Degenerate Masochist’s Reincarnation as A Goddess

Sexy Tribal Sacrifice

Even Greetings, the drae girl I’d been making out with, had gotten her shit together after two weeks and graduated to the next step of sacrificehood. Eleven newcomers came and went. I alone remained as the helpless basket-case unable to take her fingers off of herself long enough to pass the goblin sisterhood’s test of faith.

Oh, I did try doing the ‘put dick here please’ poses and to be honest, after centuries of non-stop naughtiness, I am pretty damn good at stuff like that. Like, good enough I could easily be worshiped as the patron goddess of instagram models looking for new ways to make followers thirsty. 

Every time I tried, I succeeded in tempting a sister of the Cstabath to offer her cock. I’ll let you imagine what happened after those thick slabs of unwashed goblin-meat smacked my thigh and their owners asked ‘ass or pussy’. Hint, I did not say: ‘Oh please, no dicking for me, I’m trying to prepare myself as a sacrifice.’ I begged for cock like the thirsty bitch I am and rode them as long as I could.

“Be brave, offering Uh’Ah,” Shamaness encouraged me one night.

Frustrated and desperate, I buried my face in her green gobbo tiddies and bawled. “I’m trying my best! I really am, but I can’t take this anymore.”

Shamaness caressed my hair, cooing gently. “Shh. Be shhh, Uh’Ah. World not end. Me believe Uh’Ah one day able to make it.”

I sniffled, and began laughing, when I noticed I’d just slipped my hands into my panties and started fapping. “I can’t. It’s impossible. I just can’t do it. Don’t you have chastity belts or magical geas commands or just plain old bondage? Something to help me not beg for cock.”

Shamaness frowned. “That not be purpose of the trial of Garden Of Joyful Faces. Purpose be to find worship for pleasure of others within oneself, not with help of equipment.”

“Okay. Alright. Maybe one of the sisters could act all dommy to me and tell me not to do it?”

Shamaness frowned. “Purpose be to find worship within oneself.”

“Gaah.” I groaned, detaching from her to slump against my totem pole. Mentally destroyed, I continued to fap.

“Maybe there be another way. Maybe not all offerings can complete Garden Of Joyful Faces, but still be complete other trials and make good sacrifice.”

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I raised my head, hopeful. “Do you mean…”

Shamaness offered a sympathetic smile and walked up to unlock my collar from the totem. “Me mean that Uh’Ah can move on to next trial.”

I wiped a tear of joy and glomped her in a hug of purest cheer!

Thirty minutes later, I had already forgotten whatever lecture the Shamaness gave about The Hall of Big Thick Worship. The Hall itself was that big oval clay-house right next to the totem garden, the one that was emitting a constant hubbub of orgy-noises. It was warm inside. Walls were clay-red and the floor hard dirt and amber magelights lit the place. The place was divided into stalls and sparsely furnished with lounging chairs and large urns with foodstuffs and oils. Incense hung in the air, blunting the edge off of the pervasive stench of sex. 

In the air hung also roughly thirty or so offerings, who’d been brainwashed to worship cocks with religious fervor. That bit right there — the religion — is prolly why I didn’t manage to get into the right headspace for it, but I’ll get back to it later. The sight of that room was… Woof! Now I may be an extra thirsty lesbian masochist, but I bet even brothers and sisters and others of average thirst would’ve gotten hot at the sight of so many submissives trussed up in intricate and extremely exposing shibari suspensions. 

They hung at exactly crotch height for the goblins, all holes exposed. And although they were bound, there was enough wiggle room in the bondage for everyone to squirm and writhe from one pose to another. Backs arched and legs parted. Ropes groaned as they grew taut and bit into the soft bits of sensitive flesh. Moans soft and husky left the lips of females seeking to tempt nearby goblins, even as their slits or anuses still dripped with fresh seed. None had the exact same motions, but even so they all danced the same dance of helpless horny begging. I struggled to take my eyes off of some of the more creative bondage dancers, ogling at the sight like a doe-eyed virgin, and decided to steal this idea for my next Fap Club.

And those who weren’t dancing? The other fifty or so? They were in progress of being used rough and fast by a small army of sexy shortstack futas. Slaps of flesh and moans filled the room like the beat of bass.

All those thoughts blurred to background the moment it was my turn to join the gallery of hanging bondagettes.

Rush of perverse pleasure surged when the rope touched my skin. I kept on squirming and huffing, chewing my lip as little moans left my lips whenever deft gobbo fingers so much as ghosted against me. They tied my torso into a firm harness for suspension, one with a thick rope-collar and nice squeezing loops around my swollen Voidbee honey-leaking breats. Even my hair was tied up with a rope attached to my ponytail. Several ropes attached me to a bamboo beam in the ceiling. I lifted off. My weight fell onto the rope and the harness really dug in. Breathing grew ever so slightly harder. It was like I was getting tightly hugged in every direction. My legs were folded up and simple but firm ties bound my wrists to them.

Ahhhh. Sweet, sweet bondage. Gods, I’d not known how much I’d missed having my freedom restrained to helpless wiggling and pathetic grunting until now. I luxuriated in the helplessness and the tightness of rope, rotating slowly as I struggled in vain against the ropemaster goblin’s expert knots. There was just enough give in the various suspension ropes that I could shift my weight back and forth, leaning forward to put more weight on my hair, neck and torso, or backwards to shift it onto my hips. Just enough room for me to move my knees up against my chest or stretch them straight or open them in a split or any pose in between. Best of all, I found a pose where I could juuust slip a few fingers inside my naughty bits.

Luckily, I didn’t have to fap for long. Closed my eyes for one moan and then they were there. Four sets of thigh goblin thighs, wide hips tapering into almost comically narrow waists and slender upper bodies with more tits than a slave in ropes could possibly wish for. The only clothing any of them had were leather cock-rings tightened around the bases of their goblin-makers.

The sight straight up put me in hypnosis of some sort. My brain went ga-gaa, my lips parted into an openly wanton pant, and I spread my thighs as wide open as possible while baring all three of my holes for their benefit.

“Mnaah?” I asked, lips salivating.

The reply came in the form of a thick, throat-filling, slab of hardness soaked in the taste of someone else’s pussy and old cum. 

Buzz grew in my head. My body clenched. All that stood at the gates of a consciousness shattering full-body orgasm was that insidious little inhibitory gland increasing the threshold of pleasure that it took to climax. Two massive goblin dicks took that door like battering rams as they, oiled and slick, pressed through my tight dick-starved openings and penetrated my ass and cunt hilt-deep in the first thrust. Last sensation I registered before the all consuming high was a mouth clamping over my sore honey-filled breast and sucking hard on my nip, while a hand gave its twin-sister a harsh screw.

When I came to, I woke to every subby masochist's dream: Being tied up, helpless, and pounded on all sides harsh enough that best you could do was lie limp and take it like a little cock-sleeve.

They noticed I was awake. Hands gripping my rope-harness, hips, and bound ponytail tightened. A palm slapped my rump. Fingers sank into my big fat honey-dripping breasts. Nothing much I could do but try not to choke on cock and delight in every second of it.

Being a good slave, I clenched my hip muscles and abs when I could to milk the cocks trashing my pussy, tightened my pucker up to draw them into an early release, and sucked as passionately as I could, coaxing loads of goblin-spunk to fill my slutty little bitcholes. Pure bliss. Every second of it was pure bliss. And best of all, it lasted all night long.

Sloppy hours of half-consciousness and constant mind-numbing orgasms stretched on. Muscles I’d used to tighten my holes burned with effort and at some point just gave out as I became a limp piece of fuckmeat. Everywhere felt sweaty and sticky and hot and moist. Sexual fluids dripped off of me. Both my butthole and cunny gaped, having been fucked loose. My belly grew with the cum being pumped in. Exhaustion claimed me in middle of sex and I blacked out for hours.

When I woke up from sleep it was to a mouth full of girldick and an anal stuffing. Someone had adjusted my ropes, I noticed, staring at the bamboo beams in the ceiling. I was on my back, my arms tied into chicken-wings and one leg dangling free, whilst the other was tied to the ceiling by the ankle. The bondage left all sorts of wiggle room for me to twist and turn and tempt the eye, but there was hardly any need.

Dunno if there was supposed to be a rotation or an order in which we were getting fucked, cos I never had to do any of that sexy rope-dancing stuff. My aphrodisiac body-fluids made me something of a favorite.

That day, I spent at most half-an-hour not being spitroasted and of it ten not being fucked. Time got a bit fuzzy after the first few nights. No rhythm but the thrust of hips gave order to things as gobbos came and went. I let my thoughts blank out completely, riding the numb bliss as I got ridden. 

Cocks blended together. My openings grew slutty and loosened permanently from constant usage, ruined like the rest of my tattoo riddled, arcanely modified, monster-pregnancy swollen body. Gods did that thought keep getting me hot over and over again. I could no longer close my asshole or pussy. Whenever either wasn’t plugged by a dick, gobbo gunk kept on dribbling out of them, trickling down my thighs, tummy, or back depending on how they’d tied me up for that day.

Still, to this day, I have zero clue as to what I was supposed to be learning there. Like, sure, I could use my mantle as a goddess of knowledge to find out, but honestly I like leaving a few mysteries behind. Makes the whole thing feel more absurd and that tickles my humor kink.

Whatever the case, I apparently failed.

I was panting heavily, tied into a lewd breeding position with my ankles and wrists behind my neck, hanging from the ceiling from my hair and harness. Droplets of cum slid down my heavy tits as I stared ahead, drooling like a brainless fuckdoll with a womb. It took a long time for me to register that the goblin standing before me was Shamaness and that the noises she was making were speech.

“Be not worry, Uh’Ah. Even if Uh’Ah fail here, sisters of Cstabath will be patient until Uh’Ah learns what it mean to be Sacrifice.”

From there, my slave life became a rollercoaster of challenges I never had any hopes of completing.

They tried to teach me worship by having me follow a goblin on all four as her personal relief pet. They tried bending me into a sexy girl-pretzel with rope and bamboo and had me spend months as Shamaness’ chair, with my face as her ball-rest. They tried keeping me in a discount tribal version of a horny jail to ‘clean space in my head for pious thoughts’, which obviously worked as well as you might imagine. Those poor cute sexy gobbos invented a dozen religious challenges just for me, desperate to make me into a devout Sacrifice the way other Hellos, His, and Umms were. Lewdly speaking, I was ready to be sacrificed. Spiritually, I apparently kept on lacking whatever crucial part they required of me.

I guessed that it had something to do with the fact that I am, ya’know, a demigoddess. No matter how much I tried, it was physically impossible for me to worship another entity in a religious sense, even with divaslab’s restrictions on!

Two years passed. Countless female cattle came and went. I alone remained a constant quest of the research facility’s goblin reserve.

Though our relationship was strained at times, Shamaness and I became fast friends. But even our friendship could not overcome the fact that I was a stain on the pride of the Cstabath Cloister, and so, eventually, the day came when I was given to the Great Big One to impregnate.

It was a windless sunny day, as days in the windless and sunny artificial enclosure tended to be. We gathered at the ritual inverted pyramid, a tiered clay hole that I had until now been barred from entering. Shamaness, the sisters of the cloister, and a small group of perfectly good sacrifice candidates had gathered to pray for my success in hopes that their devotion could offset my blasphemous nature.

Guided by Shamaness’ hand, I eased to kneel on the large altar slab, while sisters of the cloister chanted in goblin.

Lilac curves of my motherly figure glistened under layers of scented oils and ointments. Even the durlatex bondage lingerie given to us by the research facility were shined. My hair was enchanted with magic that put Loreal commercials to shame and ritual make-up put my beauty on full display, drawing attention away from the numerous arcane tattoos and the piercings marring my body. I wasn’t bound. Not even gagged. The ceremony required faith and sacrifice, and as the Sacrifice of tonight I was already supposed to have learned the art of bondageless-self-bondage. Plainly speaking, I kept my arms folded behind the small of my back, kept my legs folded, my back straight, and posed there all exposed and still like I was a submissive waiting for her domina to start telling her she’s been a bad girl.

Oops. Drool slipped down my chin. I licked it back up and hoped nobody noticed.

Shamaness’ was shouting at the sky, hopping about. Her tribal bling jingled together with the chant rising from the cloister of goblin futas, rising in depth and in intensity, growing into a thundering rhythm, and then beyond thunder into a physical sensation.

An enormous pressure leaned on the world. Something beyond sight turned its attention on the goblin village. All across the painted mountain-range and the painted sky, arcane runes flashed into bright shades of pink and purple, but it did not stop the descent of the otherworldly presence. Fake peeled open above me like parting lips and along with it, reality. 

Emerald scales. No. Feathers? One blink they were one, then became the other. The being extending towards me was a coiling snake or a wyrm, its neck a tapestry of scintillating hues too beautiful to fully fit the mortal plane, and thus it bent laws of reality to forcibly squeeze itself into being. Its face, if it could be said to have one, was a mass of interlocking clay plates shielded by a thick mane of plates decorated with tribal sigils similar to ones I’d seen the goblins wear as tattoos. Transfixed by its beauty, I stared at the fledgling god reaching down towards me, wondering if I should say hi. 

Before I could decide, its plate-covered face opened into and a mass of pink tentacles reached out and yanked me up into a world of tightly squeezing darkness and hot slithering tentacles ruled by the cutest little perv of a fledgling goddess I’ve ever met.