An obese goblin

“Mrph…Bring forward!”

The voice is wet and slopping, and as you turn your head upwards you find it hideously fitting. Upon a throne of crude rock, strewn with the pelts of wild animals sits the fattest goblin you have ever seen. His pale gut protrudes over flabby thighs unlikely able to support the creature’s weight any longer. He no longer has a neck, but merely a rising hill of chins reaching a black maw, and long tongue which strokes his lips sensually. Small swollen arms ending in fingers fat like sausages alternately grabbed food from a nearby plate to hurl into his yawning maw, and rested on the arms of his throne. Goblins continually scurry to this plate, bringing away empty platters and new ones in a constant stream of creatures.

A pale sheen of sweat makes the goblin glimmer in the fire light, as though merely sitting there was an exertion in itself. Moles and warts stand out vividly against his pale skin, his breasts bigger than your own if sagging like an egg nailed to the wall.

Much like the other goblins, clothing did not register much for him, likely due to the fact that nothing could fit him save several tarps stitched together. All the pale blob wore was a filthy brown loincloth whose stale unwashed scent can reach you even at the foot of the throne, and remarkably a golden crown perched precariously atop his bloated head. In his free hand this monstrosity of excess wields a scepter made of what appeared to be parts of a car’s axel mashed together with various trinkets like some bizarre fetish for this behemoth of a god.

A shudder takes hold deep within you as you are led by your leash before this corpulent monarch, whose beady eyes stare at you with obvious delight and deep hunger from beneath his rolls of fat.

“Oh king Grglth! Master of tribe Ungul! King of mountain! Servant bring new ****,” your goblin cringes, hopping from one foot to another in pathetic obeisance to the thing upon the throne. “Brought for king. Present. Eheh –heh.”

With a rumble the goblin king leans forward to look at you better. Your skin feels greasy merely being looked at by the behemoth, his eyes groping your voluptuous figure, lingering on your shaved pussy and your swelled breasts. You rub your legs together as heat blooms in your core once more, arousal wetting your inner thighs and stiffening your nipples to points. You have moved beyond caring that even a creature as repulsive as this could excite your body. Only **** and thoughts of power occupy you, drives you, and sustains you in this den of monsters and the rough fucking you are sure to receive.

The goblin king leans back upon his throne, his neck fat jiggling as he croaks, “Good. You done good.” With a wave he dismisses your ****. You feel the leash fall loose, but do not turn. As though hypnotized you watch as, grinning down at you, the monster brushed aside his loincloth revealing his turgid manhood. The pale flesh spears from beneath his gut, throbbing before your eyes and demanding attention.

You look up and meet his piggish eyes. They smolder with arousal, and you feel flush at the thought of making this creature your devoted ****.

He smirks. “****. You fuck me now.”

You bow your head and smile. “Yes, master.”