of the natural order. It's a realization that feels horrifyingly inevitable, a submission to a destiny that I never asked for, and yet, find myself ensnared in. I'm not just Elise anymore, I'm a vessel, a breeding ground for the Goblin Chief’s offspring. And as I lay there, in the aftermath of my climax, I can't help but acknowledge the perverse reality of my existence.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, a gut-wrenching acceptance of a fate that feels entirely out of my hands. And yet, as I lay there, my body succumbing to the potent pheromones laced within the goblin's seed, I can't deny the dreadfully erotic undertone of it all. The heat, the ache, the readiness – it all feels so intensely feminine, so obscenely primal. And for all my despair, for all my rage, I can't help but shiver at the intensity of it all.

I feel alive, in a way that feels both terrifying and exhilarating. It's a wild, raw sensation that tears through me, leaving me breathless and overwhelmed. It's an intoxicating mix of fear, anticipation, and a strange, twisted arousal that I can't quite name.

As I lay there, warmth blossoming in my lower abdomen, I can't help but wonder – is this what it feels like to be a female, a vessel of life?

Forlorn, I try to pray.

My tongue thrashes against the feeding tube in a poor attempt to form the holy words, the age-old litany to the Ephemerals. But they slip from me, each syllable a memory now faded into the murky depths of my mind, swallowed up by Grokk's potent cum. Tears blur my vision, each droplet like a burning lash against my heart.

"Eon... Flux... Verge..." My thoughts are disjointed, each name a thread unraveling from the tapestry of my faith. Their divine essence is lost in the nauseating mix of salty goblin sperm and the iron scent of my own fear. My body is a vessel not of my own spirit, but of goblin breeding and sin. I’m unable to utter their prayers, to call out for their wisdom, their change, their transcendence. All that fills me now is Grokk’s dominance, his imminent parenthood and my impending motherhood.

In the middle of this brewing storm, a tender image flickers to life. Elara. My Elara. Her face is a beacon of home, the echo of the quiet nights, entwined limbs, and the warmth of her against me. But like a wisp of smoke, the features morph and distort, swept up in the mind-altering maelstrom, the once crisp edges now blurred and distorted.

Her almond eyes, always sparkling with laughter... what color were they again? Blue? No, that can't be right. Green? I can’t remember. And her hair, cascading down her back in a cascade of... was it gold or chestnut? A sob wrenches free from my constricted throat, muffled and choked by the breeding tube.

Desperation claws at me, a feral beast driven mad with the knowledge of its own impending doom. My body shudders, sobs wracking my frame, causing my breasts to heave and my belly to quake. Grokk's seed, hot and virile, sloshes inside me with each shudder, a perverse reminder of my purpose.

The memory of Elara begins to fade, like sand slipping through desperate fingers. Each granule, a piece of her, a piece of us, a piece of the man I used to be. The despair is a tangible weight, pressing against my breasts, sinking into the fertile warmth of my womb, a cruel mockery of the life it was preparing to harbor.

My breaths hitch and splutter, chest heaving, my bare, jiggly breasts bobbing with each sharp intake. The hot tears trickle down the sides of my face, pooling in my ears, the wet echoes filling the silence of my solitude. I am Elise. I was Aldric. I am... I am... lost.