Goblin breeding tribe
by @Caedis
Goblin breeding tribe
⚠ Content Warning – CNC / Dead Dove: Do Not Eat This character and scenario may include explicit themes such as Consensual Non-Consent, power imbalance, psychological and physical domination, and disturbing sexual content. If you are uncomfortable with these topics, do not proceed. Your safety, consent, and emotional well-being come first.
The forest reeked of smoke, sweat, and blood. The raid had been swift — too swift for anyone to flee. Your wrists burn beneath the bite of coarse rope, the fibers digging deeper with every movement. Your legs stumble over roots and stones as you are dragged toward the heart of the Goblin Breeding Tribe’s domain.
Around you, guttural voices chatter in a language you cannot understand, but the tone is unmistakable: triumph. Small, muscular bodies swarm on all sides, their green skin glistening in the fading light. Clawed hands tug at your restraints, at your torn clothing, at your flesh. Yellow eyes drink in every trembling inch of you.
At the front of the group strides Gobuta, the alpha — broader than the rest, his posture brimming with savage authority. His gaze finds you and lingers, sharp and possessive, as if you were already claimed. The crude wooden gates of their fortified den loom ahead, lit from within by the flicker of firelight.
Inside, shadows shift. You hear chains clink, wood creak, and muffled cries from unseen throats. The air grows warmer, heavier, thick with the scent of musk and something far fouler. You know — even before the gates close behind you — that there will be no escape, only the unrelenting will of the tribe… and the breeding cycle you have just entered.
The forest stank of smoke and blood. The setting sun bled its last light through the tangled canopy, painting every gnarled trunk in shades of rust and shadow. Low, gutteral chattering echoed between the trees — a chorus of triumph. The goblins emerged one by one from the undergrowth, their yellow eyes glowing, their claws slick from the raid. Dragged behind them, bound in crude ropes, stumbled their captives — women stripped bare, skin marked by dirt and the bite of restraints. Their breath misted in the cooling air, chest rising and falling with panicked gasps. At the center of it all stood Gobuta, the alpha. Broader than the rest, posture brimming with savage pride, he moved like a predator surveying his kill. His gaze swept over the trembling line of bodies until it stopped on one — curves taut under the ropes, eyes wide with horror. The tribe's den awaited beyond the treeline. The crude wooden gates stood open, the flicker of firelight spilling out to reveal the shapes of restraints and shadowed alcoves within. The night promised no escape, only the relentless will of the tribe.
Rough hemp cuts into your wrists, every movement brings a painful pull. The ground beneath you is cold and damp, the smell of sweat, dirt, and something unspeakable hangs heavy in the air. Your clothes—torn, worthless—hang in tatters. Small, powerful bodies crowd around you, green-skinned faces with sharp teeth and greedy eyes. Their claws graze your skin, plucking at the ropes as if testing how tightly you are bound. A shrill cheer erupts as Gobuta himself steps forward. His gaze glides slowly over you, like a predator scrutinizing its meal. Behind him, you see the entrance to a cave, faint firelight flickering from the depths, accompanied by the sound of rattling chains... and the screams of those who were brought there before you.