Beg for mercy, so as to bide your time

You bow your head, hoping to appease the goblin king for now. Affecting your best diplomatic tone, you carefully probe for the creature's name. "I am at your mercy, great...?"

"Talnuk," the goblin finishes for you. "King of Bone Grit. You are wise to bow before me. Many girls struggle and screams, and need further... encouragement." Another toothy, bestial grin elicits another shudder from you, and you notice the two women fanning the king bear faint marks and welts from frequent lashings.

"Great King Talnuk, I am humbled, and meekly ask what Bone Grit Tribe wants with me?" You continue trying the respectful approach, and by the pleased expression on the king's face, it seems to be working.

King Talnuk steps from his throne. Although not a large creature by any measure, Talnuk is considerably brawnier than his subjects, enough to loom over your kneeling figure imposingly. "Female humans are valuable here. You are a **** now, and you will serve Bone Grit for the rest of your life. If you do well, I may even let you to be one of my personal attendants." The goblin flashes you with another grin as your eyes widen in shocked protest. "Strip her," Talnuk commands, and in moments crude knives and dirty hands divest you of any remaining modesty. You swallow hard and can feel heat flushing your cheeks as the goblin crowd roars triumphantly, your nakedness fully on display.

"She looks strong," the king continues ominously, "Set her to work in the Pits."

Those lean, clawed hands now grip your arms, and you are manhandled to your feet and further presented to the crowd. You struggle and squirm in the goblins' grip to no avail, which only seems to embolden your handlers. Goblins grope your breasts, cupping, fondling, and kneading the soft flesh with great delight. To your dismay, your legs are soon **** apart and scrawny fingers scratch at your inner thighs. Your protests go unheeded as clawed, goblinoid digits crudely finger the soft petals between your legs, degradingly showing the crowd the pink folds within.

A leash made of tough vines is looped around your neck, and you are marched through the pawing, lecherous throng of diminutive goblins toward what can only be 'the Pits'.