The stable thundered with a rhythm that felt eternal—wet flesh striking flesh, claws scraping straw, guttural snarls vibrating through the beams overhead. My body trembled under it all, every nerve overstimulated, yet I clung to the waves of heat that devoured me.
The goblin behind me growled in my ear—"Rrhhkkhhrrhh—hhraaaggghhhkkk!"—as his hips slammed into me, each thrust making obscene slaps echo against the walls. Another pumped between my lips, gagging me with every brutal shove, his panting filling my skull—"Hhhrrhhhkkhh—grrrhhhaaaahhkk…"
My cries mingled with theirs, broken and animalistic."Ngghhhkkhh—hhrrhhffhh—mmfffhhhkkk!"
I couldn't tell anymore where their sounds ended and mine began. My voice, my moans, had turned feral—just another chorus in their symphony of rut. Sweat poured from my body, dripping down my back to mix with theirs. The heat, the filth, the ache… it all drove me further, deeper.
And still, through the blur, one name burned like fire on my tongue."Ahhh—Arthhhuuurhh—hhkkfffhh!"
The goblins snarled louder, their voices layered over mine:"Rhhkkhhrrhh! Ghhraaaggghhh! Hhhkkrrhhhaaahhkk!!"
We sounded the same. My cries no longer delicate or human but raw, guttural, primal. The stable shook with our chorus, and in it I drowned—yet clung desperately to the one thing that remained mine. Him. Arthur.
I turned my head, hair plastered to my wet cheeks, and saw him. Standing in the doorway. Watching. His eyes fixed, unblinking, lips pressed in silence.
My heart seized with frantic devotion, even as another goblin forced deeper into my throat, cutting off my breath. Tears streamed, my voice broke into moans identical to their growls, and still I begged through it all—
"See me… hhkkhhfffhh—Arthur…! I'm yours, only yours…!"
But what he saw was no longer a woman.
No longer the mage who once brushed his hand by firelight.
He saw a trembling vessel writhing in chorus with beasts, her voice a mirror of their snarls, her body lost to their rhythm.
And still, I believed with every shattered breath—it was enough.
The stable reeked of musk, hot and heavy, each breath I dragged into my lungs tasting of sweat and seed.
The goblins' chorus rattled in my ears—"Grhhkhh! Hrrgghhh! Nrrhhhkkhh!"—their guttural snarls weaving with the schlk–schlk–schlk of slick flesh colliding.
My body jolted with every thrust, the slap of their hips against mine sending little shocks of shame and fire spiraling up my spine.
"Ahhh–hhhnnn! Hhh–hhghhh!" My cries spilled out without restraint, but even as the pleasure twisted low in my belly, I forced my eyes upward. Toward the door. Toward him.
Arthur.
His figure loomed in the shadows, stiff and silent, but he was there. Watching. My chest swelled with something that almost hurt, a frantic warmth that drowned out the filth pressing me into the straw.
My world turned green, yellow, and white.
Green from goblin...
Yellow from their cocks...
And White — so much of it, from their filthy and overflowing cum.
The goblin inside me let out a sharp "Krrhhkkhhrrhh!" as he emptied into me, his claws digging crescents into my hips.
My back arched, lips parting on a strangled moan as the heat filled me again, too much, always too much. Another shoved him aside with a snarling grunt, "Rhhhkkhhrrhh!", and before I could even breathe, he split me anew.
"Ahhh–hhhnnnghh! Nhh–hhhaahhh!" My scream rang high, ragged, my arms trembling as I clung to the straw. The ache, the stretch, the slick mess dripping down my thighs—it should have broken me. Instead, it tethered me closer to him. To Arthur.
"I… I'm yours…" I gasped between thrusts, my words swallowed by another goblin forcing himself into my mouth. "Nhhfffhh—mmghhhkkhh—hhhrhhgghhh!" My gagged cries filled with spit and seed, but I held to his thighs, not in submission to him—but as an offering for Arthur's eyes alone.
The rhythm was obscene now—shlkshlkshlk—goblins snarling in turn as they used me, sweat dripping off their wiry bodies, their skin slick against mine. The barn shook with it, a symphony of grunts and moans.
My body betrayed me, pulsing, convulsing, pleasure biting sharp through every nerve until my vision blurred.
And still my heart clung stubbornly to him.
Arthur. Always Arthur.
Even as my body melted into their rhythm, even as my cries turned shameless, high and broken, I whispered his name like prayer between choked sobs and moans.
"Arthur—hhhnnghh—! Look at me—nnnhhhhaaahhh—I'm doing it—for you—ahhh–hhggghhh!"
Their cocks slid out and then plunged back in, unsynchronized — one pulling out as the other pushed in.
Every bruise, every grunt, every humiliating spill of seed inside me—I forced to become his proof. His devotion. His army.
I could lose myself in the fire of the moment, but never in them. Only in him. Always in him.
The night stretched into eternity. The straw clung damp to my skin, slick with sweat and seed, the stable thick with the stench of lust and heat. My body no longer knew rest—only the endless rhythm of schlk–schlk–schlk, the goblins' hips pounding against mine, their snarls reverberating in my skull.
"Grrhhkkhhrrhh! Nrrhhhggghhh!" They barked and grunted, one after another, their sharp claws dragging across my waist, my thighs, holding me open as if I were nothing but a vessel. The sound merged with the wet smacks, the guttural rasp of their breath, the scrape of straw under their frantic movements.
"Ahhh–hhhnnnghh! Hhhh–hhhhaaaahhh!" My cries filled the rafters, shrill and broken, echoing like a hymn turned into something obscene. The pleasure burned deeper with each thrust, overwhelming, suffocating. My body trembled violently as another spilled inside me, the hot rush flooding me until I gasped, shaking, only for him to be shoved aside with a snarl.
The next was already there. "Rhhkkhhrrhhkkhh!" he growled, teeth gnashing near my ear as he drove into me, his sweat dripping, his muscles slick against my back. The smell of him—animal, raw—made me gag, but my mind clung to one anchor.
Arthur.
Through the blur of sweat, spit, and tears, I imagined his face. His hands. The fleeting warmth of evenings long ago when I had almost been his. My chest ached with the memory, even as my body convulsed with brutal pleasure.
"Arthur—hhhnnnghh! L-look at me—hhhhhhaaaaahhh!" My voice broke, muffled as another goblin shoved his length into my mouth. My gagging cries—"Ghhhkkhh—mmghhhkkhh—hhrrhhgghhh!"—were swallowed whole, but still I held on, eyes squeezed shut, whispering his name between every choking breath.
The line of goblins seemed endless. Dozens, maybe more, shuffling forward with impatient snarls, each taking their turn without pause.
My orifices burned, raw and swollen, but still they stretched me wider, filled me deeper. My body shook violently, slick with layers of their seed, dripping down my thighs and soaking the straw beneath me.
The hours blurred.
Shlkshlkshlk.Grhhkkhhrrhh.Ahhh–hhhnnnghh!
Again. Again. Again.
I lost count of how many times they spilled inside me, how many times my cries rose and fell, how many times I collapsed only to be lifted and forced anew. Yet through the storm of heat and filth, my heart beat to a single truth:
This was for Arthur.
Every grunt, every spurt, every humiliating thrust was not theirs—it was his. My body, my devotion, my ruin—all a gift to him.
And though the night seemed endless, though my body teetered on collapse, I never let go of that fragile, blazing thread.
"Arthur… Arthur…" I sobbed the name, my voice hoarse, my lips raw. "I'm yours… always yours…"
The goblins' rhythm did not falter. The grunts and snarls carried on. But in my heart, amid the filth and sweat and trembling ecstasy, I clung to him.
Always him.