The Goblin’s Pet (18+) (Now a CYOA!)

Groaning, I pry my eyes open, a haze of disorientation clouding my senses. My body feels heavy, out of sync. My head throbs in tandem with a pulsating heartbeat, each dull thump like a drum beating inside my skull. A sharp smell cuts through the foggy chaos—a mixture of damp earth, something sulfurous, and... a foul stench that threatens to turn my stomach inside out.

The scent is an unfortunate wake-up call, one that does a much better job of stirring me than any alarm. Grimacing, I retch, the acrid taste burning the back of my throat. The darkness of the Ironrock mine sways around me. Confusion gnaws at me. Wasn't I fighting a goblin in an underground ruin? How did I end up here?

My hands press down on something cold, jagged, as I attempt to push myself off the ground. The stone floor is a chilling discomfort against my exposed skin. Exposed skin? I frown, my fingers brushing against a soft, cool metal. It clings tight against my chest, biting into the skin. A sense of dread settles deep in my gut.

Memories of a ruined underground temple flood back, of a grubby goblin wielding a spiked collar, of the shattering pain that erupted when it clasped around my neck. It's still there—the cool, malicious press of it. I reach up, my fingers brushing against the collar, the sharp spikes a vicious reminder of what happened.

Squinting through the darkness, I stumble onto my feet, only to sway as the world tilts around me. There's a strange imbalance to my body, a pull at my chest, a shift in my weight distribution that catches me off guard. I struggle to stay upright, my new body a stranger’s, my new breasts a confounding, jiggling alien presence.

My hand instinctively reaches to steady my chest, the massive weight a foreign sensation. The touch of cold, hard metal against my sensitive skin draws a gasp from my lips. With a flush of heat, I register the scanty protection of my chest, my colossal breasts almost spilling out of a confining metallic bikini armor.

Tremors wrack my body as the cold, damp floor beneath seeps through the minimal covering of my armor, the chill air grazing over my barely-concealed buttocks, the freezing touch of the chains of the collar making me shiver. Each sensation is a blow, a nightmare I can't seem to wake up from.

I stumble, my feet encased in awkward, towering heels. Wobbling, I try to catch my balance, but the new proportions of my body make it challenging. The effort sends my breasts jiggling against the metallic constraints, my body jarring with a delicate wiggle at the disturbance.

Across from me, a pool of foul liquid reflects a distorted image. I freeze, the face staring back at me a stranger’s. The raven-black hair, the mossy green eyes, the perfect porcelain skin. The stark reality of my transformation hits me like a punch to the gut.

A choked, feminine sound escapes my throat, a desperate denial. My hands, trembling, move to trace the feminine features, the full lips, the delicate shape of my new face. The elegant jawline, the high cheekbones. It's horrifying, the reality far too grotesque to bear.

There's no room to process the trauma, no time to come to terms with the horrifying truth. A cruel, gleeful laughter echoes in the cavern, shattering the silence. Its source lurks in the shadowy outskirts of the chamber, a silhouette of grotesque delight. The figure steps into the pale light streaming in through a distant crack in the ceiling, his sneering face twisted in malicious glee.

The horrifying recognition sets in—the same goblin, but now much larger compared to my petite form, the same fiendish eyes, the same disgusting stench. The reality of my humiliating defeat and transformation dawns on me.

My gaze locks onto the creature, my body trembling. This isn’t a nightmare—it's a reality. The reality of waking up in a woman's body, with this vile goblin leering at me. The fear is real. The embarrassment, the sheer horror... it's all agonizingly real.

The seething contempt for the foul creature floods my veins, a singular maddening thought that stokes the fire of my wrath: this wretched thing has debased me, shattered my dignity. No longer am I Aldric the Great, but instead, some curvaceous, buxom plaything, trapped in a nightmarish dream I cannot awake from.

My rage ignites my determination. I have vanquished demons, slain dragons, and this goblin will find no different a fate. My jiggly breasts bounce wildly as I launch myself forward, body still reeling in bewilderment from the alien weight. I ignore the discomfiting joggle of my chest and the painful nip of cold metal against my sensitive nipples as I thrust out a clenched fist.

Yet, my movements falter. My swiftness is replaced by a clumsy, lurching motion, my strength muted by an uncoordinated softness. The accustomed path of my punch is askew, the trajectory thrown off by the surprising curve of my waist and width of my hips. I can only gawk in wide-eyed disbelief as my fist sails past the sneering goblin, my strength waning in the face of his malicious laughter.

The goblin sidesteps my blow with such ease it feels like he's dancing, taunting me. His grubby hand reaches out and clamps onto the collar around my neck. A surge of rage courses through me, but it's quickly quelled when I find my magical abilities seem to be blocked. I grunt in frustration, thrown off-kilter by my body's betrayals.

"Feisty, ain’t we?" the goblin grins, his teeth a gruesome parade of jagged yellow tombstones. His thin fingers work quickly and before I can react, a leathery leash is clipped to the collar. I reach for it, intending to yank it free, but the goblin tugs sharply. The metal collar digs into my delicate flesh, a sensation of burning humiliation exploding within my psyche. I choke, the breath strangled from my lungs, as I'm jerked forward and sprawled in the wet dirt.

As I struggle to right myself, a metallic gleam catches my eye. The goblin is waving around Whisperwind, my sacred weapon, now transformed just as I have been. The sword looks smaller, lighter, a shadow of its former glory. This isn't the weapon I have used to slay countless foes, but a mere reflection of it, twisted by the goblin's vile magic. I scramble to reach for it, but the goblin is faster. He yanks the leash once more, sending me sprawling on my belly, my breasts squished painfully against the cold stone, chafing against the metal of my humiliatingly small armor.

In all my battles as Aldric, I never once felt this sort of hopeless desperation. But now, the weight of my new body and my stolen power lay heavy upon me, eroding my confidence.

The laughable metal boots, coupled with the impossibly narrow stiletto heels, hinder me, slowing me down, while the goblin skips around with glee. I’m all wobbly.

My heart pounds in my chest, my breasts heaving against their metallic constraints. The strain on my body is starting to take a toll; I can feel my limbs growing heavy, my movements sluggish. I grit my teeth and push on, the sting of failure spurring me.

Every time I lash out, I stumble, my hips swinging out of sync, my breasts bouncing distractingly. My long hair is a curtain of darkness that obscures my vision, the silken strands whip against my face, making it harder to focus on the goblin. My frustration builds with each passing second, each failed attempt. I'm a warrior, a hero, and yet, I can't land a single punch. My body continues to betray me at every turn, its softness and awkward proportions slowing me down, making me a clumsy shadow of my former self.

At one point, I manage to get close enough, my fist almost connecting with the goblin's smug face. But he deftly ducks, his hand coming up to deliver a stinging slap to my buttocks. The noise resonates through the cavern. My cheeks burn hotter than the fiery pits of Acheron, humiliation seeping deep into my bones. I let out a roar, my voice pitched higher than before. Kind of more like a squeak.

Despite the pain, the humiliation, and the sheer hopelessness of my situation, I refuse to give in. I'm Aldric. I'm a hero. Even if my body is different, even if I'm a jiggly, curvy woman trapped in a skimpy bikini and towering heels, I won't back down. The goblin may have turned me into this, may have stolen my form, my power, and my dignity, but he can't take away my spirit.

With renewed determination, I charge again, my mind filled with a singular thought: I will not be defeated. Not by this creature, not by my own body. The fight may be long, agonizing, and degrading, but it's a battle I refuse to lose. For Elara, for my people, for my own sense of self, I will fight.

I am Aldric, and this is NOT the end of my tale!

The monstrous goblin continues to jeer, his laughter a sickening chorus that echoes through the cavern.

Fucker!

My rage flares, but it's a flickering candle against a storm. A storm of jiggling G-cup breasts, ridiculously wide hips, and an agonizingly tight metal armor-prison that digs into my tender flesh. I grit my teeth, struggling against the riotous sensations, the relentless mockery, and the sinking realization of my fall from grace.

"Look at ye, cow tits," the goblin guffaws, his voice a grating, broken glass screech. His lewd gaze travels down, lingering on my bouncing breasts. "Ain't no hero, are ya? Just a hot piece of ass in a shiny bikini!"

Another wave of heat rises to my cheeks, the blood pounding in my ears as I struggle to regain my footing.

My boots, slick with dirt, fail to find purchase. I stumble forward, my stomach churning at the sway of my heavy breasts, the restrictive armor chaffing my sensitive skin. The heels of my boots sink into the soft earth, hampering my progress.

I try to fight against the disorientation, against the body that betrays me at every turn. But it's seriously a losing battle. My once-powerful physique has been replaced by a voluptuous, womanly figure that jiggles obscenely with every movement.

I push through the dizzying onslaught of sensations, my softened muscles straining under the foreign weight. I throw a punch, then another, each one deflected by the goblin's quick reflexes.

The goblin cackles, his thin, warty fingers gripping the leash tightly. "Not so fast, luv," he grins, his jagged teeth glinting in the dim light. With a sharp tug, he yanks me towards him. I gasp, the metal collar digging into my throat, cutting off my air. My legs give out and I stumble forward, landing hard on my plush, fattened bottom.

More goblin laughter fills the cavern, bouncing off the walls and stabbing into my skull like a thousand sharp knives. I groan, rolling over onto my belly. The cold stone beneath me is unforgiving against my exposed flesh. My oversized breasts squash uncomfortably against the hard ground, the sensation stirring an unwelcome response in my nipples. I suppress a whimper, my hand scrabbling for a grip on the stony surface.

Before I can rise, a sudden weight presses down on my back. My breath hitches, my chest tightens, and I realize with growing horror what it is. It's him. The goblin. I can feel the weird floppiness of… something… revoltingly hot and damp against my bare skin, separated against the small of my back only by a strained loincloth. It's an abhorrent sensation, stirring a wellspring of revulsion in my gut. My blood runs cold as I struggle to free myself, the grim reality of my situation crashing over me.

"Give it up, cow tits!" the goblin snarls, digging his knees into my soft flesh. His gnarled fingers weave into my long hair, yanking my head back. "Ya ain't got a chance."

The truth of his words slams into me with a force stronger than any physical blow. I'm trapped. Humiliated. Reduced to a jiggling, voluptuous joke by this vile creature. The hero I once was, is now a laughingstock, a plaything for a goblin's amusement.

Exhaustion creeps into my bones, my struggles growing weaker. My heavy breasts heave against the cold stone, the metal bikini barely offering any protection. The cold seeps into my exposed flesh, goosebumps erupting across my skin. My thighs quiver, my body shaking from the exertion and the chilling cold. I feel drained, devoid of any strength to continue fighting.

The goblin's laughter dies down, replaced by a satisfied sigh. "That's a good girl," he murmurs, his hot, fetid breath fanning over my ear. I shudder, the sound of his voice sending a jolt of pure, raw fear through me. His hands move across my back, the touch revolting, but I'm too spent to react.

In the stifling silence of the mine, the goblin’s touch is particularly pronounced, his greasy fingers tracing ghastly patterns across my skin, each touch leaving a chilling path of revulsion in their wake.

"Got me-self a pretty little plaything, haven't I?" he murmurs, his voice grating against my eardrums like a rusty blade. I can see the hideously delighted grin on his face without needing to look, the image forever etched into my mind.

He yanks my hair, the pain blinding in its intensity. I try to stifle a whimper, biting down hard on my lip. The taste of iron fills my mouth. “Look at me,” he taunts. I keep my eyes resolutely shut, refusing to comply. Another sharp tug on my hair, another wave of pain. “I said, LOOK AT ME, CUNT!”

I flinch, my eyes fluttering open. That horrendous grin greets me, his beady eyes shining with wicked glee. He revels in my helplessness, my humiliation. This vile creature has claimed my dignity as his victory spoil.

“Finally found your manners, ey?” He guffaws, the sound echoing around us. His other hand, a rough, calloused monstrosity, reaches out to cup one of my fat, metal-clad breasts. I choke back a gag, the sickening touch of his skin on mine an invasion I can’t fight.

I try to struggle, my oversized breasts quivering under his slimy touch, their tender peaks painfully restricting against the cold metal of my humiliating armor. The combined sensations are incomprehensibly overwhelming.

Embarrassed heat rises in my cheeks as his touch disgustingly awakes a disturbing sensitivity I'm not prepared to grapple with. I see his grin broaden in response, the triumph, the amusement, disgustingly clear in his horrid little eyes.

In a guttural voice, gravelled but imbued with a perverse pride, he starts to hiss, "M'name's Snib, girlie. Yer new MASTER." The words form a chilling decree in the grim and desolate space we occupy.

The finality in his voice engulfs me in a wave of despair. I believe him.

"To think, once ya were some kinda warrior," he snorts in mockery, his rank breath caressing my exposed skin in ways that sends nauseating shudders down my spine. "Yer a much prettier sight now tho!” he exclaims, spanking my dirt-smeared ass. I grimace at his touch, feeling the sting spread across my flesh along with tender redness. The humiliation and the utter indignity of it fuel my rage, but I'm too drained to react.

His gangly, warty, grotesque hand reaches out, deadly gentle as it touches the collar wrapped snug around my throat. Cloaked in uncertainty, desperate questions I can't voice out loud, remain suspended in the cavernous silence, bouncing off the rocky walls. The collar feels strange and evil against my fragile neck, the chill seeping into my being, a constant reminder of my changed circumstances.

Snib smiles, a grin that's all crooked teeth and vile anticipation, his fingers continuing their nauseating exploration of my new form. He gropes my metal-dressed tits again, violent in his exploration, a guttural groan emanating from his throat.

I squeal and whimper, tears running down my cheeks for the first time in a decade. 

"This thing here, this arty-fact," he begins, tapping the cold iron with a sickening affection, "it talks to me. It tells me who you are. Aldric. The 'Mighty'... heh. Monster butcher, huh? Goblin killer.” 

How the tables have turned.

My attempts at reclaiming my dignity are rendered futile under his harsh scrutiny. He jerks my chain, his dominance evident in the powerful tug.

"It gives me power over ya. And it 'as made me smarter, too."

His words, however coarse, ring true. The collar, my leash, I realize, is the source of my degradation, my humiliation. A sense of helplessness washes over me as I understand the full extent of his insinuated control. 

"Ya think you're big and mighty? Look at ya now! Tits overflowing from your armor and your arse bare for all to see!" He gloats, his hands sweeping over my body in a humiliating inspection. I feel a horrible sensation of being prodded and dissected under his vile touch. His fingers, rough and cold, trace my curves, pausing at the swell of my breasts, squeezing the softness encased in cold metal.

My body, curvaceous and femininely delicate, can only squirm under his touch. His hands trail lower, tracing my slender waist before resting on my ample hips, squeezing them. Shame and rising anger coalesce in my chest as I grit my teeth, a low growl resonating in my throat.

His grip tightens on the leash and my defiance is forced into submission. My new body seems to betray me at every turn, succumbing to his disgusting touch, shifting beneath his strong hold. I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes, a combination of raw anger and total humiliation. The towering heels of my combat boots dig into the earth beneath, my knees weak from the rawness of it all.

Never before, during my triumphant career as Aldric the Great, had I ever been this exposed, this horrifically bare. To be trapped in such a voluptuous form, held captive by a vile goblin, is a fate I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemies. Snib's laughter rings in my ears, a grating reminder of my unwelcome transformation.

"'Ow about some rules, cow tits?" Snib sneers.

“Burn in sheol,” I hiss, struggling. I let out a low growl, feeling an overwhelming urge to lash out at him, to claw at his hideous grin and wipe it off his face.

But the metal collar around my neck seems to constrict, choking me as this intent fills me. I find my strength fading away. I feel domineered, chained, literally at the mercy of this stupid goblin.

“First rule: Obey Snib," he gloats, his voice echoing ominously in the hollow silence. His fingers trail lower, skipping over my scantily clad midriff, my soft tummy, poking my belly button with a crooked fingernail.

I maintain a cold silence, my teeth clenching hard as I force myself to endure his touch.

"Rule two: Earn me some fuckin’ gold,” he smirks, his putrid breath wafting over my face. My mind whirs, wondering how terrifying the punishments for disobedience will be. “Earn me 1000… nah… TEN THOUSAND gold - and I’ll let ya free!”

That’s a lot of gold. But I do have more than that in the bank back in Eboncrest.

Snib gets me to my feet. “I’m gonna be the richest gobbo in Zaelasia!” he croons. “But until then, yer my bitch.”

I quiver, standing there.

"We're leavin', cow tits. Your new home's me precious hut!" His words echo menacingly against the damp cave walls, a cruel reminder of my reality. The lingering feeling of nausea rises in my gut, threatening to empty my stomach.

We trudge past rows and rows of corpses, fallen goblins lying cold on the patchy mine floor. Every so often, we pass another lifeless goblin, its eyes wide open in abject horror, its mouth frozen in a silent wail. The sight of the massacred goblins paints a grotesque picture in my mind.

The sight of my past victories, what were once victories of Aldric - the courageous, the mighty, now lay bare, cruel markers of my grotesque transformation into… this. The stench of blood and death hangs heavily in the air, the grim picture too jarring to tear my eyes away from.

Snib growls as we pass a particularly large goblin I'd killed, rage simmering in his eyes. "You've had this comin', ye cold-hearted killer," he sneers at me, a sinister edge to his voice. Even under the dirt and grime, I can see his eyes gleaming, and it's not with sympathy. It's with satisfaction.

"On with ye! We've got a long journey ahead of us, and me hut won't clean itself," Snib coos, a deceptive sweet lilt to his raspy voice that sends dread pooling in my stomach. I wonder what kind of disgusting dwelling Snib lives in and what his so-called ‘cleaning’ would entail. His insinuations do nothing for my rapidly depleting courage.

His gaze fixes on my backside, his eyes trailing over my scantily clad cheeks peeking out from the edge of my armor. “Nothin’ like a pair of fleshy pillows to make a goblin's hovel more comfortable,” he cackles, the underlying meaning of his words triggering a skittering shudder down my spine.

As if to accentuate the sheer vulgarity of his statement, he gives the chain a slight tug, pulling me closer. “Guess that’s wher’ yer goin’ to earn yer keep. Mm-mm, can’t wait to break ya in proper, Elise.”

“E- Elise?”

“That’s yer name now, cow. That’s what Mr. Collar says.”

My mind is swirling, thoughts colliding like an onslaught of waves as I trudge down the winding path, the snaking chain looped around my neck a harsh reminder of my demeaning situation. In the back of my mind, I know that I am a woman now, a jarring realization that sends claws of panic skittering around my heart. My body feels alien, an uncomfortable shell that doesn't belong to me, something grotesque instead.

Pale, heaving mounds of flesh affixed to my chest jostle and wobble with each step, straining against the unforgiving constraints of metallic bikini armor. They're sensitive, raw, responding to the elements; the prickling chill of naked air, the coarse rub of worn leather. They bounce in a way that I would have never known as Aldric, an obscene sight that makes my gut twist with humiliation.

Even my hips are different—they are wider, like two full moons, my buttocks pronounced and protruding. I can feel Snib's eyes on me, the very thought of him eyeing my rear and my new feminine curves making me feel dirty, humiliated.

I glance over my shoulder at Snib, my eyes drawn to the ragged loincloth that barely conceals his enormous girth. A sickened curiosity creeps into my mind, in spite of the revulsion that threatens to expel the scant meal I managed to keep down—a grubby chunk of rat meat chased with tepid water, courtesy of Snib.

My stomach churns as my gaze roams over Snib's groin, the huge bulge of his cock leaving nothing to the imagination. Images of lewd horror flood my mind. Goblins, notorious for their virility, have been known to impregnate women with relative ease. Would my new body respond in kind? I couldn’t bear the thought.

"Enjoying the view, are ye?" Snib snarls, his voice boasting a note of sadistic triumph. His smirk widens revealing an array of sharp teeth, his feral gaze fixed on my jiggling breasts. The deviant goblin passes crude comments as he scans my voluptuous body, ogling at my immodest get-up, his disgusting gaze never straying from my bouncing tits.

"Quit ogling my tits," I grumble, attempting to assert some semblance of control over the situation. But even my voice sounds alien to me, a soft, feminine lilt replacing the stern, masculine growl that was once mine. I’m a fucking mockery of my past self. Remember Aldric? That stoic warrior who couldn't be fucked by a monster like Snib—literally. I’m nothing like him.

And that's when it hits me—there's nothing between my legs. I am complete and naked, devoid of something I once took for granted. This sudden realization sends a new wave of humiliation sweeping over me. I’m so fucking vulnerable. This, more than anything, makes me reel with a sense of oncoming doom.

The grotesque anticipation that gnaws at my gut is the constant reminder of what is to come. Snib’s wandering gaze, his crude remarks, and the overtly sexual way he looks at me—it is all a foreboding indication of what's in store for me. He's going to claim me; my mind keeps screaming, my temples throb in sync with the rhythm of my rising panic.

It's a fucking nightmare. I've been debased, stripped of my manhood and turned into a curvaceous bombshell. I'm no longer a heroic warrior, but a sexual prop for a vile goblin. The mental torment is relentless, humiliation choking me with every shameful realization. I feel a cold hand of fear snaking up my spine as it dawns on me—the beast behind me will fill me with his putrid seed.

Snib interrupts my panic-stricken thoughts with a harsh spanking on my exposed ass.

"We're home," Snib gloats, a wicked grin splitting his warty face. I force myself to look at the ramshackle hut in front of me, my new prison. Every step towards it feels like a march towards my doom, the crumbling structure a physical embodiment of my lost dignity.

Snib's crude dwelling stands perched at the edge of Zaelasia's vast desert, a stone's throw away from the imposing black walls of Eboncrest. The shambled structure is vile—an atrocious, lopsided den teetering at the brink of collapse. It is a pitiful mess made from discarded animal bones and other crudely forged materials, stained and marred by time and filth.

The stench becomes overpowering as we approach the entrance—a blend of rotten fish, stale body odour, and an undeniable hint of male musk. The sour scent flares in my nostrils, triggering my gag reflex. This odour, this hut, this creature, none of it should feel even remotely familiar... But my bewitched body wouldn’t agree. Amidst my revulsion, an unwanted feeling of heat spreads across my chest and seeps down my loins; a shameful dampness soaks my panties. My mind screams rejection; it is utterly wrong, unacceptable!

"I suppose ye be eager for a look inside, slave?" Snib chuckles, tugging at my leash to guide me towards the entrance.

His filthy enclaves offer no comfort—greasy furs strewn haphazardly, a dirty wooden table brimming with detritus, old bones, and discarded food. The sight of Snib's sleeping quarters sends a chill skittering up my spine. A cluster of furs soaked in years of sweat, bearing the nauseating remnants of his depravity. The foul odor stinging my nostrils gives an ominous and unmistakable hint about the nauseating elixirs brewed here.

Suddenly, Snib tugs sharply at my leash, pulling my attention to the spiral's straw-filled pallet in the corner. His words draw an ugly epiphany. My heart sinks as I stare at it, his perverse term lingering in the air—my 'rutting corner'.

"Isn't it a sight for sore eyes, Elise?" Snib jeers, all too pleased with my paling face, "Your new abode—ay, that be your bed."

He's marked everything with traces of his disgraceful existence. The soiled furniture, the fetid loincloth strewn carelessly nearby—they all indicate his dominance, declaring my unfortunate status.

There's no denying the humiliation flooding my senses as I take it all in. Stripped of my hero's stature, I am now a meek slave under the revolting reign of this goblin. The degradation is cutting, the leashes of my servitude yanking at my self-worth.

I roll my neck, the heavy collar chafes at my skin, reminding me of my captivity. I am Snib's property, forced to abide by his vile terms, spurred by the dread of what the coming days of would bring.

My gaze flickers across the hovel, every corner of this revolting place a testament to my downfall. I thought I had touched rock bottom, but it seems, the descent is far from over.

As I swallow the bitter pill of my predicament, the putrid stench of Snib's hovel fills my senses. It's an assault to my dignity, a cruel testament of my downfall. Each grotesque detail, from the gnawed bones scattered about to the stained straw pallet Snib indicates as my bed, sends a shudder of revulsion down my spine.

My body still aches, muscles strained from the unfamiliar curves and proportions forced upon me. Every swing of my oversized hips, every bounce of the G-cup breasts encased in the barely-there armor, ignites a flare of bitter humiliation.

In this confined squalor, I feel his ownership weighing me down, much like the metal collar around my neck. His presence seeps into every inch of the dank hut, pervading the air with the unmistakable stench of unbridled authority. I am his captive, his puppet, bound to a body that feels both alien and unnerving.

There's a terrible moment of silence, a suspension of reality, as I stand there on the threshold of my descent into abhorrent subservience. The silence stretches, but the storm inside me intensifies, its brewing darkness a churning mix of humiliation, despair, and growing anger. My heart races, the thudding echo a raw testament to my brewing turmoil.

The chuckle that breaks free from Snib's throat snaps me back to the grim reality. I glance at him. His beady eyes gleam with depraved satisfaction. I feel a surge of rage building within me, quick and fiery, burning away the initial shock and humiliation. The hatred sears through my veins, galvanizing my resolve.

Suddenly, his taunting, his grotesque existence, the galling reality of my transformation, they all cease to matter. What rises from the ashes of my humiliation is not meekness or despair, but a seething tempest of anger. It's a familiar feeling, a powerful, invigorating sensation. I am still Aldric, I realize, as anger fans the dying embers of my warrior spirit. Despite my current predicament, my spirit still burns fierce and unyielding, ready to rise against my tormentor.

The realization is sharp and potent, a shot of adrenaline spiking through my bloodstream. I straighten, my body trembling with the force of my restrained rage. The air in the squalor suddenly feels charged, the quiet anticipation replaced with an electrifying tension.

His voice snakes into my consciousness, pulling me back to the present, to the loathsome reality. And yet, his words only serve to ignite the fury building within me.

The leering grin on Snib's slacked-jawed face seems to grow wider with each passing second of my torment, feeding off of my despair and revulsion. It's the smug anticipation that really gets to me, the expectation of absolute disgrace.

Then, as if a maddening thorn jabbing relentlessly at my frayed sanity, I hear Snib starting to speak. His voice slithering through my ears like nails against a chalkboard.

"Ye know, pet..." he begins, leaning back on his haunches lazily. His gnarled hand moves down between his legs, grubby fingers pulling away a taut corner of his threadbare loincloth. "I's been thinking 'bout them tales of your wife. Such a pretty thing, that Elara, huh?"

The unspoken insinuation tugs an audible gasp from my throat, a strangled sound filled with dread and disbelief. How dare this revolting creature even speak of my Elara?

Could... Could he really force her into this same despicable servitude as well?

Snib continues his cruel mockery, practically savoring my shocked expression. "Mebbe she'd like to join us here, eh?" His hideous laughter echoes deafeningly through my head, multiplying the humiliation tenfold. "Imagine 'is, Elara and ye, a pair of slaves, serving their noble Goblin master. What a risible sight!"

The indignation within me springs forth, pressing me to retaliate, to reclaim the dignity being so ruthlessly trampled upon. I rise, stumbling ungracefully in my crammed, heel-equipped boots, snatching up Whisperwind.

I lunge, my famous sword slicing through the air with eerie grace. The familiar weight feels unfamiliar in my delicate grip. The world seems to move with molasses-like inertia, drawing out the anticipation. But instead of the sweet release of revenge, my strike halts mid-air. It’s as if I struck an invisible wall. The blade trembles, capturing the echo of my thwarted vengeance.

Snib’s laughter rings out, booming through the suffocating silence left in the wake of my failed attempt. It rinses over me like a cold shower, his cackling gales of mirth echoing in the confines of the grimy hut. "Thought you could strike your Master, did ya? Hah! That's rich, cowtits," Snib taunts, his warped dialect mocking my futile attempt.

Disbelief laces my features as I struggle against the invisible force, each strained grunt only eliciting further laughter from Snib. My strength drains, the humiliation of my futile efforts dominating my senses. The blade slips from my fingers, Whisperwind falling with a soft clatter on the grimy hut floor.

My knee buckles under me, my body giving in to the crushing weight of despair. The grimy floor of the hut greets me with a rude thud. The control of the collar perpetuates, symbolizing a reminder of my servitude. The stooped figure of Snib looms over me, basking in his victory.

His grungy fingers tug at his fetid loincloth, unveiling the repulsive sight of his erect goblin cock. 12 fat inches of grotesque purple-tipped masculinity hangs with a foreboding sense of doom. My breath stutters at the sight, the magnitude of his goblin schlong overwhelming. It's as if I'm facing an entirely different beast, one that commands disgust and reluctant fascination.

"Ent ready for this just yet, 'tits'," Snib's voice slithered into my ears, his crude sentence punctuated by a deranged chortle. His vile stench wafts over me, a grim manifestation of the looming torment.

He maneuvers over Whisperwind, the exposed flesh of his rear moons me obscenely, while his expanding member trolls over the luminous surface of my formerly cherished weapon. A guttural grunt slips through his clenched teeth, his warty fingers gripping his throbbing cock. The menacing length bulges with anticipation, the putrid scent of his precum-induced arousal punches into my senses. Each tug of his hand on his shaft sends pulsating waves of terror through me. The globs of precum drip onto the blade, each audibly splattering against the iridescent alloy, setting my resolve ablaze again with shame and anger.

—

As the perverse show circles into its noxious climax, I feel my heart quiver as if hammered on an anvil. Snib's grotesque strokes speed, the pumping of his heavy meat produces a perverted squelching sound. The gnarly shadows in the room shiver at each jerk, the crude silhouette of the jacking beast a nightmare in the semi-darkness. He's grunting, his words, a thick jumble of joyful goblin expletives smothered under his carnal grunts.

Each throb of the horrid goblin cock accompanies a fresh spurting of precum. Thick globs, like the morning dew on a diseased mushroom, drip lazily onto Whisperwind. The gleaming surface of the blade attends each foul drop with a silent shiver. The sight sends a flush of mortification over me, my lips tremble in a silent apology to my faithful sword, my comrade in countless battles.

Snib's guttural grunting fills the crude dwelling, reverberating through the still air and ricocheting off the rotting walls extending the torment for what feels like an eternity. His scrawny, green hand moves in a deliberate, rhythmic motion on his engorged member, each stroke yielding a wet slurping sound as an intimidating supply of precum smears across the veiny length.

"S-Stop it!" I stammer, my assertion weak and quivering. His only response is a deep, malicious chortle, his rhythm increasing in momentum.

Fear-driven fascination roots me to the spot as I observe his disturbing ritual. I can hear the obscene, slurpy strokes of his hand along his meaty girth, each pump releasing thicker, long strings of syrupy goblin pre-seed. The drops splatter audibly onto Whisperwind's gleaming surface, each droplet a burning brand searing its humiliation into my once-proud spirit.

The hut continues to saturate with the stench of his goblin breeding musk, the odor as horrifyingly potent as the scene unfolding before my eyes. It's animalistic and intoxicating in a nauseating way, causing my stomach to clench and my throat to constrict.

My cheeks blaze at the degradation. A voice from the depths of my belly whispers a grudging respect for of the absurdly potent display of virility, counter to the swirling distress in my conscious mind. My inner turmoil manifests as moist heat between my thighs, a traitor to my indignation.

The squelchy sounds morph into insistent, meaty slaps as Snib's motions reach a fervent pace. Ribbons of precum drip onto the Whisperwind, obscuring the iridescent alloy beneath a layer of frothy lubrication. I can't tear my eyes away as Snib's cock twitches in impending release.

"Here it fuckin' cums, cowtits!" Snib's monstrous growl shakes the hut. One final, violent pull triggers it. The horrifying 12-inch spits out a sickening burst of goblin seed, a lewd symphony to the rhythm of Snib's primal roar.

Everything plunges into a chaotic ballet as the first rope of cum hits Whisperwind, splattering in a debauched display of potency. More follows suit – powerful, cream-thick ropes of jizz dousing my once-respected emblem in a vile shroud.

Each jet is announced with a laden grunt, his endowment twitching in wild ecstasy. The sight paralyzes me – the obscene volume, the ribald power, and precision of each tadpole-laden rope striking Whisperwind. The air reeks of the utmost humiliation, each breath dragging the ghastly scent of Snib's victory deep into my nostrils.

"Hah! Look at yer mighty sword now. Ain't nothin' but a cum-soaked stick. Is this the mighty relic of a hero?" Snib's words pair with his foul laughter. The air throbs with my pounding heartbeat as wave after wave of revulsion wrenches my gut.

Crushed under the perversion of the act, my vision blurs as hot tears trickle down my flushed cheeks. I whimper amid ragged breaths, every gasp inhaling the toxic, pungent air. The weight of every single rope of his jizz glazing my sword rages a roaring storm in my mind. My lowered status, our divine Whisperwind desecrated, the very notion of losing my manhood now being cemented into reality's harsh embrace.

Snib, finished and spent, raises himself. His feet dragging over the fouled blade he hops down, strutting over to his corner with a satisfied chuckle. The daunting silence amplifies the sound of his heavy, content sigh, his demeaning victory echoic in the tiny, musty space.

I curl up and ache, the incessant tears streaming down my cheeks soaking the dry mud beneath me. My vision locks onto the Whisperwind, its ordinarily vibrant glow now dulled under the appalling mask of goblin seed. It mirrors my plight – once a figure of valor, now a pitiful toy in the lewd spectacle of a deranged goblin.

I pray to forces unseen, I plead with them to grant me absolution from this horror. "I will bring you down, Snib." I clutch onto the fragments of my battered resolve, echoes of Aldric's bold heart resonating in my trembling whisper. "I will reclaim my honor."

His deranged chuckling echoes in the background, a wicked soundtrack playing as the curtain falls on my first night of damnation.

Nights as Aldric seem a world away, and through my blurry tears, I can't help but feel as though that hero is well and truly gone now.

"Enough 'tears. Welcome home, pet." His malicious words echo in the confines of his grotesque hut.

And I sob, louder, each release echoing off the soiled walls of my new life.

"Get some rest, me pet. Got a big day ahead of us tomorrow," Snib cackles, stretching out on his strew of furs in a corner. He looks at me, the corners of his mouth twisted into a grotesque grin that only amplifies my humiliation.

The metallic bikini armor feels like a solid vice around my altered body, digging into the soft udders that used to be my powerful chest, clinging to my expanded hips and ample rear. I cringe, adjusting uncomfortably on the measly straw pallet.

It's then that Snib casually suggests, his voice heavy with the malice of amusement, "Take it off, cow.”

Tears welling in my eyes and a lump forming in my throat, I consider my options. Tired, debased, and longing for some degree of relief, I find myself reluctantly obeying Snib's suggestion. Heart pounding harshly against my chest, I fumble with the metal bikini top. It comes apart with a click.

My large breasts finally spill free, floppy and weighed down by their size, nipples pink and perky against creamy skin. Snib's mocking laughter echoes in the room as I raise an arm in an attempt to cover myself. The substantial jiggling barely contained by the feeble barrier of my arms fills my face with heat. I daringly depart from my dignity, letting the cold air of Snib's hut prick every crevice of my transformed body. The rapid whooshing of my breath fills the silent corners of the space.

Unfastening the armor around my waist frees the lower half of my curvaceous body. The barely-there bikini bottom clatters onto the filthy ground, baring my brand new pussy to the cool air of the hut, and more horrifyingly, Snib's voracious eyes. With trembling hands, I cover it my humiliation almost unbearable. I can't help the embarrassing squelch it makes when I compress my palm against it, my traitorous body making a blush flame on my cheeks.

Stripped bare, dismissed of the only thing resembling my dignity, and perversely exposed, I curl into my corner as Snib chuckles lazily, his eyes lingering on my huddled form. Tears streaming down my cheeks again, I think of my wife, Elara, definitely worried, lying on our bed alone. My hands run over my soft stomach, once rippling with abs. I clench my eyes shut tight.

We had been trying to conceive, attempting to bind our love with a symbol of hope to unfurl our joy into the future. Now though, this body, my body, is Snib's object of amusement, a vehicle for his vile appropriations.

The silence is painfully prominent, the echo crying Aldric, Aldric, Aldric, smirking at my unrecognizable reflection. Elise. I've been turned into Elise.

Elara. My heart clenches again at the thought of my wife, back home in Eboncrest. Unaware of my fate, probably pining for me, awaiting our reunion to continue our dream of starting a family. A vision of us takes over my thoughts. Her supple body underneath mine, her sweet gasps filling the room, her luscious hips spreading for me as I— No.

Tears prick at my eyes, the cry stuck in my throat. My hand darts between my legs again, praying it's all a twisted nightmare. Instead, my slender fingers meet the wet, soft hole. I recoil at the sudden contact, tears threatening to spill anew.

My vision blurs as I return to fetal position - fat tits stacked on top of each other sideways. I pray for the sweet relief of sleep. The night darkens around me, cold and unforgiving, as Snib's snores echo into the desert. My breaths grow ragged, wet with heartache and fear. Wiping at my face with the back of a hand, I surrender myself to the horrors of the night, whispering one last prayer into the darkness.

With every ounce of courage I have left, I bring my trembling hands together, my new soft fingers clasping each other. My heart beats a desperate rhythm, its beats syncopated with the stifling silence of the night. A silent sob racks my body, squeezing the last of my resolve into the words I was about to recite.

I start in a whisper, my voice raw and raspy with the bitter taste of tears, the prayer coming to me as naturally as breathing:

"Timekeeper, Elder Eon, lend me your ancient wisdom,

To endure the trials and tribulations of my present,

Lend me your strength to bear the scars of the past.

Shape-shifter, Flux, teach me the art of adaptability,

Gift me the courage to embrace the stark reality of change,

As I navigate through the chaos of my current existence.

And you, Verge, the whisper at the threshold,

I beg of you, guide me to transcend,

To rise above the horrors that mar my path,

And lead me to a future where I can reclaim my own.

Ephemerals, Triad of the Ephemeral,

In your holy balance, I seek deliverance,

From this torment, this body, this squalid captivity.

Help me remember who I was, as I become who I must.

From the heart of the past, through the crucible of the present,

To the promise of the future, I reach out,

Battered, broken, yet unyielding.

Save me from Acheron's grasp, deliver me from this trial.

Through your wisdom, strength, and courage,

Help me to keep a grip on my dwindling sanity,

Let the spirit of Aldric survive within Elise,

And may I wake to a world closer to the one I've lost."

As my prayer drifts into the darkness, the oppressive silence returns, a cruel echo of the void within. With the haunting chorus of Snib's snores serving as a reminder of my reality, I close my eyes, hoping that the words I've whispered into the night find their way to the Ephemerals. My mind spirals into the abyss of sleep, carrying with it a silent plea, an echo of my prayer: Deliver me, save me, let me be Aldric once again.