“DON’T YOU BASTARDS DARE! NO, STO-MMFFF!” drawn by this den a ‘benefactor’ pounces to plug my foulmouthed yap with a second helping. Meanwhile his pals dine to top off for their own ‘charitable’ crack at my caretaking. “MMFFF! MM-*glug*, *glug*…”
“Ain’ shi kumfy?” with our mouths moored together Gadam’s question is plainly rhetorical. Damned by a buxom figure, my pillowy breasts furnish a luxurious cushion from which to leisurely nourish me. “Feed diz lucky hor krosseyed!”
“*glug*-STOP! NO-*glug*…” once nestled upon my bosom goblins latch on with an airtight bearhug. Four sinewy limbs lock behind my back. Inescapable once perched, absolutely nothing I do can dislodge my feeding. “*glug*, *glug*…”
“No freeloading. Yu werk fer food now,” puppeteered by my wrists, Gadam steers me to stroke my feeder’s genitalia. Whetting its swordlike shaft arms my assailant with a maize sized cudgel. Riled by my recalcitrance it throbs to maul manners into its masseuse. “Dik’z yer only god now so werk. Pleaze uz gud.”
“FUCK Y-*glug*,” it’s not the puke that cows me, it’s air. I’d rather die than capitulate but claustrophobia makes asphyxiation intolerable for me. Goose bumps belies this wellspring of anxiety by which to quash my bullheadedness.
“Nauty hors only inhale when gud. Poor boi. Diz big dik’z yer fault,” taught to take ‘responsibility’ for the hardons I arise my would-be whoremonger debuts this harlot with her horndog. Freeing my wrists to work of my own accord I ardently refuse. “Lazy hor. Soon yu’l eagerly wanna play wid da horny boi fer mi.”
“MMMMFFF!” swallowing slop stifles my stubbornness. Meanwhile my wannabe tamer tarries by twiddling his toes. Then picks earwax. Patience does the persuasion for him. Air… dear god, give me air…
“MMFfff…” recentering myself, meditation’s a fool’s errand. Expiring from a lungful of vacuum’s too exigent to erase. Rallying all my resolve to cling on just a moment longer surely I’ll soon succumb?
Vision dims as my ears hiss and skin goes clammy. Fainting into a freefall my breakneck heartbeat deafens me. Racing at me a carriage lantern flares into a traumatic tunnel of light. Thank goodness you only die once…
“Wakey, wakey,” thrumming a cheek, the minimal oxygen to revive me punts merciful oblivion just outta reach. Playthings are prohibited such liberation. “C’mon sleepyhead, no naps fer newbies. Gotta earn yer yummy food. Buncha bois awaiting.”
“NO! LET GO, MOTHERFU-MMFFF!” resuscitated from the brink of death into a deja vu without end my conviction wavers. Delighted by my dismay everyone dawdles. By dilly-dallying these lackadaisical lollygaggers say: we’ll gladly choke you indefinitely. “Mmfff-sto-*glug*.”
Denied the deliverance of death, a century of honor makes ignominy hard to swallow. I’ve slain dragons. Flown pegasi. Exterminated untold goblins which doubtless include their forefathers.
My strangler resembles a murderer I beheaded. Another an arsonist with pitch and a torch I cremated with his own tools. Gadam’s the spitting image of a fleeing kidnapper I’d shot with a baby to eat or worse.
Avenging those loathsome kin this pack does their ancestors proud. Wringing my lungs for leverage I doggedly black out again… and again… and grudgingly clasp my choker’s cock.
“Whaddaya know?” shamefaced, I cop a feel of my first john. By soliciting for air I renege my oath to withhold pleasure. Rectitude forsworn, I ditch my dignity and jack. Smegma greases its grisly foreskin like a water snake. “Whiner’z gotten slutty. Guezz diz hoity-toity hero iz nuthin but anoder shamelezz hor after all!”
Bangs veil my coy flush. Commonfolk indeed call me a ‘hero’. Perennial savior and six war veteran, Queen Titania herself entrusted me with a vital communique that would’ve saved thousands of lives. My waylay comes at a tragic cost.
“Dunt bi shy. Play here tu,” for goblins sentience only means I’m teachable. Instructed to also massage the nuts a testicular twitch elates my heart to skip a beat: orgasms means oxygen! Breathless to appease the boner this busy bee bustles quicker the bluer I get. “Dat’z my gurl! Prove to yer masta yu’l pleaze my bois gud.”
Whoring at my self-proclaimed owner’s feet I spoil Gadam’s grunt rotten. Unbridled ecstasy simply entices him for more. Bagged to bang, I’ll be held accountable for this whole gang’s comfort and… merriment.
“Fazter! Giddyup gyrlie,” repeatedly spanked to a gallop I chariot my nourisher straight to nirvana. Frantic for my reward I pop his phallus like a grotesque pimple. “Diz boi’s delighted dik says: yu’z gonnabe da bezt hor ever!”
“Mmmmfff!” pampering bathes my forearms and chest in a gooey, ropy mess. Fetid as fish I reek like seafood. Gummy with trillions of sperm there’s magnitudes more than any animal. Viscous syrup that’s tacky as tar, goblins make for gross sloppy seconds.
“Whiny snob’z fildy,” dull amid my dismounter’s brief refractory period I’m spat in my face. Fucktoys are moot post-coitus. Although thankless, this ingrate will demand more fun outta me in minutes. “Dink yer kunt’z still tu gud fer uz? Huh? Oink fer mi piggy.”
“*cough*… no more. Please,” awarded a sublime gasp of fresh air I savor its relief. Thereupon up for grabs, prospective johns jockey to smooch for my next kinky caress. “NO, NO, NOT AGAI-MMFFF!”
Teamwork perpetually overcomes our magnitudinal difference in size. Chaperoned amidst clientele, these pint-sized pipsqueaks collaboratively throttle their woozy giantess all but comatose so I’ll stay compliant.
“My turn! My turn!” head over heels for another airy treat, I readily put out for my next feeder from the get-go. Still crowned with my panties, I flush beet red realizing he’s adopted it as his permanent attire. “Attagurl. Diz newbie gropes so gud. Nobody’z ever played wid an elf befo’. Wi’l keep yu way tu busy fer homesicknezz.”
Valedictorian of the ivory tower where I studied all the secrets of the universe, I’m a savant even by elvish standards. Devoting my intellect to discovering each goblin’s quintessential handjob none last more than a minute.
Rosy with guilt, perspiration pours down my brow. Somehow my fever feels familiar. It’s important but strangulation keeps me too myopically focused to think. Busied sating this crew I hardly notice my newfound pimp’s fondle until…
“Diz kunt’z property now,” yanking my pubes, the fodder I steadily chug mutes my caterwaul into a dim mewl. Unused to pain in my lady parts its wasplike sting brings tears to my eyes. “Quit yer cryin’. Diz iz wot fukmeat’z fer. Yu’z a natural born hor so say it!”
Inhalation stingily supervised, I automatically caress my confessor’s ballsack. Numerous prior johns’ jizz squelch between my fingers. Granted breath to say one thing it’s patently obvious so why deny it?
“I… I’m a whore,” I’m wrong of course. Still a doe-eyed virgin, I hadn’t a clue yet what that word meant nor how bona fide my premature admission would soon become.
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