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Prologue
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Where did it all go wrong?
For nigh four millennia elvenkind has stewarded a golden age. Elves, alongside angels, dethroned the devil at the dawn of creation. Through their benevolent reign good has thrived ever since.
Born of the goddess Gaia herself elves border the divine. Every elf’s female, ageless, and unsurpassed at all things. Peerless in strength and skill, it’s ironic their fall came from the puniest pest.
Goblins are emaciated toddlers. Wolves, gnolls, and even frostbite are direr traveling risks. There’re only two traits that distinguish them.
Firstly as a demonic subspecies goblins delight in ghastly depravity. Bunnies and squires are all they usually catch. Flayed roadside crucifixions attest to their barbarism.
Secondly they’re prolific. Subterranean warrens spawn countless goblins daily. Gestating in a week with litters of a dozen, nothing save food scarcity keep their population in check. As carnivorous newborns, siblings are often their first meal.
So how did such vermin drive elves to the brink of extinction? It all began beneath an autumn hunter’s moon…
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Upon the Razek Mountainside (3862 DE) * DE means ‘During Eden’
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Howls in pursuit I run for my life. Hemorrhaging from my limp sword arm I’m dizzy with bloodloss. Adrenaline alone keeps me awake.
How did I let this happen? How did I, Eve, chief ranger get ambushed by wargs? Above me looms the Razek mountain and on its other side the dwarven kingdom of Urren. I carry a vital peace offering for its regent, but near dead in these gloomy woods I’ll be lucky to survive the night.
Abruptly I halt. Snarls ahead, three pairs of glowing red eyes emerge from the darkness. My ambushers have encircled me. I draw my sword. Unlike most elves I’m not ambidextrous but I haven’t a choice. Drooling as they circle, these mammoth thousand pound wolves are hungry.
Together they pounce. I lethally slash the bowels of two but the third chomps my ankle with a bone pulverizing crack. Flailing its great maw he flings me like a rag doll hard against a tree.
Choking up blood, my whole world spins as those bloodred pupils barrel toward dinner. Dizzily I thrust. Mere luck guides my swordpoint into its forehead as the massive monster smashes me into the trunk and merciful oblivion.
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From the Provenantial Chronicles (407 BE) * BE means ‘Before Eden’
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Foremothers of existence, the twin sisters Gaia and Rhea made every plant and animal followed by their magnum opus: elvenkind. Gaia, as nature’s creatrix, sculpted their flesh. Thereon Rhea, the goddess of fertility, breathed life nto their cocreations.
In the beginning there was no good nor evil, merely mortality. Timeless laws dictate that only the kindhearted can summon evil and the heartless good. Discontent with their ephemerality both ironically built the crossroads to Heaven and Hell.
Lucifer, in a seraphim’s guise, lavished agelessness and cures for every malady upon elves in exchange for a rift to Hell. Meanwhile God, disguised as the grim reaper, traded liches eternal undeath and necromancy to open the same for Heaven. Thus both those species attained immortality.
Betrayed by their erstwhile patrons, angels and demons overran then fortified their respective gateway into a stronghold. Missionaries crusaded thence to disseminate their ideology of puritanical good or malevolent evil. Both denounced nonconformity as a capital crime.
Of Earth’s myriad wonders its interlopers foremost envied motherhood. God and Satan handmade each vassal whereas terrestrials procreate. Every populace outnumbered the celestials and hellspawn save for one, whose genesis was incomplete.
Elves were germinated from dryads so all aboriginals were women. Leery of Lucifer’s sway over aggression, in lieu of elven men Gaia grew a league tall elm tree. Its pollination would emancipate their masterpiece from a need for males to conceive.
Unburdened by masculinity, societal crimes like assault and murder abate. Over the eras elvenkind’s matriarchy would flourish into a utopia… much to the chagrin of humanity’s kings and lords.
Emasculated by elves and deprived of tools like belligerence to corrupt them Satan struck first. Ambushed while exhausted by the apex of their enormous elm’s ensoulment, he bridenapped his gentler nemesis: Rhea.
Enraged by her sister’s abduction Gaia and God demanded Rhea’s return. Satan replied with her bloodstained gown to prove marital consummation. Drunk with triumph, its missive proclaimed Rhea’s dowry to be the damnation of Earth.
Thus elves, alongside the armies of Heaven and Hell, marshaled for war.
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Upon the Razek Mountainside (3862 DE)
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Dreaming of my species’ tragic history I awake hours later to the rending sound of flesh. Beside me lays a slain warg with my hilt deep sword in its skull and just beyond it something… eating.
I’m shocked to be alive. My hale and hardy elvish constitution stabilized me but my mangled ankle won’t mend. Lame, my adventuring career’s over.
Surreptitiously I peek around the warg. Five goblins rabidly feast, shredding intestines with their needly teeth. Watching nauseate me. Vegan like all elves, it’s hard to accept that such horror’s also a part of nature.
Skittish of rain, I should’ve recognized their stench. Goblins wallow in piss and excrement. Wiping after defecation with their loincloth the crude rags they wear reek worst of all.
Hardly three feet tall, goblins are sadistic toddlers that crucify doves and flay living mice. Tyrannized by an alpha these cowardly vermin do everything in packs. Hunt, eat, mate.
I’m in trouble. Goblins are incredibly timid but I can scarcely stand to shoo them off. Sparing a glance at my sword it’s too wedged to retrieve. My only hope’s to hide. Thankfully I’m downwind or they’d already have found me.
Creeping away I put as little weight on my bad ankle as I can. I hobble one step, then two amid their steady chewing and pray their next meal won’t be me. Thirty cautious steps later I nearly reach safety when the breeze reverses direction and with it the course of history.
“Wot’z dat smell?” raucous snuffles tell me the jig’s up. Reflexively I bolt but instead snap my last unbroken anklebone and collapse. Raced upon by their puerile pitter-patter, I brace for my coup de grace.
“Luk! Diz yummy elf’z hurt,” childlike hands drag me kicking back to the gnawed warg husks that portend my fate. Corralling their supine quarry I hyperventilate. “Wi’z so lucky! Lemme eat da pointy ears? Purdy pleaze?”
“Please sirs. I mean you no harm,” although futile to a point of farce alotta lives hinge on my mission so I beseech anyway. “My liege will reward you with anything you desire so please let me deliver my message.”
“Let’z eat diz elf, Gadam?! Eat har!” nagging their alpha, Gadam lifts a big rock high overhead. By all accounts this should be my death: butchered for dessert. But tonight another primordial craving changes everything.
Resigned to this ignoble end I make peace with the inevitable. Eyes shut, I await the afterlife but… nothing.
“Please sir, have…” Gadam cruelly prolongs my mortal terror up until my next plea then smashes my good ankle to fully immobilize me. Pulverizing my joint I screech. “… merc-AIEEEE!”
“Tymber! Now yu’l krawl lyke a piggy,” goaded by anguish Gadam gleefully mashes my feet another dozen times to guarantee I never walk again. Standing’s impossible without weightbearing ankles. Hundreds of leagues from civilization escape becomes tantamount to suicide. “No running fer yu anymore. Wi’l take such nice kare’a everyding yu need.”
“Motherfucker!” negotiation over, I retaliate. Sucker punching under Gadam’s nasty rag I crush my crippler’s leathery testicles the best I can. Too injured to maim, none the less this gang’s writhing boss bawls like a newborn babe. Meanwhile his four flunkies bellow with laughter.
“BAD ELF HURTS! MAKE DIZ BADDDIE STOP!!” rescuing Gadam’s manhood takes the whole pack. A forty pound wuss wrestles each limb. Thrashing wildly, they barely manage to subdue me. Their rescuee’s stomp busts a rib to quell my rampage.
“Bad gurl! Yu’z myne,” goblins are extreme misogynists rumored to hump every cranny they find. Fresh cum leaks from a slain warg’s ear so maybe it’s true? Publicly emasculated by his impetuous new toy Gadam ruthlessly reasserts his dominance. “Masta’l fix so yu’l bi safe fer playmates.”
“Let me g-mmmm!” first Gadam muzzles any backtalk with his shitty loincloth. Stiff from a lifetime of defecation I retch upon dung that’d gag a maggot.
“Diz li’l piggy goez to da market. Diz li’l piggy…” reciting a nursery rhyme Gadam picks a thumb. “But cuz shi’z nauty diz li’l piggy’z never going home.”
SNAP! Having ‘abused’ the privilege of dexterous hands my aggrieved ‘victim’ fractures each finger one by one. Then surgically grinds the stone like a pestle to pulp my distal joints. Post-op I’ll retain some basic mobility to fondle with minus the finer articulation to punch or clench.
“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?”
“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.