Goblin Seed for the Dawn Cleric

Pretty femboy cleric stripped and brutally gangbanged by goblins in the depths, ass stretched and face glazed before claiming Lathander’s relic in holy revenge.

The ruined temple of the forgotten god loomed around us like the skeletal remains of some ancient beast, its once-majestic halls now choked with crumbling stone and creeping vines that pulsed faintly with residual divine energy. Torches flickered in our hands, casting long, dancing shadows across walls etched with faded murals of Lathander’s dawn—golden rays breaking over forgotten battles. I, Seren, walked at the heart of our little band, my morningstar slung across my back and my holy symbol—a small golden sunburst—dangling between the gentle swell of my chest beneath the steel cuirass. At eighteen, my body had always drawn lingering glances, even armored: the soft, inviting curve of my hips swaying with each careful step, my shapely thighs brushing together under the leather belt skirt, and the plump, rounded fullness of my rear shifting noticeably with every cautious footfall. My shoulder-length black hair, silky and straight, framed a delicate face with large, luminous brown eyes that caught the torchlight like polished amber, a narrow nose, and full, soft lips that parted slightly as I whispered prayers for guidance.

Thorne lumbered ahead, the gruff human fighter’s broad shoulders straining his chainmail, his bearded jaw set in perpetual scowl. “Keep your eyes sharp, Seren,” he grunted, voice like grinding gravel. “This place reeks of old curses. One wrong step and we’re all goblin chow.”

Lirien, the sly half-elf rogue, slipped along the right flank, her lithe form barely stirring the dust. A wicked grin split her freckled face as she twirled a dagger. “Oh, come on, big man. If goblins show, I’ll have their throats before they squeak. Besides, our pretty cleric here could probably charm them with those big doe eyes alone.” She shot me a teasing wink, her emerald gaze lingering just a moment too long on the way my armor hugged my narrow waist and the subtle, feminine softness that pressed against the metal plates.

Brom, the quiet dwarf wizard, brought up the rear, his stubby fingers clutching a staff topped with a glowing crystal. His bushy beard hid most of his expression, but I caught the faint nod he gave me. “Steady spells, lass. Lathander’s light won’t fail us if we don’t falter first.”

We had descended for hours, the air growing thicker, damper, laced with the metallic tang of old blood and the faint musk of something feral. My heart thrummed with a mix of holy purpose and that secret thrill I never voiced—the way strangers sometimes mistook my smooth, hairless tan-white skin and gentle contours for a girl’s, the way my slightly soft frame at sixty-five kilograms settled into inviting plumpness at my thighs, hips, and that thick, jiggly backside that the belt skirt couldn’t fully hide. I loved it in quiet moments, though I’d never admit it to the party. Now, though, focus was everything. The Holy Relic of Lathander waited deeper still: a golden amulet pulsing with the power of dawn, said to banish any shadow.

The corridor narrowed, forcing us single file. I cast a soft light spell, my voice melodic as golden motes danced from my fingertips, illuminating the way ahead. “Lathander guide our steps,” I murmured, feeling the divine warmth flow through me.

Then the world betrayed us.

A low rumble started beneath my boots—subtle at first, like distant thunder. Thorne barked a warning, but it was too late. The floor heaved violently, ancient flagstones cracking and splitting with a deafening roar. Dust and debris exploded upward. I stumbled, arms windmilling, as the section under me gave way entirely. My scream tore from my pouty lips as I plummeted, the others’ shouts fading above—Thorne’s furious roar, Lirien’s sharp curse, Brom’s frantic incantation—all swallowed by the collapsing stone.

I tumbled through darkness, armor clanging against jagged rock, my black hair whipping across my delicate features. Pain flared in my shoulder as I bounced off a ledge, then nothing but rushing air until I slammed into a heap of damp straw and loose dirt far below. The impact drove the breath from my lungs. For a heartbeat, the world spun—my large brown eyes blinking against the gloom, my soft lips gasping for air. A goblin warren. I recognized the stench immediately: foul, earthy rot mixed with unwashed bodies and the sharp reek of their crude fires.

Before I could push myself up on trembling arms, they came.

A dozen of the filthy creatures swarmed from every shadow—small, wiry frames no taller than my chest, their green skin slick with grime, yellow teeth bared in snarling grins, red eyes gleaming with savage hunger. Their ragged loincloths barely concealed the thick, veined shafts between their bandy legs. I rolled to my feet in an instant, morningstar swinging in a wide, glowing arc blessed with sacred flame. The first goblin’s skull caved with a wet crunch, brains and blood spraying across my steel cuirass. “Lathander’s wrath!” I cried, pivoting to smash the second one’s chest inward, ribs shattering as holy fire erupted from the impact. The creature shrieked, collapsing in a charred heap.

But there were too many. They poured in like a tide of vermin, claws scrabbling at my legs, tiny bodies leaping onto my back. I felt their sharp nails tearing at the straps of my spaulders, prying at the buckles of my vambraces. One latched onto my belt skirt, yanking hard enough to make the leather groan. My morningstar was wrenched from my grip by three pairs of hands, the heavy weapon clattering away into the straw. I tried to chant a spell—radiant bolts forming on my tongue—but a crude wooden club whistled through the air and connected squarely with my temple.

Stars exploded behind my eyes. Pain lanced through my skull like white-hot lightning. My delicate body crumpled, knees buckling, the soft curves of my hips and plump rear hitting the dirt as darkness rushed in. The last thing I registered was their chittering laughter echoing around me, their hot, foul breath washing over my smooth skin.

Then nothing.

I woke to the sting of cold straw against my bare skin and the heavy, musky reek of goblin sweat filling my lungs. My head throbbed where the club had struck, a dull pulse behind my large, doe-like brown eyes. I tried to move, but rough hands were already on me, pinning my soft shoulders to the filthy floor of their den. The steel cuirass, leather spaulders, vambraces, and belt skirt lay scattered like broken shells around me. Only my sturdy leather boots and the steel poleyns guarding my knees remained, leaving the rest of my smooth, hairless tan-white body completely exposed to the five leering creatures circling me. My full, plush rear pressed into the dirt, my shapely thighs trembled, and the gentle, girlish swell of my chest rose and fell with each panicked breath. Between my legs, my smooth, circumcised shaft—five and a half inches of delicate flesh—lay half-hard against my full, heavy ballsack, betrayed by the unwanted rush of fear and adrenaline.

The goblins froze for a heartbeat, red eyes widening. Then their yellow-toothed grins split wider.

“Eh? Not girl!” the biggest one snarled in broken Common, pointing a clawed finger at my exposed length. “Tits like soft female, hips wide like breeder… but has boy-prick! Funny little thing! Still we fuck the freak-whore!”

The others chittered and slapped their thighs, their thick, veined goblin cocks—each as long as my forearm and glistening with slick precum—twitching eagerly. “Hehe, pretty human with man-bit! Make it leak more! Break the soft one!”

Before I could protest, the largest goblin seized a fistful of my silky black hair, yanking my head back so my delicate face tilted upward. My pouty lips parted in a gasp as he shoved the blunt, musky head of his cock past them, stretching my mouth wide. The salty, bitter taste flooded my tongue instantly. He drove deeper, hips bucking roughly, forcing the thick shaft over my tongue and straight into the tight ring of my throat. I gagged hard, throat convulsing around the intrusion, thick ropes of slobber spilling from the corners of my stretched lips and dripping down my chin onto the soft mounds of my chest. Tears streamed from my wide brown eyes as he used my face like a sleeve, balls slapping wetly against my narrow jaw with every brutal thrust. The other four crowded close, rough little hands slapping and squeezing the heavy, jiggling cheeks of my rear, making the plush flesh ripple and sting.

“Swallow, soft-thing!” he growled, voice guttural. “Take goblin seed down girl-throat!”

My body betrayed me; the relentless pressure against the back of my throat made my own smooth shaft twitch and leak clear fluid onto my thigh. He snarled, buried himself to the root, and erupted. Hot, thick spurts flooded my mouth and throat. I choked, swallowing involuntarily around the pulsing cock as some of the bitter load slid down, while the rest bubbled back out around my lips. He yanked free with a wet pop, and the remaining ropes painted my pretty features—splattering across my long lashes, streaking my soft cheeks, coating my pouty lips, and dripping into my silky black hair.

They didn’t give me time to catch my breath. Rough hands flipped me onto my hands and knees in the straw, my heavy rear raised high, back arched so the gentle curve of my spine dipped invitingly. My boots and poleyns scraped the dirt as my knees stayed planted. Open palms cracked across my smooth, rounded ass again and again—sharp, echoing slaps that turned the velvety skin bright crimson, each impact sending ripples through the thick, chunky flesh and making my full balls swing heavily between my thighs. I cried out, voice breaking, as one goblin mounted me from behind. His clawed hands gripped my wide hips, claws digging into the soft give of my waist, and he slammed his thick cock straight into my tight rear without warning. The sudden stretch burned like fire, my ring forced open around the invading girth as he buried himself to the hilt in one savage thrust. He rutted like a beast, hips slapping loudly against my reddened cheeks, the fat head battering deep inside me with every plunge. Unwanted sparks of pleasure shot through my core each time he ground against that sensitive spot inside, making my own smooth shaft bounce and drip steadily onto the straw below.

The others kept spanking my glowing rear, pinching the soft, girlish swells of my chest until my small nipples stood hard and aching. “Good hole!” one laughed. “Tight like virgin girl, but boy-prick leaks like slut!”

The goblin behind me grunted louder, pace frantic, then buried himself deep and flooded me. Hot pulses of thick seed pumped into my depths, so much that it immediately began leaking out around his shaft, running in warm rivulets down my shapely thighs. He pulled free with a wet squelch, leaving my stretched entrance gaping and glistening.

Still they weren’t satisfied. Two of them grabbed me under the arms and thighs, lifting my soft, trembling body as though I weighed nothing. One goblin lay on his back in the straw, his rigid cock pointing straight up like a spear. They lowered me onto him, my thick thighs straddling his narrow hips, my plush rear spreading wide as his length speared back into my already-slick hole. My knees planted on either side of his ribs, poleyns cool against his green skin. Before I could adjust to the fullness, a second goblin stepped behind me, pressed his chest to my back, and forced his own cock alongside the first—both shafts stretching my rear impossibly wide at once. I cried out sharply, the dual invasion burning and stuffing me fuller than I thought possible, my soft belly bulging slightly with the obscene pressure. They began thrusting in alternating rhythm—one sliding deep while the other withdrew—rocking my curvy frame between them. My heavy rear bounced and jiggled with every upward drive, my smooth shaft slapping wetly against the belly of the goblin beneath me, leaking freely now. Their hands roamed freely: slapping my tear-streaked face, kneading the soft swells of my chest, twisting my nipples until I sobbed and moaned in helpless confusion.

“Ride, pretty freak!” the one beneath me snarled, yellow eyes gleaming. “Boy-cock on girl-body still hard for goblin seed!”

The hours melted into a sweat-soaked blur of rough hands and relentless use. They dragged me to the crude stone altar at the center of the den, bending my upper body over its rough, cold surface so my soft cheek pressed hard against the gritty rock. My arms stretched forward, fingers clawing at the stone, while my heavy rear stayed raised high, legs straight and trembling in my boots. One after another they took me from behind—each goblin mounting the offered hole, pounding deep and fast, their claws raking my plush hips and leaving red welts. The first three simply rutted until they pumped fresh loads inside me, the warm seed mixing with what already leaked down my thighs in sticky trails. The fourth, smaller but crueler, worked three clawed fingers into my loosened entrance first, then four, then his entire fist—pushing slowly past the stretched ring until his wrist disappeared inside me. He twisted and pumped his balled hand deep, the obscene bulge visible under the soft skin of my belly, grinding against that inner spot until my own smooth shaft spurted weak, unwilling jets onto the altar stone. The others watched and jeered, slapping my jiggling rear. “Fist the boy-girl! Make hole gape for all!”

When he finally withdrew his glistening fist with a wet pop, the next goblin immediately replaced it with his cock, slamming home and adding another load.

They flipped me onto my back next, right there in the filthy straw. My leather boots and steel poleyns stayed on, but my shapely legs were wrenched wide apart and pushed back toward my chest, knees bent and spread so everything was obscenely displayed—my leaking rear, my smooth shaft, my full ballsack. Two goblins held my ankles high while the others took turns. Each one knelt between my spread thighs, spat thick globs of saliva directly into my gaping hole, then drove into my ass with long, punishing strokes. The wet heat of their spit mixed with the leaking seed as they fucked me deep, their grunts filling the chamber. One even leaned down and bit the soft inner flesh of my thigh, leaving a purple mark, while another slapped my bouncing shaft with each thrust, making it twitch and leak more.

“Pathetic little man-stick,” one mocked in his guttural tongue. “Girl-body, boy-prick—still leaks for us! Whore!”

Later they pressed me against the rough stone wall of the den, my shoulders to the cold rock, my delicate face turned sideways. One goblin hooked a strong arm under my left knee, lifting my thigh high and outward so my plush rear was fully spread and accessible. He pressed in from behind, angling upward to sink his thick cock deep into my abused hole in one smooth thrust. Another goblin crowded close behind him, waiting only a moment before the first pulled back and he took his place—alternating so I was never empty, each fresh invasion grinding the previous loads deeper. My right foot stayed planted in its boot, poleyn scraping the wall, while my lifted leg quivered in the goblin’s grip. Their free hands groped everywhere—kneading the heavy cheeks of my ass, squeezing my soft chest swells, pinching and twisting until fresh tears rolled down my cum-streaked cheeks.

Finally they forced me back to my knees in the center of the den. My body was already trembling, covered in handprints and bite marks, but they weren’t finished. Four of them surrounded me, cocks still hard and slick. One after another they gripped my silky black hair and drove into my mouth, using my throat with the same ruthless pace as before. I gagged and drooled helplessly, throat bulging visibly around each invading shaft, fresh slobber coating my chin and dripping onto my chest. When each reached his peak he pulled free and added to the mess—thick ropes of hot seed splattering across my delicate face, matting my long black hair, glazing the soft swells of my chest, streaking my smooth belly and even landing on my still-hard shaft. Layer after layer built up until my pretty features were nearly hidden beneath the sticky white glaze, my pouty lips swollen and shining, my large brown eyes blinking through the mess.

By the end I was a trembling wreck—kneeling in the straw, thighs slick with leaking seed, my chunky rear gaping and dripping, my smooth body painted from hair to belly in multiple loads. Bruises bloomed across my soft hips and chest, red handprints glowed on my heavy rear, bite marks dotted my shapely thighs. My own five-and-a-half-inch shaft stood shamefully erect, twitching and leaking steadily, balls heavy and drawn tight. I could barely hold myself upright, breath coming in ragged sobs, yet consciousness clung to me through the haze of pain and overstimulation.

Then the chamber entrance exploded inward.

Thorne’s roar shook the walls as his greatsword cleaved the first goblin in half. Lirien’s arrows whistled past my head, dropping two more before they could even turn. Brom’s fireballs lit the darkness, turning the last two into screaming torches. The goblins fell in seconds.

I stayed on my knees, cum-drenched and shaking, as my party rushed to me.

My knees buckled under me in the filthy straw, but strong arms caught me before I could collapse fully. Thorne’s massive frame loomed first, his greatsword still dripping goblin blood as he roared and cleaved the final creature in half with one brutal swing. The body hit the ground in two pieces, the chittering cut short forever. Lirien was at my side in an instant, her lithe half-elf body sliding under my arm to support my trembling weight. Her freckled face was tight with concern, emerald eyes flicking over my cum-glazed features and the sticky trails running down my smooth thighs, yet she said nothing cruel—only a soft, steadying murmur. “Easy, Seren. We’ve got you.”

Brom shuffled forward, staff glowing with soft amber light. The quiet dwarf wizard’s bushy beard twitched as he began muttering ancient syllables, his stubby fingers tracing runes in the air. Warmth flooded through me like sunrise breaking after endless night. The worst of the bruises faded from my soft hips and the gentle swells of my chest; the deep aches in my plush rear eased to a dull throb. Some of the thick layers of seed dissolved under the magic, though not all—enough to let me breathe without choking on the scent. My delicate face, framed by matted black hair, still felt heavy with what remained, but the healing let my large brown eyes focus properly again.

Thorne sheathed his blade with a metallic ring and shrugged off his heavy cloak. He draped it around my naked shoulders without a word of judgment, the wool rough but blessedly warm against my tan-white skin. The fabric hung loose over my curvy frame, hiding the jiggle of my thick rear and the soft, inviting curves of my thighs. “We’ll make the rest of them pay,” he growled, voice like grinding stone, eyes hard with fury but never once lingering in shame on the exposed length between my legs or the way my body had been used. He simply turned and started gathering my scattered armor pieces—cuirass dented, spaulders scratched, belt skirt torn but still serviceable.

Lirien squeezed my arm gently, her sly grin returning in a smaller, reassuring version. “You held on long enough for us to find you, pretty one. That’s more than most could manage down here.” Brom only nodded once, silent as ever, and pressed a small vial of restorative into my palm. “Drink. Strength returns.”

I pulled the cloak tighter around my soft, rounded form, my plush weight settling back into familiar balance as the healing took full hold. My shoulder-length black hair, still damp and sticky in places, fell across my delicate features as I stood straighter. The party didn’t ask questions. They didn’t mock the smooth five-and-a-half-inch shaft that had betrayed my arousal amid the horror, nor the full ballsack that had drawn goblin ridicule. Thorne simply handed me my morningstar, its weight familiar and grounding in my grip. Lirien helped me buckle the damaged cuirass back over my chest, the steel cool against the gentle swells beneath. Brom muttered another minor cantrip to mend the worst rips in the leather. Within minutes I was armored again—if battered—and the rage that had simmered beneath the pain flared bright and holy.

We pressed deeper.

The goblin warren gave way to narrower tunnels lit only by our torches and the faint glow of my renewed light spell. My boots and poleyns scraped against uneven stone, every step reminding me of the soreness that still lingered in my shapely thighs and the heavy curve of my rear, yet I channeled it into fury. Lathander’s fire burned in my veins now, fueled by what I had endured. The first pack of remaining goblins—eight of them, chittering and armed with crude spears—ambushed us at a fork. Thorne tanked the charge, his shield bashing two aside like toys while his sword sang. Lirien danced through shadows, her blades flashing as she slit throats with precise, sly cuts. Brom’s magic wove ice shards that impaled three more. I stepped forward, voice ringing clear despite the rawness in my throat. “Dawn’s judgment!” Radiant beams lanced from my outstretched hands, searing green flesh and turning screams to ash. The last goblin fled; Lirien’s arrow took it in the back before it could raise alarm.

We moved on, the air growing hotter, thicker with the stench of deeper evil. Deadly traps waited—pressure plates that would have dropped spiked grates, illusory walls hiding pit falls. Brom’s quiet wisdom spotted the runes; Lirien’s nimble fingers disarmed the mechanisms with lockpicks and a teasing whistle. Thorne’s brute strength cleared collapsed rubble when needed. I kept my spells ready, my delicate fingers tracing holy symbols in the air, the golden sunburst at my neck pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My body still ached in secret places—the plush give of my hips bore faint handprint bruises under the armor, my smooth skin carried hidden bite marks—but the relic’s distant call pulled us forward like a beacon.

Hours passed in the torchlit dark. We slaughtered two more goblin patrols, each fight fiercer than the last. My morningstar crushed skulls with divine force, the impacts sending holy sparks flying. Thorne roared encouragement between swings: “That’s it, Seren—show them the light!” Lirien laughed sharply as she tumbled past a swinging blade trap, calling back, “Our cleric’s got fire in her belly today!” Even Brom offered a rare grunt of approval when my radiant burst cleared a room of archers. The party moved as one, protective without pity, their loyalty a shield stronger than any steel.

At last the tunnel widened into the grand artifact chamber—a vast cavern dominated by a cracked altar of black stone. There, atop a dais of piled bones, stood the massive hobgoblin chieftain, a towering brute in spiked plate, his yellow eyes burning with malice. Flanking him were two ogres—hulking, gray-skinned giants with clubs the size of tree trunks. The Holy Relic of Lathander rested on a pedestal behind them, its golden surface glowing softly, pulsing with the promise of dawn.

The chieftain bellowed in guttural Goblin, raising a jagged axe. “Intruders! Kill the soft ones!”

Thorne charged first, shield raised, drawing the ogres’ attention with a thunderous battle cry. “Come on, you lumbering filth!” One ogre swung; Thorne met the blow with a clash that shook the chamber, his muscles straining but holding. The second ogre lumbered in, but Lirien was already a blur—slipping behind it, blades carving deep gashes in its hamstrings. Brom wove a spell of slowing, roots of ice crawling up the creatures’ legs.

I stood at the center, black hair whipping as I raised my hands. The soreness in my curvy frame, the lingering heat in my thick rear, all fed the divine power. “Lathander, let your light burn away the shadow!” Twin beams of searing radiance erupted from my palms, slamming into the hobgoblin chieftain’s chest. He staggered, armor glowing red-hot, roaring in agony as the holy energy ate through his defenses. He lunged at me, axe raised, but Thorne intercepted, taking the hit on his shield with a grunt. “Not her, you bastard!”

Lirien’s arrows flew true, one piercing the chieftain’s eye. Brom’s fireball exploded against the second ogre, charring flesh. I poured more power forth—another radiant lance that blasted the chieftain to his knees. His axe clattered away. Thorne finished him with a single overhead strike, the blade cleaving helm and skull alike. The ogres fell moments later under combined assault: Lirien’s precise strikes, Brom’s magic, my final burst of dawnfire that left them smoldering heaps.

Silence fell, broken only by our heavy breathing. The chamber smelled of ozone and victory.

I approached the pedestal on legs that still trembled faintly. My gloved fingers closed around the Holy Relic of Lathander. It was warm—alive—its golden surface humming against my palm like a second heartbeat. Pure light radiated outward, washing over my battered armor and the soft, feminine contours beneath. For the first time since the cave-in, a true smile touched my pouty lips. The relic’s glow seemed to pulse in perfect rhythm with my own heart, as if it had witnessed every degrading moment below and still chose me.

We retraced our steps upward, the party forming a protective ring around me. Thorne led, ever vigilant. Lirien scouted ahead with her usual sly grace. Brom walked beside me, his quiet presence steady. None spoke of what had happened in the goblin den. They simply guarded the soft curves of my body, the delicate sway of my hips as we climbed, the way my shoulder-length black hair caught the rising light.

At last we emerged from the ruined temple into the open air. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, painting the sky in rose and gold—the very essence of Lathander. The relic in my hands flared brighter, matching the sunrise as if in greeting. My armor was ruined, dented and torn in places, yet I stood taller. My body still carried faint marks beneath the steel—the lingering tenderness in my shapely thighs, the subtle ache in the heavy, rounded fullness of my rear—but the pain had transmuted into something fiercer. Strength. Resolve.

Thorne clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, careful not to jar me. “You did good, Seren. Damn good.” Lirien flashed her teasing grin. “Told you those big doe eyes could charm anything—even fate.” Brom simply nodded, eyes crinkling in rare approval.

I looked down at the glowing amulet, then out at the new day. The soft, inviting lines of my tan-white frame, the gentle swells of my chest, the plush invitation of my hips and thick rear—all of it had been broken and defiled in the dark. Yet here I was, relic in hand, party at my side. I was no longer just the pretty young cleric with the luminous brown eyes and silky black hair.

I was the survivor who had been used and shattered by goblins in the depths… and still risen, unbowed, to claim what was ours.

The dawn light washed over us all, warm and forgiving, as we turned toward home.