Medicine

As you regained consciousness, the discomfort of your cold and damp surroundings immediately registered in your senses. The events of the previous day replayed in your mind, each moment of humiliation and loss etching itself deeper into your memory. Your body ached from the battle and the subsequent mistreatment you had endured.

The harsh voice of a large blue-haired Goblin snapped you back to the present, she wasn't as large as Kefla but definitely bigger than average. She held a tight grip on a bucket that she had just emptied over you, dousing your naked form in freezing water. Your teeth chattered uncontrollably as you exclaimed, "What the fuck?"

Ignoring your protest, she unlocked the cell door, and a group of Goblins entered, forcefully lifting you off the cold, wet floor. Pain shot through your body as they manhandled you, their grip bruising your skin.

"We're taking you to the Shaman," the blue-haired Goblin declared with an air of authority, ensuring that everyone present heard her command.

Confusion and apprehension filled your thoughts as you attempted to make sense of the situation. What did Kefla want with the Shaman? Was she planning to heal your wounds, or was there something more sinister in store?

"Shut it!" the blue-haired Goblin barked, striking you with the empty bucket, causing pain to radiate through your weary body.

Suppressing your protests, you allowed yourself to be led out of the cell and into the village centre. The jeers and taunts of the onlookers stung your pride as they pelted you with fruit and groped your ****, wet skin. It was a short but humiliating walk, and soon you found yourself standing before a hut built around a towering tree—a fitting abode for a Shaman of the Goblin Clan.

Bent over and pushed through the small entrance, you caught sight of Kefla seated in the corner, her wicked grin intact. A sense of unease settled over you as you realized the gravity of the situation.

"You look well-rested," Kefla remarked sarcastically, her voice dripping with a mix of amusement and malice.

The Shaman, an old Goblin adorned in furs and covered in charms and runes, emerged from a backroom. Her wild, matted white hair added to her otherworldly appearance. Surprisingly, she seemed taken aback by your presence.

"Oh, this is the one?" she asked, genuine surprise evident in her voice.

"Yes, this is the one I told you about," Kefla confirmed, holding up her scarred hand as evidence of your encounter.

You couldn't help but notice how quickly Kefla's wounds had healed, now replaced by scar tissue. It was a remarkable recovery, one that unsettled you even more.

Approaching you, the Shaman began prodding and measuring your body, muttering to herself as she went along. She measured your arms, legs, biceps, chest, and even stranger places like your hips, hair, and hand sizes. The discomfort grew, reaching its peak when she pinched and measured your flaccid penis, causing you to grunt in pain.

Confusion and frustration surged within you as you questioned the purpose of these measurements. However, Kefla swiftly dismissed your inquiry, revelling in the shared laughter of the goblin guards at your expense.

With the measurements complete, the Shaman moved toward a cauldron resting on an old wooden table. She began concocting a mixture of herbs and other foraged ingredients, her wrinkled hands deftly working the materials. Meanwhile, Kefla retrieved a small box from a nearby room, carefully locking and unlocking the door.

The size difference between Kefla and the elderly Shaman became more apparent as they stood side by side. Kefla's imposing stature and dominant presence contrasted sharply with the shaman's hunched form. It was a stark reminder of Kefla's physical superiority and the power she held over the other Goblins, and you as a matter of fact.

Opening the box, Kefla revealed a flower, the same flower responsible for creating the Futa Goblins. The realization sent a shiver down your spine, as you anticipated the worst.

With whispered incantations, the Shaman dropped the flower into the bubbling cauldron, releasing a swirling purple haze of smoke. The mixture seemed to come alive, and you couldn't help but wonder what its purpose was and how it would affect you.

Panic welled up within you as you voiced your concerns, **** to resist whatever Kefla had planned. "What is she doing? What is that stuff?"

Kefla, relishing in your fear, offered a chilling response. "She's making a potion that will make you more compliant and easier to control. We can't have ten guards with you at all times, now can we?"

Determined to fight Kefla's every move, you refused to go down without a fight. "Make me more compliant? I won't drink it!" you declared defiantly.

The air in the room grew heavy with tension as your words hung in the air, challenging Kefla's authority. The battle of wills had begun, and the outcome remained uncertain, but you were resolved to resist whatever fate awaited you.

Determined to fight against Kefla's control, you summoned every ounce of strength and struggled against the grasp of the goblins restraining you. Despite their small stature, they hold you firmly, their grip surprisingly strong. But your resistance only served to amuse Kefla, who sauntered behind you with a wicked smile playing on her lips.

With a swift movement, Kefla moves behind you and wraps her arm around your neck, her hold tight enough to restrict your breathing but careful not to cause immediate harm. The pressure she exerted **** you back down to your knees, a powerless position from which to defy her.

"Still got some of that Warrior Spirit in you, haven't you, boy?" Kefla taunted, her voice laced with sadistic amusement. "Well, we will get rid of that soon enough."

"You can go wait outside." Kefla instructs the blue haired Goblin

"Yes Great Cheif." She replies and marches out the door along with her group of apparent subordinates.

Kefla nods to the Shaman.

Gasping for air, your bound hands unable to free yourself from Kefla's vice-like grip, you realized the direness of your situation. The old Shaman, wielding a sharpened stone blade, approached, and you instinctively recoiled, fearing the worst. A brutal disembowelment or some grotesque ritual involving your entrails.

But to your surprise, the Shaman's touch was different. She slid the flat edge of the blade along your skin, rough but not piercing or slicing. It dawned on you that she was shaving you, mirroring the routine you followed every morning to maintain your clean, elegant features, devoid of any facial hair.

Though your body possessed minimal hair, save for a few patches on your chest, the Shaman meticulously removed them, ensuring your skin was smooth and prepared for what was to come. She returned to the old table and reached into a drawer, retrieving a horsehair brush.

Dipping the brush into the bubbling mixture, the Shaman coated it thoroughly before moving toward you. Her deft strokes painted a pattern onto your skin, covering your well-toned abs and biceps, areas where your rigorous training had forged solid muscles. The design she crafted resembled ancient tribal war paint, hinting at a ritualistic purpose.

Mocking your resistance, Kefla leaned over you, revelling in her dominance. She held your head back, forcing you to meet her gaze as she spoke. "See? That wasn't so bad was it?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm, relishing in your helplessness.

You grunted, attempting to respond, but the tightness around your throat stifled your words. Kefla tightened her grip, applying pressure to ensure that only one response was acceptable—compliance.

"Now, I'm going to release you," Kefla declared, her tone condescending, treating you like a disobedient child. "You will stay on your knees and drink your medicine like a good boy. Understood?"

With each word, Kefla intensified the pressure on your throat, leaving you **** but to nod in agreement. The release of her grip came with a gasp of air, a respite from the **** hold she had maintained.

Gasping for air as Kefla released her grip, you take deep breaths, greedily inhaling as much precious oxygen as your lungs could hold. Determination shone in your eyes as you raise your head up, a defiant glare aimed at Kefla.

Though still bound and on your knees, you met Kefla's gaze with an evil smirk, relishing the brief moment of resistance. The Shaman, raises the caldron once more, insisting you drink from it. But you shake your head, your actions speaking louder than words.

"I will not willingly consume that foul concoction," you declared with a firm resolve, your voice filled with defiance.

The Shaman, drawing closer, found herself at the receiving end of your vigorous head-shaking. In an unfortunate turn of events, your fervent movements caused your head to collide with the small caldron, sending it crashing to the floor. The impact unleashed a splattering of the mixture, creating a puddle that bubbled with a sinister purple hue.

Before you could fully comprehend the consequences of your accidental outburst, Kefla's backhand struck your head, sending you sprawling forward next to the spilled puddle. Her anger flared as she berated you, blaming your disrespect for their sacred Flower and rituals.

Stepping over you, Kefla exerted her dominance by planting her foot on the back of your head, pushing your face into the puddle. Her voice dripped with venom as she commanded you to "lick it up like a good little doggy." With a slight turn of your head, your left eye locked with hers, and in a defiant act of rebellion, you met her gaze head-on.

"No, you bitch, I will not," you growled, your voice filled with defiance and an unexpected sliver of satisfaction at defying her.

Kefla's rage intensified as she leaned down, seizing your once-golden hair, now disheveled and stained with dirt, sweat, and mud. She forcibly pressed your face deeper into the puddle, demanding compliance.

Gritting your teeth, you endured the pain as she crushed your face against the floor, displaying unwavering resolve. Eventually, she pulled you back up to your knees, nearly tearing a clump of hair from your scalp in the process.

"Open that pretty mouth!" Kefla shouted, forcefully prying her fingers past your tightly sealed lips. Her clawed digits found purchase between your teeth, exerting her incredible strength to pry your mouth open wide.

With your mouth held agape, Kefla issued her instructions to the Shaman, who wasted no time in pouring the strange mixture into your waiting oral cavity. The liquid felt hot and fizzy, some of it spilling onto your chest and the floor amidst your futile struggle.

"That's enough," the Shaman declared, satisfied with her pour, referring to her actions rather than Kefla's rough handling.

"Good. Now, I believe he deserves a little extra for his insolence," Kefla proclaimed, her voice dripping with malice. You met her gaze as she pursed her lips, an unsettling anticipation filling the air. Without warning, she spat into your open mouth, a vile act that added a further layer of humiliation and disgust to your already agonizing ordeal. The revulsion mingled with your pain, intensifying the torment you endured.

Relinquishing her grip on your teeth, she placed a hand over your mouth and nose while gripping your throat, ensuring that you swallowed both the concoction and her vile saliva before fully releasing her hold.

As you gasped for breath, the taste of the mixture and Kefla's spit lingering in your mouth, you couldn't help but feel a sliver of grim satisfaction. Deep within, the flame of resistance burned ever brighter, promising that no matter the depths of your current predicament, your spirit would remain unbroken.

Struggling to catch your breath after swallowing the repugnant mixture, you manage to muster a few words. "Bitch," you pant, your voice laced with defiance.

Kefla smirks, placing her hands triumphantly on her hips. "Now, now, you've witnessed the consequences of speaking without thinking. This could have been much easier for you. But I'm afraid I'll have to punish you further for your outburst."

You gather the last of your strength and retort, "Do your worst. You can't subject me to any more humiliation than this. You'll tire before I submit."

Kefla grins, taking your words as a challenge. Just as the tension in the room builds, three precise knocks resonate through the door.

"Well, it seems we won't have to wait to begin your further punishment," Kefla says, turning towards the door. "Come in, Dawn."

The door swings open, revealing Dawn, the blacksmith, adorned in her apron. She enters, carrying two small boxes, one larger than the other.

Closing the door behind her, Dawn approaches Kefla respectfully. "As you requested, Chief."

Kefla acknowledges Dawn's diligence. "Such a diligent worker as always, Dawn. Set them down on the table there."

Dawn places the curious boxes carefully on the table, her pride evident in her demeanor. However, instead of leaving, she musters up the courage to make a request. "Um, Chief, I believe this is some of my finest work. Could I stay and help with the unveiling?"

Hope shines through Dawn's eyes, as she hopes for Kefla's approval. The Chief ponders for a moment, then grants Dawn's request, recognizing her quick work. "Hmm... Very well, Dawn. Consider it a reward for your efficiency."

Dawn's gratitude spills forth. "Thank you, Chief Kefla. I am truly grateful."

Dawn steps aside, eagerly awaiting the unveiling of the contents within the boxes. You can't help but feel a sense of dread, knowing that whatever lies inside must be related to your torment or some form of **** devices. The possibilities race through your mind as you brace yourself for what's to come.

Kefla walks towards the boxes and opens the larger one, revealing its intricate design. The craftsmanship of the Goblins catches your attention. Despite their simple materials, their attention to detail and tailoring are remarkable. From their well-fitted clothes to the sturdy construction of their huts, it's evident that the Goblins possess skilled artisans. The ornate boxes themselves would fetch a high price in any human market.

As you snap back to the present moment, Kefla reaches into the box and retrieves something round. Your view is obstructed, making it difficult to discern its nature. Kefla's voice cuts through the air. "This truly is exquisite work, Dawn."

Dawn beams with pride. "Thank you, Chief. It's an honor."

Your curiosity grows, but you're soon hit with a surge of fear as Kefla spins around, holding up a metal collar. "A collar? You plan to chain me like a beast?" you exclaim.

Kefla smirks, examining the collar in her hands. "Ah, you have a keen eye. Indeed, until you become more docile, this collar will suit you just fine." She pauses, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "But take a closer look. Notice the finer details and what it's made from."

You lean forward, inspecting the collar. It's made of polished steel, and one side of the front reveals a blade-like tip. "It's made from a sword," you declare, exhaustion tainting your voice. "Ah, very clever , considering my status as a warrior."

"What sword though?" Kefla's grin widens, anticipation evident in her eyes.

Your heart skips a beat as her words sink in. Could it be? You examine the collar more closely, your eyes widening with each passing second. The quality of the steel matches that of your own beloved blade.

"No... it can't be," you whisper, a mix of disbelief and horror creeping into your voice.

Kefla's smile only grows, her enjoyment of your revelation evident. She revels in your shock and helplessness, relishing the power she holds over you.

Kefla grins, reveling in your realization. She approaches, unlocking the collar and fastening it around your neck. The shock of what they have done to your ancestral blade leaves you too stunned to resist, at least for the moment.

Kefla retrieves a key from the ornate box and locks the collar around your neck, sealing your fate. She then, unclips her necklace, adds the collar key to it , allowing the key to dangle between her breasts.

"You destroyed it!" Anger seethes in your voice, replacing your initial shock. "Do you have any idea what that sword means to me and my family?" You question her, unable to comprehend the extent of her actions.

Kefla smirks, relishing in your rage. "It's not destroyed," she retorts, her voice dripping with contempt. "It has simply been repurposed to suit your new role better."

You shoot her a venomous glare, a thousand insults swirling in your mind, each vying for the chance to escape your lips.

"The blade you once used to protect and fight for your house," Kefla continues, her satisfaction evident, "shall now be used to keep you under my control. How fitting."

Your fists clench, your knuckles turning white as you struggle to contain your fury. But her words about the handguard catch your attention, causing confusion to replace your anger.

"The handguard? What have you done with the rest of 'Roses Thorn'?" you demand, searching for answers.

Kefla saunters back to the table, her curiosity piqued. "Wow, amazing work, Dawn. This truly is your finest craftsmanship," she commends, surprising you with her rare praise.

Dawn beams with pride, clearly pleased with Kefla's approval. "Thank you so much. I worked tirelessly on it, staying up all night. I'm glad you like it," she replies, trying to maintain her composure.

Your curiosity intensifies. What could be in the smaller box that has garnered such high praise from Kefla? From your knelt position, you strain your eyes to catch a glimpse of its contents, but the view remains elusive.

Kefla slowly places her hands in the box, concealing its contents from your view. She walks purposefully toward you, holding the object between her palms, ensuring you cannot see it until she allows you to.

"Behold," Kefla announces, revealing a small, exquisitely crafted metal device. Its intricate design resembles that of a delicate rose.

"The handguard of 'Roses Thorn,'" she declares, her voice laced with a sinister satisfaction. "It has been reworked into a much smaller form, transformed into a cylindrical shape with a thick metal ring attached at the rear."

A surge of anger courses through you as you witness the defilement of your family's legacy. "You defile my family's legacy, and for what? Some insignificant goblin trinket!" you lash out, unable to contain your rage any longer.

Kefla's grin widens as she relishes in your fury. "Oh, it's not insignificant to us. Like the collar, it is meant for you, boy," she taunts, reveling in her power over you.

"Shaman, fetch the knife. Shave his parts and coat them in the remaining mixture, even if you have to use what spilled on the floor," Kefla orders, her annoyance evident due to your continued outbursts.

"But, Great Chief, he is not ready for that part of the ritual yet," the Shaman cautions, expressing concern.

"I don't care. He has earned it early with his insolence," Kefla dismisses the warning, determination in her voice.

The Shaman shrugs, accepting Kefla's command, and proceeds to work. Your body tenses as you watch her pick up the stone blade once again and approach you. Dread washes over you as you realize the horrifying implications of her words. What parts does she mean? No...

The Shaman hunches down, her movements slow and deliberate, likely hindered by the ailments that come with old age in goblins. You instinctively pull your groin back as much as your constrained position allows, attempting to evade her touch.

"Be still," Kefla warns, her voice carrying a hint of threat. "You wouldn't want her to slip, would you?" Her words are as effective as her formidable arms, making you realize the futility of resistance. Any struggle would only result in harsh consequences, and Kefla could easily overpower and restrain you regardless.

Reluctantly, you **** yourself to relax, determined not to give Kefla the satisfaction of seeing your defeat. "Play your sick game; it will not break me," you defiantly declare, steeling yourself for whatever comes next.

The Shaman leans in, swiftly shaving away the short hair surrounding your groin. Her weathered hands move with skill and precision, pulling the skin taut to avoid any accidental cuts and ensuring a smooth and thorough shave. As her focus shifts to your shaft and testicles, the embarrassment and humiliation intensify. The realization sinks in that, apart from yourself, this old Shaman is now the second person to touch you in such an intimate manner.

Kefla's gaze remains fixed on the proceedings, her eyes alternating between the Shaman's dexterous hands and your contorted expression. She takes obvious pleasure in witnessing your discomfort and vulnerability.

With deftness and efficiency, the Shaman completes her task, leaving your once-hirsute area now smooth and bare. The act of being subjected to such intimate grooming by another person, especially under these circumstances, only adds to the degradation and humiliation you feel.

Here

The Shaman proceeds with the next step, taking the remaining mixture and carefully coating every inch of your exposed genitals. Her gnarled fingers work the concoction into the sensitive glands, along the length of your shaft, and around your testicles. The sensation is uncomfortable, a mix of heat and fizziness reminiscent of the liquid they **** into your mouth earlier. You can't help but squirm slightly as the Shaman finishes, allowing excess liquid to slowly drip onto the floor beneath you.

"Excellent job," Kefla commends the Shaman, granting her a momentary reprieve from her hunched position. With a deliberate movement, Kefla steps forward with the device in hand. She pops it apart into two pieces. The rear ring breaking away from strange shaped cylinder with a distinct metallic click.

"What are you doing?" you protest, still in the dark about the purpose of this device and the strange coating applied to your genitals.

Kefla pays no mind to your question, her attention fixed solely on the task at hand. She forcefully grasps your member with her hand, causing you to wince and yelp in pain. It dawns on you that she is now the third person to touch you in such an intimate manner.

"Hush," Kefla orders, silencing your protests as she concentrates on her actions. Meanwhile, Dawn has moved in closer, eager to witness the outcome of her own handiwork, hoping for further praise from Kefla. The atmosphere in the room is thick with anticipation and a twisted sense of satisfaction.

With a firm grip on your shaft, Kefla deftly maneuvers it through the ring, followed by your tightly squeezed testicles. The fit is uncomfortably tight, causing a sharp pinch, but the slippery liquid coating facilitates a relatively swift process.

Your eyes catch sight of a small metal component at the top of the ring, resembling a miniature lock you might find securing a small chest. Fear grips you as you start to grasp the intended purpose of this device.

"Stop! What are you doing?" Panic tinges your voice as the realization sinks in.

Kefla pays no heed to your **** pleas, her focus resolute. She pushes the slick head of your member into the open-ended cylinder of the device, applying **** to overcome the tight fit. The pressure causes a sharp, throbbing pain that shoots through your sensitive flesh.

"Cease your whining," Kefla retorts, her voice dripping with contempt. "I thought you were a fearless warrior, impervious to pain, unbreakable." Her words cut through you, exacerbating both the physical discomfort and the emotional torment.

With a calculated application of ****, Kefla aligns the slot on the device with the lock mechanism of the ring, causing a satisfying click as the two parts fully connect. The craftsmanship of this cruel contraption is both impressive and disheartening.

"The key, Dawn," Kefla commands.

Like a well-oiled machine, Dawn promptly retrieves a small key with a handle and end crafted into the shape of a rose, reminiscent of your noble sword's handguard. She passes the key to Kefla, who chuckles at the design.

Inserting the key into the lock, Kefla gazes into your eyes as she turns it, another metallic click resonating through the room. The device securely locks in place around your damp and flaccid member. "This should ensure you stay obedient even in my absence," Kefla taunts, stepping back to revel in her handiwork.

You remain on your knees, stripped of clothing and bound, the strange substance now adorning your entire body, its taste lingering in your mouth and its presence saturating your being. And now, your genitals are encased and controlled by this wicked contraption.

"A remarkable sight, quite different from our initial encounter on the trail," Kefla jeers. Though her mocking words sting, you can't help but acknowledge the stark contrast between the heroic adventurer you aspired to be and the broken captive you have become within a mere day, your very first quest leaving you in bondage and disgrace.