NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter 4 – Homecoming
“Ya see, cow-tits, you've got it all wrong," the vile voice of Snib, my tormentor, snaps me out of my trance.
I am reduced to a compliant, humiliated sex doll, dragging myself through the rugged wilderness straddled atop the muscular back of a desert steed named Jarkrond.
"Ya gotta learn to relax. This horse knows what he's doin'," Snib continues, a twisted smile dancing on his lips.
Relax? On the spine of an odorous horse, dressed in scanty armor that is nothing more than a metallic bikini, my massive tits jiggling with each jerking movement and my huge ass clapping obscenely with every jarring hoofbeat? Yes, I have learned to remain upright, but each bounce brings my cheeks together in an ostentatious, sweaty, endless smacking noise.
"I don't want to hear any of your advice, Snib. Just tell me where we’re headed," I retort, the collar around my neck seeming to constrict painfully at my defiant response. “I mean, m-master…” It loosens. I have learned quickly that talking back often means tighter restraints.
"Such insolence, Elise-deary. Don't worry yer busty head off. We got us a destination. Jarkrond knows where he be goin'," Snib laughs, adjusting his seating behind me. “Home sweet home!”
My thighs clench involuntarily, pressing into Jarkrond’s sides.
As we ride into the transition lands, leaving the Shifting Sands behind, streams and meadows take over the drudging sand dunes. Grassland spans to the horizon, bordered on one side by dense woods, while the grand citadel of Eboncrest finally extends into view, the sand-colored fort walls illuminated by the sun's gentle early morning rays.
My heart clenches at the sight of my hometown. The fortification that stands as a testament to human resilience against supernatural threats is the city where my wife resides, innocent and oblivious to the cruel joke fate has played on us.
"That be Eboncrest, am I right?" Snib asks in a mild, conversational tone. He is uncomfortably pressed against me from behind, imposing his omnipresence onto the stolen feminine form that was once Aldric.
“Yes, master,” I answer reluctantly, my eyes never leaving the city walls edged with the bright morning sun's brilliance.
"Eboncrest, the beacon of hope, the city of heroes," Snib muses, "An' the home of the great Aldric, the hero turned busty bimbo, trussed up like a prize hog."
I wince but bite down my retort - Snib is right, and the realization stings more than any of his other crude declarations. I am no longer the respected, loved leader of Eboncrest. I am a feminine plaything owed by a grotesque goblin, trotted back to the city I once defended proudly with only mortification waiting for me.
Suddenly, a fresh wave of memories sweeps through me. The busy central square with the smell of freshly baked bread, the well-tended park beneath the comforting shade of towering oak trees, the city's vibrant festivals, and joyful reconstructions. The protective walls that once gave me solace now only inspire dread. The echo of laughter, camaraderie, and shared triumphs feels oddly distant and out of place.
"Remember, Elise, you're protecting me now." His vile voice echoes in my ears, pulling me out of my reverie. The jovial tone fails to mask the underlying threat in his words.
“I- I’ll make sure you’re safe, master,” I stammer out, the collar loosening a bit as I do so. In Eboncrest, goblins are as welcome as a bout of Blacklimb, and Snib could easily find a shortsword buried in his rancid flesh if his canny bluster rubbed someone the wrong way.
As the distance to Eboncrest dwindles, my anxiety swells at the prospect of reuniting with my unsuspecting wife. I can't bear to project the image of the submissive, buxom woman that replaced her once-revered husband, Aldric.
"Master, when we get to the town, what will we do first?” The question falls from my lips, drenched in my apprehension. I hate how I’ve been reduced to a follower. I am used to being a leader. But Snib’s leash around my neck will be the only lead I will take.
Snib snickers, his bony shoulder blades digging uncomfortably into the tender flesh of my monstrous tits as they bounce on horseback. "Worry not, my little bitch. I have it all planned out, oh yes. First things first, we'll be paying a visit to your dear wifey. After all, it's only fair she knows where her mighty husband's run off to. Or should I say, what's become of him?"
I gulp down the bile that threatens to surge up at the implication, steadying myself against the fierce waves of shame and loathing that once again grip my heart and squeeze mercilessly.
"Yes, master," I mumble, trying to saturate myself in the knowledge that this dreadful, humiliating ordeal might soon reach its conclusion. I cling to the hope that, with my penance paid and 10,000 gold pieces handed over to the vile, monstrous bastard named Snib, I can return to my former life and once again answer to Aldric. Yet, the cruel laughter ringing in my ears as Snib continues to cruelly mock my predicament shaves thin slivers of hope away with each passing moment.
“A-And then you’ll return me to my true form? This was never meant to be, Sn- Master. I-I’m a man, not a woman!”
As we speak, Jarkrond’s virile scent tugs at my consciousness, teasing the arousal that has tortured me since my transformation. Unbidden, my hips trace small circles as butterflies swarm my stomach. I curse my treacherous body, but my need for answers grows stronger.
Snib's laughter sends shivers down my spine. "Don't get yer panties in a knot, Elise. Sure, I'll hand you back your muscles, your deep voice, and your itty-bitty pecker. But not until I get my gold."
Shifting uncomfortably, feeling the sweat pool under the metal-string embrace my swollen mound within the bikini bottom, I bethink of what fate awaits me if my quest fails. Eboncrest resides beyond the horizon, providing neither succor nor respite.
"Elise, sweetheart, you must understand. The world outside these city limits isn't as forgiving as your cushy home," Snib taunts, his breath hot against my ear. "Out there, where chaos reigns, goblins like me rise to the top. That's where we shine, that’s where we truly belong."
I hold my tongue, hardly considering Snib’s crummy little hut “the top.” He’s just gotten lucky.
"And we'll do whatever it takes to ensure that," he whispers, menace veiled within his smooth, goblin voice.
As Jarkrond's hooves thunder beneath us, I brace myself on Snib's wiry frame, loathing the pressure of my bountiful breasts squished against his foul goblin-flesh. I swallow my apprehension, unable to excise the growing dread of revealing my plight to Elara, her tears, her inevitable disbelief that I am the man she has chosen to marry.
Distracted by the impeding horror of the confrontation to come, I fail to pay heed to the pervasive musk of the throbbing, equine phallus mere inches from my face. My corrupted body betrays me; my body juices moistening the metal-string bikini bottom each time Jarkrond’s strides have me rubbing against it as we approach the once-beloved gates of Eboncrest.
We approach the gate, and instantly, I catch the suspicion in the guards’ eyes. They’ve seen their fair share of strange sights, but a goblin astride a desert steed, a buxom, bikini-clad woman pressed against him, is something entirely new.
"Halt!" The lead guard steps forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes flicker between Snib and me, distrust clear on his face.
The discomfort of the situation begins to choke me, yet I force a smile onto my flushed face. The collar around my neck feels tighter, the full weight of the situation sinking in. I lift my hand to reassure the guards, my voice shaking slightly as I start to speak.
“Good morning, sirs. My name is Elise. This is Snib, my… my… goblin servant.” The words taste like bile in my mouth. I despise the lie, but honesty isn’t an option here. “We mean no harm and ask for safe passage into Eboncrest.”
Eyebrows lift. Snickers ripple through the line of guards. One of them, a young man barely out of boyhood, can’t contain his laugh.
"A goblin servant?” The lead guard scoffs, his grizzled face twisted in a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “You expect us to believe that?”
“Please, sir. He’s docile. I assure you.” I keep my voice steady, my gaze earnest. “I know it’s unusual, but it’s the truth.”
“Then why are you the one in chains, lady? And dressed like… like that?” A burly guard, sweat trickling down his weather-beaten face, gestures towards me with a gruff frown.
Before I can find a plausible explanation, Snib comes to my unexpected rescue. "She likes the attire, sir, and the collar is for protection," he interjects with a startlingly respectful bow. His sickly-sweet goblin grin is replaced with a meek, servile expression. "She wears it to ward off potential threats and... uh, unsolicited admirers."
I fight back a blush, horrified at the narrative unfolding but acknowledging its merit in this twisted reality. My life has truly become an open-air farce. Yet, the guards nod, seemingly buying the absurd explanation, despite the red tinge of skepticism that remains.
The gate creaks open, and we trot into Eboncrest. The familiar cobblestone streets, lively market squares, and bustling townfolk welcome me back into their fold, yet with a twisted, surreal edge to the once comforting sights. Snib is grinning, seated confidently on Jarkrond, drawing stares and grimaces from the onlookers. A sense of dread slowly settles in my stomach as we journey deeper into the heart of the town.
People bustle around us, clad in typical Eboncrestian wear, in a mixture of plain tunics, ruffled blouses, and sturdy leather vests. A woman pushing a wooden cart laden with ripe apples gives us a wide berth, her brows furrowed in disgust. A group of children, too young to understand the hatred for goblins, point and giggle, their innocent curiosity tainted by the horrified looks on their parents' faces.
Shopkeepers eye us warily from their stalls. The clanking of the blacksmith's hammer falters as we pass by. A local bard strumming a lute goes silent. The town, usually filled with merry chatter and jovial banter, feels cold and hostile.
As we trot through the streets, I spot Elara's quaint house nestled between a blacksmith's shop and a bakery, their chimney spewing warm, inviting smoke into the crisp morning air. My heart lurches in my chest at the sight. How can I possibly expose her to this grotesque parody of the man she loved?
"Master, that's her house,” I gesture towards the dwelling, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach.
As we approach, I can only hope Elara will understand, that she will see past this humiliating façade and recognize the man she married. That she will stand by me, as she always has, despite the outrageous and degrading circumstances.
The reactions of the town guards, their obvious doubts about my tale, are sure to follow us to the bank. I have no doubt that I'll face a trial of questions and justifications there too. A wave of shame washes over me, even though I know I'm doing this for us. For Elara, for Eboncrest, and for the chance to reclaim my dignity. I glance at the setting sun, dreading the hours to come. For now, I have to brace myself, confront my fate and hope for the best.
With a final tug of the reins, we came to a halt before the house. My heart pounds against my chest, each beat a drumroll to the dreaded confrontation. The smell of blooming roses filled the air, a bitter reminder of the love and life I had once known.
I dismount from Jarkrond, my legs feeling shaky, the cobbles clacking against my horrible, metal stiletto heel boots heels. I turn, with a pleading look. "Please, master," I implored, "Let me go in alone. She... she needs to hear this from me."
Snib merely smirks at my pathetic plea, the cruel glint in his eyes never fading. The depths of my degradation are yet to be plumbed, it seemed.
But for Elara's sake, I have to remain strong. I have to endure. Only then can I break free from this torment and reclaim my old life. Only then can I return to being Aldric.
Until then, I need to be Elise – the busty, feminine form Snib had reduced me to, a walking, talking testament to my shame and submission. My journey of redemption begins here, in the city I once served, amidst the people I once saved, and towards the woman I still love.
—
I barely have time to adjust to the cold, iron weight of Snib's leash clipped to my collar before there she is. Elara. My wife, standing framed in the doorway of our home, her sapphire eyes wide in confusion as she takes in the obscene sight of me.
Her beautiful gaze harshly judges the exposed curves of my body, barely covered by the metallic bikini armor, sliding down my 2bodt before she recoils, a look of revulsion marring her beautiful features.
I can feel my cheeks burn with shame, but it's more than that. It's the loss of my masculinity, the objectification of my body, the damning knowledge that my wife is repulsed by me in this form.
“And who the fuck are you, miss?” Elara's voice is harsh, filled with suspicion and fear. She's looking at the goblin holding my leash, her lip curled in disgust. I can see her horror reflected in her eyes, mirrored by the tight lines around her mouth. "And why are you here?"
"Elara," I croak out, my feminine voice trembling with suppressed emotion, "It's me... Aldric." I can't quite meet her eyes, instead, staring at her chestnut hair that cascades down her shoulders in soft waves, her figure accentuated by the curve-hugging outfits she favors. The very sight of her, so familiar yet so painfully different, cuts deeper than any blade.
The fury that blooms on her face is breathtaking. "What kind of sick joke is this?" she snarls, her voice so cold it chills me to my core.
"Yer husband's a hot bitch now," Snib interjects, his voice full of smug satisfaction, yanking the leash so hard that my breath catches in my throat. The collar digs into my skin, an instant reminder of my helplessness.
“Remember the flower garden, Elara," I plead, my voice barely a whisper. "Remember... the secret garden where we first confessed our love."
Her eyes widen, and I see a flicker of recognition, a trace of the man I once was in her horrified gaze. My eyes are the same color. So is my hair. In a weird way, my bimbo face is a molded version of her husband’s original facial structure. She stumbles backward, a hand clutching at her heart. "Aldric... is that really...?" she whispers, tears welling in her eyes.
My heart clenches painfully at the sight of her despair.
"Yes, it's me, Elara," I confess, my voice choked with emotion. I can see the disbelief on her face, the horror of seeing her husband transformed into a voluptuous woman in a skimpy bikini.
A high, hysterical gasp rips through the air, Elara's hand flying to her mouth as the reality of it all sinks in. "I'm so sorry, Aldric... I'm so sorry..." Her sobs tear through me, her sadness a sharp reminder of what I've lost. What I've become.
Suddenly, her gaze hardens, her tears replaced by a fury so pure it's almost palpable. Her hands ball into fists, and she steps forward, the intensity of her anger directed at the goblin holding my leash.
"You did this," she accuses, her voice ringing with accusation. "You turned him into... into this!"
"Ooh, seems like your wife’s got a bit of fire in her, pet,” Snib mocks, leering at my wife’s ample chest. My cheeks burn with humiliation, the disgust on Elara's face only fuelling my own.
He slaps my ass, a proprietary gesture that sends a jolt of shame and a jiggle through me. The sound of the demeaning spank echoes through the interior of my house.
"But don't worry, luv, I've been takin' real good care of your hubby."
It’s the last straw. Elara's fury ignites, and she lunges at Snib, a kitchen knife appearing in her hand as if from nowhere. My eyes widen in alarm, and I cry out, "Elara, no!" But it's too late. The collar around my neck constricts, choking off my words. I collapse to the ground, the world fading as I gasp for breath, fat udders dangling below me, pulling me toward the floor.
Elara freezes, her hand inches from Snib, her fury replaced with fear for my safety. The knife clatters to the floor, forgotten as she rushes to my side. She kneels next to me, her fingers reaching out to touch the collar but pulling back at the last moment.
"I'm sorry, Elara," I manage to gasp out, my voice raspy from lack of air. "I need you to cooperate. I need you to trust me."
"You have to stop this," Elara begs, her voice a desperate whisper. "You have to fight this, Aldric."
"I can't, Elara. It's not up to me," I admit, my heart aching at the despair on her face. "The collar... Snib... They have control. We need to give them what they want."
"And what's that?" she asks, her voice hollow.
"Ten thousand gold pieces," I reply, my voice shaking. "From our bank."
The look on her face is heart-wrenching, a mix of sorrow and determination. "Alright," she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. It’s most of our savings. "Alright, Aldric. We'll get you back. We’ll pay.”
Snib looks triumphant. Holding my leash like it’s his ticket to fame and fortune.
The promise hangs heavy in the air, a vow made amidst the humiliation and despair. But it's a promise nonetheless, a lifeline that I cling to as we navigate this nightmare together.
Under the searing glare of the midday sun, we trot up the marble steps of Eboncrest Bank, a monolith of wealth and power. Snib, the asshole, has my leash in hand, and his other arm loops possessively around my waist. My tits, practically spilling from my scanty armor, jiggle with each step. As much as I hate to admit it, the coarse touch of his skin against mine stirs up unwanted sensations within me.
I push it from my mind. We’re so close!
Elara walks beside me, her fingers brushing against mine in silent solidarity. We share a look, her eyes reflecting my own desperation. It's humiliating. Snib revels in our misfortune, and I can practically feel his smug satisfaction leaking off him like foul odor.
Inside the bank, we stand before a stodgy official who eyes me, or rather my exposed tits, with thinly-veiled distaste for such a loose woman. Elara tries to explain our predicament, urging secrecy, her voice steady despite the gravity of our situation. The official, however, looks unconvinced.
"I'm sorry, but the money simply cannot be withdrawn without the presence and consent of Aldric, the holder of the account,“ he repeats, his gaze lingering on the collar around my neck.
Snib's laugh echoes through the hushed bank, a cruel, guttural sound. "Seems like you're shit outta luck, titcow," he sneers, his grip tightening on my leash.
Rage flares in Elara's eyes. "Release her, you monster," she snaps, but her demand only seems to amuse Snib further.
"Nah, I quite like my new toy. She's entertaining and oh so responsive," Snib retorts, his free hand wandering down to squeeze my ass. The unwanted touch sends a shiver of arousal through me, and I hate myself for it.
Caught in Snib's vulgar display of dominance, I squirm, my thoughts a chaotic mess of shame and frustration. The arousal gnawing at my insides is unbearable, a stark reminder of my lost masculinity and the tantalizing pleasure that comes with my new form.
Damn it. I'm not a woman. I'm Aldric, not Elise, this...busty, helpless bimbo Snib's turned me into. But the more I fight it, the more my body betrays me. It craves the touch, the domination, and I can't seem to stop it.
I glance at Elara, her beautiful face marred with worry, her lips moving in silent pleas to the unyielding bank officials. And all I can think is, what have I become? I was a man once, strong and fearless. Now, I'm just a plaything, a busty, desperate woman, ensnared in a web of degradation and lust.
No one's coming to save us. The bank won't help. We're on our own in this goddamn nightmare. All I have left is a body that doesn't feel like mine, and a growing, shameful desire that threatens to consume me.
As Snib basks in the unfolding drama, his greasy smirk deepens. "Well, looks like we'll have to find another way to earn the gold, eh?" he says, his guffaw echoing throughout the vaulted ceilings of the bank.
"But how?" Elara whispers, her voice barely audible as tears well in her sapphire eyes. She clings to my hand, her desperation palpable.
"Why, through dungeon diving, of course! Surely your 'mighty hero' of a husband can manage that, right?" Snib says, the words dripping with sarcasm. His bulbous, gnarly hand pats my ample ass again, squeezing a moment longer than necessary. I bite back a gasp, heat flaring within me at the invasive touch.
At the mention of dungeon diving, Elara's eyes widen in horror. It's one of the deadliest endeavors in Eboncrest. With only a sword and a few potions, one can easily fall prey to the terrifying creatures lurking within the labyrinthine depths of the local dungeons.
"No!" she cries out, her voice reverberating through the marbled walls of the bank. "You can't make him... her... do that. It's suicide!"
Snib chuckles darkly, his hand snaking around my waist, pulling me closer. "Well, maybe she won't be as useless as she looks. Besides, if anything happens to me," he adds, his gaze shifting to the collar around my neck, "Aldric here dies."
Elara's face pales at his words, her sapphire eyes welling up with tears. Her hand flies to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She tries to reach out to me, but Snib jerks me back, laughing uproariously at her despair.
"And don't even think about going to the town guard. If they so much as scratch me, your hubby here is as good as dead." Snib's grating voice pierces the quiet, a venomous whisper that sends a chill down my spine. "You'd best start thinking of ways to help that don't involve meddling with my plans."
With a final choked sob, Elara stumbles back, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She can't risk the town guard. She can't risk me. My safety is in the hands of this monstrous, perverse goblin. The despair in her eyes is heartbreaking. Her Aldric, her husband, is now trapped in a voluptuous, bikini-clad woman’s body, forced to do the bidding of a despicable creature like Snib.
Snib, ever cheerful, begins to lead me away, my heart aching as I watch Elara disappear behind us. Her tearful face is the last thing I see before we exit the bank, the heavy doors closing with a definitive thud.
"Right, titcow, next stop: the town shops. Time for you to earn your keep," Snib cackles, giving my leash a firm tug. As we leave the bank behind, I can't help but shudder. What lies ahead for me, for us? Will Elara ever see her husband again?
——
The town shops of Eboncrest loom before us, bustling with life and noise. Snib grips my leash, the gleam of wicked amusement clear in his eyes as we enter. Every step I take in these damned high heels wobbles, drawing more eyes to my barely clothed, voluptuous body. The townsfolk stare, their eyes roaming over the exposed flesh of my oversized tits and full, wide hips with a mix of disgust, amusement, and veiled desire. Snib cackles, basking in my humiliation.
The townsfolk we approach were once allies, friends even. They knew me as Aldric, the valiant hero. Now they see Elise, the scantily clad bimbo with a goblin for a master.
The butcher, an older man named Thom, barely conceals his shock as he gazes upon me. I used to purchase meats from him, our interactions friendly and simple. Now, he's stammering, unable to look away from my overfilled bikini top. The humiliation burns hot in my cheeks.
Next is Tessa, the seamstress. She used to mend my clothes, a woman of patience and kindness. Now, she's smirking, her eyes wandering over my jiggling tits, barely concealed ass, and Snib holding my leash. I endure her smug gaze and try not to break down.
We meet several other shopkeepers, each encounter more degrading than the last. They eye my barely-covered, jiggling tits, Snib's controlling grip on my leash. The whispers fill the air. I can almost hear the words, "busty bimbo," “trollop,” "goblin's whore."
The shame, it's unbearable.
We attempt to sell our valuables, but the offers are so low. We make a total of 7 gold. Snib's anger is palpable. His fingers tighten around my leash, and he glares at me, accusing me of not trying hard enough.
"No, master…” I protest weakly. "These things just weren’t that valuable to humans. Trash, mostly.” The response comes quick. His hand whips out, striking me across the face. I gasp, pain shooting through my cheek. I'm shocked. He's never hit me before.
His next words are a whisper in my ear, his foul breath washing over me. "You'd better start trying harder, titcow."
He yanks me to an alleyway, away from the stares. Snib's grip on my leash relaxes, but not for long. His rough hand descends, squeezing my huge, G-cup breasts. I squirm, the stimulation sending unwanted shivers down my spine. I whimper, unable to protest as he gropes me, taking out his frustration on my body.
My name is Aldric. I'm a hero, not this... not this submissive, oversexualized woman. I may be trapped in this humiliating form, but I won't let it define me. I'll fight, for Elara and for myself. I'm more than just tits and ass, I'm a person.
“Today’s a waste,” he says, looking really pent-up and frustrated.
I nod, trying to look sympathetic.
“So,” he says. “Give me a wank.”
Pinned against the cold, grime-stained stones of the alleyway, my voluptuous body on full display, I can hardly believe this is my reality. The sharp sting of his handprint on my cheek is a fresh reminder of Snib's cruelty, echoing in the repulsive proposition he whispers into my ear.
Snib's fingers, calloused and rough, graze over my trembling form, his actions calculated to humiliate me, a perverse pleasure in his eyes. I whimper, the unwanted sensation sparking a tingling in my oversensitive, gargantuan breasts.
“No, Master,” I plead, my voice shaking, green eyes welling with unshed tears. “Please… not here…” His laughter, cruel and devoid of warmth, ricochets off the narrow walls of the alley.
“Yer wife would be more obedient, titcow. Maybe I should let her do it instead.” His words punch through my gut, twisting my heart with sickening dread. The mere thought of Elara being subjected to this… No. I won't let it happen.
In a desperate attempt to dissuade him, I gulp back the rising bile and muster what little dignity I have left. “Master...,” I stutter, “...there's a...a better place. Not here… I… I know a place. A tavern… The Silver Stag.”
“I’m not paying for a room an’ neither are you,” he snarls. My mind reels, nausea rolling in waves as the explicit proposition sinks in. I shudder, the sick feeling intensifying as he starts threatening Elara. "Or maybe I should offer the same deal to your dear wife. And perhaps inform her of how her transformed hubby here pleasured herself like a slut last night."
"No!" I blurt out, tears welling in my eyes. The thought of him touching Elara... of him telling her about my shameful moment of self-indulgence... it's too much. “We can… there’s private rooms in the back… latrines…”
Snib grins.
The Silver Stag Tavern. It used to be a place of camaraderie, a haven where I, as Aldric, could enjoy a pint after a long day of adventuring. Now, it looms ominously as the setting for my continued degradation.
As we walk, the lewd jiggling of my huge tits and curvaceous ass draws curious stares. My overfilled bikini top barely contains my massive breasts, and the metallic thong does nothing to conceal the plumpness of my ass. Snib is leading me, a trophy on a leash, my enormous, jiggling tits bouncing with every step in the towering high-heels.
As we step into the tavern, a wave of noise and laughter washes over us. The familiar smell of ale, roasted meats, and a hint of pipe smoke fills my nostrils. But, mixed with the sweet, musky scent of my own body, it's almost sickening.
My eyes scan the tavern, noticing familiar faces in the crowd. The blacksmith, Gerald, nursing a pint of ale at the bar, his eyes widening at the sight of me. Betsy, the town's herbalist, her mouth agape as she takes in my scanty armor and voluptuous form. They don't recognize me as Aldric, but their judgement is palpable.
—
In this thick, swirling fog of my mind, fragments of a past life linger. Memories like phantom limbs ache, twining around my consciousness. I see Aldric—no, me, before the curse—underneath a sky scattered with brilliant stars. My—his—body intertwined with Elara's, the soft sighs echoing in the silent night, tremors of pleasure rolling through our bodies. How sweet was the taste of her lips against mine, the intoxicating scent of her skin, a delicate blend of roses and honeysuckle. His body, strong and virile, a stark contrast to the woman I now am.
I recall his smile, so full of love and promise, reflecting back in her sapphire eyes. As we exchanged vows under the sacred oak in our secret forest spot, my fingers traced the contour of her hand. Our whispers of love and promises of forever echoed through the trees, our stolen kisses, sweet and tender.
Snib... that vile creature. Treating ME, the mighty hero of Eboncrest, as his own war trophy, possession, an object to be gawked at, fondled, and ogled.
I will not resign myself to this fate.
I clench my fists, feeling the smooth, cold metal of the bikini armor against my skin. Every step I take is a torturous reminder of my jiggling curves, of the humiliating attire I'm forced to wear. But I'm still Aldric. I'm still a warrior. Deep down.
In my daydream, the pain of transformation fades away, replaced by the weight of his presence next to me. His heartbeat against my chest, steady and comforting, a reminder of our shared dreams and aspirations. The sense of belonging, of unity, of an unspoken bond, soothes the raw edges of my transformed body. I can still taste him, feel him, his presence grounding me.
Wait - no! I AM Aldric. Why did I just imagine him as someone else?
But the cruel reality breaks through my solace. The stench of Snib, a vile mix of sweat and rot, pervades my senses. His monstrous form and beastly member mock me, tormenting my thoughts. His crude comments about my femininity, his perverse interest in my body, are a far cry from the respect and tenderness Aldric always showed me.
The sight of his engorged member, oozing with his potent "elixir", nauseates me. Yet, the humiliating knowledge that I will soon have to pleasure him gnaws at my pride. But I'll endure. For Elara. I'd bear any humiliation, any degradation, to keep her safe.
As I glance at Elara, her beautiful eyes full of fear and despair, my heart clenches. She's repulsed by what I've become, horrified at my humiliation. But I see the stoic determination in her eyes, the silent fury burning in her gaze. She's my beacon of hope, my anchor in the stormy sea of degradation.
The cruel laughter of Snib cuts through the fog of my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. My breath hitches, my heart pounds against my rib cage, a wild bird desperate to escape its cage. But I steel myself. For Elara, I'll do this.
I step forward, guiding Snib towards the bathroom. The jeers and leers of the tavern crowd echo in my ears, their eyes raking over my exposed curves. But I shut it all out. I focus on Elara's words, her plea for me to reclaim my freedom, to fight against this humiliation. I have to believe that I can survive this, that we can survive this.
As the bathroom door closes behind us, I steel myself for the task ahead. Snib's crude demands echo in my mind, his threat to involve Elara spurring me on. I clench my fists, feeling the cool metal of my bikini armor against my skin.
And with the thought of keeping Elara safe from this whole situation echoing in my mind, I steel myself for the task ahead. I will endure. I will survive. For my wife. For us. For the love that we share.
Snib leers at me, his disgusting excitement clear on his grotesque face. "Well, don't just crouch there, titcow," he sneers. "Get to work."
—
The Silver Stag's bathroom is cramped and dim, with only a narrow sliver of yellowed light from an oil lamp leaking in from the tavern outside. The walls, made of rough-hewn planks, have absorbed years of ale, smoke, and other unmentionable substances, resulting in a smell that is a mixture of rotten wood, urine, and spilled alcohol.
The floors are made of wooden boards, scuffed and stained, with sawdust scattered in an attempt to cover up the messes left by inebriated patrons. There is a crude wooden trough in one corner serving as a urinal, a hole in the floor covered by a plank that acts as the privy, and a small basin with a bar of lye soap for hand washing. An old piece of parchment serves as the establishment's "do not disturb" sign - it's turned to the side indicating the room is occupied when a patron is inside.
Maybe the most unpleasant place in Eboncrest. But still, it’s FAR more clean than Snib’s hut.
The cold, hard floor digs into my knees. My heart pounds in my chest as Snib basks in the moment, his scrawny legs spread wide - he doesn’t even need to touch his cock. As it naturally inflates, it pushes aside his tawdry loincloth, reaching toward me, its crude purple tip winking with precum.
I feel sick to my stomach again, tears streaking my face. But I’m going to do this. I know by now that Snib is actually dangerous, despite his diminutive size. The heavy collar on my neck could let him choke anything from me.
But still, I chose to do this. I agreed to be staring down the drooling barrel of this 12-inch gobbo schlong, a notorious tool of destruction in the outlying settlements. It was why most towns have walls these days.
Goblin hordes were known to pillage towns, and drag the women back to their dens, if the townsfolk weren’t able to repel them. Sometimes they would strike during the day, kidnapping women working in the fields.
Of course, there were all different species of goblins, but they all shared certain “properties.” Their disgusting little bodies were known to evolve pheromones that intoxicate their targets if exposed long enough.
Usually, though, that was only if victims were un-rescued for months. Two years ago, I rescued some villagers from a goblin den. The girls were in a sorry state, but they were able to fully mentally recover and re-integrate with their families, after significant magework and medical attention. That was from two weeks of captivity.
Goblins have ranges of intelligence - some closer to a monster, little more than animals. Whereas some live in well-structured society and practice religion. A horrid little religion, of course. I had seen the idols in Snib’s hut.
Snib’s cock has achieved full hardness without a single touch from me. From its tip, leaks more and more of that potent, off-white precum. Which according to some experts, has alarming biological effects. It almost seems like there’s steam rising from it…
“Check THAT out!” Snib crows proudly, enjoying the sight of me going cross-eyed at the smegma-slimed fuck-muscle aimed right at me.
He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. He basks in the moment, the disgusting presence of his inhuman, glistening erection shimmering in the dim light.
I wrinkle my nose. I feel the intense heat coming from it. My heartbeat pounds in my ears.
Fingers quaking, I grab a parchment tissue from the wooden box above, using it to clean the precum off the tip. If at all possible, I’d like to not come in contact with that potent filth at all. Through the paper, I feel the bulk of his tip, the pulsing eagerness.
“Good luck, cowtits,” he winks as I gingerly touch the paper to his urethra, watching it soak through, getting smeared and soggy. Daintily, I also wipe the splatters that have dribbled on the floor, not wanting to get them on my knees.
“Ye’ve got a dribble of yer own, slut,” he says, pointing at the humiliating rivulet trickling down my thighs. “Can’t control yerself, eh?”
I say nothing, blushing fiercely, wiping off Snib’s tip again, as another string of cock-drool has emerged. I toss the soiled paper down the latrine. The stench fills my nostrils more and more, filling my lungs with the excessive virility of this thing. It doesn’t want to be contained…
It’s revolting being in this enclosed space such a massive thing. My armor digs into my soft skin as I struggle to get a little distance from it. My fat tits hang heavy, making me lean slightly backward to balance myself better.
My hands are still shaking. Snib just leers.
I take another piece of the soft tissue paper, then take another one. And another one. I use them and wrap them around Snib’s thick sheath.
He chuckles. “A little squeamish, are we?” he says.
“It’s so dirty, master…” I say. I am NOT getting that waxy grease on the outside of it on my hands.
Inhaling, I reach around the tissue-covered monstrosity, putting one hand around it. I whimper again. Gods, I feel it pulsing. Somehow, through three layers of paper, I feel the intensity of it. The excessiveness.
He groans slightly, feeling the pressure of my slender fingers wrap around him for the first time. It takes both hands to fully enclose him, to apply pressure.
“Fuck, bitch, that feels good.” I haven’t even started moving. He repositions himself, legs spreading wider, sending more of his musk straight into my brain. His fat dick bobs, spattering a little bead of precum straight down, falling directly onto my exposed knee.
I yelp - it’s hot! Quickly, I let go of him with my left hand, grabbing another tissue and putting it over my knee, soaking up the off-white filth. The scent is making me foggy all over again.
“There’s nothing you can do, cow tits,” he says. “You’ll be smelling like me after this.”
That thought revolts me. Seeing the looks on the faces of the tavern-goers as I walk by, smelling like goblin seed. The crude fluid seems to soak into my skin with a perverse haste, leaving me feeling more hot, flushed, with this tightness in my belly.
I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. With deliberate slowness, I begin to move my hands up and down Snib's throbbing shaft, trying not to gag at the putrid smell emanating from it it pulses, hot and huge under my fingers, the heat, shape, and full horror of the massive breeding tool heavy and dominating.
The layers of tissue barely provide any barrier against the excessive precum that oozes from his bulbous head, the paper quickly disintegrating, becoming a wet, sticky mess in my hands.
I feel forlorn, stopping and picking up even more tissue, tossing the sheets I’ve used, noting there’s not that many left. And I REALLY need to save some for his climax. No WAY am I getting that stuff on me. I sniff my fingers - they’re already soiled. Already sticky and webbed with off-white precum.
“Ye look pathetic,” Snib remarks. “I like it.”
My cheeks flush.
I let out a faint whimper as my my hands continuing their slow, torturous movements along Snib's horrible, engorged cock, a fresh set of tissue between me and IT. The filth-ridden paper does little to protect me from the overwhelming heat of his pulsing member and the nauseating scent that permeates the air. But still, I persist, fighting to keep control of the situation, to prevent more of that vile slime from covering my hands.
“Faster, cunt,” he says. “More grip. If ye want me to even finish. This feels like nothing.”
With deliberate caution, I increase my pace slightly, my fingers gliding up and down the veiny, smegma-waxed shaft. Snib moans, a sickening, grotty sound that sends a shiver of disgust through my body. His musk is overpowering, the smell so potent that it seems to permeate every fiber of my being. It coats the tissues, soaking through with every stroke, and I can't help but feel it seep into my very soul.
The sound is loud - wet squelches as I pump up and down, trying to make longer strokes, gripping tighter. The tissues get more soggy, and I clench my eyes tight, wrinkling my nose.
“Mmm,” he says, relaxed. “That’s a bit more like it, girlie.”
His profuse pre-cum continues to flow, droplets pooling, escaping the flimsy barrier of tissue, landing on my exposed thighs, my trembling knees. Each drop feels like a burning brand against my skin, an indelible mark of my shame and submission. Yet, I dare not let go of the task at hand. Otherwise I’ll need to start again.
“If only yer pretty little wifey could see ye now,” he grins. “Waddaya think she’d say?”
His cock twitches mightily between my hands, an extra rancid little strand of vile precum burning a steaming hole in the tissue, mercifully splattering the floor rather than me.
My heart clenches at the mention of Elara, the image of her sweet, innocent face contorted with horror and disbelief. I can't let her see me like this, debased and degraded, pleasuring this repugnant goblin.
I’m doing this for her, I tell myself. I need to do this. Fate has conspired against me.
I grit my teeth, my hands continuing their tormenting rhythm, pumping along Snib's monstrous member. The tissues barely hold up against the force of his twitching, throbbing cock, the obscene heat radiating from it making my palms sweat and my skin tingle with a mixture of trepidation and biological reaction.
His beastly precum oozes with increasing intensity, the amount overwhelming the flimsy barrier of tissue. Sticky droplets escape, landing on my trembling knees, my exposed thighs, and the floor, creating a slick, nauseating mess. I sob, my body stiffening at the sheer disgustingness of it all. But I need to continue - the last few tissues need to be saved for the final moment. Last night, I saw him hose town the entire wall of his hut.
As Snib's cock twitches and bucks in my hands, my fingers struggle to maintain their grip. I feel small tremors cascading through his throbbing shaft, the heady mix of dominance and degradation clawing at my sanity.
“Going a little misty-eyed there, cumdump,” he grins down at me.
The residue of Snib's precum mingles with the remnants of destroyed tissues, creating a grotesque slurry that coats my hands, creating an impossible mess to contain. I'm unable to escape the stinging heat, the filthy texture, as it smears across my trembling skin.
Now, the handjob has become excessively sloppy, possibly worse than if I never used those damn tissues at all. I feel his skin now, his slick, grimy gobbo cockskin stretched over his heavily erect fuckstick.
The knock on the door grows louder, more insistent. Impatient voices merge with the rabble of the crowded tavern outside, their tones growing restless and disgruntled. The din is barely audible over the disgusting slopping sounds filling the air in the cramped, poorly ventilated bathroom.
The sounds echo off the grimy walls, adding to the shame I feel for what I'm doing - the rhythmic, gut-wrenching squelching of my hands on Snib's monstrous cock. The goblin's pleasure comes in loud, vile groans, grunts and giggles, punctuating the general hum of the tavern outside, piercing through my spiraling thoughts like sharp, rotten daggers.
"Yer sobbin' like a babe," he chuckles, his guttural goblin voice oozing with perverse enjoyment. "But ye still got that pretty, juicy pussy dripping, don't ye, girlie?"
His words cut through me like a wickedly sharp blade, a sadistic reminder of my body's unwanted response. Despite the mental torture, despite my absolute disgust at the situation, the magical curse placed upon me ensures I'm physically reacting - a heat blossoming within me, a dampness soaking through my smallclothes. I whimper in response, my face flushing with shame and embarrassment. I wish the earth would swallow me whole, rather than face this torment.
"Go on, then," he says, his voice a toxic drawl. "Wrap those sweet fingers around me. Tighter, bitch."
He bucks forward, forcing his monstrous cock between my hands. It feels as though I'm holding a massive, pulsating log of flesh, the texture alone causing a ripple of nausea to churn within me. I tighten my grip, as commanded, my fingers struggling to close around his inhuman girth. I try to ignore the way the engorged veins ripple beneath my touch, the slick coating of his precum lubricating my strokes.
"Almost there, cunt," he grunts. "Almost there."
His body tenses, the trembling within his monstrous cock escalating, its twitching growing more violent. With a desperate, trembling hand, I reach for the stack of clean tissues, pressing them against his throbbing tip just as the first gut-wrenching pulse of his orgasm hits.
I yelp in surprise, the force of his hot, putrid seed shooting through the tissue barrier with a wet splat. It’s an unearthly amount, impossible to contain. My hands shake, trying to hold the now sodden tissues in place as more and more of his disgusting release shoots forth, filling the air with its sickly, pungent scent. The sound is revolting, the sight even more so, as thick ropes of off-white goo start to soak through the tissue. I desperately add more, but it’s futile.
Just when I think I've managed to stem the deluge, the tissues give way. With a powerful squirt, the first putrid jet erupts through the tissues, spurting out powerfully through the soggy hole. It splatters heavily against the rough wooden wall behind me, steaming and glistening in the dim light.
The once sterile bathroom soon fully reeks of Snib's climax, the acrid stench permeating everything, the sickening scent of sweat and sex overpowering and nauseating.
The memory of Elara's sweet face, her trusting eyes, her soft voice, all become blurred, drowned out by the grotesque, sordid sounds of Snib's release and the inescapable smell that's rapidly saturating the air. My vision blurs, tears spilling down my cheeks. The metallic taste of my own sobs is bitter in my mouth.
"Damn, that was good," Snib says, leaning back against the wall with a satisfied sigh. His monstrous cock twitches one last time, a final strand of pungent goo squirting out, landing in a thick glob on the floor. The sight makes me retch.
Meanwhile, outside, the impatient knocks continue to reverberate through the room, loud curses and threats of breaking down the door punctuating the drunken cacophony of the tavern. I press the now sodden tissues against my soiled hands, trying to scrub away Snib's filth, to no avail. His scent lingers, clinging to my skin, a cruel reminder of the abhorrent act I’ve committed.
The sickening, overwhelming stench of Snib's potent release is all around me, the image of his monstrous cock imprinted in my mind. I swallow down the lump of despair in my throat, a bitter taste of regret tainting my tongue. The metallic bite of the collar around my neck feels heavier than ever, reminding me of my enslavement, my submission, and the way I’ve betrayed Elara.
My heart pounds in my ears, blotting out the fading echoes of Snib’s monstrous climax. Desperately, I turn to the small basin, the rudimentary bar of lye soap sitting next to it. As I reach for it, Snib's clawed hand clamps onto my wrist, his amusement clear in his grotesque, piggish eyes.
“No need, titcow,” he sneers. “We’re going back to the hut. You can clean up there.”
The harshness of his tug makes me stumble, nearly ripping me from my kneeling position. Bile rises in my throat as I register the thick coating of Snib’s filth on my hands, the obscene smell making my stomach churn. His earlier release reeks, my nostrils full of it, a grotesque bouquet of rancid musk.
The bathroom door creaks open, revealing the rowdy tavern beyond. Patrons, too drunk to notice the urgency in Snib’s movements, laugh and joke amongst themselves, the scene a stark contrast to the debauchery that just transpired in the tavern’s smallest room.
But the line of patrons waiting to use the bathroom soon catches sight of us, their raucous laughter dying down as they take in my scantily clad form, Snib's leer, and the pungent smell that trails behind us. The shock on their faces turns into disdain, their lips curling in disgust as realization dawns on them.
"Goblin-lover!" one burly man jeers, his mouth twisted in a revolting sneer. The others join in, their laughter cruel and biting.
"Bet she's carrying his brat already!" a woman cackles, her eyes dancing with malicious glee. She's flanked by two men who can't contain their laughter, their gazes running lewdly over my barely clad body.
"Can't believe she let that runt touch her! I bet he didn’t even have to use force!” an older man, clearly inebriated, sniggers, his toothless grin widening with each word. His comment sends a wave of laughter through the crowd.
"Look at that ass! So plump and ready!" A woman, more sober than the rest, points at my nearly naked rear, a cruel smile playing on her lips.
A chorus of derogatory slurs follow as Snib leads me through the crowd, their laughter and insults battering against my back. I blush in mortification, my body unfortunately betraying me with its involuntary jiggles and sways, amplifying my humiliation. Snib, on the other hand, seems to revel in the spectacle, leisurely strolling through the jeering crowd, my leash taut in his hand. The way he revels in their scorn is monstrous, a goblin's crude satisfaction.
Something wet and squishy smacks against my leg. I glance down to see a smashed tomato clinging to my thigh, its seeds and juice dripping down onto my metallic boot. The laughter in the room reaches a fever pitch.
I've been paraded, ridiculed, degraded. Their words sting, each insult and jeer a knife twisted into my already fragile ego. But, as Snib steers me towards the exit, the cold evening air of Eboncrest hitting my exposed skin, I can't help but feel relieved.
The chill of the night air bites at my exposed flesh, a stark contrast to the feverish heat still clinging to my soiled hands. The constricting metallic bikini I wear offers no protection against the cold, its scant material glinting ominously under the somber glow of the moon. My high-heeled metal boots echo sharply against the cobblestones as Snib tugs at my leash, leading me towards the waiting horse. The rough rope burns against the tender skin of my throat, the enchanted collar it's attached to feeling more like a noose with every passing moment.
Through a blurry curtain of tears, I glimpse Elara standing a few paces away, her finely tailored dress swaying gently in the evening breeze. Her sapphire eyes are wide and filled with dread, their usual sparkle dimmed by the red veins of anguish spreading through them. I can almost hear the silent beat of her heart shattering, a mirror to my own.
"Elise, don't..." she pleads, her voice barely a whisper, choked with tears and desperation. She extends a trembling hand towards me, as if trying to bridge the impossible distance that's been forced between us.
The urge to rush towards her, to seek comfort in her embrace is overwhelming, but I resist. I must resist. Yet, as her fingers brush against mine, a startled gasp leaves her lips. I watch in horror as she recoils, her sapphire eyes growing wide with disgust. The sticky, sickening residue of Snib's climax taints my hands, marking the innocence of our touch with an unwanted reality.
The bitterness of this moment is beyond words. Snib’s monstrous grin cuts through the heavy air, his pleasure at our shared heartbreak painting an ugly portrait of sadistic delight on his wart-covered face.
Snib's rough hand tugs at my leash, the metallic clink echoing through the cold night, pulling me towards Jarkrond. My eyes linger on Elara, a vision of despair framed by the moonlight. A lump forms in my throat, her tearful plea reverberating in my ears. "Don't leave me, Aldric..." I stumble towards the horse, my body resisting the will to leave her behind. I see her crumple, her heartbreak tearing me apart, her silent screams becoming the symphony of my torment.
I mount Jarkrond, the sand-colored coat scraping against my exposed, tender skin, the cold biting through my scant armor. A shudder ripples through my body as the horse's firm back presses intrusively against my fleshy buttocks, my obscene curves swallowing the rough coat. The sensation sends a humiliating quiver through my body, the ripples coursing through my unnatural proportions, causing my engorged breasts to heave and sway with every breath.
"Don't you look a sight, Elise," Snib jeers, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight in the moonlight. I’m forced to clutch his grubby figure for balance.
My body jolts as Jarkrond sets off, the steady rhythm sending a cascade of ripples through my hefty tits, each bounce a sickening reminder of my curse. My nipples harden against the cold wind, the skimpy metal bikini doing little to protect my sensitive flesh from the biting chill. I clench my thighs, the friction of Jarkrond's strong muscles against my crotch a disconcerting sensation, the cruel realization of my predicament tearing a whimper from my lips.
I glance back at Eboncrest, my heart breaking at the sight of Elara, her figure growing smaller in the distance. I lift my sticky hand, the cruel reminder of my betrayal catching the moonlight, her face etched in my memory, tear-streaked and forlorn.
"Stop staring," Snib's harsh words cut through the cold air, forcing my gaze away from my life, from my love. His cruel laughter fills my ears, the ominous silhouette of his hut looming ahead, marking the end of my dignity and the start of my torment.
The remnants of Aldric's courage lurk in the corners of my heart, a dim beacon in the cruel night, a spark that fuels my resolve. But the journey ahead is fraught with humiliation, with degradation, and each step Jarkrond takes sends another jolt of despair coursing through me. I grip Snib tighter, my knuckles whitening in the moonlight. "I will survive this," I whisper, the words carried away by the night breeze. My heart breaks with each fading echo of Elara's voice, the ominous silence of the desert swallowing my hope.
Within my heart, a fire still smolders. The beacon of hope that is Elara ignites a flame within me, a promise to endure, a vow to return.