"Where are you leading me?" one man asked, his voice trembling as a hobgoblin shoved him forward.
"Get your filthy hands off me, green monster!" another bellowed, struggling uselessly against his captors.
"We are fucked," a third whispered, his face pale, his eyes wide with the horror of the scene before him. "There are so many hobgoblins here… oh shit!"
The hobgoblins were silent as they worked, their movements efficient and devoid of emotion. They herded the bandits toward the center of the chamber, to the rows of waiting pillories.
There were no chains, no ropes needed. The hobgoblins simply forced each man to his knees before a pillory.
"We are gonna beheaded!!!" a bandit exclaimed.
They slammed his head into the top hole, his neck locked in place, and then slammed his wrists into the side holes.
With a final, heavy thump, they slammed the top board shut. A crude but effective locking mechanism engaged. One by one, the criminals were silenced.
Their protests turned to muffled grunts and strained breathing. Their bodies slumped, defeated. Soon, the entire center of the cavern was filled with men locked in wooden stocks, heads and hands exposed and utterly helpless.
Lyssandra walked slowly down the line of pillories, her black heels clicking softly on the stone floor. She stopped at the very end, turning to face her gathered underlings—the lightning wolves, the hobgoblins, the slimes, and the Deathweaver spiders, all of whom had fallen silent and were watching her with rapt attention.
"You all see what they have done," she began, her voice ringing with a strange, hypnotic power. It wasn't loud, but it seemed to pierce straight into the minds of everyone listening.
"These creatures…" She gestured dismissively at the men locked in the stocks. "…they came with weapons. They came with malice."
She pointed a slender finger at one of the swift goblins in the crowd. "They would have slit your throat without a second thought."
She then spread her arms wide, her gesture encompassing the entire dungeon and all its inhabitants. "They came with the intent to destroy our home. To take from us. To erase us from this world."
A low, guttural growl rumbled through the assembled monsters. The hobgoblins clutched their axes tighter, the spiders hissed, and the slimes rippled with agitation.
"For that," Lyssandra declared, her smile a cold, beautiful slash of white on her face. "There must be punishment. Not death. No, death is too simple. Too fast."
She began to walk back up the line, her gaze sweeping over the terrified faces of the bandits. "Punishment must be a lesson. It must be an example."
She stopped in front of the bandit who had yelled at her hobgoblins earlier. "You will learn what it means to be helpless. You will learn the meaning of powerlessness. And you will serve as a reminder to any other fool who dares to threaten my domain."
Her voice dropped, becoming a venomous whisper that promised a thousand torments. "The first lesson begins now."
A sly, knowing smile curved Lyssandra's lips. "You all must be agitated. With the hoarding of all the female goblins to myself before."
She paused, letting the words sink in, and gave a pointed wink to a few of the hobgoblins in the front ranks. They blushed, a faint green tinge to their cheeks, and studiously looked at the floor or at their weapons, anywhere but at their mistress.
"That… was what I wanted you to do," she continued, her tone turning serious. "To help each other. To become one. But now you can have another stress relief."
Her expression hardened, and her arm shot out, her finger pointing directly at the helpless men locked in the pillories. "Use them!"
The command hung in the air, heavy and absolute. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the bandits truly understood. Their restlessness turned to panic.
"You can't! We're men!" one yelled, his voice strained from the awkward position.
"Get away from me, you freaks!" another screamed, thrashing so violently that the wood of his pillory creaked.
"Someone will come for us! The others will…!" a third man's threat was cut short by a sharp crack of a whip from a hobgoblin.
They began to struggle in earnest, twisting and pulling against the wooden stocks. Their muscles strained, their faces contorted with effort, but the wood held firm.
They were trapped, utterly and completely.
"Go on," Lyssandra urged, her voice a silken poison. "Don't let me stop you."
As if her words were the final signal, each hobgoblin moved to stand directly behind a prisoner. They were methodical, almost robotic in their actions.
Reaching down, they tore away the bandits' tattered trousers and undergarments, exposing pale, quivering flesh to the cool air of the dungeon.
The bandits let out a collective, muffled gasp through the holes in the pillories. They couldn't see what was behind them, but they could feel it—the overwhelming presence of the monsters, the intense heat radiating from their groins.
The hobgoblins pulled down their own loincloths, and their massive, thick cocks sprang free. They were dark green, heavily veined, and glistening with a copious amount of clear, sticky precum that dripped onto the stone floor with soft pats.
"Oh, no, no, please!" a bandit began to sob, his pleas turning into incoherent whimpers.
"Just kill me! Get it over with!" roared a defiant bandit, his voice cracking as he felt a hot, wet tip press against his dry asshole.
A choked, desperate cry came from another. "Don't… please don't… I have a family…"
Their begging was music to Lyssandra's ears.
She watched, enraptured, as the hobgoblins guided their dicks forward, nudging against the tight, virgin entrances of their captives.
The air grew thick with the scent of fear and anticipation. The pillories began to creak rhythmically as the prisoners began to struggle anew, their futile efforts only serving to excite their captors more.
With a collective, guttural grunt, the hobgoblins thrust forward. There was no preparation, no gentleness. There was only the raw, brutal taking of what they had been told was theirs.
The sound of the impact was wet and obscene, a series of sickening, fleshy thwacks that echoed through the cavern. The bandits screamed, a chorus of raw, agonized pain as their dry holes were violently breached.
"Fuck! You're tearing me apart!" a bandit roared, his voice a mix of rage and agony.
"Aaah! Stop! It hurts!" another wailed, his voice cracking as his pillory was rattled by the force of the thrusts behind him.
"Nnngh… no… so big…" a third moaned, the fight draining out of him as the pain began to overwhelm his senses.
The hobgoblins paid them no mind. They gripped the sides of the pillories for leverage and began to move, setting a brutal, unyielding rhythm.
The slapping sound of their heavy balls against the bandits' asses joined the cacophony. The hobgoblins' grunts were low and deep, sounds of pure, animalistic lust and exertion.
"Take it," one growled, his voice a low rumble.
"Stay still," another commanded, his thrust punctuating the words.
The bandits' bodies jerked with each impact, their chains rattling against the wood. Their hands, trapped in the pillories, clenched and unclenched uselessly.
Their moans were a mix of pain and the begrudging, horrifying dawning of a pleasure they never wanted, a pleasure born from the sheer, overwhelming force of the violation.
The dungeon was filled with the symphony of their suffering and their unwilling submission.
Because there were not enough prisoners for every hobgoblin, the scene quickly evolved. Swift goblins, eager to join in the 'stress relief' their mistress had sanctioned, scrambled up onto the pillories.
They perched precariously on the wooden frames, their small, nimble bodies allowing them to position themselves directly over the captives' heads. Reaching down, they grabbed handfuls of hair, yanking the bandits' heads back at painful angles.
"Open up," a goblin sneered, its voice a high-pitched hiss.
The bandits were forced to comply, their mouths wrenched open as the goblins shoved their smaller, but still eager, cocks past their lips. The sounds changed, the agonized screams turning into muffled, wet choking noises.
Meanwhile, the hobgoblins behind them continued their relentless assault. Some, seeing the captives' own hardening cocks bouncing with each thrust, reached around with one massive hand.
They wrapped their thick fingers around the bandits' shafts and began to stroke, their movements rough and demanding. They were milking the men, trying to force a reaction from their abused bodies.
"Come on," one hobgoblin grunted, his voice strained with effort as he pumped both his hips and his hand. "Give me something."