“MMMMMM!!!” ten muffled yowls punctuate each life altering crack. Relishing his vengeance Gadam maims me into an invalid. Necessitation of lifelong nursing makes me completely dependent upon a caretaker to subsist.
“Ar yu sorry yet?” my tormentor crows. “Wanna bi gud fer mi?”
“MUDDA FUKKA!” I bark through my gag alongside a venomous glare. Undeterred, Gadam intimately licks my nape aware my defiance is bravado. Unable to fend the gutless craven off he finally musters enough courage to strip me. “STUP, GIT UFF!”
“Yu’z myne! Myne!” giftwrapped in cloths, Gadam rips open my tunic then a bra of lily pedals I wove myself. Uncommonly well endowed for an elf he expertly inspects my C-cup breasts like a farmhand. Lumpless, symmetric, ample mammary ducts. Pinched by surprise to test my areola’s sensitivity I loudly yelp. Scoring perfect marks I’m grade A meat. “Yu’l nurze babies gud.”
Pleased, Gadam moves down. Confounded by my belt he bashes its buckle, and incidentally me, with the rock. To avert a blithely broken pelvis I unfasten and slide my pants then underwear off myself. Brunette bush aside I’m nude as the day I was born.
“Kunt rag’z silky!” toadies tussle over my panties for a trophy. Its recipient dons my lingerie as a hat. “Shi smells gud. Dink shi’l fuk gud tu?”
Nicknamed the “fair folk” elves are the most beautiful maidens in existence and I’m no exception. Svelte as a species, lithe curves and a willowy physique belie our lethality. With maple leaves intricately braided into a chestnut ponytale, my flawless ivory skin glows in the moonlight.
“Shi’z purdy!” bashfully cradling my boobs I cup my crotch. Breaking another rib bullies me to drop both arms. “C’mon gyrlie. Show uz yer purdy fukhole.”
“Uh-uh, sto-mmm!” tremulous timidity only fuels their libido. Cracking a third coaxes me to shyly spread my labia. Knees wide, I grant my lecherous oglers a front row peek inside. Incapable of arousal outside heat my healthy pink flower’s bone dry.
Elves are infamously asexual. Ovulating once a century, aspiring mothers pilgrimage upon their period to elvenkind’s birthplace: the venerable Rhea Tree. Praying at its petrified roots the unseen spirit of Gaia herself is our groom. Conception’s exceedingly rare making every daughter a joyous cause for celebration and twins a national treasure.
Merely 142 years old I’m barely an adult by elvish standards. Menarche ripened me into womanhood last spring with my first estrus. Its fever baked me like an oven. Cloistered in bed, I deliriously caterwauled all day. I’m glad Aunt Flo’s many decades away as its hormonal maelstrom’s miserable.
Married to my soulmate, Princess Persephone, I’ve never felt a man’s… thing. But more important: my chastity’s sacred. Ravishment would shame my whole clan into exile but I’m unworried. Never, in all history, has an elf been raped. Nor will I be the first.
“This won’t be as you desire,” I incoherently hiss through the gag. Even now Mother Nature hasn’t left me wholly defenseless. “I’m a noblewoman, not some cad like you. I’ll give you no pleasure. Not this night, not ev-OOMPH!”
“Shuddup,” another brutal kick punishes my muffled contempt. “Iz diz dummy’s brain broken? Dunt blabber at yer betters. Bois deserve yer kunt.”
Pulse racing, Gadam climbs astride my chest. Is this how horses feel? Mounted by a toddler half my height, Gadam gabs ahold of his mare’s tits as reins for balance. Punishing each flinch to writhe or buck with a rancher’s foresight I’m soon stilled.
Saddle broken, dry humps then mark me as a dog claims its bitch. Fleas, lice, ticks, I itch right away.
“AAAIIEEEE!!” bored of silence despite what he said, Gadam ungags then chomps a breast just to hear me howl myself hoarse. Froglike peepers scrutinize my response with slitted pupils. Praying he’ll be gentler I gingerly cradle his ugly mug like a wet nurse.
“See? Yu’z a hor,” pleased with my small capitulation teeth withdraw to suckle my blood. Ashamed to pursue a pavlovian ‘carrot’ and fear his ‘stick’ I know this is merely the start of my domestication. “Now diz fukmeat werks fer mi.”
“Gross, what’re you…” warmth dribbles across my bellybutton. Marinating his maimed quarry in precum my mutilator’s prick next oozes for my tenderest meat. “Ewww, get that foul thing away from me!”
“Hor lykes?” Gadam’s a wee tot with the cock of a mule. His hardon’s huge. Thick as my wrist and curled to his navel, flies encircle his leaking club like a rotten cucumber. “Diz’l stuff yer kunt to make my babies. Whaddaya dink’a dat?”
“God you’re revolting…” I grimace with a shudder. Shrinking in disgust like all women I subconsciously pinch my knees.
“God? Diz iz yer god now,” weaponized to ravish my gender, barbs along Gadam’s shaft evolved to detain skittish prey. Its tip’s tapered to pierce the cervix. Even his bruised scrotum swelled, randy to inseminate its injurer with his feral brood. “Didja know ducks gotta futlong korkscrew dik? Genuinely macho diks lyke myne hurt baddies lyke yu into kumfy toys to fuk.”
Thank god Gadam can’t rape me. Built for violence, if the barbs hook my supple innards he could gut me like a fish.
Comically hung like a horse, goblin raunchiness is the proverbial butt of tavern jokes but I’m not laughing. No one’s ever seen a female goblin but travelers often witness males screwing stumps or a misfortunate bunny.
Too insignificant to merit study, apocryphal superstition fills the void. Bedtime fables warn that goblins gobble naughty urchins whereas voodoo doctors brew their balls for quack aphrodisiacs.
Goblin law regards my sex as rightless. Mothers are her breeder’s property. Fair game until then, before Gadam shows me to his tribe he must first knock me up but if he does through me he’ll make history. Famous for enslaving a highborn daughter of Gaia herself he’ll be crowned as their king. Too bad for him I’m barren as the stumps he fornicates with for the next century.
“Fuk diz stuck-up elf’s brains out!” suckups wrestle my knees apart to kick off their honcho’s honeymoon. Eager as a conquistador to stake his claim my ‘groom’ unceremoniously spits to lube my arid twat. Cronies cheerlead as his glans aligns with my evasive labia: “FUK HAR! FUK HAR!”
“Gaaaahhh?!” rammed with all his diminutive might Gadam’s triumph contorts into confusion. My hymen’s a granite wall. Unlike a human’s flimsy membrane, ours is integral to how we channel magic. Dense with mana until estrus nothing save death can take my chastity.
“Even a dolt like you gets it now, right?” although my life’s about to end I’ll die unsullied. Whole and intact. “I’ll never sate your depraved lust.”
“Lemme in! LEMME IN!!” relentlessly Gadam heaves again, then again bruising his cockhead without any headway. Roaring in frustration he backhands me cognizant that I’m somehow behind this. I merely chuckle at him through my nosebleed and black eye. “GIMME YER KUNT YU STUBBORN HOR!”
“Just eat me already, asshole. I’m unafraid *grrr*… uh, of death,” waylaid as stew cooked for breakfast, a stomach growl spoils my heroic epitaph.
“What’re you…?” ripping a warg’s hindquarters Gadam scarfs atop me. Greedily devouring the snack in seconds, gore splatters across my chest. Licking his chops the bloodsoaked slob’s creepy grin broadens like a Cheshire cat. “Why’re you smiling? I told you to kill me you degenerate swine! I’m ready.”
“Maybe diz stingy kunt’z broken when hungry? So feed,” ambushed with a lewd kiss Gadam thrusts his footlong tongue down my esophagus. Curling into a slide its intubation interlocks his face into mine. I bite but its tough, leathery hide evolved for picky eaters like me and takes no notice.
BLARGH! Gullet pried open Gadam pukes partly digested offal directly into my tummy. Forcefed like a rebellious fledgling I sputter the gruel in vain obstinance. As he secures a better seal our peanut gallery guffaw at my engorgement.
“Swallow yu dummy! Swallow da yummy food!” ferrying babymakers sustenance is instinct. Summoned by my hunger I fume with regret. A salad could’ve spared me this ordeal. Meanwhile everyone chants like I’m addlepated: “Chug! Chug!”
“MM-*glug*, *glug*,” adam’s apple bobbing, I haven’t a choice. Smothered into a panic I swat with my busted fists but I’m so puny Gadam doesn’t bother with payback. Spasm after spasm he incessantly pumps every last morsel with a metronome’s rhythm. “*glug*, *glug*, *glu-*cough*.”
“Disgu-*cough*. Ugh, I can’t… can’t…” retching upon release, despite my nausea nothing regurgitates. Gradually it dawns on me that I can’t feel my throat. Gadam’s saliva numbed it to paralyze my gag reflex.
“Gotta hairball?” stuffing a forefinger in my mouth I tickle my uvula like a bulimic. Anesthesia prevents me from expelling the putrid carcass. “Diz funny gurl’z lyke a sick kitty. Gonna ‘meow’ fer uz next, sweetheart?”
“Not meat. Anything but meat,” since I’m unevolved for carrion Gadam deposited his caustic stomach acid to facilitate digestion. Ingesting will burn peptic ulcers into an herbivore like me. “Let me starve or eat vegetables. Please.”
“Veggies ar yucky. Yu should dank mi,” ignorant of plants, Gadam stuffs a handful of moss into my mouth then grinds my jaw to chew. Wolf lichen’s toxic so I spit it out. “See?”
“There’s editable food in my camp’s saddlebag. Or I can munch any foliage,” lurching toward a salal bush to demonstrate Gadam swats me away. Although unpalatable, I could harmlessly subsist on it. “Please. You needn’t feed me. Just let me graze.”
“Nah. No shrub nibbling. My babies’l hanker fer meat,” snickers remind us that we’re not alone. Expectant of something, the gang’s giddy as kids at recess… no, whose hit the jackpot. “But dunt worry. Yer masta takes kare’a everyding dat’z hiz.”
The double entendre rattles me. It was addressed toward our audience.
“Say ‘hello’ to yer playmates. Dez bois’l keep yu safe, fed, an’ chaperone yu to potty,” color drains from my face. Gadam was an audition. My induction banquet’s barely begun. “Den yu’l dank dem fer deir kyndnezz. Let’z practice. Aldough yer kunt’z kaput all gurls’v got treats fer boifriends. So… noizy meanz yu’z hungry fer moar?”
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