The forest quieted around her, the calls of cicadas melting into a hush so deep it carried the weight of anticipation. Selvara Draymore moved with a hunter's poise, her boots whispering against the moss, her black leathers clinging to her skin as if the darkness itself had taken shape around her. She felt the eyes before she saw him—low, cautious, old.
The goblin stepped into view, slower than the others. His back was bent, his gait uneven, as though every step cost him a measure of strength. His skin was mottled, his tusks dulled, and yet his gaze carried the same feral hunger as the rest of his kind. Selvara tilted her head, her lips curving faintly.
"So it must be you…" she whispered, letting the thought carry like a sigh.
She didn't raise her branch. She didn't strike. Instead, she loosened her stance, her body swaying ever so slightly, a bait as deliberate as it was dangerous. The goblin hesitated, then crept closer, drawn in by instinct stronger than fear.
His clawed hands found her shoulders first, rough and trembling, sliding lower until they closed around her chest. Selvara inhaled, her lashes lowering as she let the touch linger. The goblin's mouth pressed greedily against the swell of her breast, biting, sucking, the wet sounds crude and needy in the silence of the glade.
Her lips parted, breath catching.
The leather shifted against her skin with every tug, every desperate pull of his mouth, and the tension she had kept buried through battle after battle loosened. A tremor ran down her spine, her gloved fingers tightening around the goblin's shoulder but never pushing him away.
Heat built within her, sharp and unrelenting, coiling lower and lower until her body arched in answer. A soft gasp escaped her throat—then another, sharper, until the shiver overtook her, cresting into a sudden, undeniable release.
Her head tipped back, golden strands spilling loose, a faint cry slipping free as her climax rippled through her body. The goblin clung tighter, drunk on the taste, as she trembled beneath him.
The wrestling was far from over.
Her eyes opened, half-lidded but glinting with the promise of more.
"Fufufu…" she breathed, voice husky. "Not yet."
The forest pressed in, heavy and damp, as though every branch bore witness. Selvara knelt before the elder goblin, the cool moss soaking into the leather of her knees, her golden hair spilling forward as her gloved fingers pushed his rags aside. What she revealed made her inhale sharply, the breath trembling in her throat.
"...Disproportionate," she whispered, though her tone was more clinical than the warmth that flushed through her cheeks.
Her lips parted, soft and uncertain for only a heartbeat before she leaned closer. When she took him between them, the sheer weight of his length forced her jaw wide. Her tongue curled instinctively along the underside, tasting the salt of sweat and musk. The first wet suction drew a startled sound from her own chest, a low hum vibrating around him.
"Mmmhh—khhhah…"
Saliva welled quickly, spilling at the corners of her mouth, drooling down her chin and dripping onto her leathers. Each movement of her lips was met with a crude, wet chorus:
Schhlk—slrp—chhhkkk—glkkk.
The goblin's claws clutched into her hair, tugging her head into a rhythm, and Selvara obeyed, swallowing down each forceful thrust. Her throat tightened, the slick passage milking him with each glide, the suction deepening until it echoed obscenely in the hollow glade.
She gagged once, a sharp "kkhhhhh!" muffled around him, only to push herself deeper, drool and precum mingling, running warm down her neck. The taste coated her tongue, bitter and heavy, yet some pulse inside her quickened with every gulp.
Glrhhkk—slrrrp—gulp—gulp.
Her body betrayed her discipline, shivering as though each swallow set off sparks lower in her belly. She imagined it was training—control of breath, mastery of gag reflex, the honing of composure. But the heat between her thighs told another story entirely.
Her lashes fluttered, her throat working in greedy rhythm, and when he finally groaned, the sound guttural and raw, she braced. The surge came thick, hot, flooding her mouth faster than she could swallow. She gulped desperately, tilting her head back, throat rising and falling as she took mouthful after mouthful.
"Ghhkkk—glkhhh—slpphh—mmmhhnn…"
It spilled anyway, seeping from her lips, trailing in white ropes down her chin and onto her breasts. She coughed once, then licked the corners of her mouth with clinical precision, though her cheeks burned red.
Her eyes lifted, still sharp, though glassy with heat, her voice husky but steady.
"Effective… efficient…"
Yet inside, the truth throbbed, undeniable, as she licked the last traces from her lips.
[More.]
She swiped the back of her glove along her chin, smearing the mess away before standing with a slow, deliberate poise.
"Round one," she murmured.
And the fight was far from finished.