The Goblin’s Pet (18+) (Now a CYOA!)

In the chill of the early desert morning, I shuffle around Snib's primitive hut, getting breakfast ready as my sleepy goblin overlord had commanded.

Despite the primitive conditions, I manage to prepare a modest breakfast with the desert berries and cactus fruit I’d foraged yesterday. The juice from the fruit sizzles and pops in the rickety pan, filling the hut with a sweet, tangy aroma that somehow doesn't feel out of place amidst the permanent stench of Snib's musk.

I really hope I’m not getting used to this.

"Oi, cowtits, hurry it up," Snib grunts from his makeshift bed, smacking his lips in anticipation. His coarse accent grates against my eardrums. "M' stomach ain't gonna fill itself."

"Yes, Master," I respond mechanically, holding back a grimace. The damned collar around my neck compels my obedience, enforcing a demureness that's a stark contrast to my former self.

I serve him his breakfast, a makeshift concoction of mashed cactus fruit and stewed desert berries. The way Snib's beady eyes follow every movement of my tits as I place the dish before him, makes my skin crawl.

But as he shovels down the food with voracious abandon, I can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction. Despite the meager ingredients, the dish isn't half bad. I suppose there's something to be said for having to make do with what you have.

After he's finished, Snib wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a disturbingly satisfied expression on his warty face. “Nice job, cow,” he says, his words half muffled by a belch.

Now that breakfast is over, he looks at me with a gleam in his eyes that sets off alarm bells in my head.

“Slut,” he begins, his voice a disturbing coo, "I've got a proposition for ya."

His words send a chill down my spine. "What kind of proposition, Master?"

He grins, a horrifying display of jagged, yellow teeth. "Yer getting all squirmy, aren't ya? Can smell ya from 'ere," he sneers, nostrils flaring. The reality of his words hit me like a slap to the face. My body, traitorous and aroused by his disgusting pheromones, betrays my desperate attempts at control.

"What if I let ya visit yer dear little wifey, Elara, if ya start giving me a little pleasure each day?" He grins at my stunned silence, one of his hands dropping to his bulging loincloth, his intentions dreadfully clear. “A little deal between me and my slave.”

“I-” my voice is shaky at that thought of seeing my wife. “If you’re there, master, it’s so hard for me…” Visiting her two days ago was hell. Snib was there, groping my ass while my wife watched.

“No,” the goblin says. “I mean ta say, you and your wifey get some precious alone time. One whole day. Yer collar stays on, o’ course…”

The damnable object seems to chime in with Snib’s proposition, the magic within pulsing in tune with my quickened heartbeat. It’s reminding me that any opportunity to regain some control over my life, no matter how demeaning, is a chance worth considering.

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes as I feel the dampness between my legs grow. The choice isn't even a choice at all. With a shaky sigh, I lower my gaze to the floor.

His proposal rings in my ears like a siren's song, weaving a web of twisted hope and despair. To be with Elara again... alone… just the thought of it stirs an ache in my heart that’s more potent than the throbbing need between my legs. And yet, what a price to pay. My horrid master's daily pleasure, a demeaning task that sends a wave of humiliation washing over me.

Even as the disgust curdles in my stomach, I feel the dampness increase, feel my body betray me with its eager response to Snib's grotesque proposition. A strange heat unfurls within me, curling around my belly like a treacherous serpent, seeping down into the warm folds of my wet pussy. The thought of pleasuring him, this perverse goblin, is loathsome, but my body seems to revel in it, becoming even slicker at the prospect. It’s not just the wetness that betrays me. My heart pounds in my chest, a primal drum echoing the arousal my mind attempts to suppress.

My breath hitches as his hands drop to his bulging loincloth. I shouldn't be focusing on the size of it, the virility it holds, and yet I do. My body has a will of its own - I’m a disgraceful, needful puppet craving his touch, his control, his potency. The biological response is primal and terrifying in its intensity.

My nipples harden as I remember the Silver Stag bathroom, my belly tightens, and the wetness... the incessant wetness becomes a flood. My metal panties are slick, sticking to my swollen folds. I’ve become such a quivering, disgraceful creature.

I fear what this unending arousal is doing to me. Each day, it eats away at my resolve, eroding the strong warrior I once was, replacing Aldric with this docile, obedient creature that exists solely for Snib's pleasure. I feel my will slipping, my thoughts increasingly consumed by him and the unsatisfied heat between my legs.

I reason with myself, bargaining that if I give in a little, if I surrender some of my control, maybe I can gain mastery over my treacherous body. But it’s a slippery slope, as slippery as my own soaking pussy. The more I give, the more my body seems to crave him. It's a downward spiral, a loop of torment that I fear will lead me to a point of no return.

"Okay, Master," I whisper, hating the desperation that seeps into my voice. "I'll... I'll do it."

His victorious cackle echoes through the small hut, adding a sinister backdrop to the desert sunrise, drowning out my silent sobs. I stand there, crushed under the weight of my own surrender, the chilling morning wind now a bitter mockery of my failed defiance.

“Well then,” he says. “I think it’s time for my mornin’ ball-draining.”

—

No more tissues. This time, I have to stroke him with my bare hands.

I take in a shallow breath, watching as Snib's cock pulses in the dull light, drooling obscene amounts of precum that stain the wooden floor beneath him.

There are no tissues here, no means to shield myself from the vile touch of his dick. My heart pounds like a war drum in my chest, my fingers twitching nervously. Yet, there's a perverse sense of anticipation curling in the pit of my stomach. Fear? Arousal? Both are terrifying in their own right.

Swallowing down the lump of fear in my throat, I steel myself for what I have to do next. I reach out, my hands trembling as they hover above the monstrous shaft.

The moment I wrap my hands around it, the reality of my situation hits me like a sledgehammer. There are no barriers this time, just raw skin against skin, my dainty hands barely able to enclose the sheer girth of his member.

"Gods..." I whimper, the pulsing heat of him searing into my palms. Through the slick, smegma-coated skin, I can feel his blood thrumming beneath the surface, feeding the hardness. His cock is so thick, so incredibly full, that it feels like I'm holding onto some grotesque living weapon, crafted for the sole purpose of domination and breeding.

"Like that, do ye?" Snib grunts, his lewd smirk making my stomach twist.

His cock throbs at my touch, my fingers sliding over the veiny surface, struggling to get a firm grip. It's hot, almost scalding, the obscene length of it radiating a potent heat that makes my breath hitch in my throat. The greasy film coating his member feels revolting, the unnatural slickness allowing my hand to glide up and down the shaft with a sickening ease.

Every pulse, every twitch sends another spurt of precum from the engorged, purple head, droplets splattering onto the floor.

I'm hit with a wave of nausea, but I swallow it down, choking back a sob as I force myself to continue.

"There, there," Snib rasps, his voice a hoarse rumble that reverberates through the small hut. He watches, his beady eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "Yer hands are made for this, cow tits. Just wrap them around and stroke... up and down... like that."

His every word is a twist of the knife, a violation of my pride, my honor. The thought of him, watching me, guiding me in this debauched act... It burns through me, a heat that has nothing to do with the unforgiving desert sun outside.

I can feel every vein, every throbbing pulse under my touch. His precum, thick and viscous, coats my hands, making my strokes smoother, easier, a slippery dance of shame and debasement. His cock twitches under my touch, spitting more of its milky fluid out, which I’m careful to avoid.

I look around the room, thinking about his cum. Where is it going to go? No way am I letting him cum on me…

"Bet you're loving this, ain't you?" Snib goads, his words punctuated by a low, rumbling chuckle. His hips thrust up, seeking more of my touch. "Maybe I'll have you drain my balls twice a day, yeah?"

The mere thought sends a shudder of revulsion through me. But there's a spark there, an undeniable arousal that adds to my shame. I can't help but imagine it, how I'd become his personal plaything, my body dedicated to pleasuring his lewd desires.

"Imagine if yer wife could see you now," Snib says, a gleeful grin pulling at his lips. "Bet she'd piss herself laughing, seeing her husband as a cock-milking wench."

No, she would just be heart-broken. My face burns, the heat matching the one that seems to spread from my hand to my core. Yet, my hands keep moving, drawn to the primal heat, the pulsing hardness.

My collar feels heavier, chafing against my throat. My breaths come out in shaky gasps, my own body jjiggling in the restrictive metal bikini with each stroke. Snib's moans grow louder, his cock throbbing harder, his body tense with anticipation.

“All the way to the base, cow tits," Snib orders, his voice a deep, throaty growl that rumbles across the small hut. "That's where all the good stuff is...”

My hands close around the base of his thick, pulsing member, wrapping themselves around the sheer girth of it. The root of the tree. I can feel every vein, every pulsation, every twitch. It’s a tower of raw impregnating power, intimidating and repulsive. It's hot and damp against my skin, coated in a sticky layer of pre-cum. It leaks from the engorged, purple head in thick, viscous droplets, stringing between my fingers.

"Like that," he grunts, hips bucking slightly. "Harder."

I whimper, my hands involuntarily tightening. The monstrous organ seems to pulse in an obscene rhythm, each beat a shocking jolt through my fingers. The heat is searing, the disgusting reality of my situation sinking in even further.

The goblin’s massive balls twitch and churn beneath my touch, a wet, heavy presence that speaks volumes of his virility. I can almost see the squirming sperm within, writhing, begging to be released. Begging to get me pregnant. My heart hammers in my chest.

"Yea... that's it,” Snib sneers, his beady eyes fixed on my trembling body. "Pump it. Milk it. You're nothing more than a goblin's slut now."

The words sting. My body, once a weapon, a protector, is now nothing more than an instrument of pleasure for this vile creature. The metallic tang of my own humiliation is a bitter pill to swallow, but I have no choice.

"Again," he orders, his voice laced with sadistic pleasure. "Always usin’ both hands. I want to feel those pretty little fingers ALL OVER my cock."

I comply, my hands moving in tandem to stroke up and down the throbbing shaft. The heat is overwhelming, my palms sliding easily over the slick surface. My thighs squeeze together.

"Fuck... yehhh,” he rasps, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Just like that, cumdump. Keep stroking... keep pumping... you're doing a good job. Maybe I'll have you drain my balls twice a day. I bet that wet lil pussy would like that.

My body reacts, a hot flush spreading across my cheeks. The thought of doing this again, and again, is both horrifying and intensely arousing. My body jostles and jiggles in the restrictive metal bikini.

His laughter rings out in the hut, a vile, guttural sound that echoes off the stone walls. "That's it... keep going... keep milking... you're my personal little cow now."

And so, I do. I keep stroking, keep pumping, my hands a slave to his commands. His cock twitches and pulsates in my hands, his body reacting to my touch. His grunts and groans fill the hut, drowning out the desperate whimpers that spill from my lips.

My body responds, a betrayal that stokes the flame of my humiliation. Yet, amidst the shame, I find a perverse sort of satisfaction. For despite everything, I am still here, still breathing, still fighting. I am not broken, and I refuse to be.

"Keep going," he orders, his voice thick with lust. "Keep pumping…”

The minutes feel like hours. Snib's breath grows more labored, his chest heaving beneath his leathery, green skin.

"Gonna... gonna cum, cow tits..." he rasps out, his voice thick with impending climax. His hips buck, urging me to continue, faster and harder. "Gonna cover those big, fat tits of yours..."

I recoil, my heart hammering in my chest. "No... no, master... not that..." I whimper, the fear evident in my voice. I don’t want to end up like the captive girls who lose their minds due to the powerful phermones.

Frantically, I reach out, my hand finding a large mug on the rickety table nearby. It's crude and chipped, but it's the only thing I can use. With renewed urgency, I position it beneath the throbbing, massive member, ready to catch the explosive release.

The one-handed strokes become more desperate, my fingers digging into the veiny girth of his cock. His grunts and groans grow louder, filling the hut with an obscene symphony of climax. My mind spirals into a whirlwind of fear and desperation. I remember the ropes of cum he usually releases... thick, writhing, off-white ropes of goblin seed... Will the mug even be big enough to contain it all?

I try to push those thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand. My free hand gently squeezes his heavy balls, trying to placate his complaints. "Master... please..." I beg, my voice barely a whisper, "into the mug..."

I can feel his massive member twitching and pulsating in my hand, the heat of it nearly unbearable. His grunts turn into low growls, his body tightening as he nears the edge. “Keep... stroking... cow tits..." he manages to grit out, his eyes narrowing to slits.

The thought of all that vile seed covering me sends chills down my spine. I shudder at the thought, my mind reeling at the possible outcomes. Would I lose my mind? Would I become a mindless, bimbo cow, forever under the control of this goblin? I'm on the brink of a panic attack, my breaths shallow and quick.

My hand moves on autopilot, the rhythm of it steady and sure, despite the fear coursing through me. My other hand keeps the mug in place, shaking slightly. The tension in the room is palpable, a thick, heavy blanket that engulfs everything. I can only hope that the mug will contain it all... because if not, I have no idea what might happen.

His grunts grow louder, more forceful, his hips thrusting into my hand. I can feel the impending release, the head of his cock swelling under my touch. Any moment now... any moment... the climax is close. All I can do is hope... hope that I can contain it... hope that I can avoid the inevitable... hope that I can maintain control.

But for now, I continue... stroking, pumping, milking... the image of the thick, potent ropes of goblin seed seared into my mind. The fear is all-consuming, a dark, swirling vortex that threatens to consume me. I can only pray that it's enough... that I can withstand it... that I can survive... for now.

And then, with a guttural, bestial roar that echoes off the walls of the ramshackle hut, Snib hits his peak. His entire body convulses, his knotted muscles tightening beneath his leathery green skin as his member throbs and pulses in my hand, each twitch like a small earthquake shaking me to my core.

The first jet of cum is forceful, blasting out with such raw, unbridled power that it nearly sends the mug flying from my hand. Thick, hot, and heavy, it lands with an obscene squelch, a heavy glop that makes the mug shudder in my hand. It's a sickly off-white color, almost glowing in the dim light of the hut, a testament to the goblin's potent virility.

The smell hits me next, a nauseating aroma that makes my stomach churn. It fills the air, overpowering and heady, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. It's a scent that speaks of primal, raw sexuality, of a creature that thrives on its own hedonism. I gag, my throat closing up, my body fighting to expel the toxic fumes.

Each subsequent spurt is as powerful as the first, a forceful jet of goblin seed that splatters heavily into the mug. I can see it pooling at the bottom, a viscous, writhing mess that's quickly filling the crude container. It's hot, almost scaldingly so, the heat radiating off it and making my hand damp with sweat.

The sound is the worst part. Each spurt, each glob of cum that lands in the mug is accompanied by a wet, sticky squelch. It's a depraved, obscene symphony of sexual gratification that echoes through the hut, impossibly loud in the stifling silence. I can feel my face heat with humiliation, the sounds reminding me of my debasement, my servitude.

As I keep pumping, milking him for all he's worth, his balls twitch in my other hand. I can feel the potent seed moving through him, each contraction pushing another jet of hot cum into the mug. It's a sickening feeling, knowing that I'm helping him release his virile load.

The mug is quickly filling up, the gooey, viscous goblin seed nearly reaching the top. I'm struggling to hold it upright, the sheer weight of it threatening to send it toppling from my hand. The sight is nauseating, a foaming, frothing mess of goblin cum that writhes and squirms with a life of its own.

Snib is lost in his climax, his eyes rolled back in his head, his body thrashing and jerking with each release. He's a creature possessed, his every thought, his every instinct focused on the potent ejaculation that racks his body. His member continues to throb and pulse in my hand, each twitch a testament to his virility, to his unbridled sexuality that subjugates me.

Despite my best efforts, despite my desperate prayers, the mug overflows. Thick, gooey strands of goblin cum slide down the side, pooling on the floor beneath. The sight is sickening, the heavy ropes of seed forming a messy, sticky pool that reeks of his musk. A chill goes up my spine.

My hand is smeared in it, the off-white seed sticky and warm against my skin. I can feel it clinging to me. It's a stain that won't easily wash away, a mark that brands me as his possession, as his toy.

The goblin's climax finally begins to wind down, his grunts and groans diminishing in intensity, his body gradually relaxing. But the evidence of his release remains, a steaming mug of goblin seed that continues to overflow, the heavy ropes of cum forming a small, sticky lake on the floor.

I whimper, turning to rush out the door and dump the mug outside, but the goblin grabs my leash.

“That felt real nice,” Snib rasps, his yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light of the hut as he watches me holding the mug. A lewd grin curls his lips as he leans back, his scaled body glistening with a light sheen of sweat. “Ye plan on drinkin’ that?”

My eyes widen in horror as I grip the mug tighter. The potent goblin seed it contains is thick and warm - I feel it radiating heat. The smell is overwhelming, the heavy musk making my stomach churn. "No," I whimper, shaking my head in protest.

“Heh. Right answer, cowtits,” he snorts, his grin growing wider. "That's what makes it so fun. Bet you're more worried about that mug than any ale you've ever drunk. Could make ya crazy, couldn't it?"

I gasp, feeling a knot of fear twisting in my stomach. I clutch the mug tighter, praying to every deity I know that none of the vile liquid would spill on me. The smell is overwhelming, the potent scent filling my nostrils, threatening to choke me.

"Ya know, girl," he continues, his voice dropping to a lecherous growl. "We gobs, we follow a special path. Storak's Path. Named after the First Goblin - he filled the world with his brood."

My breath catches in my throat as he speaks, his words painting a disturbing picture of goblin fertility. The mug feels even heavier in my hands, its contents squirming and writhing.

He laughs at my reaction, his yellow eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "We follow the Principle of Might, the Sanctity of Spreading Seed. Dominance. Power. The strongest gobs, they get Storak's mark on their skin, tell tales of conquest and fertility."

Every word he utters only serves to intensify the fear I feel. His seed, now filling the mug in my hands, is not just a product of his lust, but a symbol of his religion, his strength, his dominance.

If anything, I’m surprised at the complexity of this goblin religion. I suppose the only goblins I’ve encountered are more primitive tribes, unlike the ones up north.

He talks of their Zog-Naks, their Blood Rites, and the hedonistic Grulkaz-Naks. His words paint a terrifying picture of a society that revels in physical prowess and raw sexuality.

"We gobs, we Grukk the other races, show them our power," he boasts, his eyes never leaving mine. "And when we die, our spirits return to Storak's loins, ready to be sown into the world again."

The implication of his words hit me like a blow. The mug in my hand, filled to the brim with his potent seed, it's not just his pleasure. It's a physical manifestation of his religion, his belief, his power. It's a symbol of his dominance, his belief that he can subjugate me, break me, just as his religion allows him to do.

Finally, he releases my leash. I barely register the action as I dart outside, the heavy mug in my hand threatening to spill its vile contents. The sand beneath my feet feels gritty and rough, but it's a welcome contrast to the hot, stinking hut.

I can hear his laughter echoing behind me as I tip the mug, watching in disgusted fascination as the thick goblin seed oozes out, forming a sticky pool in the sand. It sinks into the ground slowly, as if the earth itself is reluctant to accept it.

I'm left standing there, gasping for breath, as the last traces of his cum disappear into the sand. The act feels monumental, a small victory in the face of his relentless dominance. I can still smell the heavy musk of his release, can still feel the heat radiating off the mug. I dunk it in sand, hoping beyond hope the scent will come out.

—

My heart leaps at the sight of Elara, my beautiful, compassionate Elara, standing in the doorway, her sapphire eyes sparkling with warmth and compassion,  surprise etched on her face.

"Aldric!” she begins, her voice quivering slightly as she takes in my appearance again. A lump forms in my throat as I see the discomfort in her kind eyes. I flinch.

"It's Elise for now… my love... I correct, gently, my voice a soft whisper as I meet her gaze. “Oh, Elara…” I breathe out, my voice barely above a whisper as I drink in the sight of her. Her chestnut locks tumble down her shoulders, the ends kissed by the early morning sun. A pang of longing surges within me. How I yearn to brush those soft waves away from her face, to lose myself in the warmth of her gaze once again.

I can almost feel the heat of her blush, but instead of turning away, she steps forward, gently clasping my hand.

“You must be freezing," she murmurs, her voice tender with concern. With her other hand, she offers me a simple gown, a soft fabric dyed in earthen tones. Relief washes over me as I hastily shrug off my demeaning armor and pull the gown over my head, savoring the warmth it offers. The normalcy of these soft clothes.

Once inside, Elara ushers me into the cozy living room. The plush furniture, warm tapestries, and roaring hearth exude a sense of tranquility that I've missed desperately. I settle onto the comfortable couch, allowing the welcoming aura of the room to envelop me.

Elara returns from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with freshly baked bread, a pot of honey, and steaming herbal tea. The tantalizing aroma fills the room, and I realize just how much I've missed her cooking. Tears well up in my eyes, and I quickly look away, hoping she won't notice.

"Elara," I begin, taking a deep breath to steady my voice, "I need to tell you something."

Her brow furrows with concern, but she silently gestures for me to continue.

I touch the metallic collar encasing my neck, the cursed symbol of Snib's control. "I can't stay long," I confess, "This... this collar, it chokes me if I don't return to him by nightfall. I must get going by dusk.”

She pales at my words, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. "Oh..." she whispers, the depth of her anguish echoing my own.

Despite the bitter reality, this fleeting moment of peace, of home, has invigorated me. The affection emanating from Elara, the homely charm of this abode, the lingering taste of her cooking, all remind me of what I'm fighting for.

Her fingers dance on my bare arm, up to the cursed collar snug around my neck.

"Elise, I... I can't bear this... him. Snib, he's not... He’s not abusing you, I he?”

I can see the concern in her eyes and it kills me. I want to tell her everything, to pour out all the degradation and humiliation Snib has forced upon me. To have SOMEONE to confide in. But I don't. I can't. The vision of her hurt, her despair, it's unbearable. So, I shake my head, my raven locks tumbling over my shoulders, down the cavernous cleavage of my enormous breasts. "No, Elara... he's not... he's not hurting me." My voice is a soft, feminine whisper that's still strange to my own ears.

She stares at the skimpy metal bikini discarded on the side, eyes tracing the razor-thin lines of the garment. "That... armor,” she stutters, "it must be so uncomfortable."

I glance down, my gaze drawn to the high-heeled boots on my feet. I can't help but blush, my skin feels hot, a scalding reminder of the humiliation. "Yes," I admit, "it is."

She takes my hands, her grip firm yet soft. "I hate seeing you like this, walking around the town, the way they look at you... It's... it's..."

She can't finish the sentence, but she doesn't need to. I can see it in her eyes, the horror, the revulsion. But there's also something else: fear. Fear for me. I take a deep breath, my full breasts heaving with the motion. “He’s devious…. I… I have to wear it, Elara. If I don't, he... he might... Punish me-”

Elara interrupts, her voice firm. “No point in delaying. We need to get this collar off you, Elise. I'll call for the town wizard. He may be able to figure out something about this... this curse."

I do not share her optimism - this is an ancient artifact, after all. Quite likely beyond our wizard’s skills. But my wife’s determination shines through her fear, and I can't help but love her more for it. "Thank you," I whisper, squeezing her hand. “Let’s do that. And Elara… could I... could I use the bath? I... I feel so dirty. All this time in a goblin hut.”

Her eyes soften immediately. "Of course, my love. You deserve to feel clean... and comfortable." She gently strokes my arm, and I feel goosebumps rise on my skin. The comfort she offers is a balm for my tortured spirit.

As Elara leaves to make arrangements, I'm left in the serene quiet of our home. I peel off the boots, letting out a relieved sigh as my feet touch the soft, cool ground. In this comfy, loose gown, I feel a sense of reprieve. It billows around my voluptuous figure, my breasts and ass for once hidden and respectable. For a moment, I forget about the cursed collar around my neck, my mind taken by the softness of the gown against my sensitive skin.

Elara returns, her face softened. "The bath is ready."

Our bathing chamber is a sanctuary of warmth and steam. The room itself is carved from local stone, the walls alive with a labyrinth of moss and ivy that release a calming, earthy scent.

In the center sits our grand wooden tub - an extravagant purchase she’d convinced me to make a while ago, the sides curved and polished, filled with steaming water. Floating atop are petals of yarrow and chamomile, their healing aromas filling the room. Elara assists me, her hands gently steadying me as I climb into the tub. The water, imbued with herbal essences, laps at my thighs, then my waist, and finally swallows my heaving breasts, the warmth seeping into every pore, every nerve.

Once I'm seated, Elara retrieves a woven sponge from a side table, dipping it into a clay jar filled with a thick, fragrant mixture. "It's a blend of rosemary, honey, and some moonwort," she explains, her smile soft. "It's good for the skin, especially after you've been... well, out and about."

Despite everything, I feel a chuckle rumble in my chest, my breasts wobbling at the motion. She's trying to lighten the mood and I appreciate it more than I can say. Her hand works the sponge across my arms, her movements slow and gentle. The concoction feels soothing, easing the discomfort of the rough metal bikini I'd been forced into.

Her hands then move to my breasts. I blush, unaccustomed to being touched this way, yet Elara continues, her gaze steady, the sponge working in circular motions. "They're sensitive, I know," she murmurs. "But it's important to keep them clean."

She guides me, her hands over mine, showing me how to clean myself. It's odd, almost surreal, being taught these things by my wife. But in her touch, her patience, her guidance, I find a comfort I'd forgotten existed.

Next, she turns her attention to my hair. She scoops a handful of the bath water, pouring it over my black tresses. Then, she takes a paste of crushed lavender and rose petals mixed with egg yolks, applying it to my hair. "The egg nourishes the hair, makes it shiny," she explains, her fingers skillfully massaging the mixture into my scalp. "The roses and lavender... well, they make it smell nice."

After a while, she rinses my hair, the water carrying the remnants of the paste and grime away. I close my eyes, leaning back against her, the calming scent of lavender and roses filling my senses.

“I sent for the wizard earlier,” she announces softly. "He should be here soon."

Her voice is a comforting whisper, and her hands, her touch, they ground me. In this moment, stripped of my armor, my identity, she still sees me. She still loves me.

Once I am done bathing, Elara helps me stand, the water cascading off my curves in rivulets. The cool air of the chamber causes my skin to prickle, my nipples hardening against the chill. Elara reaches for a towel, a plush fabric spun from the fleece of hill sheep. Her hands are gentle, patient as she dries me off. Elara treats me with a delicate care that warms my heart.

"All right, my love, let's get you properly dressed," Elara announces, a gentle smile dancing on her lips. She takes me by the hand and leads me to our shared wardrobe, the honeyed scent of cedar wood emanating from the old structure. Her sapphire eyes scan the various garments hanging there, an array of colors and fabrics crafted by the skilled seamstresses of our town.

She stops at a fine linen chemise, pulling it out and holding it up to the light. "This first, Elise," she says, her cheeks tinged with a soft blush as she explains. "It's light, airy, and will keep your skin from chafing against the heavier fabrics."

I step into the chemise, the lightweight linen flowing down to just above my knees. It's loose, but cinches slightly at the waist, the material soft against my sensitive skin. Elara adjusts it, ensuring it's properly draped over my wide hips and ample bosom. The cool linen feels soothing after the abrasive metal of the goblin’s “armor”.

Next, she retrieves a set of stays from a drawer. "This might feel a bit strange, but it'll give you the support you need." The stays, a medieval version of a corset, is made from stiffened cloth with firm boning. She secures it around my waist, the laces pulling snug against my back. I feel it cinch my waist, creating a pleasing hourglass figure, while providing ample support for my large breasts. Despite the initial unfamiliarity, it's oddly comfortable, the structure a welcome contrast to the uncontrolled jiggle of my earlier outfit.

Over the stays, Elara adds a kirtle, a type of undergown. "This will add another layer of comfort and modesty," she assures me. The kirtle, made of sturdy wool, molds to the shape created by the stays, making my silhouette more feminine. I can't help but marvel at my reflection, my body looking both familiar and alien at the same time.

Finally, she presents the pièce de résistance - a deep blue velvet gown, the fabric rich and heavy, embroidered with intricate patterns of silver thread. She helps me into it, securing the laces at the back, adjusting the material over my voluptuous figure.

I look at my reflection once more, the blue gown making my curves look soft yet commanding, the cut modest yet flattering.

"Come sit," Elara instructs gently, guiding me towards an ornately carved wooden vanity. Its smooth surface is adorned with an array of tortoiseshell combs, boar bristle brushes, and delicate ivory hairpins, each a testament to the detailed craftsmanship of our town's artisans.

She gently gestures for me to take a seat on the cushioned stool, a comfortable perch from which I can watch her skilled hands in the mirror. She retrieves a wide-toothed silver comb from a lustrous wooden box, the comb's surface etched with delicate floral motifs, the light catching on its polished surface.

"Now, dear," Elara begins, her fingers gently gathering my raven tresses, "having long hair requires a bit more effort. But with the right techniques, it can be manageable, even in the heat of battle."

She begins to work the comb through my hair, starting at the ends and gradually working her way up to my roots to minimize any tugging. The sensation is strange, but undeniably soothing, the cool metal tines gliding smoothly through my hair, removing any knots and tangles.

Her hands, skilled and gentle, work with an enviable grace. She twists my hair into an elegant chignon, securing it with a few ornate hairpins. A few loose tendrils are left free to frame my face, adding a soft femininity to my appearance.

"For day-to-day," she continues, her hands releasing my hair and picking up another tool, "you could consider a simple braid. It will keep your hair out of the way during combat, and it's quite easy to do." Elara demonstrates on a small section of hair, her fingers quickly weaving the strands into a neat plait. "See? With a bit of practice, you could do this yourself."

Finally, she adorns me with a string of pearls, their cool weight a comfort against my collarbone, and a pair of delicate silver earrings. The outfit, the hairstyle, the jewelry - they transform my reflection into something almost noble, a far cry from the degrading attire I had been forced into.

"Elise," Elara's soft voice echoes in the quiet room, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror, "you really are beautiful."

Even under the weight of the goblin's curse, her words bring a sense of solace. Despite the situation, I can't help but appreciate the effort and care Elara has put into this moment. It is a stark reminder that despite the outward transformation, I am still Aldric in essence, cherished by my loving wife.

My eyes move up, drawn to the thing that contradicts the splendor of my outfit – the harsh, unyielding collar locked around my neck. The vile, pulsating runes etched into its surface are a stark reminder of the curse that has thrust me into this predicament.

A surge of emotions overwhelms me at the sight. Shame, guilt, disgust - they mingle and churn in my stomach, threatening to spill over. My vision blurs, and I blink rapidly, but it does no good. Tears stream down my face, carving hot paths down my cheeks, marring my otherwise perfect appearance.

"Elise..." Elara's voice is soft, barely a whisper, yet it resonates loudly in the quiet room. Her arms encircle me from behind, offering solace and comfort. I can feel her heartbeat against my back, its steady rhythm a calming lullaby amidst my chaotic thoughts.

"I... I..." My words get choked in my throat, stifled by the guilt gnawing at me. The reflection that was once one of dignity and elegance is now distorted by my own shame and despair. Would Elara's love remain so steadfast if she knew of my betrayal? The vile things Snib made me do?

"Hush, my love," she murmurs, her fingers threading through my hair, untangling the knots of my guilt and regret. "None of this is your fault. You've been stronger than anyone else could have been in your situation."

"I... I need to be stronger, for you," I manage to choke out between sobs, my fingers clutching at the soft fabric of her dress, seeking anchorage amidst my turmoil.

"And you will be," she assures me, her voice steady, filled with a conviction I wish I could mirror. "We will fight this, my love. Together." Her words ring through the room, a beacon of hope amidst my gloom.

I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to find some semblance of calm. I won't let this defeat me. I won't let Snib ruin me. I love Elara too much to give up.

"I... I will fight," I affirm, my voice barely above a whisper. I meet her eyes in the mirror, finding strength in their sapphire depths. "I will reclaim my freedom... for us."

—

Master Fendril is a man of middling years, with an impressive shock of silver hair that escapes from under his pointy hat and flows down to his shoulders. A pair of spectacles perches precariously on the bridge of his nose, giving his gray eyes an exaggerated, owl-like appearance. His robe, a patchwork of different fabrics and colors, swirls around him as he steps inside, a testament to his eccentricity.

“I’m sorry for my delay, Elara, I came as soon as I could,” Fendril greets, his voice a gentle, soothing baritone. His eyes then fall on me, and his eyebrows shoot up behind his glasses in shock. "By the gods, Aldric? Is it... is it truly you under there?"

"Yes, Fendril," I nod solemnly. "The collar did… all this."

Fendril advances slowly, his face a mask of concern. When he's close enough, he stretches out a hand, an intricate network of pulsing magical lines illuminating his palm. A scanning spell.

"Mind your touch," I warn, the collar a cold, uncomfortable presence against my throat. "The collar has a mind of its own.”

He nods, his fingers moving above the collar, just far enough to avoid contact, his spell probing and inspecting. I can feel the vibrations of magic, subtle waves of energy washing over me. He mutters incantations under his breath, invoking higher spells of identification, detection, and unraveling. His eyes widen, revealing a deep sense of unease, yet fascination.

"This is highly complex. The collar's enchantment is unlike anything I've encountered before," Fendril furrows his brow. He draws back, giving me a moment's respite from the tickle of his magic.

“The collar was found in the depths of the Ironrock mine," I say. "In a ruin one of the mine shafts had broken into.”

Fendril hums at my words, his gaze flicking to Elara momentarily before returning to the cruel piece of ‘jewelry’ locking around my throat. His fingers trace the air, drawing shimmering glyphs that self-suspend, flickering with spectral flames. These are components of the Argent Codex, an esoteric script of high-level magic rarely known to, let alone mastered by, contemporary mages. Far beyond my own combat magic.

"I recognize only a few of these inscriptions," Fendril murmurs, his eyes roving over the holographic recreation of the collar. "They're Argent symbols, quite potent. I haven't seen their like  since my studies at the Grand Hall.”

His touch hovers above the runes, casting shadows on his worn, weathered face. A frown creases his forehead as he attempts to parse the entwined symbols.

"See here," he points to a constellation of dark, pulsing runes, "this one represents dominion, control. That one beside it," he moves to a twisted, knot-like symbol, "that's transformation. But what's peculiar is this last symbol, the one that's threaded through the others. It's... oh dear."

He steps back abruptly, concern etching lines into his face.

"That's an Elder Glyph. It represents connection, but in this context, it's more... ominous. It's a connection to an entity, a higher power, one that likely resides within the collar."

A chill runs down my spine. Fendril's eyes meet mine, grave and understanding.

"Elise, this collar, it isn't just an enslavement device. It’s also a conduit, a bridge to some other... being. This being the source of the collar's power, the reason it can enforce such drastic transformations and force compliance."

Elara steps forward, her brow furrowed. "But how is it possible for a GOBLIN to control this... entity?"

Fendril takes off his glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "The goblin likely doesn't. The entity probably saw an opportunity to exert influence in our realm and took it. The creature is just the convenient medium."

He gazes at the collar with a renewed sense of wariness. "The transformation and obedience... it's fueled by an immense source of magical energy. More than any mortal could provide. More than any mortal should meddle with."

Elara's fingers tighten on my arm, her face a mask of worry. "Can you remove it, Fendril?"

He meets her gaze, his own reflecting deep regret. "The only way to remove this collar without risk would be by the goblin’s command. To attempt to forcibly remove it, with the level of magic involved... it could easily prove fatal."

I shudder at the word, 'fatal,' the collar tightening ever so slightly around my throat, a chilling reminder of the dire consequences should I disobey Snib. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face, disappearing into the neckline of my gown.

Master Fendril seems to catch the subtle movement of the collar, his brows furrowing in thought. His gaze is drawn back to the dark symbols, glowing menacingly in the spectral light of his glyphs.

"I'll send a message to the Grand Hall immediately," he says, breaking the tense silence that has fallen over the room. “To one of my old colleagues, Master Zephyrion, who specializes in ancient curses and potent artifacts like this one. If anyone can help you, it's him."

His hand moves to a pouch hanging from his belt. From it, he retrieves a small, polished crystal of violet hue. A tellstone. Placing it in the palm of his hand, he murmurs a short incantation, causing the crystal to pulse and flicker with ethereal light.

"Go," he commands the crystal, and it zips out of the room through the open window.

My wife squeezes my hand.

"Master Zephyrion should be here within a few days," Fendril assures us, his gaze meeting mine. “I have… highlighted the urgency.”

“Th- thank you,” I say. My voice soft and feminine.

"In the meantime," he starts, moving towards his leather satchel on a nearby table. "I have something that might help."

He rummages through the satchel, his fingers nimbly dancing over countless vials and herbs. He finally pulls out a flask filled with a luminescent aqua liquid.

“Moonshade,” he says, uncorking the flask and passing it to me. The sweet scent of moonflowers fills the air, tinged with a faint undercurrent of licorice and bitterroot. “It can counteract goblin pheromones. You’ll want to take three drops twice a day, morning and evening.”

I take my first three drops.

Fendril looks towards Elara, his expression softening. "And, Elara," he says, “This will be difficult, but we MUST raise word about this goblin around the town. Otherwise someone may harm the goblin, and thus, Elise will die. They have to know. It is uncomfortable, I know. But I will do my part in raising word.”

“We understand,” Elara responds, her voice choked with emotion. “Just… be discreet in how you describe it.” She squeezes my hand, her grip so tight that it nearly hurts. Yet, the pain is nothing compared to the comfort her touch provides.

Before the wizard leaves, he turns to me one last time. His gaze is sympathetic, his voice firm. "Just hang on for a few more days, Elise. We will find a way out of this. I will do everything in my power.”

As the door closes behind him, the gravity of my predicament falls onto me like a weight. I clutch the elixir in my hand, the cool glass grounding me. Elara's sobs fill the room.

—

As we make our way through the cobblestone streets, the bustle of the town wraps around us like a warm, nostalgic blanket. The air is laden with the rich aroma of fresh bread from the nearby bakery, mingling with the sweet scent of blooming honeysuckle and lavender from the adjacent florist. The city is bathed in the honeyed glow of the waning afternoon sun, the golden light washing over the quaint houses and illuminating the bustling market square.

Elara walks beside me, her graceful form drawing admiring glances from the townsfolk. Our fingers are intertwined, a silent vow of our unwavering bond amidst this unsettling ordeal. As we laugh over old tales of heroic exploits and shared memories, I momentarily forget the cruel curse that's transformed my life, the humiliation... even the goblin. For a fleeting moment, I'm Aldric, the hero, sharing a simple moment with my beloved wife.

"I've managed to scrounge up some money," Elara's voice breaks through my musing, the gentle timbre soothing my jumbled thoughts. “Selling some things I don’t need. 350 gold. I thought we could shop for some food items and comforts for your... temporary abode."

My heart clenches at the thought of returning to Snib's hovel at dusk, the anticipation of the crude reception stirring a nauseous dread within me. But I swallow my fear, masking it with a feeble smile.

As we wander further into the marketplace, Elara curiously looks at me, her eyes glinting in the sunlight. "What's it like... living with a goblin?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

I stifle the rising embarrassment, trying to add a lighthearted spin to the sordid reality. "Revolting, of course. But I've discovered I can cook," I chuckle, wincing at the thought of my rudimentary culinary skills. "Snib seems to be fond of cactus fruit and stewed desert berries."

Elara giggles, her laughter ringing out like a melodic chime in the busy marketplace. "Well, I'm sure he's never tasted something so exquisite."

The sight of us - two beautiful women sharing a heartfelt laugh amidst the vibrant market - draws a series of admiring glances.

Elara nudges me gently, a playful sparkle in her eyes. "Seems like you've garnered quite the fan club, Elise."

I roll my eyes at her, though I can't suppress the blush warming my cheeks. The townsfolk, from rugged blacksmiths to the elderly herb seller, are indeed glancing in our direction. Not with the crude lust I'd come to expect, but a respectful admiration.

—

The shop I wander into appears to be a combination of an apothecary and curiosities store. Tall, teetering shelves are filled with an odd assortment of items: twinkling charms, strange herbs and vials of all sizes filled with swirling substances. The shopkeeper, an aged gnome with a mop of frizzy hair, peers at me curiously from behind an ornately carved counter.

A sense of dread crawls up my spine as I scan the shelves for the item I need. The fear of coming into direct contact with Snib's disgusting, monstrous pheromone-laden sperm, a weapon of his domination, has driven me to this point. And despite the embarrassment, I'm determined to make this purchase.

Hesitatingly, I approach the counter. "I need... protection," I whisper, blushing furiously.

The gnome tilts his head, squinting up at me. Then, a knowing glint appears in his beady eyes. With a nonchalant shrug, he retrieves a wooden box from beneath the counter, opening the lid to reveal neatly packed rows of rubbery, translucent sheaths - condoms.

In the hushed aura of the quaint shop, I find my cheeks flaming at the sight of these objects designed to encapsulate a man's... or in my case, a goblin's arousal. If the packaging is to be believed, these rubber sheaths are imbued with a light resizing enchantment, stretching to accommodate any size.

Hastily, I count out fifty gold pieces, an exorbitant price but worth the semblance of control they provide. With trembling hands, I stow the box in my bag, praying Elara won't spot it. The thought of explaining my purchase to her makes me wince.

The gnome offers me a reassuring nod as he pockets the gold, then busies himself with another customer. I turn to exit, my heart pounding with a strange mix of relief and apprehension.

Just as I'm stepping out of the shop, Elara reappears, arms full of foodstuffs. "Found what you were looking for?" she inquires, her gaze curious yet innocent.

With a curt nod and a forced smile, I guide us back toward the bustling marketplace, the weight of the box a secret burden nestled within my bag. As we walk, my mind is besieged with images of Snib's enormous cock, the mental images igniting a hot blush on my cheeks. Would the enchanted condoms stretch enough to contain his beastly girth?

—

The dim glow of approaching dusk is seeping into our home, the shadows dancing on the walls, and I can feel the knot in my stomach tightening. It's almost time. Snib waits for me, eager to claim his prize. As I turn to Elara, my eyes cannot help but well up with regret and dread.

"Elara," I say, my voice just above a whisper. "I need to go… soon…”

But before I can move, she takes my hand and brings me back into her gaze. Her eyes are filled with a certain desperation, a fearful hope.

"Elise," she whispers, her voice barely audible. “There’s something I- I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I… I think I might be..."

A moment of silence hangs in the air before she finally utters the word.

"Pregnant."

It lingers between us, shocking and yet, somehow, a beacon of hope. Our child. The child we had been trying for, conceived before Snib's curse had robbed me of my hero’s body. A fresh tear rolls down my cheek. My heart aches and thrills at the same time.

"Oh, Elara..." I manage to choke out, my throat tight with emotion. I pull her closer, my hands instinctively finding her waist.

Her eyes meet mine, filled with dread and hope. “Our child needs its father, Elise. I will need you back.”

I take her hands in mine, holding them tight. “And I will be back, Elara. No matter the form I take, no matter the circumstances. I will make it happen. I love you."

The confession hovers in the air between us, tangible, heartfelt. I can see the way her sapphire eyes soften, the way her body trembles against mine.

"Elise..." She whispers, her voice wavering with raw emotion. "Can I...?"

Her words trail off, a question lingering in the silence. But I know what she's asking. I nod. Then, she leans in, her soft lips meeting mine in a passionate kiss.

The sensation is unlike anything I've experienced before. Soft. Tender. A slow exploration of lips and tongues, hearts pounding. My body responds with an unfamiliar fervor, warmth spreading through my veins. Her mouth is hot and sweet, the familiar taste of her making me lightheaded.

I've kissed Elara countless times as Aldric, but now, as Elise, it's an entirely different experience. Our bodies fit together differently, the curves aligning in a new but not unpleasant way. The feel of her ample breasts against mine is strange, arousing. Her hands on my waist send tingles of pleasure down my spine. The softness of her body, the way our lips slide against each other, it's intoxicating.

There's a certain awkwardness, sure, a strange dynamic, but it doesn't matter. It's Elara. It's us. We stumble, adjust, fumble, but it doesn't matter.

She pulls away for a moment, her breath ragged, her eyes wide. "Elise... is this... is this okay?"

I smile, cupping her face with my hand. "Yes, Elara," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “Yes it is!”

We're practically falling up the stairs, our hands tangled together, laughter echoing through the empty hallway. She pulls me into our room, her eyes wide and eager, her chestnut locks wild around her face.

The moment the door clicks shut, I find myself pushed back against it. Elara's arms are around my neck, her body pressed to mine. The feel of her curves against my body, the way her breasts push into mine... it's overwhelming, heady.

"I've missed you so much,” she whispers against my lips, her breath warm and sweet.

Her hands are on me then, pulling at my dress, her fingers tracing along the velvet fabric, over my curves, leaving trails of heat behind. She seems fascinated at exploring another woman, her eyes wide, every gasp and soft moan from me causing her eyes to light up with wonder.

I feel a thrill at her attention, at the wholesome pleasure that dances along my nerve endings. The feel of her hands on me is different, new. I’m soft and jiggly. But it's Elara, and the love I feel for her eclipses any strangeness, any discomfort.

And oh, the feel of her skin against mine, the way our bodies fit together. My massive breasts against her firm ones, my wide hips against her slender ones, our bodies molding together in new and fascinating ways. Her body is so familiar, and yet, it's my body that's foreign, that's learning.

She tugs at my dress, pulling it up, up, over my hips. She lowers her head, trailing kisses down my stomach, over my thighs.

“Honestly. You're so beautiful," she murmurs against my skin. Her hands slide up my thick thighs, pushing the fabric higher. “At least you didn’t get turned into a goblin!”

And then her hands are on my breasts, her fingers tracing along the soft flesh, causing me to gasp. It’s intense. My body responds, my nipples hardening under her touch. She seems delighted by my reactions, her hands and lips exploring my body with eager curiosity.

I run my fingers through her hair, the silky strands slipping through my fingers. Her mouth moves over my body, and each kiss, each touch sends jolts of pleasure through me. I gasp, my fingers tightening in her hair.

"Elara," I breathe out, my voice trembling.

She looks up at me then, her sapphire eyes bright and full of love. "Yes, my love?"

"I... I'm not sure what to do," I confess. The words hang heavy in the air, a stark reminder of my unfamiliarity with this body.

Elara gives me a soft smile, her hand reaching up to stroke my cheek. "We'll figure it out."

“If you say so, dear!” Feeling a rush of boldness, I push her back onto the bed. Her surprise quickly turns into a sultry invitation as she spreads her legs, her hips arching up towards me. My pulse quickens, my heart pounding in my chest as I kneel between her thighs.

My gaze travels down her body, drinking in the sight of her. Her breasts, rising and falling with each breath, her taut stomach, the gentle curve of her hips, and then lower still, to the most intimate part of her.

I lean forward, my hands resting on her thighs as I dip my head between her legs. The scent of her fills my senses, intoxicating and alluring. My tongue tentatively darts out, tracing the delicate folds of her pussy. Her body shivers, a soft gasp escaping her lips. The sound is a punch straight to my arousal, and I delve in deeper.

The sensation of her wetness against my tongue, the taste of her... it's unlike anything I've ever felt. I explore her, tracing patterns with my tongue, dipping inside her and swirling around her clit. Each flick, each swirl, has her writhing beneath me, gasping and moaning my name.

Elara's hands tangle in my hair, her grip tightening as the pleasure builds. I glance up at her, our eyes locking for a brief moment. There's a wild, primal look in her eyes, a look of pure, unadulterated desire that sends a shiver down my spine.

Feeling emboldened by her reactions, I redouble my efforts. My tongue works over her clit, while one hand snakes up her body to pinch a nipple. The dual sensations have her squirming beneath me, her breaths coming out in short, sharp gasps.

Suddenly, her body tenses, her thighs clamping around my head. Her grip in my hair tightens painfully as a loud, keening cry tears itself from her throat. The sounds of her climax fill the room, the erotic symphony echoing in my ears.

She shudders beneath me, her body writhing in ecstasy as her orgasm washes over her. I gently soothe her with soft licks, helping her ride out the waves of pleasure until she finally falls back onto the bed, panting and glistening with sweat.

I pull back, crawling up her body to collapse beside her. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I feel a strange sense of accomplishment. Elara turns to me, her sapphire eyes glazed over with satisfaction.

Grinning, I tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "Seems like I haven't lost my touch," I quip, my voice husky.

I feel Elara move, her body shifting beneath me. A gentle push, a whispered request, and suddenly, I'm on my back. Elara gazes down at me, her sapphire eyes shimmering with love and desire.

My heart pounds in my chest, my body humming with anticipation. Elara leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips before trailing lower. Her lips find my neck, then my collarbone, and then my breasts. She takes one nipple in her mouth, sucking gently, and I gasp at the sudden spike of pleasure.

My body reacts instantly, my breasts jiggling with each panting breath, my nipples hardening beneath her touch. Her mouth is hot, her tongue skilled as she lavishes attention on my breasts. I can't help but moan, arching my back, pressing my breasts further into her mouth.

Her hands roam lower, tracing the curve of my waist, skimming over my hips, before finally finding the moist warmth between my thighs. I can feel her fingers, slick with my arousal, sliding over my sensitive folds. My body tenses, a soft gasp escaping my lips.

The sensation of her touch is electrifying. Her fingers stroke and tease, dipping inside me, her thumb circling my clit. I can feel the pleasure building, my body responding eagerly to her touch. My hips lift off the bed, my body instinctively seeking more.

But there's something missing, a spark that fails to ignite. I feel good, so good, but the tension that usually leads to climax is elusive. It's as if something is misfiring in my brain, a signal lost in translation.

Frustration sets in, a sour note in the symphony of pleasure. I bite my lip, trying to focus on Elara, on her touch, her love. But the haunting emptiness remains, my body refusing to reach its peak.

Elara continues to lavish me with love, her tongue replacing her fingers. The sensation of her mouth on me, the rhythmic press of her tongue against my clit, it should be enough. It's intense, it's intimate, and yet... my body refuses to climax.

The frustration builds, the pleasure teetering on the edge of discomfort. My breaths grow ragged, my body convulsing with unfulfilled desire. I can't take it anymore. The pressure, the build-up, it's too much.

With a stifled sob, I fake an orgasm. My body arches off the bed, a shaky moan tearing itself from my throat. Elara continues to pleasure me through my feigned climax, her tongue and fingers prolonging the pretend ecstasy until I finally collapse onto the bed, drained and still unsatisfied.

I pull Elara into my arms, burying my face in her hair. She murmurs words of love, pressing kisses to my skin. I force a smile onto my face, whispering words of gratitude and love.

But inside, I'm falling apart. The pleasure, the intimacy, it should have been enough. But the image of Snib, his rotten musk, his monstrous member, they haunt my thoughts, causing an unwelcome heat to pool in my lower abdomen.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut - Snib's disgusting influence has tainted even the most intimate moments with my wife. And as I hold Elara in my arms, the cursed collar around my neck feels heavier than ever.

—

The warmth of Elara's hand in mine is the only source of comfort as I step towards the city gates. Clad once again in the degrading bikini armor, my heavy breasts and generous hips exposed to the world, I can't help but cringe at the feel of cold metal against my sensitive flesh - no more gowns. No more baths. Each movement sends jolts of discomfort through me, the armor's minuscule size leaving nothing to the imagination.

I cary a satchel with me now, a collection of comforts we’d purchased that I can bring to Snib’s hut.

Elara gives me a final kiss goodbye before I head out.

At the city gates, my goblin overlord awaits, his beady eyes gleaming with anticipation as he ogles my voluptuous figure. The loincloth barely covers his disgusting cock, the sight of it triggering a wave of nausea and an undesired reaction from my traitorous body.

"Well, cow tits. Did you have fun with yer wife?" His voice is a raspy sneer, and I force myself to respond with a respectful nod, the collar around my neck tightening in a threatening reminder.

"Yes, master," I manage, forcing each word out. My stomach churns at the thought of returning to his loathsome hut, of pleasuring his beastly member, of the warm, heavy spurts of his seed... I can't allow my mind to wander there, not now.

His musk seems a bit more muted now, a bit less… overpowering. Still there, but not crippling. It must be the Moonshade, having at least some semblance of an effect.

With a newfound determination, I turn my back to the city, my heart heavy with the painful goodbye. The sun dips below the horizon as we set off, the sight of Elara growing smaller until she's nothing more than a speck in the distance.

As the reality of my situation once again sinks in, I grip the reins of the beast tighter, the harsh desert wind whipping my raven hair around. The journey back to Snib's hut is a solemn one, filled with silence and the looming dread of what awaits me there. But beneath it all, there's a glimmer of hope, a resolve that wasn't there before.

The wizard's promise rings in my ears, a beacon in the encroaching darkness. I just have to survive a few more days. Just a few more days... and with that thought echoing in my mind, I steel myself for what's to come. For Elara. For our child. For my freedom.