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Link isn’t certain how he ended up here. One moment he was attempting to sneak up on a moblin encampment in his most stealthy of armour sets, the next he was naked and hogtied as a red pair of the creatures carried his bound body—now hanging from a pole—toward said encampment, his body swaying like the oddest pendulum.
Humiliating, and terrifying in equal measure if he’s being honest. But surely the beasts will make some kind of blunder so that he might yet escape. He doesn’t particularly relish the thought of being at their mercy. Or, he mentally adds as his eyes lock onto the steadily approaching campfire, their appetite.
Did moblins really roast and eat people, or was that just something they put in children’s books to put a stop to any reckless exploration..?
Any thoughts Link can give to the irony of his own reckless exploration halt when the moblins then come to an abrupt stop.
They speak, and Link isn’t sure why the hell he’s straining his ears to listen when he cannot understand their language in the first place. He wriggles slightly, testing his bonds; however the more he struggles, the tighter they become.
He then scans the campsite while the pair continue to natter amongst themselves. And promptly misses a third moblin approach from the side, its dark blue hand skimming his flank as if appraising its fat content.
I’m scrawny, probably all gristle, Link inwardly screams, hoping the bastard is telepathic. It continues to stroke him, making an approving chuff, and Link’s heart plummets when he sees it nod to the others.
They start moving again, carrying Link towards the centre of camp. Mercifully he’s lowered to the ground and not suspended over the fire - so already things are looking up. Link flinches when a rudimentary looking knife appears in his periphery, but the red moblin holding it only uses it to cut at his bonds.
Suddenly free, but still naked and unarmed, Link concentrates on controlling his breathing. It won’t do any good to panic and run when he doesn’t know the locations of any sentries or the size of the perimeter. And so he sits there in the dirt and stares at his captors.
After a moment of exchanged, albeit snuffling, words, the two red moblins draw closer, each of them taking one of Link’s arms. He allows them to lead him towards a raised platform, uncertain to its purpose, but hoping all the same it isn’t something to do with ritualistic sacrifice.
He watches as the blue one takes a seat on a rather rustic looking ‘throne’ directly opposite. In fact there are quite a number of seats (a generous description for what amounts to a collection of chopped logs) all littered about now that he looks. He realises he’s now centre stage in whatever they have planned for him; and there are a lot of witnesses that have yet to join.
Link trembles as the pair encourage him to get onto the ‘dais’. He ends up, at their insistence, on his hands and knees, something in him silently thankful for the layers of plush animal skins that cushion him from the hard wood beneath.
At least they take their hostage’s comfort into account, he thinks, stifling a bitter laugh.
The sound of a horn blares in the distance, and Link is able to tell from the volume and direction that it’s coming approximately three hundred metres away, north-east, and some twenty metres in the air. A bokoblin sentry, most likely. He seethes, planning to let loose an arrow in one of its eyes if ever he manages to escape and locate his gear.
When he manages to escape and locate his gear, Link amends.
Moblins of all shapes, sizes and colours soon start to file into the camp. More than a few make surprised sounds as soon as they spy Link, and a couple even chuckle amongst themselves, speaking in a suggestive tone. That kind of language is universal, Link realises - as two black moblins point at his limp dick as it hangs beneath him and mutter something before erupting in laughter.
It’s cold, Link wants to scream, suddenly flushed and embarrassed.
When the camp is full and everyone has found a seat, the blue clan leader waves a meaty hand for one of his two ‘assistants’ to start proceedings.
Link tries to scramble back when a large glass vial comes into view. A pair of hands are on his hips, and Link realises the other red moblin is behind him barring his escape. Fingers in front of him pinch his nose, and Link squirms this way and that before his mouth finally opens to gasp, and then he’s choking on a sweet almost milky substance as the vial is upended into his sputtering mouth.
The moblin then claps a hand over it, forcing him to swallow.
And just seconds after he does it’s like a switch has flipped and his entire body weighs ten times what it actually does. Whatever is happening to him is…intense. Like time has slowed to a crawl and every sensation is amplified. Link droops forward, his arms all of a sudden too weak to support his upper half. He ends up propped up haphazardly on one shoulder, his gasping mouth hanging open and unable to hold back the drool as it pours down his chin. His fingers squirm and run through the furs under him, enjoying the tactile brush and slide against his sensitive palms.
Link is almost deaf to the heavy footsteps as a few of the spectators take to their feet and begin to close in. Hands appraise his flesh from all sides, and Link leans into it, keening weakly. It’s so good. How is it so good..?!
Something wet presses against his backend, and something still half-alert in his rapidly fogging mind tells Link he should feel terror of the fact - but the explosion of sensation against his slackening ring overtakes his reservations, and Link rocks his hips back and towards it, desperate to bury whatever it is inside.
That wet intruder kisses his ring teasingly, and Link’s toes curl when he realises he’s about to be rimmed. He feels a flash of adrenaline again as something in him begs him to put up a fight - but as soon as a long, thick tongue begins to worm its way into his hole, Link collapses onto his face, one feverish hand moving down to pump his half hard little cock.
The moblins surrounding him start to chatter and jeer. Link doesn’t need to understand their tongue to know he makes a humiliating sight and that they’re all likely remarking on it. Something about that thought has his hand moving faster.
He then lets out a startled sound when a moblin in front of him picks him up from where he’s sprawled over the floor, strong hands cupping under his armpits to hoist him up until he’s eye level with—
Oh, sweet Hylia, get in my mouth already…
Link’s tongue is already lolling out in a lewd display to beckon that fat cock in. The moblin, this one black and broad in the shoulders, wastes no time, pushing the thick head past his slack lips.
Link’s tongue laps hungrily at the slit, teasing out the thick and slimy pre-ejaculate like a man starved. It hits his tastebuds and, goddess alive, the taste.
The moblin at his backend has now taken to plunging its own tongue into him in hard, deep strokes. Link can feel its spit leaking down to wet his balls and starts bobbing his own head.
Come in my mouth, he thinks, dazed. Please please please, come in my mouth…
Not long after he gets his wish as a fat load erupts over his tongue. Link swallows. And swallows. And swallows. Something in him connects the pig-like beasts to their domestic counterparts, recalling in his numb mind a farmer he once overheard mentioning about their orgasms lasting close to fifteen minutes.
He pulls off before the thing suffocates him, leaving his mouth open to catch what he can’t swallow on his tongue - and gasps when its load pumps all over his face and hair like a geyser. Link doesn’t realise he's smiling until his face aches with it, and soon his tongue is poking out to lap at that still spurting head.
The tongue in his ass is soon replaced with the head of its owner’s girthy cock, and Link finds that he’s laughing hysterically, drowning out the chuckles of the creatures around him.
That head doesn’t stop pushing until it locates the first bend in his guts. Link whines wantonly, wriggling his hips to help get it deeper. And after a moment of slow, insistent grinding, the beast’s cock negotiates that corner and a pair of fat balls rest against Link’s own - triple the size and churning with semen.
Link pants, appreciating the multitude of hands that appear and smooth over his shaking body - the cooing and approving words he cannot understand as they all remark and praise him, this tiny Hylian, for taking such a magnificent cock.
How he’ll take each and every one of theirs over the course of the next few days, and longer if he’s lucky.
Link whines when the cock in front of his face, now empty, disappears. But the emergence of a new one has him giggling madly again before offering his mouth to it. When he gets that one to come as well, the moblin, this time silver, pulls out to mark not only Link’s cum-streaked face, but up higher, past his head, to paint his arching, sweaty back with its cream.
Link tries to shuffle forward—away—when his insides feel a sudden pressure. The moblin now coming in his ass tightens its grip on his slender hips and drags him back again. Link feels those balls twitch and thump, feels the dick inside him do so as well as the creature empties into him in a seemingly endless gush.
He whines and scrambles at the furs, failing to get traction as they slide under his sweaty palms. And then there’s a weird pinch, and the cramp is over, and one of Link’s hands moves to touch his gurgling stomach.
It’s… getting bigger. Something about that should scare him, but Link’s addled mind can only think it the most erotic experience of his life. He keens, and rocks back and forth as his insides move and adjust to what must be pints of monster cum.
When the creature finally withdraws, with nothing to plug it, its spend flies out of Link’s wrecked pucker in one long, uninterrupted stream.
Another moblin takes its place behind him, feeding its engorged cock past his slack muscles and deeper than the first.
Link’s eyes cross, his own cock jumping.
Two appear in front of him, stroking their fat, veiny lengths, black and silver respectively, until they’re painting Link’s panting, red little face.
He opens his mouth wide, letting them wet his tongue with it before making a point to swallow theatrically. They rub and slap their still flowing heads across his nose and cheeks, and Link chases after them with his giggling mouth. At one point he manages to latch onto the pair of them and suck, the sides of his mouth bulging in an obscene stretch.
When they’re done, his mouth gets a reprieve for a while as all of the moblins sit back and continue to watch his ass take its second pounding. Link doesn’t realise his mouth is being left free to that they can better hear his moans.
He delights them all with his performance, howling as finally—finally—his own cock comes untouched, blasting long, thick ropes of spunk all over the stage beneath him.
That earns a surprised chorus of “ooh’s” and genuine applause, but Link’s brain is scrambled as the prick fucking him continues despite his now building overstimulation.
He sobs and cries out and squeals like a pig himself as another orgasm ripples through him unbidden, his prick limp and dribbling with it. He feels broken. Utterly broken. Until the cock inside him starts to flex and empty, and then Link realises he can break further still.
Like a puppet with its strings cut, he flops forward onto his face - and makes a long protracted sound, like a dying animal, as his guts once again fill and distend. As the balls resting against his own tiny pair pulsate and breed him—
What?
Link almost surfaces in that moment, but the moblin behind him runs its huge hands up and under him to rub and pinch at his nipples, and just like that he’s back under - somewhere in the fog.
And it’s as easy as falling back asleep after you’ve just woken up - as he floats down into that strange space in his head where he…wants this.
Link only realises the moblin in his ass has pulled out when its spend pours out of him, catching on his pert, blushing sac before it runs down the backs of his thighs.
Link flops onto his side, panting and spent. A flurry of hands all find him again, cupping his tiny chest, squeezing his buttocks, palming his cock. Link squirms through it all, his lips curving in a dazed smile, tears freely running down his face. They overstimulate whatever they lay their hands on - his nipples, his cock, his hole. And soon he’s on his back, lying on jizz-drenched furs as the camp spread his legs and hold him in place as their blue leader, unmoving to this point, rises from his throne and makes his way over.
His cock is bigger than everyone’s, and Link realises the first two were only meant as preparation for the main event.
Link laughs as the thick head fights his hole - as the others lift him—suspend him in the air—and pull his legs wider and another vial of that strange milky substance ends up poured into his slack mouth.
His body slumps, something in him thrumming as that strange potion overtakes his nervous system again. As it dulls his brain, amplifies his arousal and relaxes his hole further.
The cock pushing then slides in smooth as butter, and Link cries out like the goddess herself has graced him with her presence. His third eye opens - this is where he’s meant to be. This has been his purpose all along.
He jerks and shivers, eyes rolling in his skull like he’s touched the wrong end of a shock arrow. The moblin chief groans as Link’s wrecked hole tries in earnest to flutter as the Hylian once again comes. There’s no seed left in his exhausted little body, and so his half hard cock flexes sadly in a helping moblin’s hand, the tip red and angry. At this point Link uses all the strength left in him to roll his hips, burying the chief deeper. Encouraging that cock to empty.
The chief lasts longer than the first two members of its tribe. It tortures Link’s guts with long, deep strokes, its balls clapping loudly at the end of every thrust. Link’s toes curl each time, his thighs quaking. The moblins holding him spread his legs wider as the one playing with his raw cock angles it just as Link’s bladder is pummelled into submission. Link screams as he pisses all over himself, every inch of him spasming as his nerves catch fire. He keens, half in shock, half from unexpected desire, when the stream hits his pretty face.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” he cries as it lands in his gaping mouth. And something about the degradation of it only serves to excite him further - as if the last vestiges of his pride are being washed away. “More. More!”
The chief thrusts hard and fast enough that Link reckons he won’t be able to sit right for the next week. He smiles stupidly as a feeling of gratitude washes over him, warm and fuzzy.
“Thank you… Thank you…” he says as the chief paints his guts white and thrusts down to the root; and Link’s insides cramp and gurgle against the onslaught.
When that blue cock finally deigns to pull out, Link cries openly in his relief - as that load rushes out of him hot and slimy and the moblins surrounding him gently lower him onto his back.
Link can’t see his hole—his pussy, his buzzing brain elects to settle on—but he knows a Hylian fist could now comfortably make its home inside it all the way to the elbow.
He tries to sit up, but a multitude of hands softly force him to rest. He’s offered water. A fairy. Carried to a hot bath and washed tenderly. Laid down on clean furs and swaddled in yet more. Cooed over and kissed and praised until he falls asleep.
Tomorrow the fun will start again.
Epilogue
Link hums around the moblin cock in his mouth, two more of them (both black and long) thrusting in and out of his sloppy hole. He’s surrounded by moblins. Penned in by them. It’s quite a sight to behold - one draped over his back, humping away; one underneath fucking up and into him; and one using his mouth, ensuring Link is stuffed to capacity.
Three pairs of balls all clapping loudly, hard enough to bruise.
They’ve trained him well. To start, they hadn’t imagined he’d stay with them longer than a week. Hylians tired quickly in their experience. Either that or the aphrodisiac ran out long before they all managed to take a turn.
This one was different. Long after the substance was set to wear off, he opened his mouth—and his legs—and welcomed the entire tribe all over again. What started out as an oddity quickly became a divine gift they couldn’t do without.
Link would service them all throughout the day, eagerly when he had the energy, or letting them make use of him in his exhaustion. There were times when the Hylian even fell asleep as they sought their release - or woke sleeping members of the tribe, already riding their morning wood.
The moblins knew that they ought to honour their even more monstrous leader, Ganon - but this cock hungry little creature instead seemed sent from the goddess herself.
The weeks turned into months and then years. Link had all but forgotten his name and purpose along with his mother tongue. Life was simple now. Life was good.
If Hyrule caught fire, burned to the ground and collapsed, he didn’t notice.