Your success.

You ache in ways you have never ached before. It is not the ache from a rough bout of sex, and you’ve had experience with some of the heaviest and insatiable monsters the world has to offer to compare it to. This is an ache of constant wearing down, of being **** to satisfy one being after another, each one fresh and desiring what the one prior had. But as you look up at the circle of goblins, your skin flushed, body weary and covered in goblin spunk, you can’t help but feel satisfaction pool in your belly like a fire. All around you are the eyes of slavish adoration, intermittent with the occasional eye of those few sated goblins who lacked the privilege of actual penetration.

Through either respect verging on worship or sated sloth, not a goblin who had gathered near the gate try to stop your first **** as he retrieves your leash and gives a tug. You laugh deep inside, noticing the ill concealed jealousy of the creature. It must have been pure **** for the diminutive scout to watch as you were taken over and over again by his kin, while he was excluded.

Amusement and deep satisfaction steadies you for the road into the mountain. Silently as though sulking, your **** leads you into the mouth of the cavern and into darkness. Your ****, with his rudimentary night vision, tugs you confidently into the depths of the caverns, the seemingly random twists and turns not inhibiting him in the least, even though you lost your way long ago. The walls are irregular and rounded as though having been bored, thought he floor has been ground smooth by thousands of feet over generations of goblin. Occasionally you run across other goblins in the dark, their warty green skin illuminated in the dull glow of cooking fires or the occasional torch. Though you both garner no small amount of interest from countless small, cunning dark eyes, no attempt is made to impede your travels.

You easily recognize when you are approaching your destination. The damp coolness of the cave first makes way for a deep, moist warmth, barely preceding the thick stench of many unwashed bodies gathered in a small crowded space. The smell is terrible enough to make you gag, but you steel yourself against it as merely another trial to be surmounted for your ****. You wave away the concerned pause of your ****, and continue. The reedy, garbling voices of goblins roused in savage jubilations soon begin to echo down the tunnel. You can’t distinguish any one voice, merely a solid wall of speech of emotion, formed of a thousand throats talking, screeching, and cheering for some unknown spectacle. At last, the dim orange glow of fire grows in the distance, glowing against the irregular stones of the cave.

Arrival in the main cave is as unexpected as it is overwhelming. You climb a small incline and turn a corner, and suddenly find yourself in bedlam. The chamber is massive, domed like a church made of living rock where a massive bonfire lit in the center can barely reach the corners. Crude drawings, tapestries of animal hides and some looted items crouch in-between dancing shadows on the walls. Crude, primal music thumps through the air from drums made of animal hide and the stamping feet of the goblins, reverberating in the domed room and beating into you like the pulse of goblin existence itself. The noise heard from so far away is in the throes of a single swell, dozens of goblins engaged in exultant celebration that only beings of such a simple mind could devise. It was chaotic, but the thoughts of the collected beings so singular and simple that it seemed to have a system in its broad strokes like a thousand artists using the same bucket of paint.

Though grand, you do not have even a moment to appreciate the totality of the scene before you are pulled into its very midst. You stumble uncertainly after your ****, led by your leash through the throng of goblins. You are so distracted by your surroundings, you don’t even recognize you have arrived at our true destination until your **** stops and you are once more tugged to the floor by your leash. You fall on your hands and knees like a diplomat to a foreign court, finding yourself staring at some stone steps and the fringe of yet more furs. A glance to the side shows that your **** has fallen to his knees in abasement as well.

“Chief,” your **** squeals, “I bring good stuff. Eheh-heh. Brought gift for you!”