The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Standing alone in Iktik’s cabin, as the sun rises in Kanzibar, Amberlynn prods at her body. At her expansive bosom, and her porcine ears, from which the ornaments have thankfully been removed, and her piggish, snout-like nose (with ring still attached). It’s all so... wrong. But also, though she’s loath to think it, she’s getting accustomed to the change. It’s now been...

“Huh... oink~...“

Thinking for a long moment, Amberlynn realises that she’s lost track of the days. She used to be quite good at that, relying on her mind to keep appointments and plan activities, but she’s been rather preoccupied with other things of late.

Her fingers trace over the delicately engraved collar around her throat. It’s been glowing less and less frequently recently, and even when it was dim, Amberlynn has obeyed. That troubles her, as it always has—but right now, the collar isn’t just the annoying magical device. It’s also a symbol. A symbol of what she currently is. Property. Iktik’s personal property, with no more rights than an inanimate object. Or perhaps livestock.

Since the first time that sunk his repulsive shaft into her dripping wet pussy, that nasty, common goblin has been doing whatever he wants with her—if there’s a limit to what she can’t resist, Iktik hasn’t reached it. Instead, he’s been making ample use of her plush, cock-sucking lips and tight, Swine-Elf cunt, even occasionally kissing her (in both holes). Iktik at least leaves her anus for the tavern customers. He humiliates her in other ways as well, of course. Grasping her breasts, pulling her tail to hear her oink, and ordering her to empty her bladder in the street. Nothing is off-limits when it comes to Iktik’s enjoyment.

Including, she acknowledges with a heavy heart, his attempts to corrupt her womb. Not content with having an obedient, Swine-Elf slave, even though he knows that he can’t keep her for long, Iktik seems intent on turning her into his broodmare. Thankfully, it seems that took Iktik the better part of a day to replenish the meagre mana reserves in his testicles. Even that small amount can do a lot of harm, when applied often enough. And while the goblin was diligent in his applications, Amberlynn could clearly tell that her body hadn’t succumbed just yet. Which might be all she needs.

Because even if she’s lost count of how long she’s been here, that time is finally coming to a close—as she heard from Puck yesterday evening, her father is due to ride into town today, finally bringing the money to buy her freedom.

Which is why she’s inspecting herself, to ensure that she looks her best—however low that turns out to be. Looking back up at the mirror, Amberlynn shudders at the sight of Truffles staring back at her. Iktik had acquiesced to her request for a mirror, paid for with her tavern wages. Albeit a small one, nothing like the floor to ceiling marvels that graced her bedchambers at home, but... she’s not sure if she regrets it or not.

It’s quite a luxury, paid for out of her wages from the Shackled Swan, and it reminds her of the Golden Forest. She’d been pushing such thoughts from her mind since being captured, not wanting to sharpen the feelings of despair with recollections of gentle garden walks, tea and cakes in decorated drawing rooms, and flowing dresses for her slender body.

She used to care so much about how the other ladies of the court thought of her, and in turn, she judged them just as harshly in return. It all seems somewhat... trivial now. Maybe there’s something to be said for not caring about how you look, and focusing on pleasure...?

Pushing such silly thoughts from her mind, Amberlynn shakes her head, and starts to gather her skimpy bikini ‘uniform’. Despite her rescue being so close, she’s still got her shift at the tavern to go to. Iktik’s orders see to that. Looking in the mirror again, Amberlynn considers how her hair covers her ears like this. Her ears, which she used to be so proud of, long and smoothly tapered—now wide, animalistic, and with a goblin-green gradient...

For a moment, she thinks of hiding them, so that her father won’t see. But no, she’d rather that he sees everything, as soon as possible. Rip that bandage off as soon as possible, so she can focus on getting back to normal! But before that, she’s got to put her hair up into pigtails, and jiggle down to the Shackled Swan.

“Come on, piggy! Oink for me!”

Recently, Truffles has been getting a lot more popular at the tavern. More popular even than Ditzi the halfling, and not needing any more direction from Akaza, the level of interest is still... peculiar. Ever since her appearance at that party, thrown by a high-ranking Slavers’ Guild official, there have been a few people asking rather probing questions.

People were asking about where she came from, how long she’s been a Swine Elf, and perhaps most concerning, how to make other Swine Elves. Thankfully, Puck is usually there watching, and the Truffles persona allows her enough leeway to play dumb—although she usually has to distract these men by sucking their cocks. Not that they seemed to mind.

They don’t seem to suspect her true identity, which is one small relief. Although it does raise the question of why they’ve got such an interest in her at all...

Still, the attention she gets from her regulars, like Rucktusk the orc, hasn’t changed in the slightest—and the collar around Amberlynn’s neck doesn’t glow in the slightest when he gives her a command.

“OIIINK~!”

Bent over a table, and needing to stand on a stool to reach, she’s currently squeezing one of her breasts to release a spray of milk into his flagon. It’s become one of the more popular drinks sold in the Shackled Swan, and Truffles’ bosom seems almost inexhaustible. At least Iktik forbade anybody from drinking directly, because last time that happened, she felt her mana do something odd...

In fact, the goblin hasn’t suckled from her at all since that first time, which Amberlynn is abundantly grateful for. One of the very few things she’s grateful to Iktik for, and it’s ridiculous that she should even feel gratitude at all towards him.

When the lactic flow dribbles to a stop, Rucktusk pulls his flagon away, and takes a long swig. Smacking his lips together, he pats Truffles on the head and gives her an approving nod, before shifting his hand to her shoulder. From there, he starts to put a little more pressure on her.

“Yer elf milk’s good as ever, Truffles! Now, let’s see if you c’n get some orc milk, eh?“

And Truffles doesn’t need to be told twice. Nodding her head, and forcing a vacant grin onto her face, Amberlynn manoeuvres her chubby, Swine Elf body under the table. Opening her plush, glossy lips, she starts to slurp on the orc’s sweaty green cock. It isn’t until she’s halfway down the shaft that Amberlynn realises the collar didn’t make her do any of that.

Which is... fine, right? It would’ve forced her into it anyway¸ so it makes no difference! Despite being rescued this afternoon, she still has to play the role of Truffles until then, even if that means swallowing a thick, orcish schlong. Even if it doesn’t affect her in the same way as Iktik’s pheromone-laden goblinhood, Amberlynn doesn’t skimp in her affections.

As she continues to work away at Rucktusk’s prodigious stamina, giving Amberlynn a brief respite to think, a pair of boots approach the table. Small boots with shiny leather, which clearly aren’t needed to work outside. The wearer of said boots takes a moment to clear their throat, presumably trying to get the orc’s attention, before a nasal voice speaks up.

“Excuse me, mister orc... you’ve got one of those Swine Elves sucking you off, yes? How good would you say that it was?”

Rucktusk lets out a low grumble of contentment, as he sets the flagon of elf-milk down on the table. Reaching one hand under the table, he ‘gently’ encourages Truffles to go deeper, eliciting a slightly surprised gagging noise—but also obedience, as she does exactly that.

“It’s the best damn blowie I ’ad since... well, since ’er last one! There ain’t no one in the city better’n Truffles ’ere.”

The soft sound of a quill scratching on paper follows Rucktusk’s speech, and the gnome (as Amberlynn notices) ducks his head down to look at her under the table. His appearance isn’t too dissimilar to Stipplewright, the gnome whose alchemical handiwork transformed her, although this one seems a fair bit younger.

“Mmm-hmm. I see, I see. That’s remarkable... and her other services are just as exemplary?“

His questions continue like that for a little while, as the dim-witted orc smugly sings her praises, although he’s clear to state that he’s disappointed about never getting to use her ‘piggy pussy’, as he puts it. It’s flattering... in a way. Not really something that Amberlynn wants to hear, but Truffles would certainly be wiggling and giggling in joy.

“And when did you first see her in Kanzibar? I’ve had some unsubstantiated reports of another Swine Elf in the human city of Burndin, but I’d like to hear from a few—”

“Hold on jus’ one second, shorty... I’m ’boutta empty my nuts. It’s good fer her ta swallow, y’know. Full’a nutrients or whatever!”

Any further conversation is blotted out by Rucktusk’s orgasm—his meaty hand grasps the back of Truffles’ head, as he forces his cock balls deep. Drinking down the gloopy, apparently-nutritious spunk for a long twenty, thirty seconds, the mysterious question asker is gone by the time Amberlynn emerges. For a moment, she wonders what he was doing here, and why he didn’t stick around to order anything, but her attention is soon grabbed by another customer.

She’s sure that it’s nothing important.

Partway through her final shift at the Shackled Swan, Iktik arrives to collect her. Amberlynn’s heart leaps in her chest, even as she’s forced to let her current customer finish off (in her butt, of course). Then, stripping her out of her uniform, and attaching a familiar chain to her leash, the goblin leads her out of the tavern, and towards the Kanzibar Slavers’ Guild.

“So... ’ow ya feelin’ ’bout this? Think he’ll want ya back?”

During her time spent with Iktik, Amberlynn has (quite reluctantly) gotten to know him quite well. Things that she might’ve bristled at when he first bought her are instead recognised as jokes. This one is most certainly just him teasing her—but the direct question still causes the collar to prompt an answer from her.

“Y-yes! Oink~... of course! I’m... oink~... excited to be getting away from oink~ Kanzibar.“

And him, of course. But she’s not always forced to tell Iktik the entire truth. Which is lucky, because even as she doesn’t want to admit it to herself... Amberlynn worries that she might miss some things about her time here. Part of it is no doubt due to the aphrodisiac effects of his porridge-thick semen, but the fact of the matter remains that the goblin’s cock feels good.

Even though she knew exactly what every deep, unprotected creampie was doing to her, there was no way she could avoid the orgasms that came with them. All she could do was resist his ‘natural’ goblin magic until her father arrived—which she’s pleased that she managed to do!

Iktik doesn’t question her anymore as they reach busier streets, instead choosing to bask in the increased attention that he’s been receiving. As the owner of such a popular slave, that apparently imparts no small amount of popularity on him, especially as he’s been so generous as to rent her out in the Shackled Swan. Amongst the other rare and high-quality slaves in that tavern, she was soon identified as the cream of the crop.

Which is part of why Amberlynn starts to get a little confused... and worried, as they near the Slavers’ Guild. Iktik doesn’t seem reluctant in the slightest, despite the fact that her contract will soon be bought out. Even when they enter the building, the goblin’s spirits are high. Speaking to a clerk, it isn’t long before a familiar man appears—Mr Grundle, the official from the day she was first captured. Taking the leash in his hand, he then leads them both through the opulent building to a grassy courtyard, as the midday sun beats down on them all.

Lingering there beside a gurgling fountain, Truffles’ plush body is covered in sweat by the time somebody approaches. The tramp of heavy boots, and rattle of plate armour precede the entrance of three more people into the courtyard. Striding along confidently, in front of two spear-wielding guards, is a man that Lady Amberlynn of House Oriand would never mistake.

“Father! Oink~!“

Even in a moment like this, she couldn’t suppress her pig-like snort, but Amberlynn is so excited that she couldn’t care less. Coming to a halt a few yards away, with his elven guards posting up at either shoulder, there’s a long pause before Lord Rustermere Oriand speaks.

“Is this... is this really her...?“

The comment is hurtful, but understandable. Right now, Amberlynn almost wishes that she did wear her hair longer, to cover her drooping, green-tinged ears. But that would’ve just made her even hotter and sweatier. At least she’s not suffering from the effects of goblin semen—for some reason, Iktik has been holding back a little, the last couple of days.

Behind her, the official from the Slavers’ Guild nods and smiles, apparently quite pleased with this situation. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Lord Oriand lifts a hand to his forehead and knuckles his brow. For a moment, it seems like he won’t believe it, but then he looks up and gives a firm nod.

“Sir Puck did mention something about... Swine-Elves. Well, ahem... it looks like they’ve been... feeding you enough, at least.“

That is technically correct, even if it was mostly table scraps—potato peels, apple cores, bacon rinds (which feels a little weird). That sort of thing, and plenty of it. Iktik could have easily afforded to feed her ‘people food’ like bread and cheese, but her diet was just one more avenue he used to humiliate her. Not that Truffles had any trouble eating her stale crusts and bruised vegetables. Even when the goblin doesn’t smother her meals in his thick, cloying jizz, her Swine Elf physiology seems to welcome the shoddy fare, keeping her soft and plump despite her vigorous exercise.

Not wanting to linger any more than he has to, now that he’s satisfied with his daughter’s identity, Lord Oriand quickly moves past the small talk. Averting his eyes from her plump, piggish form, he gestures back towards the building, and her exit from this extended nightmare.

“Let us just exchange the coin, and be out of here, yes? My daughter has been through enough!”

Amberlynn finally starts to relax—her father is going to take her home, this foul transformation will be removed, and everything can go back to how it should be. Except that Mr Grundle, the Slavers’ Guild official holds a hand up and shakes his head, keeps a firm grip on the Swine-Elf’s leash.

“I’m sorry Lord Oriand, but there might be a slight problem there. You see, the current owner of Truffles, Mister Iktik here, actually... how should I put this, ah... he claims that she’s not an elf. And if that is true, then... you can’t buy her out.“

Beside her, still not saying a word, Iktik’s smile is extremely smug.

As defined by the Elven High Kingdom Parliament, elves are a graceful, noble folk with pointed ears and high natural magical ability. In addition, they assert that while male elves may copulate with human women to produce half-elves, female elves are only compatible with others of their kind. This is not just relevant to internal elven politics, however—but also in Kanzibar Slavers’ Guild business. The existence of half-elves, many of which can appear very similar to true-blooded elves, may present problems regarding the High Kingdom Treaty of Elven Repatriation.

As stated in that treaty, elves taken as slaves can have their contract bought out by a relative—but for half-elves, that would only be possible if their new owner agrees to the sale, as is usual for any other slave sold in Kanzibar.

Therefore, if the lineage of a purchased slave is in dispute, the Kanzibar Slavers’ Guild will hold the slave in custody until a judgment can be made. For differentiating between true-blooded elves and half-elves (those born from an elven father and human or half-elven mother), it can be difficult to solely rely on appearance. In such cases, it may be necessary to use other, more definitive forms of identification.

For male slaves, this can be tested by three measurements—mana density, penis length, and the sensitivity of their prostate. For a slave to be confirmed as an elf, and therefore eligible for their contract to be bought out, each of these must meet certain criteria.

The slave’s mana density must exceed a peak generation of 50 Thaums per second, and the slave’s penis must not exceed 4.5 inches when erect. For the final test, regarding the slave’s prostate sensitivity, each of the slave purchaser, the elf requesting to buy out their contract, and a representative of the Kanzibar Slaver’s Guild will nominate a male creature.

In a public venue, the males nominated will then anally copulate with the male in question, for thirty minutes each. If the slave refrains from orgasming at least two out of three times, they can be confirmed as an elf and returned to their family.

If not, they will be returned to their rightful owner.

For female slaves who do not naturally possess a penis or prostate, a different criterion is necessary. Thankfully, the incompatibility of true-blooded elves with any species but their own makes this a relatively trivial test. A divination charm will be placed on the slave’s womb, to detect any successful fertilisation. Then, each party will nominate a male creature to copulate with the slave, one after the other, in a public venue.

So long as no non-elven creatures cause a successful fertilisation, the slave can, within reason, be confirmed as an elf. Otherwise, they will be returned to their rightful owner.

Lord Rustermere of House Oriand didn’t agree easily, but in the end, he had to either assent to the Slavers’ Guild interpretation, or publicly state that elves could, potentially, procreate with other races. Which for many reasons, both personal and political, he would never say—not least because he didn’t believe it himself.

Which means that the two groups relocated to a small stone amphitheatre. It may have originally been built for theatrical performances, but based on the signage, it’s now used by both the Slavers’ Guild and various other merchants for bulk slave sales and livestock auctions. But today, it’s going to be used for a public display.

“Greetings, one and all! Today we have a dispute mediation, regarding the classification of this here slave. Lady Amberlynn of House Oriand, an alleged High Elf, currently better known as Truffles the Swine-Elf.”

Kneeling in the centre of the stage, Amberlynn looks around at the audience. It seems that word has spread since her father’s arrival in Kanzibar, and a fair few people have shown up to witness this event—including some familiar faces. Akaza is there, the kind Amazon waitress from the Shackled Swan, with the purple-haired Lady Littorea Lundar seated nearby. Her father and his guards are obviously in the audience, all three of them disarmed, along with an unfamiliar gnome, a pair of ragged goblins, and a couple dozen humans from all walks of life.

“To determine whether she is an elf or not, and therefore whether the elven buyout clause applies to the slave, her current owner, her relative, and the Slavers’ Guild have each selected a... champion, as it were. If any non-elven partners beget offspring with Truffles, she will stay with her current owner. Otherwise, Lord Oriand will be free to purchase her contract.“

Hovering above her abdomen is a shining ring of sky-blue magical energy, placed there by a mage of the Slavers’ Guild when they were preparing her. Within the ring of energy are five dim, pink spheres, no larger than a marble. Each one apparently represents an unfertilised ovum, with some small amount of divination magic linking it to her reproductive system. If she is to be impregnated, then one or more of these orbs will light up with a colour corresponding to the father. Mr Grundle, the Slavers’ Guild official, takes some time to explain that to the crowd, and her father confirms that he agrees with the method of detection.

“And now, the chosen champions. Lord Oriand has selected his daughter’s own retainer, Sir Puck, to copulate with her!”

Stepping out from backstage, Sir Puck seems nervous, but is holding himself with confidence—even as a round of muffled laughter spreads through the crowd, when they see the elf-sized pecker rising up from underneath his shirt. Nude from the waist down, Sir Puck crosses his arms and doesn’t speak. Amberlynn isn’t especially surprised by this, as her father is required to submit a champion, and a fellow elf would be the least disrespectful.

“Iktik, the slave’s current owner, has nominated himself.”

Once again, Amberlynn is completely expecting this choice—of course Iktik would want one last go with her! When the goblin steps out onto the stage, his cock has already emerged from his sheath, and the Swine-Elf can’t keep herself from oinking a little as her body reacts to his scent. Keeping a firm grip on her desire to... to present herself, she swallows heavily and keeps her eyes forward. Amberlynn knows her body, and is certain that at the rate he’s been corrupting her, there’s no chance he’ll be done with just one more copulation. It’ll be humiliating to show her reaction in front of her father, and the crowd, but she can handle it. Not that she has much choice in the matter.

“And finally, the choice from the Slavers’ Guild, to ensure that no avenue is left unexplored, we have...“

This time, though, she’s completely surprised. Because the third and final champion that walks onto the stage isn’t a who. They’re an it. Oinking just as much as Truffles herself, is a mud-caked pig, led on stage by a human in similarly filthy overalls. Already emerging from between the pig’s hind legs is a long, corkscrewed appendage.

“Rutter. A prized breeding boar, generously on loan from Farmer Francis here, just to check if Truffles here is compatible with her animal counterpart.”

Amberlynn’s eyes open wide, staring at the fat pink animal. Do they really expect her to... with that!? Glancing over at her father, still sat in the stands, he just purses her mouth shut and gives her a tiny nod. And once again, with the magical collar still around her neck, she doubts that she’ll be able to refuse.

“Now, let’s move on to the breeding, shall we? Up first, we have the noble elven knight, Sir Puck.”

Moving Iktik and Rutter out of the way, a leather blanket is laid out on the stone slabs of the stage, and Sir Puck moves down onto his back. The warm sun continues to beat down on the occasion, probably helping him keep his erection aloft, even with the audience watching. From there, Truffles is directed to straddle his hips, and begin.

“I... I’m s-sorry we have to do this, Lady Amberlynn. Mmf~... your father said that... that he had been considering me as a suitor for you, once I had some more experience! Aaaahn~... but to lay with you like this isn’t... it’s not ideal.“

Sir Puck is blushing hotly, unable to meet Amberlynn’s eyes, but incapable of pulling his gaze away from Truffles’ body. It’s almost flattering, in a way. Hearing of her father’s plans, and knowing how her protector acted during her imprisonment, doing this with him doesn’t seem so bad.

“Oink~... um... it’s o-okay, oink~... Sir Puck.“

Trying to force a smile onto her plush lips, Amberlynn focuses on the here and now, trying to ignore the pig and the goblin waiting for her, and all the people witnessing this. Even her father is there, not averting his eyes, to ensure that there’s no subterfuge. Lining up her well-fucked hole with Sir Puck’s penis, she tries to think of this as a reward for him—and then she sinks downwards.

A low moan resonates up from the elf beneath her, along with a few jeers from the crowd, but she ignores them. It seems good, but...

“Is it... oink~... is it in?“

Amberlynn looks down, but her belly covers any chance of seeing her crotch in this position, and she can’t really feel anything inside of her. Which just makes it even worse when Sir Puck nods, his eyelids fluttering in apparent pleasure. Well, she’s used to goblin dicks. Even if she won’t enjoy this, at least someone will.

From there, with a snuffly oink, she starts to move up and down. Grinding her hips around, she moves her hands down to entwine her fingers with Sir Puck’s, guiding one of his own hands to her heaving bosom. He’d been looking at it enough, since she was transformed, he might as well get a handful now!

“Truff... nngh~... I mean Amberlynn, I... I’m nearly... mmf~... I’m gonna... NNGH~!“

With a slightly anticlimactic grunt, Sir Puck reaches his limit, and spurts his load inside of the Swine-Elf atop him. She doesn’t really react at all—her womanhood was reshaped to pleasure much larger goblin penises, after all. But as the man beneath her recovers, there’s a shout from the crowd.

“Look, a golden glow—she is an elf!“

The voice had been her father’s, and sure enough, one of the pink orbs within the glowing divination circle has lit up. A child, from Sir Puck? That’s fantastic! Right?

A mutter runs through the crowd, as Truffles gets up from Sir Puck’s lap (who has a disbelieving smile on his face), and the Slavers’ Guild official hurries over to check. Nodding seriously, he also seems somewhat surprised, but he doesn’t stop the proceedings.

“Oh my... so it is. Still, she must be tested against all champions, to check whether they’re compatible. Farmer Francis, if you would bring Rutter over next?“

With the pig’s considerable girth, and questionable intelligence, there’s no chance of rolling him onto his back to allow Lady Amberlynn to straddle him, like she did with Sir Puck. Instead, much as he did to any sow that is paired up with him, Rutter mounts the Swine-Elf’s sweaty backside, and lives up to his name by plunging his spiral cock deep into her quivering cunt.

“OINK~! Aaaaahn... OIIIINK~!”

The noises coming from Truffles and Rutter blend into one another, high pitched squeals and full-throated oinks echoing around the amphitheatre. It’s in moments like this that the distinction between Truffles and Lady Amberlynn of House Oriand blurs, mind hazing over with reluctant pleasure, and collar staying unlit. Even if somebody did give her an order, there’s no getting out from underneath a hog like Rutter. Not until he’s done with her.

“OI-OI-OIIINK~! Hnnnngh~...“

Everybody continues to watch the display, of course, with widely varying reactions. The common folk laugh, with the goblins even drinking beer as if they were at a travelling performer’s show. Akaza and the two elven guards seem similarly taken aback, at the sight of a noble elven girl pounded by a pig. Lady Littorea of House Lundar appears to be having an excellent time, with a prim smile on her delicate face, as she shades herself under a parasol.

Her father’s face stays in a stern frown, carefully watching every moment of his daughter’s defilement. If Amberlynn can find any encouragement in a moment like this, it’s that Lord Rustermere is doubtless planning his retribution—once she’s safe, of course.

“SQUIEEE-OIIIIINK~!”

Forced down onto her elbows and knees, all that Truffles can do is endure the humiliating, degrading act. Being rutted by Rutter the pig is bad enough, but to be watched while doing it is worse, so she averts her eyes, and tries to lose herself in the pleasure. Of which there is plenty.

When the muddy hog on Truffles’ back finally finishes with a loud, drawn-out squeal, he climbs off her back and is led away by the farmer. It takes Amberlynn a couple of minutes to come back to her sense, rising up through residue of her own orgasms, and the thick sludge that Rutter filled her pussy with. Thankfully, none of the dim pink crystals hovering in front of her abdomen have brightened.

The Slavers’ Guild official doesn’t seem disappointed by their choice to set a pig on her, even if nothing came of it, and has a playful smile on his lips as he perfunctorily cleans her up. Once the worst of the mud and the gelatinous boar jism have been cleaned away, she’s moved into position for her next, and final, partner.

All the while, with the hot Kanzibar sun shining down on them all, Amberlynn has been sweating more and more—so when Iktik steps up for his turn, it’s perhaps not surprising that his scent has increased as well. As Truffles’ pig snout is so finely attuned to it, she’s hit with a stronger wave of arousal than she’s ever encountered.

Her awareness narrows down, first to the wicked goblin approaching her, and then to the throbbing, monstrous cock, swaying between his legs. Lying on her back, with no prompted order, she spreads her legs, and almost welcomes him. Both Amberlynn and Truffles are in agreement here—the inbuilt craving for goblin cock is meshing with the elven noble’s desire to get this over and done with.

“Okay then, Truffles... let’s show the nice people how much you like gobbo cock, eh? An’ even if you’ve got one elf in you... there’s still room for a handful o’ goblin kids!”

With that confusing statement, Iktik moves between his Swine-Elf’s thighs, and slots his shaft into her welcoming hole. Just like all the previous times that he’s done so, Truffles orgasms almost immediately, tipping her head back and crying out in shameful ecstasy. This time is even worse than usual, because her father is watching, but she’s unable to suppress her reactions.

“Oiiink~!”

In contrast to her coupling with Rutter, there’s no actual pig contributing to the noise she’s making, which only humiliates her even further. The goblin straddling her hips starts to hammer away at her, sending ripples through her pudgy body, each thrust pressing the perfectly formed glans of his cock against the Swine-Elf’s vulnerable cervix. But in the back of Amberlynn’s mind, pushed there by the rising pleasure, she knows that Iktik is too late.

He’s barely halfway corrupted her womb which, if that gnome is to be believed, means the changes are still entirely reversible. Everything’s going to be fine, and no matter how hard he fucks her, there’s nothing that Iktik can-

“Mmmf... now, let’s see if your elf milk still tastes as good as the first time!“

Without halting his hammering thrusts for a moment, the goblin leans forward over her chest, and wraps his lips around one of her dark, puffy nipples. Swirling his tongue around, he then starts to suck—and with it, her breast starts to glow. Again.

The last time Iktik did this, Amberlynn was still reeling from her transformation into a Swine-Elf, and he soon after drained his load into her belly. But since then, she’s somewhat acclimated to the goblin’s amorous activities, and is more than lucid enough to feel her mana start to drain. Through her nipple... and into Iktik’s mouth.

“W-wait- oink~! St-sto... oohhhh~... Iktik, this is... OIIINK~!“

She’s unable to resist as the arcane glow spreads to her areola, tendrils extending into the rest of her teat. Absently, she can hear a commotion behind her, in the audience—but nothing comes of it, perhaps halted by the Slavers’ Guild official. Instead, all she’s able to pay attention to is the goblin dick plundering her depths, and the continuous outflow of her magical energy.

Assaulted from two locations, there’s nothing that Amberlynn can do to resist. Milking herself manually in the tavern was pleasurable enough as it was, and that didn’t even trigger the discharge of mana! As quickly as Iktik can suck it out of Truffles’ breast, her elven physiology just supplies even more for him to drain.

When he finally pulls off with a wet pop, and an indecorous burp, Amberlynn jolts back to some measure of awareness. Her father is shouting, and the other people in the crowd are cheering, as Iktik nears his peak. Squirming around beneath him, as the aftershocks of her most recent orgasm reverberate through her body, Amberlynn resolves to put up one last fight. Unfortunately, Iktik has one final trick up his sleeve.

“Aaahn~... that was pretty damn good, now... nngh~... make sure not to resist, Truffles!“

Pushing in as deep as he can, Iktik’s shaft slots perfectly against the opening to her womb—and then the floodgates are opened. Instead of the usual small amount of mana that the goblin naturally generates, he’s supercharged his semen with Amberlynn’s own subverted energy. And with his order not to resist, just like he gave her before her Swine-Elf bath, it works to its full effect.

That’s not to say Amberlynn doesn’t try to resist, of course. The intricate engravings on her magical collar pulse with a faint glow, preventing her final, last-ditch efforts to save herself. Instead, she just cries out in her strongest climax yet, as Iktik’s corrupting magic finishes the job.

“OIIIINK~!”

And right there, in the centre of the blue ring of divination magic, the four remaining unlit orbs spark up with a vibrant green light.

The Swine-Elf on the stage doesn’t hear the shouted arguments that follow. The veiled threats, and the very much unveiled threats from her father, neither of which do anything to sway Iktik or the Slavers’ Guild representative. Soon becoming multiple, as a few heavily-armoured guards make their subtle presence known. Even with their magic, the three of them are outnumbered and disarmed, and there would be scores more between them and the gates of Kanzibar.

So, despite pledging to bring down a legion of House Oriand knights on the Kanzibar Slavers’ Guild, and the goblin that dared corrupt his daughter, Lord Rustermere is unable to stop Iktik from standing up, and leading his slave away. A slave which has now been certified as purely his, with no possibility of being bought without his permission.

The slave in question does as she’s told. A thick droplet of jizz marks a track down her sweaty thigh, but the damage is already done, and Amberlynn has no idea how to handle it. Truffles, however, knows exactly what to do—whatever her master tells her to. With a faint, disbelieving smile on her face, she levers herself up from the ground, and follows Iktik from the stage.

“C’mon, Truffles! Let’s get moving. I’m thinkin’ we might need to start lookin’ for somewhere bigger to live...”

Just like that, Iktik leaves, with Truffles following along behind at the end of her leash, collar entirely dim. Behind them both, Amberlynn’s father is still trying to offer money to the goblin. Behind him in the audience, there’s something of a commotion, as people start to realise that if you convert an elven lady into a Swine-Elf first—you can keep them.

Two goblins are already getting handsy with Lord Rustermere’s female guard, while his attention is elsewhere, and the gnome is speaking with a rough looking human, with his eyes firmly fixed on the oblivious Lady Littorea. It’s clear that today is a turning point in Kanzibar’s history—although whether it’s for the better or for the worse might depend on whether you’re an elf or not...