Goblin Worms 1 (Patreon)

I carefully adjusted the flame on the bunsen burner, the green liquid in the beaker adjusting its boiling down just a notch. I could feel the esoteric energies flowing into the liquid, my body and motions serving as the conduit. Leaning back, I took the goggles from my face, nodding in satisfaction. I’d need to adjust it tomorrow, but the concoction I’d been carefully maintaining and brewing for the last five years was good for another day. Hopping off the stool, I whistled a slight tune to myself as I made my way to the kitchen. Alchemy bullshit was done, time for some grub!

“Bro! What’cha want for dinner?” I called out as I entered the kitchen. I received no response and groaned in frustration, having a very bad feeling about where my little brother was. A familiar ringtone told me my bad feeling was almost certainly correct. Picking up my cell phone, I checked the caller ID and sure enough: PRT Dispatch.

Accepting the call, I held the phone to my ear and snarked, “You’ve readed Moria Pharmaceuticals, this is the Goblin-in-Chief. How can I help you?”

“Your brother broke into the morgue at Lord and 37th. He brought his Frankenstein with him,” the annoyed voice on the other side said.

“How far along is whatever he’s making?” I asked, rubbing my forehead.

“No clue, but he’s hacked up two John Does, an Empire ganger from the shootout last night, three of the morgue’s computers, and a refrigeration unit. Get down there and pick him up. Standard exchange.”

“Three hours at Brockton General or the Rig, I know the drill,” I drawled before hanging up.

Letting out an explosive sigh, I headed to the front door, grabbing my jacket from the arm of the recliner and my keys from the key-bowl as I passed them. Throwing on my jacket, I locked the front door and made my way to my bike. It started out as a Harley-Davidson, but both my brother and I had made some modifications and improvements to it. Outwardly it looked the same, but the “chemical” baths I’d subjected each and every part to meant that it could take more punishment than an Abrams, while whatever my brother had done with a blender and a dead cat meant that after six years I still hadn’t needed to put gas in it.

A thirty minute drive later (my idiot brother just had to have his Tinker Fugue during the evening rush hour), and I was parked outside of a morgue with the front doors ripped off. The security guards out front were keeping the rubbernecking civvies from getting in, and I made use of one of the mixtures I’d brought along. Chugging the drink that tasted like flat Dr. Pepper, I bounced on the balls of my feet a few times before leaping over the crowd and the cordon.

“Sup George,” I greeted the head of security, one George Jackson, as I made my way inside.

“Evening Azog,” was the return greeting. “He’s this way.”

[spoiler=Azog][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1049716216392060928/1077388366418550865/2f62c62b-e4cb-49ba-a9b2-e3a60cf5d8ca.png[/img][/spoiler]

I followed George through the building, my elongated ears bouncing lightly as I jogged in order to keep up with his strides. I’m short, so sue me. I also have elongated canines, red eyes, longer than strictly proportional arms, and green skin. My mental monologue came to an end with the sound of metal crashing and the mad cackling of my brother. George stopped here, not that I blamed him. My brother was a handful at the best of times, let alone when he got into a fugue. Still, the racket made the rest of the way to find him easy, and I entered an operating theater that had a big mass of dead tissue around what looked like the inner frame of a go-cart.

The towering, patchwork, hunch backed and muscle bound form of my brother’s primary lab assistant lumbered past me, carrying one of those rolling stools and lowering it inside the frame. A pair of green hands reached up and grabbed it, another manic cackle filling the room. Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I entered the room, making the dead eyes (literally) of my brother’s assistant turn to me.

“Eye-gor! Fetch me a bonesaw!” my brother ordered from inside whatever the fuck he was making.

[spoiler=Bolg, the brother][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1049716216392060928/1077388366968016916/f7237407-0300-491d-a047-bf8d96d99b6f.png[/img][/spoiler]

As the unfortunately named Eye-gor lumbered to obey the command, I made my way to the morbid construct while reaching into one of the pockets in my jacket. Pulling out a flask, I reached over the side, flask in hand. Quick as lighting, my brother grabbed the flask out of my hand and the sound of him drinking the entire thing down filled the air.

“Three, two…” I counted down, and right on schedule, the sound of cackling or tinkertech was replaced by heavy snoring. Turning to face Eye-gor, I ordered, “Take this thing to the warehouse, then the lab.”

Eye-gor let out a groan, picking up the thing and shuffling outside. I, meanwhile, hauled my unconscious brother outside to my bike. Opening the attached pouch, I shoved him head first into the extradimensional space before putting the helmet on. Knowing him he’d be asleep until eleven in the morning, and I could feel the pent up frustration that’d been building up over the last few days.

So I didn’t head home or to the workshop, warehouse, or the place where we did our limited store-based business. No, instead I made my way to a building in the business district. An office building that housed five different companies, one of which I was unfortunately a regular client of.

“Azog,” the secretary greeted me, and I nodded in return.

“She available?” I asked, knowing that the redheaded woman knew who I was referring to.

“I’ll check,” she said with a smile as I hopped onto one of the chairs in the waiting room. She picked up the office phone and said, “Mrs. Dallon, Azog is here…I’ll tell him. Go ahead and head on back, she doesn’t have any more appointments for the day.”

“Thanks,” I said, knowing what was really meant by the mention of her lack of appointments, even if the secretary didn’t.

I never did bother learning the secretary’s name, just that she was related to another of the lawyers that worked for the company. I’d met Carol Dallon when she took the job of assisting my brother Bolg and I getting legal status/acclimating to Earth Bet six and a half years ago. We’d appeared in a back alley with no clothes, no ID, and (in Bolg’s case) no memories. I’d declared Bolg was my brother, some kids freaked out at seeing a pair of naked goblins, and not long after we were going through an expedited immigration process meant to help Case 53s like us.

I’d left out the fact that, unlike Bolg, I did still have my memories. I didn’t tell them that I remembered a doorway opening up and a woman grabbing us from our home. That I remembered Bolg being force fed a vial that left him screaming in pure anguish nonstop for days. That I remembered them putting their fucking brand on us. That I remembered the limbless one doing something to Bolg, something that made his screams all the worse as it was happening. That I remembered when it was my turn, and I felt something digging around the inside of my skull like a Dark One damned melon ball. But most importantly: I’d left out the fact that we were never humans, unlike the other Case 53s.

Shaking my head, feeling my hair and ears flop about as I did, I reached up and opened the door to Carol’s office. The short-haired blonde woman glanced up, a small smile gracing her face before she managed to school her expression.

[spoiler=Carol Dallon][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1049716216392060928/1077706136683286579/b0fa386b-14ed-4f1e-8554-e61a921368d7.png[/img][/spoiler]

“Azog,” she greeted, putting a measure of disdain in her voice. She ignored my raised eyebrow as she asked, “What did he do this time?”

“Morgue, on the corner of Lord and 37th,” I answered, climbing into the chair opposite her. “Had his lab assistant with him, not that they’ve got the intelligence to do anything but follow direct orders. Standard arrangement with the PRT, I just need Friday free.”

“I’ll make the arrangements, is there anything else?” she drawled, with a hint of a quiver in her voice. A hint that made me grin, showing a mouth full of teeth.

“Two things, neither work related. First: could you remind Amy about our appointment Friday?” I asked, reaching under my jacket like I was scratching an itch, only to turn a dial on a remote I had on an inside pocket. To her credit, Carol’s expression didn’t change a bit, even as my ears picked up the faint hint of buzzing.

“Do you have any untoward plans for her?” she asked sternly, which made me turn the dial up a little further. The buzzing grew louder, and her face twitched. It still wouldn’t be audible to humans, and the only outward sign if anyone walked in would be the tenseness of her body language and the very faint sheen of perspiration.

In answer to her question, I snorted in amusement, “Hardly, she’s got as much interest in me as Kaiser does in giving Skidmark a rimjob. I just need her to do a checkup on my lab rats. I’m pretty sure everything worked the way it was supposed to, but another opinion, especially from someone who can read the entirety of their biology, never hurts.”

“I’ll remind her,” Carol said, sending a mild glare my way, her face practically locked on Resting Bitch Face. “And the second thing?”

“Your office’s soundproofing still good?” I asked, smirking as I raised the dial as high as it would go. Carol finally had a visible reaction, hunching over her desk, one hand flying out to brace herself while the other flew under her desk. A moan tore its way out of her throat, as I pulled the remote from my jacket pocket. “I’m so glad to see you listened. At least partly. Let’s see just how obedient you’ve been.”

I got out of the chair and cheerily walked around the desk, whistling a jaunty tune as I reached her chair. Reaching out, I pulled her chair away from her desk, sliding in between her legs and pulling her hand away from where the heel of her palm was grinding against her core.

“Lean back,” I ordered, and she did so, letting me pull her legs and tight ass to the edge of her seat. With casual speed, I flipped the front of her skirt onto her belly, exposing her nethers. “Good girl. I was sure I’d have to punish you, but you did exactly as you were told.”

Under her skirt, she’d gone without panties and had small vibrators in both her pussy and her ass. Just like I’d told her to in a text last night. I didn’t know that Bolg’d have a fugue today, but I’d planned on stopping by to pass on the reminder for Amy. I’d have come up with some other excuse if it’d been necessary, but for now my focus was on the utterly soaked MILF in front of me. I easily pulled the vibrator in her pussy out, but the one in her ass (which was essentially a vibrating butt plug) I left alone.

“Please,” Carol whimpered, the mask of the calm and professional lawyer having fallen. In its place was someone that she had tried for years to repress, bury, and deny. Because Carol Dallon, despite everything she’d done to ignore it, was a sub. Her first exposure and realization had been when she and her sister were kidnapped, and she found herself submitting to her kidnapper. Whether said kidnapper realized it or not, I couldn’t say, but regardless, having her first dom decide to kill her had traumatized Carol worse than she realized. I admit, I hadn’t planned on this when I first started working with her, but I couldn’t say I was opposed to it either.

“Kneel,” I said, forcing myself back to the here and now. She slid out of her chair, fingers unbuttoning her suit jacket and sliding the garment off as she did. “Continue.”

The buttons of her blouse were next, and slowly the pale, creamy skin of her chest was exposed. As she reached the midway point, I was treated to the pleasant surprise of her having foregone a bra. Apparently she took my order of “No underwear” in my text last night further than I’d anticipated. Her blouse was folded and placed on the seat of her chair, before her skirt was unzipped and slid over the swell of her generous ass.

“Sit,” I commanded, and she fell backwards to sit on the floor. She let out a whimper, as doing so made the still vibrating toy in her backdoor shift. “Finish stripping.”

Her skirt was pushed down her long legs, followed by her stockings, her high heels kicked off her feet as the nylon reached them. Now naked, she leaned back, her hands gripping the back of her knees to hold them up, leaving her gushing pussy on full display.

“Please, Sir,” Carol said with a whimper, her core muscles flexing erratically.

“Please, what?” I asked teasingly as I pulled my shirt off. “You know the rules, after all, you insisted I not do anything you didn’t specifically ask for.”

“Sir…please…f…fuck me,” she begged, making my grin stretch even wider.

AN: Meant to press the schedule button and post this Friday, but fuck it, you guys get it a few days early.