The goblin pressed down harder, its wiry body surprisingly heavy for its size. Darkness felt the ground digging into her back, the one-piece armor stretching so tightly that she could feel every shift of her own curves beneath it. The goblin's clawed hands squeezed her wrists against the dirt, its growl rattling close to her ear.
Her eyes widened, cheeks flushed with both exertion and embarrassment.
I… I let my guard down. To think I would celebrate victory so carelessly… ahh, how shameful of me. Now look at me—pinned beneath this filthy creature like some hapless maiden! …No, no, I must focus. I can turn this around.
She bucked her hips violently, but the goblin only snarled louder, sliding its grip lower to her forearm, forcing her body tighter against the ground. The sensation of being restrained only made her mind spiral further.
His strength is crude, yet effective… he forces me down not with skill, but with sheer animal insistence. So close, so heavy—ahh, anyone who sees me like this will surely think I sought it out myself!
The goblin tried to hook its knee between her legs to gain leverage, mimicking the motions of a wrestler, its movements clumsy but suffocating. Darkness twisted, her armor squeaking faintly under the strain.
"Not… so easily!" she shouted aloud, her voice carrying both defiance and the strange thrill that came with being trapped.
With one desperate twist, she freed a hand, snatched the branch she had dropped earlier, and jammed it upward into the goblin's side. The creature shrieked, loosening its hold just enough for her to roll out from beneath it, dirt clinging to her sweat-slicked skin beneath the armor.
She rose to her knees, panting, branch in hand, eyes gleaming with wild exhilaration.
Yes… this humiliation only makes the triumph sweeter! Come then, little monster—try to throw me down again, if you dare!
The goblin's jagged breath brushed against Darkness's cheek as he crashed into her, sending both tumbling into the dirt. She gasped, arms flailing, her makeshift branch-weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.
Its clawed hands pinned her wrists, rough and insistent. She writhed beneath its weight, her body twisting, the black one-piece armor stretching tight over every curve. The villagers' whispers echoed faintly in her head, fueling her embarrassment: they already thought I dressed to tempt… now look at me, sprawled like this…
The goblin snarled, pressing closer, its strength surprising for such a small creature. Darkness trembled — not out of fear, but at the heat rising within her chest. Her lips parted, drawing in shaky breaths as the cursed blessing awoke. A faint tear split along her thigh, the armor peeling just slightly, and with that tear came power.
Her heart raced faster. Every humiliation was fuel.
So close… so heavy… it wants to dominate me. To humiliate me…
A sharp laugh, breathless and nervous, escaped her.
"Y-You… you'll regret holding me down!"
Her body strained, muscles surging with renewed energy, the goblin struggling to keep its grip. Yet in that moment of resistance, her cheeks burned hotter. The paradox that defined her pulsed stronger than ever: the more she was subdued, the more her strength swelled, the more her shame deepened, and the more exhilarated she felt.
The goblin growled again, trying to grind her further into the earth. Darkness's head tilted back, a glimmer of joy flashing in her eyes even as her voice cracked:
"More… challenge me more! Test the will of Selvara 'Darkness' Draymore!"
Her laughter, mingled with ragged breaths, echoed through the trees. The battle was not only physical — it was an intimate clash of humiliation, desire, and raw power.
The goblin's arms locked tightly around her from behind, dragging her backward until her footing gave way. His wiry strength pressed against her shoulders, pinning her body in place. Before she could fully twist free, another shadow loomed in front of her—the second goblin stepping closer, his eyes gleaming with crude intent.
Selvara froze for a heartbeat, then scolded herself inwardly.
I was careless…! Now I've been pulled straight into the sensual wrestling. If I want to win, I have to play by its rules.
The goblin at her back held her steady, forcing her spine to arch, while the one in front seized her chin and pushed her mouth into the oral stage of the contest. It wasn't violation—this was simply how battles of this kind escalated. Still, heat rushed to her cheeks, her body trembling inside the cursed one-piece that traced every curve.
Her embarrassment wasn't about the goblins themselves—it was her own body, too fragile under touch, betraying her with every shiver. Deep inside, hidden even from her conscious mind, pulsed that secret condition the god had branded upon her: a masochistic core that turned humiliation into strength, shame into dangerous vitality.
No… this isn't the end. If I make him finish first, he'll collapse, and then I can deal with the one holding me. I have to focus… endure, and win.
Her timid thoughts swirled into frantic spirals, yet at their center a strange brightness flickered—an almost giddy thrill. Every struggle, every rush of warmth, only made her more aware of the paradox: that her weakness was also her hidden weapon.
The rough ground beneath her boots felt unsteady as Selvara twisted in the goblin's grasp, her hair brushing against his wiry chest. The cursed one-piece stretched with every movement, a second skin that betrayed the curve of her waist, the soft rise of her hips, the swell of her chest. Each desperate breath made the fabric cling tighter, amplifying her shame.
The goblin holding her from behind growled low, his grip unyielding. He didn't strike her, didn't claw—he only anchored her, arms hooked beneath her own to keep her body open. The true assault came from the one in front. He crouched low, catching her wide-eyed stare, before forcing her lips into the rhythm of the oral stage of Westling.
Her mind raced, scattering between panic and calculation.
Stupid, stupid! If I had just remembered a weapon… even a branch, I wouldn't be here. Now my only way out is through this… through him. If I win here, he'll fall. If I lose… the other will advance lower, and then I'll be fighting two fronts at once.
Her thighs quivered where the cursed fabric pinched against them, a flush spreading across her skin. Every motion of the contest seemed to strike directly at her weakness, that hidden mental curse etched into her being. The masochism she refused to name burned bright, converting her humiliation into a reckless, dangerous strength.
The goblin in front pressed harder, groaning with effort. She closed her eyes, cheeks burning crimson, forcing herself to match the pace, to turn her submission into a counterattack. Each moment she endured became a weapon; each flicker of shame a spark of power.
The villagers were far behind now, the guildhall too distant to save her. The forest around her stood silent, its trees unmoved by the struggle. Only the snarls of goblins and her muffled cries filled the air.
Come on, come on… break before I do. Fall into exhaustion. Then I'll turn on the one behind me and finish this properly.
Her thoughts looped with frantic overthinking, yet underneath, her lips tugged into the faintest tremble of a smile—giddy and terrified all at once. The paradox of her curse revealed itself in that moment: the deeper her humiliation, the more alive she felt.
And as the goblin's grip faltered for a fraction of a second, she sensed her chance approaching.
Her lungs burned with the effort, her cheeks hollowing as she drew the goblin deeper into the rhythm of the contest. Every muffled sound, every tremor of resistance only fueled her determination. She pushed past her shame, past the heat in her face, and tightened her focus on a single goal: make him break before she did.
The goblin's growls turned ragged, his grip on her chin faltering. His hips jerked, his strength wavering. She felt the shudder run through him—and then he collapsed forward with a strangled cry, releasing all at once.
The hot surge filled her mouth, and without pausing, she swallowed greedily, as if sealing her victory with the final act. Her throat worked, the cursed one-piece hugging her trembling body as she drained him completely. The goblin staggered backward, legs weak, and fell into the dirt with a dull thud, utterly spent.
Breathless, Selvara wiped the corner of her lips with the back of her hand. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the exertion heavy but strangely exhilarating. Then, despite her flushed face, a timid yet bright thought slipped into her mind:
I did it… I won this round! I really won!
Her embarrassment was still there, simmering under her skin, but it was painted over with a giddy sense of triumph. She couldn't deny it—the taste of victory was intoxicating. And as she turned her wide eyes toward the second goblin still gripping her from behind, her heart pounded with both dread and excitement.
One down… one more to go.