Goblin Diaries : Monstrous Edition (all posts) (Patreon)

Official artwork here: https://imgur.com/a/WO5da 

I thought it's a bother to keep posting links between everything, so I'll try to keep every single post of it contained on this page. I'll update it as I add more to the story as well, so I/you can always refer folks here for an omnibus of sorts.

>Journal Entry, October 12th: There's been a lot of weird stuff going on in this new house. I say new, but it's older than anyone in the family, and been repaired and rebuilt over and over. I hear scuttling under the floorboards, and it's only worse at night. any food I leave in the open vanishes, but there's no signs of crap or major holes, so nothing to suggest rats. Mom says the structure under the house is huge so it might have been a raccoon living down there from before Grandpa left me this place. I'm not about to have a bunch of vermin living in my new place, so I'm going to catch whatever's down there. Grandpa left some old tools and traps and stuff in the garage from God knows when, but they seem non-lethal. I'll leave those out and report back what goes on

>signed, Steve VanHellsing

>October 13th: I can't believe it, journal. I heard the rattling of the old cage from Grandpa's garage this morning. I was just waking up, so I was slow to get there, but then I started hearing what sounded like growled swearing

>I found a goblin. It's not what I'd have imagined, either. She's a little over 2 feet tall and a sort of soft green skin. She wears dirty rags for a loincloth, and another for what barely passes for a top. It's... odd to say, but the goblin has incredible curves. Hips and tits that something so tiny has no right to have, and that women my age would kill to have. Then again, most of the things on her look bigger than necessary; nose, lips, ears, poofy purple hair... a little alien, but I'll admit it, she's sexy

>when I first approached, she saw me and made these happy little noises. She thrust her hips (her ass got stuck halfway out of the cage when she went for the snack) and made kissy faces at me. She definitely didn't seem aggressive, just a little handsy. Once I was convinced it was real and she wasn't going to bite, I decided to let her out

>I gave her some old clothes and some leftover fast food I wasn't really going to eat. She ate the wrappers and tore a serviceable pair of pants into another loincloth, but seemed delighted. She's wandering around and hugging my leg every so often; it seems like gratitude, but I think she's being a little territorial. Maybe it's because the musky smell of hers keeps getting on everything. It's not bad, but very... organic. bathing did not seem big on the little scavenger's priorities

>I decided to let her sleep inside. I've set up a spot for her on the couch with some pillows and blankets, and some sandwiches and chips for her. She let out this little noise like she must have thought she was queen of the world to have such a luxury. I'm still not leaving my door unlocked, but she seems perfectly tolerable. A little extra food for a tiny piece of T&A to wander around the house isn't so bad

>Night of Oct 13th/Morning of Oct 14th: I can't believe it. You'd think discovering a goblin would be the weirdest thing I'd do today. Am I the first man in history to ever get sucked off by a goblin?

>I woke up around 10 to find the door was open. the goblin had somehow picked the lock. I wonder if she'd gotten cold at first, but the blankets were pulled back from my legs and she was... well, gobbling up my cock. I was surprised how much she could fit in her mouth, but her big lips and cheeks took in most of it. I could feel the agility of her tongue and the gentle scrape of her teeth over my erection. Her big bottom stuck up in the air, wiggling as if trying to happily wag a tail she didn't have. My body had reacted without my permission and I was rock hard inside her little jaws

>I grumbled something like "Wait" in my waking stupor, and she looked up at me with her big, bright red eyes. She looked so proud of herself. And now that I was awake, she just redoubled her efforts. She drooled more heavily as she opened her mouth even wider, taking my shaft up to the balls as her slithering tongue saw to them. She gave her happy little cooing noises, garbled by the mouthful of cock as her round nostrils puffed hot air excitedly over my belly. She keeps bobbing her head and her big tits smacking against my thighs. I'm only human, and I can't help but cum into her waiting mouth. She's all too eager to take it, and gurgled as she grins proudly. Some of it drools out over her lips before she slurps that up too like a treat. She chirps something to me sweetly, and I stroke her bright-colored hair as I find myself thanking her. She giggled and went down for a second time.

>She's sleeping next to me like some kind of horny puppy. I haven't got the heart to kick her out, so I'm updating while this is fresh in my mind. I'll look more into this in the morning

>Oct 16th: We've started to communicate!

>I went through some of Grandpa's things, and I can't confirm that they're all real, but his journals seem to detail him as something of a monster hunter. I can tell you that what he has on goblins looks pretty much spot on. It covers goblins as basically harmless scavengers, which seems to be pretty accurate for my goblin. I’ve come to call her Scrappa; it’s a word she’s used a few times, and it seems to fit her scavenging nature (I once saw her eat a triple-A battery after my back was turned; she never even flinched). 

>the notes say goblins aren’t very bright, but can be sneaky and can survive and thrive just about anywhere. They’re also enormous cowards, so they’re easily intimidated by any show of force or authority. Other monsters can easily bully them into obeying them, and they serve the bigger monster submissively while also using it for protection

>That seems to be me and Scrappa’s relationship right now. I keep her warm and fed, and she follows me around more close and loyal than any dog I ever had. That and our nightly fuck-sessions. I have no idea how she eats all that junk and still has so much energy. She’s surprisingly quick to learn, so she’s started using some English words that I’ve taught her. On the other side, Grandpa had some basic “gobblish” phrases and keywords in his journals, so we’re starting to learn a lot about each other. She calls me a Bicka, their word for “chief” or “alpha,” even after she’s learned my name

>the book also talks about their breeding habits. Goblins are apparently fertile and horny all the time, so they can breed and populate like roaches. I’m not sure if humans can breed with them, but it’s clear that Scrappa doesn’t know where babies come from. She does seem to be the last of her kind in the area since “they went away,” so she might have been too young to learn. But every so often after a titfuck or a blowjob, she'll look up at me expectantly and say "Chee-cha?" The goblin word for "baby"

>10/20: goblins love their smells

>Grandpa described their scent in his journal, but it’s starting to sort of conquer the house. I went to work at the new job, and when I came back the smell of Scrappa was everywhere. It didn’t even seem like a panic response, like a dog tearing up the house while you were away; she just wanted to. There were a few wet spots on the rug, and I found her masturbating in a corner of the kitchen. She made that cute little squealing noise she does when she cums and I see the little splash of her feminine juices. Her big ears wiggled and she turned around in her torn up remains of my pajama shirt and jeans. “Treat time!” she chirped proudly.

>After experimenting with her one night, we called it “treat time” when I played with her goblin pussy, since she didn’t expect me to satisfy her in return. Goblin genders seemed to get complicated, and with whoever being the biggest being in charge, gender equality wasn’t high on their priorities. She would go absolutely wild for just a finger or two inside her, twitching like she might explode as soon as I was inside of her and making those big/tiny tits jiggle like wild. She would scream like a squeak toy being murdered when she orgasmed, always big gushers of sticky juice. It smelled three-times as strong as she did and lingered even after I washed my hands, and I had to make sure she was okay after her first time, but she was all cuddles and kisses right after. 

>So it seems she’s begun marking the house with her various juices. It might be to show that it (and me) are hers. It might be to ward off or attract other goblins. Or maybe she’s lonely and wants to fill the place with the smell of her “chee-chas.”

>10/23: I may not have thought ahead on this

>I knew that Scrappa would have to be a secret, but I’m realizing what a challenge that is going to be. Her scent is on everything in the house, and she’s started marking my clothes. I have to make excuses about eating a lot of fish and cabbage. I’m not sure how to have company over, or if she’ll understand that they’re friendly before trying to “defend the cave.” Considering that she escaped my sight for four days when I arrived made me think she can just hide if someone comes over (mom, coworkers, college buddies). When I asked if she can hide for me as a test, she made that pathetic crying whine she does that just breaks my heart and started to hump my leg before apologizing profusely. She thinks she did something wrong when I ask her that. She says things like “Scrappa sorry make her Bicka hate her! So so sorry!” and “Bicka gonna banish Scrappa forever!? No no no! Love Bicka!”

>I haven’t got the nerve to command her to. Looks like I’m not dating for a while; Grandpa’s notes say that goblins don’t really have a known lifespan; they tend to just live forever until something kills them or they accidentally end themselves.

>speaking of command, though… she has been asking about why I don’t hit her. A little more on that next time though. It’s a little hard to explain, and I’m running out of page here

10/24: 

>I mentioned that goblins are very big on hierarchy. There's always an alpha, a chief, a boss, etc that is supposed to be irrefutable unless he/she is overthrown. Being the tallest and the one to catch her, as well as the one competent enough to feed her, I've sort of had this role thrust onto me.

>I think Scrappa asked why I don't hit her because she's used to other monsters; goblins aren't always as loyal as her, given Grandpa's records, and they tended to latch onto/be enslaved by trolls or bugbears. Neither of those were afraid to make examples of a few excess goblins. The fact that I've been so gentle is mind-blowing for her. I thought about it at work, and I came up with a compromise. First, I'd need something to punish her for

>Well, that didn't take long. I come home to find Scrappa's wide hips sticking out of the trash can in the kitchen, bits of garbage around and her looking stuck like she was the first day I found her. Her stubby legs kick while her booty jiggles, and there's no better time to test it. I spank her, and I have to say, it's kind of satisfying. Her skin is sort of slick and rubbery, and with a bottom that big, she's like a living stress ball. She even has this cute, surprised squeak that's not entirely displeased when I do it. I scold her for eating out of the trash and not cleaning up the mess. She moans out little apologies, but keeps wiggling her butt for more in that tailless wag she has when she's excited. Nothing like the pleading from when she thought I was banishing her

>I smack her hard enough to give off a lot of noise, but it doesn't leave so much as a blemish on her. Not that she can see, anyway, but I think she gets the point. I finally help her get unstuck from the plastic can (I swear her big boobs come out with an actual popping noise like a cartoon), and she has big smile and a happy wiggle to her hips when she walks. I tell her to at least clean up when she's done eating; her smell is tolerable, in a raw and charming kind of way. I'm starting to wonder how I'd live without it. But I don't need her smelling like coffee grounds and old banana peels every time she burps. This might take some more experimentation (you'd be proud, Grandpa... except maybe for all the goblin fucking)

Oct 24: >Goblins do not work well with baths.

>It's not to say she's against them, she just doesn't understand them and they simply cannot do the job. I tell her after the garbage incident that she's not allowed in bed until she's clean. She doesn't seem to understand why, so I tell her I miss her smell. She seems absolutely delighted by that, and does her "happy dance." It's something something between belly dancing and twerking; lots of spine and hip movements as she wiggles back and forth. It's adorable as it is sexy, and she seems to save it for special celebratory reasons. I can't tell if it's some sort of tribal thing taught to her or an instinctual reaction

>bathing Scrappa is ridiculous. For one, goblins don't understand clean. Whenever I try to scrub her face, she nibbles on a finger or tries to eat the soap (and then burp bubbles). If I try to get her underarms or stomach, she keeps turning around to "help" by pushing her breasts or butt into my hands, chanting "Rub rub!" like she does when she wants more physical attention. She's having trouble realizing the point of covering her in water, but at least she purrs when I shampoo her.

>For another, goblins seem to be naturally evolved to be filthy. Her skin was always smooth and a bit oily, but I figured it was part of her being unwashed and sweaty. It seems to be some part of her skin or her pores, because no matter how we scrubbed or what I put on her, the oil stayed behind. I think it's a kind of protective film that protects her from getting anything too nasty in through her skin, like fleas, chemicals, or even just the cold. I'm no expert like Grandpa, though. All I know for sure is I won't be able to use that tub until I scrub it down too. I told her that "Baths don't clean Scrappa; Scrappa makes baths dirty." She cackled at it, whether she got it or not, but stood up on the toilet to kiss me on the cheek

>Like everything else about her, her kisses are cute and sloppy. They come with a big smooching noise, and she lets her tongue roll around on the spot for an extra second when the lips are done. I'd ask if it's goblin culture or just them mimicking humans, but the more I learn about them it sounds like they're one and the same.

Oct 26: >Goblins get sick

>I fell asleep as Scrappa's big spoon but she was missing when I woke up. I found her with tears in her eyes and some kind of pulpy, purple puddle on the floor that she's desperately trying to clean up with a with top. She looked exhausted,, her ears drooped, and she wailed wordlessly when she saw me. Her little nails dug into my skin when I went to hug her. She seemed so afraid, and as I ask what happened it becomes clear that she's gotten sick somehow. Maybe the bath messed with her immune system, or maybe she really had been eating too much garbage. She threw up in the middle of the night and wanted to clean up her mess before I found out "like a good girl."

>I'm definitely not bringing her to a doctor, and I'm not giving her any medicine. I'm not sure what human medicine would do to her, and I saw her chug my bottle of Nyquil one night ("red potion!") and her immune system ignored it completely. Grandpa's book says that a goblin can regenerate whole hands and organs if given long enough, but he doesn't say anything about diseases. All I can do is keep her in bed and feed her all that seems responsible. Some noodle soup and bread are the best I can think of, and she wolfs down anything I bring her. Here's hoping the little ball of energy overpowers anything she's got

>the hard part is keeping her still. Scrappa doesn't think I should be serving her as the Bicka of the tribe. She grumbles "Bicka, no" when I bring her soup, despite chugging it down as fast as she can. I wrap her up so many blankets that not even her slippery ass can escape that easily. Even sick and exhausted, she coos and makes kissy noises at me, sort of her mating call for when she wants more of the D. I just pet her and tell her no, and she's too tired to resist. But she whimpers. We compromise and I pop a finger into her mouth, which she sucks on enthusiastically.

>It's no surprise blowjob in the middle of the night, but it's still sexy, and it's good to see her showing some energy. It was a stressful day, so I could stand a little relief, but refuse to make her exert herself yet. I wiggle my finger playfully in her mouth and pull out my cock. She watches with absolute fascination as she sees me masturbate for the first time, even if she's done so herself what must be a hundred times. She coos and squirms under the heap of blankets, big eyes watching my hand work up and down. She starts to get the idea and sucks more noisily, drooling over herself in her distraction. She glances up at my face once in a while, finding me fixated on her awestruck expression. She just looks back at my handiwork and bites lightly on my knuckle.

>she must have heard my breathing pick up or something with those big ears, because I'm about to blow when she opened her mouth and rolls out her long purple tongue. "Ah! Ah!" she urges, leaning closer to me. I get her point and turn to cum on her face as best I can, and she leans and tilts to catch it in her mouth. Some inevitably gets on her chin and lips, and plenty splatters onto her tits. She laughs like it's a magic trick and slurps what she can off her face before she lifts up one of her big tits, starting to lick that clean as well. I get a fresh towel to get the rest before she gurgles "Feel better." We'll see how she does in the morning.

>Oct 27: Scrappa is feeling great again. She was bouncing off the walls this morning (literally ran into one in her excitement). I'll try to watch her diet a bit more, and ease up on the baths just in case.

>I've picked up a few facts that feel like they need noting, but don't really have a full entry for:

>Scrappa has a love/hate relationship with TV and computers. She's absolutely hypnotized by them for about five or ten minutes, then will try to show it to me, no matter how many times I've seen it. Her reaction seems to be the same, whether it's porn, cooking shows, or a screensaver. Once she's convinced that I see it, she tends to get distracted and either wanders off or trys to get my attention back on her

>Goblin bodies are remarkably efficient. One day, I realized that I never exactly housebroke her, just to realize I've never seen her make any... natural waste beyond the occasional urine mixed into her orgasms. I don't want to ask and provoke some kind of mimicry out of her, but my guess is the same insane metabolism that lets her eat trash and scamper around all day burns it up incredibly fast.

>This might explain her stamina in the bedroom; she absolutely will not let me go of me without at least three orgasms from me a night. I'm not quite built for the goblin endurance, so I try to space them out through the day. She once piled them on all right before bed, and I had to nod off after the second one. She later explained that she apparently kept grinding after I'd passed out to get the last one.

>Goblins can and will eat anything they can fit in their mouths or break with their teeth. The book says a goblin will eat rocks if they need to, but fortunately Bonch has plenty more than that. A few key ones that I've seen her eat, so say nothing of the ones I've stopped her from trying.

>-a pack of frozen waffles (box and all)

>-potperri

>-pancake mix

>-banana peels

>-deodorant

>-cotton balls

>-dead squirrel (she saved me some...)

>-lots and lots of cum

>Oct 29: Scrappa is doing fine, but I'm keeping a close eye on her over the weekend. She's absolutely fine with this, and she's been cuddlier than usual ever since. We're at a point where she can sit or stand in a certain position and I know what "game" she wants to go for at the moment. We have a few of her favorite ways to laze around together

>Mouth Catch. A game that she named where she sits on my lap, or kneels next to me while I’m laying down. She keeps trying to kiss me while I play keepaway, making her work for it but always letting her win. She always has that same sloppy kiss: the big pouty lips followed by that slimey, playful tongue slurping on me.

>Boob handles. Just when I need to do some computer work. I mentioned she gets bored with electronics pretty quickly, so I hug her to my lap and use at least one hand to squeeze or bounce around her boobs. She bounces her butt on my lap/crotch when she especially enjoys it. Her nipples are super sensitive, and very stretchy like the rest of her.

>Milking. I’m convinced that her masturbating and marking wasn’t just part of being territorial. She’s grown to like my fingers inside her, even if two seems enough to spread her hole out wide. I’m still not sure how we’d conventionally fuck if we wanted to, but she seems elastic and tough enough to take it… sometimes on the bed or the couch, she’ll randomly turn around, stick her ass out at me, and lift whatever bottom she’s wearing aside. Sometimes I’m busy and will hold a hand out, and she’ll just climb on and ride it herself. I like to be more tender though; her labia gets swollen and oozes an abundant, thick but sweet juice. I’m kind of getting addicted to its taste and smell.

>right now, Scrappa’s sleeping on the pillow next to me now; not her head, just her whole body splayed out on the pillow like a cat. She called me something new today: Piji-Riti.I thought she just was making cute noises, but she called me it specifically while she looked into my eyes after I came between her tits. I looked it up in Grandpa’s book, and it looks like it roughly means “the never-leave.” I’ll have to tell her the same when she wakes up.

>Oct 31st: first Halloween. I live kind of out of the way, which might explain Grandpa’s crazy books and gear he left laying around. I don’t expect much for trick or treaters, but the idea crosses my mind to try taking Scrappa out for it. I could claim she was my niece in a costume, since she’s about that size, but then I realize that even if they bought that, they’d find her ridiculous boobs in poor taste for a kid costume.

>we decide to stay in, but not before I buy a crapload of candy; one of those big variety bags so she can try them all. She seems to recognize a few, probably just things she stole from trash cans or the like before meeting me. I get a total of three visiting groups of kids, so we end up splitting most of it between us. If she’s hyped up on sugar, it doesn’t show any more than usual. Again, the immune system on this girl. Still, she looks so cute and happy, laying with her hair in my lap, letting me pop Skittles into her mouth or us sharing a Twizzler from either end until we kiss

>nothing in particular sparks it, that I can tell. Everything’s just so comfortable with her right now. I had some worries I’d be lonely out in the old house, but Scrappa made sure I dodged that bullet. We finish another piece of licorice together and kiss again, but when she starts to pull back, I catch her by the hair. She squeaks softly and I hold her in place for it, an incredibly easy task between her submissive nature and smaller size. Her tongue slurps as her little mouth tries to suck in mine, squirming in my lap as her little hands rest on my chest to hold herself up. She scoots closer until her juicy thighs are around my waist, and I can feel her puffy, damp crotch against my erection. We've done a lot of kinky stuff so far, but I decide we're going all the way tonight. Not a single part of her would say no at this point

>”Naked,” I order her. For all my gentle treatment, she still never hesitates to obey a direct order. She pulls the shirt over her head, but she needs my help when it’s stuck around her ears. Soon her big bare bottom’s back in my lap, facing me with patient expectation. Her legs are spread out to brace on mine, making her chubby pussy lips drool her juices on my pants. I undress myself, and I can feel her little hands try to help me out of subservience or impatience. When my hardon is in the open air, she fidgets against my legs, clearly eager to jump on it but awaiting my command

>I take her by the armpits and lift her off her feet entirely. Her feet kick around as shes’ suspended, but I lower her onto my cock. I ease her onto it, and her eyes go wide. She starts to pant like she’s hyperventilating, and her toes curl up like little fists. She’s breathing so hard that her breasts keep bouncing on their own. I pause when I’m just deep enough for the head to have gone inside, making sure she’s okay. Scrappa just pinches me hard enough with her little claws that I almost drop her. “No stop!” she yips with a distant stare to her big red eyes.

>I urge her down the rest of the way, and as I imagined, she’s warm, soaking wet, and while tight, she’s incredibly flexible inside. It looks like my cockhead should be inside her stomach by the time I meet major resistance and decide not to push my luck. Scrappa is literally impaled on my cock, suspended the last inch or two off my lap and she will not stop humping. I have to hold her steady by her breasts like two big soft handles. Her tiny pussy is tight and soaked enough that it pumps me like a second mouth, pulling on my rod like it’s trying to suck me empty. She's so wet and noisy already that it's hard to tell how many times she cums from tonight's session, but by the time I cum, I can feel it as much as she does; I overflow inside her as it runs back down to my balls. She shakes and starts to slowly calm down on her perch on my dick, twitching and babbling dreamily as she strokes my face. Her pouty lips keep moving to try to find words, but I just kiss her lips before licking her slick and sweaty cheek. Between her leaky pussy and her sweaty, oily skin, it feels like I’m drowning in that strong scent of hers. 

>“Piji-Riti,” I whisper to her. She finally brings her stunned expression into a smile and big oily tears come down her plump cheeks. She reaches out for me, and I have to carefully pop her off my cock to let her pepper me with kisses. “Love you, Piji-Riti!” she insisted, hugging me tight enough that I feel a few stinging scratches along my sides. Ah well. Cuts heal, but you only take the virginity of a sex-starved goblin girl once.

>Nov 3rd: the office needs some construction done in the part I was hired to work in, so I get worker's comp while I have time off with Scrappa. With me being home more often, I sometimes wake up to her having gone "hunting" for me. Hunting involves her stealing from the local shop run by the little old lady, so I put a stop to that.

>we still fool around constantly, but she's hesitant to suggest my outright penetrating her. We've only done it once since the first time, but she has a new admiration for my dick. She takes the time to rub and smell it, savoring it before she fully goes down on me. She's obsessed with it to a point of almost worship, and I've started to just wear boxers around the house so that she can get at it whenever she wants; just pull and grab

>Scrappa's picked up a new trick where she fits my dick between her thighs and rubs them back and forth. Her chubby little legs and slick skin make it feel amazing (I think all this coddling has made her put on a little more weight). She just watches it wiggle between her legs when she's not checking that I'm enjoying it

>I finally address it as I scratch the back of her head, getting a happy little hum out of her. "Whatcha looking at, runt?" I tease.

>"Lookin' at big weapon." There's not a lot of point in lying at this point, journal: I am not a hung guy. Neither of those descriptors are what I would use.

>"Why is it a weapon?"

>She answers thoughtfully. "It's real big and strong... but it's soft and tasty. Really tasty." She leaned down and gave the head a lick, even with it barely poking up between her thighs. Impressively flexible, but it gives me a few ideas to try out during our little break.

>I tell her to hop up for more "rubrub." She lets me pick her up and turn her upside down with her butt in my face. She seems to know this part of the game, and starts to fondle my balls as she swallows up my cock again, her round nose puffing as it drinks up my smell

>her crotch is among the strongest smells I've experienced. This close up, I can hear it squish with her wetness as she squirms, and her ever-present, oily stink is right in front of me. I find myself taking a few deep breaths, partly bracing myself and partly savoring it as she softly chokes on me out of sight. I pull back on her hair to keep her from overdoing it

>I rub and part her big green cheeks, my first point-blank look at her nethers. Entirely hairless, and a purple-pink on the inside. It drips with a semi-translucent goo, obviously much thicker and more abundant than a human's. I give her a noisy kiss on one cheek and she stops sucking long enough to give a submissive coo. "No no noooo," she whines cutely. "Too dirty, Bicka."

>I tell her it's okay and that I know she's a dirty girl. I plunge in before she (or I) can protest any more. I lock my mouth and have to suck for a while just to get her puffy, sticky lips to open enough for my tongue to fit. Scrappa is having a fucking fit, holding onto my legs and shaft as if she's as panicked as she is aroused. It's not far from how she reacted to being on my dick or getting spanked, so I'm not worried. She's too overwhelmed to really suck on me more than a passing kiss, but I feel her slobber drool over me steadily as her mouth must be frozen agape, moaning nonsensically in her passion

>I rub and play with her cheeks as I lick up the slime inside her folds; this sour, kind of tangy stuff that reminds me of a mix of lime and maple syrup. I eventually get deep enough that I reach her clit; a squishy little thing the size of a sunflower seed, and she coos so highly that she almost sings while I touch it. "Dirty kissy," she moans witlessly as her thighs lean into me and her booty bounces in my gripping hands

>I was considering saving it, but I can't help but wonder what further reactions she'd have. While I rub her bottom, I spread out her cheeks and gently touch her asshole. I swear she screams like she's been shot, but she digs her fingers into my legs and spreads out hers farther. I have to chuckle at her response and slowly work in deeper, spreading what I figure is just one more elastic orifice on her.

>I get a sense of dread for a minute when I feel something, but the texture's not what I would expect, and she gives a shaking groan that sounds like a high-pitched jackhammer.  I spread her out further and learn something about goblins that not even Grandpa mentioned; they have two clitorises (sp?). Her anal one is huge. It's longer than my thumb, and frankly a little jarring to witness as its fleshy green tip pokes out from her ass. But as I probe in further, Scrappa will not stop shaking. She just gurgles gibberish and drools all over me. Any words that manage to get spit out I recognize as native curse words.

>"Very dirty girl," I muse as I part my mouth from her pussy, still sticky with her syrupy taste. "Bicka love Scrappa's dirty smell." She lets out a whine like she's starving and waiting for me to feed her. I can't leave her like that, so I switch up; two fingers pumping her pussy and bury my tongue into her ass until I slurp over her fat second little rosebud.

>Scrappa is literally crying before long. I don't think she's used to pleasure in general, and I have to wonder if even she knew about her little "backdoor special." She's holding on for dear life and biting into my thigh, but I'm too caught up in it to care. For all the blind servitude she's given me, I've been just as addicted to my time with her. Now my senses are drowning in the familiar goblin musk that's been teasing my nose for the last month.

>As I curl my tongue against her swelling bud, her stomach makes a noise like bad plumbing right before she cums. I've seen her masturbate all over the house and filled her with more fingers than she had a right to have inside her, but that was nothing. I'm not sure how she had this much fluid in her as she not only squirts, but gushes, and it keeps coming for what felt like ten seconds. In hindsight, I guess I don't have any sure sign that it was all cum, but her screaming bloody murder and falling like a broken marionette against my lap sure sounds like a goblin orgasm to me. I end up setting her down in my lap, petting her as she stares at me with a stupefied look and looking ready to pass out. Head big head rolls on her neck, and her face is covered with spit, tears and precum.

>she's so weak that all she can do is mumble something I can't pick up. She gropes the air between us, and I hug her sticky little form to me. I'm satisfied like this, but know that my erection will make me pay for it later if I don't take care of that now. I take Scrappa's little wrist in between my fingertips and basically puppet her to jerk me off. She giggles dizzily at the helping handjob, and when I cum, I bring our hands back to her mouth for her to lap up hungrily. We don't really say anything more, and I don't think she could. I just whisper "Love you, Piji-Riti," as I carry her back into the bedroom and cuddle up for the night. By the time she hits the pillow, she’s asleep with a big dumb grin on her face.

>Nov 5th: I introduced Scrappa to another game. Since I first found her in a cage, I didn’t want to rush her into being trapped or confined. Then again, she did live under the floor for a while.

>I get some of the clothes she scrapped and use them to tie her hands and feet behind her. She wriggles but seems excited for being at my mercy. I warm her up with some petting and stroking, but before long her legs are as open as she can get them and whimpering for more. I start with her mouth as usual and she wolfs it down like she’s starving. I cum into her mouth and she overflows, drooling and choking from trying to swallow it all down. I can’t last that long with her kind of passion, but I’ve definitely developed some stamina from her insistence on marathoning orgasms. She’s still cleaning up from that when I get behind her and fill up her pussy. It rocks her little body every time I thrust, and that just makes her big booty jiggle along with it. It adds more weight to her movement, so even with her stuck in place she feels like she’s humping back. She keeps mewling and trying to say something, but she’s still too distracted to swallow the first load. It’s kind of cute to see my horny little munchkin that overwhelmed. I ask if she’s okay, and all she can manage is a happy little gurgling noise. It’s enough to get me to burst inside her again, this time filling up her pussy. Like everything else on her, she’s too tiny to keep it all inside and leaks out past me.

>I decide to try out anal with her while she’s vulnerable and rested up from the other night. Her rubbery hide and all that booty fat makes her feel deeper and roomier than her pussy, while still keeping that tightness. I’ve noticed that while her body stretches to fit me as best she can, I haven’t really stretched her out or made her loose. It’s less that I’m stretching her out like clay, but more like a rubber band; she just pops back into place. It probably explains her natural jiggle, but also why goblins seem to be so casual about physical roughness. I can feel her strange second clitoris like last time, and she yowls as I ease in. “Sticky! Sticky!” she managed to babble out, her mouth still full of drool and cum. Since experimenting is kind of the theme of the night, I keep squeezing and thrusting into her ass and she keeps wailing and squirming in her bindings. I consider letting her out for a few seconds, but remember the bite mark she still left on my thigh from when I ate her out. Dirty goblin girl does mean dirty bites too.

>Proving my idea right, I learn that anal with a goblin still makes her cum out of her pussy. The squirt of her warm green goo hits my thighs as she shakes around so much she almost falls off the bed. I have to grab her by the hair for her own safety as much as I do leverage. She wheezes as she finishes (might have been 30 seconds, or maybe a full minute, but hard to time that out in the middle of… ya know), and she pants “Bicka cummy!” she pleads, which sounds strangely desperate and sexy with her still too distracted to swallow my cum (or maybe she’s savoring it?).

>I decide to show off a little as I pull her hair and tell her “Bicka plook ab sebby untee.” She give this thrilled little shriek, as I basically told her “I’m cumming in my good/subservient bitch” in gobblish. I cum into her ass at last, and when I pull out, she’s an adorable, sticky mess. All of her holes are dripping with my and her cum (her nose dribbles with some, and I have to assure myself I didn’t go that far; she must have gagged it up there at some point). She’s got that big dizzy smile with her pointy teeth out, battering her eyes at me happily. “Scrappa made her Bicka all dirty,” I say with a smile, petting her head and stepping back in front of her. I stay close so he can sniff at my cock, nuzzling at my balls with her long nose and tongue like she’s trying to memorize my scent. “Scrappa dirty girl,” she giggles proudly.

>Nov 7th: Scrappa has gotten me a gift. I know I told her no stealing, so its sanitation is in question. It does look like it would fall apart in the wash, in truth. She told me she remembered something and ran off this morning after her breakfast. She came back and proudly handed over what was something like a goblin teddy bear. It's shoddily made, visibly mashed together with brute force, staples and glue (or other questionably sticky substances), with a quick layer of some sort of plastic around the would-be pointy bits. It's green fabric and pieces of old garbage bags, I think, and it has a slight crunch when you squeeze it. I think it's stuffed with moss and soft dirt. Its eyes are acorn caps stuck on with thumb tacks.

>Scrappa tells me it's her only toy. In gobblish (we're still in our hodgepodge language, but I favor gobblish at home; not like she'll be speaking to other people), the phrasing is dangerously close to "I wouldn't eat that if I were you." I ask her why she brought this, and she says quite proudly that she forgot about it.

>I mull this over a bit, but thank her and give her a kiss on the head. She snuggles my leg, and while I'm sitting down on the couch, it buries her face right into my crotch the way she likes. We fool around as usual while I do some work from home, and Scrappa ends up bouncing on my lap. "Did you forget about it too?" she asks eagerly

>We have to break things down a bit more basic for me to get her point of the doll. It was her only toy, and for a while, her only companion. She said she'd hold it and cuddle it when she was cold or lonesome without anyone around. She still seems to have no clue where her tribe went off to, and I don't pry about them much to keep her from getting depressed. The act of her giving it to me is not so much receiving it as it is her giving it up; she's not lonely anymore, and the idea of me forgetting it means that I'm not lonely while I'm with her

>"I forgot all about it," I assure her and kiss her ear. She snorts through that big cute nose and twitches when I do that, as usual. I end up asking her to do me a favor with my new prize...

>Scrappa gives me a little show with the goblin doll. She straddles it and rides it, humping its face and lap with rubbery little noises of her wet pussy rubbing over it. She keeps looking at me, giving her mating call of kissy noises while she plays with her breasts and bites her pouty lips. It's ridiculously sexy to see her play with the toy, which is still half the size of her. I watch her and stroke myself for her own little show before I come over and play with her breasts, letting her cum on her old toy. She spits on it for good measure, like one big, rude, final goodbye to it. "No more lonely, right?" I ask, scooping her up.

>"Nuh uh. Piji-Riti forever," she chirps and licks me up my cheek. Now, when I go back to work, I can't really keep a photo of Scrappa around. Way too many questions, even if I insist it's a big-tittied green niece. My niece's "art project," though, that's fair game. I smell enough like her that no one comments that it smells like wet rubber, candlewax, and honey (aka goblin cum).

>Nov 9th: goblins seem to have various aversions. I've been comparing my notes about Scrappa with Grandpa's, and there's definitely some weaknesses and seemingly instinctual responses built into goblins. This may be some collective memory sort of thing, but it seems like most of them have to do with a massive self-esteem issue experienced by every goblin. They know they're the dregs, the bottom of the monster food chain, and eternal scavengers. While none of these are a silver-to-a-werewolf level weakness, they're notable flaws.

-Cowardice. Goblins are huge fraidy cats. The big ears and strong sense of smell seem help with their paranoia, in more way than one. Unless we're deep in the house like the bedroom or the second floor, Scrappa gets very jumpy around loud noises. She screamed like it was doomsday when I accidentally set off my car alarm. When I got back inside, I found she had peed herself and then run screaming around the house. Not even in the evasive way like a squirrel would, mind you. She just ran in noisy little circles and ran into walls, making herself even easier to find than if she'd hid or even stood still. She had a similar reaction to when I cut myself cooking; shrieked like a banshee and ran around. No wonder all the other monsters conquer them so easily...

>Harmless. While a goblin's sneaky, stealthy, and has sharp little teeth and claws, that's about it. Scrappa's plump little body still has scrawny arms, and with no martial art or weapon training beyond playing in the woods, I think I could take at least 3 unarmed goblins by myself. They rely on numbers and ambushes to be effective at anything. The one time Scrappa got scared enough to hide behind a chair, I ended up dragging her out by the hair while she fought me in a panic. She bit and scratched me a few times, but it was nothing worse than my cousin's cat has done to me. She licked all the tiny cuts until they felt better afterward.

>Smell. Goblins are obsessed with smells. One of the first things Scrappa does whenever I get home is smell any part of me she can. Crotch, ass and neck/face seem to be her favorites, but she'll go for feet or underarm on occasion. Her marking her territory seems to be a part of this, as it leaves a familiar stench about that she can use to better discern foreign (aka clean) intruders. It makes them very easy to track, and if you don’t stay especially clean, odds are you’re less likely to be spotted

>Curiosity/Greed. Goblins have a sort of envious awe towards humans. We can do anything they can better, and much of their social structure and basic ideas have been stolen from humanity. I laid out some old cookies for bait when I first caught her, but she loves to poke and prod at anything new like it's made of gold. I probably could have baited that cage with a colored pencil and some rubber bands and caught her.

>Classical music. This was a weird one I didn't expect. Scrappa's done her happy dance a few times, and I've played some music for her. She loves stuff with a quick beat, so mostly hip hop, disco, and club/dance music gets her wiggling that giant booty. I left a playlist on for her while I did some more work, but it switched to Pachelbel's Canon. She sort of froze up for a minute and then started to whimper before she gave a long whine and curled up in an all out panic attack. It's like Mozart was her kryptonite. Maybe it's something with her ears, or more of that self-deprecation instinct (like they hate what's beautiful? no offense to rap fans). Maybe her body works so fast that it can't handle the slow melodies properly. She snapped out of it after about 5 seconds of silence, and looked confused but fine. I asked if something was wrong, and she just shook her head. "Ugly music," she muttered and spit on the floor. I've readied a "Scrappa Playlist" for her, but I've experimented with a few other songs for her. Opera seems to have the same affect, and especially slow modern songs seem to confuse her before kicking in. Basically, if you can't wildly dance to it, she doesn't want any part of it. If you can twerk to it, she adores it. If it's Baby Got Back, she acts like it's Christmas. I wonder if she thinks it's about her.

>Nov 10th: so good news and bad news. Good news is my job liked my work I did while the office was under repair. They're willing to let me work from home more often, and check in with them every week or two in person. More time for Scrappa!

>bad news is, my sister has finally got some free time. She's skipping some classes at college to go on a road trip and is stopping by the area to spend a night with me. This had to happen eventually... Scrappa is, let's face it, a long-term investment. If she'd understand the word girlfriend, I don't think it would mean as much to her as my being her "mate" and "never-leave." But my family's still my family. I did move out here to be more independent, but I'd have to tell somebody if I don't just hermit up and become the goblin king, right? Paige is coming by in a couple days, so I'll show her then. Wish us luck. The best I can hope for out of Scrappa at this point is to see if she’ll at least wear underwear….

>Nov 13th: well, Paige is alive, Scrappa's tucked in next to me, and I've learned how Scrappa reacts to people. When she pulled up, Scrappa was at least smart enough to bolt and hide rather than have one of her panic tantrums. I tried explaining to Scrappa what was going to happen the day before, but she seemed dismissive in a "Uh huh," kind of way. Maybe she didn't believe anyone else would actually enter her den.

>Paige and I hug it out before she comments on the smell. Says it smells like "a sour-apple tire fire." I start with showing her the journal and the stuff about the noises under the house. She's impressed that Grandpa was a monster hunter, so at least she seems more ready to believe it than I was. I finally call for Scrappa, who comes back into the room and looks pretty unhappy with my sister being there. It might be because of the pink skirt and black tanktop I got her to wear for today; they were supposed to look kind of cute, but I'd either underestimated her size or she was still growing, because they fit tight on her to squash up her boobs and ride up high on her hips. We'd also compromised by letting her run around outside to dirty them up a bit. By then, it made her look more like a tiny hooker.

>Paige was definitely shocked, but taking it well. I call Scrappa to sit in my lap to cool her off a little, and Paige has a lot of questions. Scrappa grumbled and hangs onto me tight, glaring daggers at Paige. Petting her hair seems to keep her calm for a while, and I fill in Paige on... most of it. I save the sex part and tell myself I'll admit it if she asks.

>A few minutes in, Scrappa starts to sniff at Paige. I hope it's her getting used to her, but she suddenly spits right on Paige's top. The greenish glob startles her (understandably) and she jumps off the couch. Scrappa spits a few more times in her direction, growling out "Too skinny" and "No titties" at her. She climbs a little higher up on my lap and takes my arm, forcing it around her waist and nipping at my hand, leaving little pinprick bite marks. Paige is too shocked to be properly mad, so I thankfully don't have a half-pint catfight on my hands. I give her a tug on the ear and a "Scrappa, no!", but she still huffily sucks and nibbles on my hand and grumbles "Mine." All I can think is to ask if Paige has a change of clothes, and not to bother just yet.

>Scrappa is clearly jealous. Paige sits on the other end of the couch, and Scrappa has a smug look to go with her glares now. She keeps leaning into my chest and nuzzling me. I'm at the point of explaining how I can't bathe her after the last time when Scrappa decides she's going to establish the pecking order; she starts to grind on my leg. Now subtle playful grind, but hard, noisy grinding, where she's moaning and squealing and mashing her breasts against me. I trust Scrappa's big hips to hide my erection while I finally tell Paige as clinically as possible that Scrappa has decided that I'm the alpha of the house.

>"Steve, are you fucking the goblin? Because that is hilarious."

>Leave it to Paige. I didn't give her shit when she came out of the closet, she makes fun of me when I sleep with a goblin. I bring out my own journal and start to fill her in on the details when she asks. As therapeutic as the journal has been on this whole thing, it's a load off to actually talk to someone about it. I've been blowing off coworkers and speaking fairly proficient gobblish for so long, that telling someone in English about the weird noises and smells that make her that much sexier is such a relief.

>Scrappa seems content now that Paige is staying back and I'm only touching my proper mate, but I draw the line when she tries to pull my dick out to show off as her trophy. I swat Scrappa's hands away, but turn her around to face away from me and start to finger her under the stretched out skirt. Paige looks curious, and at least a little impressed that I can carry on our conversation while still making Scrappa moan like that. The act is like driving a car by now; a little complicated, but so instinctual that I can get Scrappa to cum while I'm writing with my other hand.

>Scrappa loves to put on a show about it. She spreads her legs out farther than I've seen her go, and moans as she plays with her breasts. She keeps bouncing them up and down, maybe a kind of fertility taunt towards my slimmer sister. An "I'm better built for sex than you" kind of boast. Humans make flirty and catty comments; goblins slap their tits and hump legs.

>"So does she actually cum?" I can't blame Paige for being interested. I tug on Scrappa's ear and hiss in her ear and order her in some angry goblish. "You cum right now or never again." With her legs pulled so high and wide they almost touch her cheeks (and leaving the skirt utterly pointless), she curls her toes and squeals like a piglet just before she squirts through my fingers with that pungent honey in a burst that goes about two feet from the couch. She's still gushing when she grabs my wrist and keeps humping HARD. I feel her twitching like it's overloading her body, and can feel her back slapping into my as she forces herself to go on. She's barely stopped the first gush of her greenish goo when she hits a second. I feel her tiny pussy tense and squirts AGAIN, further than the first. Her little fingers move mine to stuff a third into her at an angle where her pussy starts to gape open a bit, baring the purple-pink inside.

>"Scrappa, no," I warn her gently, but she moans louder. "Gimme gimme... all mine!" She's clearly sweating and shaking weakly but pushing herself to her limits. It makes her ass grind over my dick, and her booty is tighter and squishier than ever now that it's crammed into her skirt. I'll have to see about dressup with her again later. But I can't help but forget about Paige long enough to cum in my pants, and Scrappa clearly feels it against her ass. She shakes and cums again, and despite her noisy thrashing, the orgasm comes out a weak trickle, as she's clearly not built to do that many that fast. She almost collapses into my chest, wheezing and twitching as she stares up at me with glassy eyes and her tongue hanging out of her mouth, her fresh, slimey cum on the carpet in front of us. It's as fucked silly as I've ever seen her.

>I just pet Scrappa gently, catching my breath myself before I notice Paige again. She's been watching with visible concentration. I expect her to storm out, though I had explained Scrappa was pretty much in constant heat. "Do you love this goblin?"

>Scrappa just gives me a stupid, witless grin. She probably can't hear us anyway. "I think I do. I love my Scrappa. Smells, slime and all." I scratch at her purple hair fondly as Paige laughs at me a little. She can tell. I end up putting Scrappa in bed while we go out for a quick dinner together. A rested Scrappa smells my crotch thoroughly when I'm back, but she doesn't act as agro towards Paige. Maybe her letting us mess around showed she wasn't a threat to us, or because Paige gives up some of her leftovers. There's a small guest room for her that we never use, and Paige teases about it being a good spot to keep our great grand-goblins. I'm just lucky Scrappa doesn't get the reference. Before we let her settle in, Paige adds that if nothing else, I should think what to do for Thanksgiving. The family's going to want me there, if nothing else.

>Nov 14: Paige left the house pretty quickly the next day. A quick breakfast, shower and a hug and she's out to meet her friends. Scrappa didn't seem to give her any more shit, but Paige breathes pretty deeply once she's out in the fresh air again. She sort of dismissed the whole goblin girlfriend thing. I apologize for the mess of things, and that Scrappa can be a real handful. Paige points out that she's much more than a handful, complete with gestures around her chest to emphasize her point. I admit that it's a little fucked up in hindsight, but she reminds me that mom and dad weren't big on her coming out didn't go over great for a while. She dismisses it all with one last line that she says with a weary sort of smile: "If you wanna be fucked up, be fucked up. Just so long as you're happy. Love you, Steve."

>Scrappa is glad to have me to herself again. As much as I kid about becoming a hermit as her goblin king, I'm sure that Scrappa would be absolutely content to have me and only me in her life. I'm not sure how much disagree with her.

>I do get a text a little before bed just to bust my chops a little more: "Still fuckin' that goblin?"

>I text Paige back. "I'm being happily fucked up, thank you" and set the phone down on the table, reaching over my naked, dozing goblin girl.

>Nov 15: I've tried to piece together exactly what it's like living with Scrappa. She's somewhere between living with a girlfriend, a pet, a servant, a child, and a horny homeless woman all at once. I feel like this morning was the most summarizing encounter I've had with her.

>I wake up to a pressure on my head. I first think headache, then I think there's a pillow that fell on my face when Scrappa ran out of bed. Instead, it's her sitting squarely on my face. I can feet her thighs braced on either side of my neck, and her little toes wiggling happily by my ears. She shifts her hips now and then, but isn't humping yet. I try to talk before bothering to lift her up, and it just opens my mouth to catch her plump little pussy and all its sticky juices

>"Wakey, Bicka!" she declares proudly when she feels my mouth moving beneath her. "Brekfizz in bed!"

>I give her a quick spank for misbehaving, but when that booty jiggles against my face I can't stay mad at her. My first act of the day is eating out her sludgy pussy and breathing in her round, musky ass. All the while she's cooing and bouncing, and thanking me everyway she can think as if this were my idea. If you ever need an ego boost, get a goblin girl. It took weeks to make her stop being curious why I haven't beat her around yet. She humps and jiggles on top of me until she squirts over my face, falling over comically as she loses her balance with all the vibrating. She ends up facing my feet, so I put an arm around her hips and smooch her on her ass. She kicks and giggles but doesn't try to escape. "Is that where Scrappa wants me to kiss her from now on? Is she bored of her lips now?"

>she laughs and squeals as I tease her, and tells me she couldn't wait. I finally let her go so she can turn around and lick up her mess from my face. Even with the mix of goblin spit and cum on my face, I don't feel like getting in the shower today. Scrappa must be rubbing off on me, literally and figuratively. But then, when you girlfriend has an ass like that but an aversion to water, sacrifices need to be made.

>Nov 16. Q&A with Scrappa. I showed her some of Grandpa's books. She can't read any of them, but the pictures and my reading aloud help. She recognizes a number of the monsters he sketched, making his stories that much more believable. That, or goblins had the same fairy tales that we did. I'm recording a few tidbits here; I don't have the guts to deface the old books with my shitty handwriting and Scrappa's questionable advice

>Trolls. Big ugly fuckers with aversions to sunlight, fire, and most things religious. Scrappa's never met one, but says they're scary because despite how big they are, they can squish into just about anywhere. Goblins have a saying of "troll pile," which is just everyone climbing on somebody for warmth or casual torment. It's apparently the way of appeasing a troll by a bunch of goblins literally climbing onto his dick to squeeze and suck from all sides

>Witches. Scrappa says that goblins think the first goblins were made by witches. I realize that after some probing questions, goblins don't have a word or concept for gods. She laughs at the idea of anything that powerful caring enough to create something as tiny and forgettable as a goblin. I decide to hug her extra tight after that one.

>Skeletons. She says they're delicious and don't move very much, so I think she missed the point

>Fairies. Little insectoid women. Scrappa immediately flips out when she sees these, but in delight. Apparently fairies have some kind of natural aphrodisiac effect on goblins. Their goblish word means "horny flies," but I'm not sure what a super horny Scrappa would be like, if this is supposed to be her normal. She just coos and bats her eyes at me instead of answering

>I'm learning more about goblins than I am the other monsters, and most of them she hasn't encountered in person, just told stories about. I think I have a decent grasp on goblins, but there's one thing she's talked about that I think I need to explore just in case... goblin babies

>I have to literally hold down Scrappa when I ask about goblin babies. She’s so excited that she babbles and runs around in circles until I catch her by her puffy, dirty hair and tie her hold her feet together. She bounced and giggled and wiggles her hips expectantly, but I tell her it’s not time for “rub rubs”... yet. She hasn’t had any herself, naturally, being fairly young for a goblin (she can’t count well enough to remember how old, naturally). It sounds like they’re more or less how humans operate, but much easier and quicker. Goblins breed, grow and heal rapidly enough that it sounds like a goblin is independently functional and breedable after about six months, and fully matured by 1 year. Goblin babies come out tiny enough to fit in your hand, and come in litters of more than ten at a time (Scrappa just held up all her fingers for that one). The “pups” nurse a while, but grow their teeth within weeks and can eat solid foods any time after that. They tend to take care of themselves, but pregnant she-goblins get “mother thoughts.” Apparently the ONLY time in ANY goblin’s life when they’re reasonably responsible or intelligent is when they are about to or just had kids, and even then just for their pups. A normal goblin would just lose track of them and their species would be done.

> I ask why she wants babies, since they were all she talked about at first. She buries her face in my crotch, snaking her tongue into the hole in the crotch and mewls “Cuz want more of Bicka. Love Bicka, and love Bicka’s big humper.” My heart melts, but my dick is diamonds.

>Nov 17: the rare day when I have to go to work. I promised Scrappa that if she’s good and doesn’t make any messes, I’ll bring her a bunch of presents. She’s bounced up and down (all parts of her do too) at the idea and I hoped it hadn’t just made her more hyper and become a self-dooming prophecy. I keep considering if I should get her a phone to check up on her, but I assume she’d either break it, eat it, or not understand how to work it. All three at once are pretty likely.

>I swing by a thrift store in town and the house is pretty tidy, all things considered. She made a crude stack of the books I never got around to reading (between the monster logs and Scrappa’s neediness), which I think was her trying to clean up. She’s seeing how many baby carrots she can fit in her mouth at once when she sees me, swallows them all and runs up to me. “Bicka brought giimme’s!” she cheers. I dump out the contents of the bag on the coffee table so she can’t immediately tear into them, since that’s the opposite of what I have in mind. She sniffs and peeks at th'em while I unfold a little tanktop and tell her we’re going to play dressup

>I got a bunch of clothes that looked like they’d fit Scrappa, which was a challenge but fairly cheap. It’s all a crazy mix of plus-sized bras and the young girls section. Basically anything potentially sexy and on the cheap, because I’m confident that Scrappa will stretch or destroy almost anything I get her. I also make sure to have the camera up on my cell whenever she changes, because I have no idea if I’ll ever convince her that clothes are a good idea ever again.

>I start her with basics, and I have to help her get into a sundress, bra and panties. She pulls at the underwear a lot, like she’s not used to something properly covering her crotch, but I tell her she looks like a pretty girl and she gets all proud and embarrassed. She has fun posing for the camera and flashing up her skirt to show me the panties, as if she’s especially proud to wear those. Every time she hugs or plays with her breasts, that soft green skin just floods over the edges. She sees I especially like that, so I end up taking some pictures of her popping her big green mams out, smiling and winking at the camera while she titfucks me. The bra’s as stretched as expected, but at least I have a secret stash on my phone of Scrappa giving me the “v for victory” fingers with cum all over her face and tits

>we mess around with a few other things. I put her in an apron only, which does well for showing off her bubble butt sticking out the back. She’s better with the hot pink bikini than she is with the underwear, maybe because the whole thing covers a lot less. The top has her areolas poking out, and between her chubby pussy and ass, the thong… might as well not be there. I give her a little button up blouse and a mini skirt with some non-prescription glasses, and she seems to like the tiny secretary look, even if she keeps playing with the glasses on her broad nose. She seems okay with sandals, but says she wants to save them for outside. We tried high heels, but she can’t stay up for more than a few steps before she falls over. She finds it hilarious. The jeans are tight on her and look great, but she doesn’t seem to like anything that long. Maybe something with her pores needing to breathe, or the grease on her skin getting soaked up? We try some short overalls, and she seems to not mind those since her boobs are only really covered by the shoulder straps

>Scrappa absolutely loves her last outfits. One’s an old set of lingerie, a lucky find at the shop. It’s a soft pink, and came with garters to go with some stockings we managed to yank up to her mid-thigh. Its bustline’s a perfect match for her as it barely covers what it needs to while still jiggling around inside when she shakes her shoulders. But her last one is what really blows her mind

>purple tube top, some clip-on earrings, black lipstick, bandana around her head, and apink thong poking out from her shorts. The low booty shorts ride up her ass with “Spank it” across the upper part.  Remember how much Scrappa likes rap music? Apparently the look rubbed off on her somehow. She kept trying to eat the lipstick until I forced her mouth open and worked from there, but she actually gasped when I showed her a photo of herself. She keeps licking her lips, probably liking that oily feel. I take her ears and pop on the costume jewelry, and she shrieks when she sees them. “Goblin queen! Goblin queen!” she cheers, bouncing up and down on the bed. Apparently she has a thing for shinies.

>She starts posing without my asking. I think it’s because she’s become kind of trained to it from the photoshoot, but she keeps scrambling over to look at the pics. It’s sexy as hell to let her bend over to show off her ass and tits, making kissy faces with her big painted lips, and tug her shorts down enough to show off her cameltoe, but there’s something else to it. I have never seen Scrappa so proud of herself. She actually says “Scrappa pretty!” when she sees the pics. Sometimes it’s shocked, sometimes it’s just happy. She gives me an affectionate lick on the cheek between shots. I even end up turning on some of her favorite songs and recording a short videos of her stripperific dance. She even turns on all fours and wiggles her bottom as she says “Spang it, Bicka!” I’m impressed that she’s starting to learn how to read, even if it’s not exactly Hop On Pop (phrasing).

>It’s clear this has done wonders for her self esteem. It might just be human psychology; like how they tell you to dress for success and don’t just leave the house in sweatpants all the time. Not all of the clothes survived, since she clawed her way out of the jeans (maybe she’d wear them now that they’re torn? Convert to shorts?). I keep them in one of the spare dressers, since I don’t want to risk her wanting them and tearing through my closet. She ends up wearing her ghetto outfit all day (Scrappa just calls it bereeza, her “war paint”), but we end the session with her licking her lips again. “Feels funny,” she giggled. “Bicka wanna feel Scrappa lips?” 

>I’ll need a shower after this one for sure, even if she’s very proud of seeing me with her big black lipstick marks all over my thighs, cock and balls

>Nov 18: I’m putting off my decision for Thanksgiving with the family. I’m giving them a vague yes, but I keep trying to prep Scrappa for the idea. It’s about 3 hours either way, so it’s most of a whole day to do it. She is definitely not happy with me even discussing it. She looks variously worried, or downright scared, and bites her lip a lot. I realize she hasn’t spent a night alone in over a month, even if it was the main reason I came out here in the first place. Except for work, she hasn’t really left my side for more than about a half hour, and that’s if I’m out doing work in the yard or go shopping; something where she needs to keep out of sight.

>speaking of, I did address one thing: can Scrappa deal with cars? Short answer is yes. She scampered around the back seat and sniffed everything. Despite her messy looks and the smell in the house, I don’t think my car’s been cleaner than since Scrappa got into it. She’s like some kind of car symbiote: she just got into every crack and ate every loose fry, piece of granola bar, or loose change she could find. She makes little growling noises once in awhile when I accelerate, like she’s copying the car (or threatening it back?), and she looks amusingly hot with a seatbelt stuffed between her giant boobs. However, she can slip in and out of them easily enough, so she kind of gets everywhere. This does prove useful when we discover road head together. She just slips between my legs and I do all I can to focus on the road. It gets into the more windy forest roads, so I end up having to pull into a side road let her finish. It’s that much more distracting that she still purrs “Vroom vrooooom” once in awhile, making her teeth and tongue vibrate against my cock until I squirt inside her

>Nov 20: I had a bit of a blue spell today. I've been slowly going through Grandpa's books in spare time when Scrappa sleeping, running around or eating. It feels like it will be good to know more, considering that Scrappa exists and she has mentioned other monsters in previous entries. Grandpa probably set up this cabin as his base for some reason, after all. He covers most of the monsters in his early books; one for the undead, one for werewolves, one for ogres and giants, and so on. His later journals are just his personal logs and stories; summaries of binding demons and slaying vampires. He talks about some organization that hires him for some of the jobs, but doesn't get into who they are. Secret order of hunters? Government conspiracy looking for experts? Ancient order of protectors from the church?

>The last books really get me. It's clear he's getting old, and his hunting dates are farther apart. More consulting or quiet sniping jobs than they are wrestling werewolves to shove wolfsbane down their throats. And more and more, he talks about us. He made very little mention of dad, but in his quieter years, he's more excited to write about me and Paige being born than he is about decapitating dragons. I can't help but get a little sad to think about our rare visits up here. He was a great guy, even if there wasn't much to do at the cabin. But he had this whole life I never knew about, even with those books sitting right there in his bedroom.

>I snap out of it when Scrappa crawls into my lap. She stares at me with her big, red eyes, and for once she's not groping or cuddling me. She's just staring and sniffing curiously once in awhile. A couple tears must have squeeze out, and I wipe them off as Scrappa whines and shimmies higher up my lap. "Bicka no cry. Scrappa sorry," she coos, immediately blaming herself for anything as always. I hug and pet her, telling her it's not her fault. She stands up on my lap and her slimey tongue licks up any tears. I do make a decision, though. I ask Scrappa if she ever missed her family, but she was quick to shake her head. "They kick and bite. Always yell at Scrappa. Ugly-mean."

>I tell that's okay, but point out that Paige was nice, and I don't want my family to forget about me out here. I'm going to Thanksgiving, but there's a big difference between me loving Scrappa and trusting her. She barely handled one person, let alone a party. "Can Scrappa be brave?" I ask her, and she stares at me again. I have to carefully rephrase it in gobblish, because I realize that there is no word for "courage" or anything short of being bossy or berserk bloodlust ("odo taa" is literally "always killing"). "Can Scrappa not run away and take care of herself by not being a runaway scared without me?" She squirms and clearly thinks hard before she nods, bouncing her purple hair and chubby jugs. "Good girl."

>Scrappa gives a proud giggle and keeps standing on my lap as she kisses me. It's a fun distraction as we start making out and groping at her big bottom. She's still standing up, so her feet keep shuffling around against my thighs. At first I think she's just struggling to stay up, but I feel my boxers being pulled down, and her nimble little toes hooked around the waistband. Scrappa's proven to be an amazing climber, and some big feet with strong toes seem to help with that. 

>She notices my expression and giggles as she leans into the kiss, her big ears, hair, lips and nose blocking some of my view. But it's clear what she's doing as my dick gets caught between two of her toes that flex around me, putting all her weight on her other leg. I moan and she echoes it back, just in a far higher pitch, and she starts to alternate feet. Her foot lifts up, rubs down one side of my shaft, then the other goes. It has to be that rubbery build of hers that keeps her so curvy but so flexible. She has me breathing heavy by the time she lets herself plop back on her butt, landing between my knees. She spreads out her legs and rubs over my dick with both of her dexterous feet rubbing on either side, sometimes toying with it with her toes like a fleshy joystick. She has a sense for when I'm about to cum by now, because she ends up rubbing my balls with one foot while the other tips my cock her way right before I go. She squeals as it splashes over her pudgy belly and pussy, then comically starts trying to lick it off her own stomach. I decide I can spoil her a bit and sweep it off with my finger so she can suck it clean.

>Nov 23: I have no idea what's gotten into Scrappa, but it's hard to complain: she has turned into a goddamn fuck machine. She hasn't even stopped to eat unless I make her, and then she just chugs a lot of water or milk, burps, maybe throws some candy in her mouth, then hurries back to me. By the time I consider keeping count, I think I've cum in her various holes ten times today. I ballpark her as having cum more than that, but she's so wet and in such a horny frenzy that it can be hard to tell. I hardly have to go inside her for her to start shrieking and squealing like a lunatic. I end up cumming in her mouth, and when she doesn't get her mouth off it for five minutes, I have to force her off by a handful of hair. Needless to say, I get almost nothing done all day.

>We haven't done anything terribly different. We're well into autumn, and I did explain to her that I would be leaving for Thanksgiving the other day. Unless she's trying to get all the dicking she can before I go (I'd suspect she lived off of cum if I didn't see her eat like a garbage truck), the only thing I can guess is that she's in heat. Exactly why, I couldn't tell you. Most animals tend to go breeding-crazy in the spring... but even goblin biology is stupid. They get sick when they're clean and react almost suicidally when they're scared. Whenever I try to talk to her, Scrappa just giggles drunkenly tries to get her hands, face, hips or whatever she can onto my dick (if this IS heat, then not even Scrappa's instincts know where babies come from). I end up having to stick her on top of my cock just to get a word in

>I asked her if this is about "chee-chas." She giggles and puts her finger to my lips, shushing me with a big goofy grin. "Gooey boomy," she chimes in a singsong voice, which for a goblin means shrill and cracked. She spiked her hips into me so hard I thought I would puncture something inside her, but she laughs like it tickles. Her whole body keeps pumping up and down on my dick, and I can feel every bit of her jiggly weight pressing me deeper into her as everything on her twitches and jiggles. She goes between laughter, feral growls, and more of her loony, shrill cooing noises. Whatever's gotten into her, she seems to be enjoying it, at least. It's also that point that I realize that while I'm exhausted and sticky, and fucking her is taking longer and longer for me to cum each time... but I would have imagined there would be some chafing or irritation. That time I had the house to myself and masturbating six times in a day left me with... various problems. The easier solution is that she's wet as fuck nearly around the clock. My horny goblin is a practical lube factory, always giving off some kind of oily sex juice. Maybe it's even a natural sort of skin cream to help with their constant dtf lifestyle

>or maybe it's her somehow affecting me. Nothing I've seen or read suggests any other human has spent a long time around goblins. I must have drank over a gallon of her cum and saliva over the last month, and I've been surprisingly healthy. No colds, despite the temperature change. Sexual and physical stamina's been improving since I got here. For my own sanity as much as logic, I'm not saying I'm becoming a goblin, but maybe something in her hormones or smell is some kind of biological buff? Maybe her smell brings out the testosterone or something. That might explain why goblins get so aggressive with each other. I ended up testing this with her a bit; I'm going to be here for a while with this one anyway, as the sevenths of the day.

>I spank her while she rides on me, and she chirps and picks up her pace. Nothing unusual, despite her noisier symphony of sex noises. With her hanging onto my neck and chest, my hands are free to pinch her nipples and twist, slowly increasing the pressure around her dark green areolas and fat greenish-pink nipples. She gives a sharp gasp and her eyes go wide. Her humping slows, and she stares at me with those big eyes just like she does when she's curious about something new (rather than squealing in pain like a person would, for how far I've twisted her tits around). She's breathing heavy and drooling over her big perky tits. She doesn't look afraid, just wondering what I'll do next.

>I tug back on Scrappa's purple hair and order her in goblish to not stop humping. She gasps like she forgot I was inside her, and her hips get back to working up and down. I start to squeeze and knead her boobs instead of twisting, but go rougher than usual. I try to pinch and leave scratches, knowing any such tiny marks would be gone within the hour. Her little claws dig into my shoulders with excitement, and she's licking her lips. "Dirty Scrappa hungry for more?" I hiss out in her native language and she nods, puffing up her chest invitingly as she rides me.

>I end up giving her a testing tug on her ear. She coos while her head tilts with it. I go as far as giving her a quick swat on the cheek. That's apparently too affectionate for her, as she takes my the offending hand and bites on my fingers. Nothing to draw blood, but it stings and succeeds at riling me up a little. I slap her tits so hard that one knocks into the other like one of those office toys, making them wobble back and forth. She gasps and dug her nails into me deeper, apparently not caring if those draw some blood. We get into it rough; real goblin style, by all I've gathered. It's a bit of haze, but we bite, we pull hair, and we hiss little teasing insults at each other. She gives me a scratch or a demanding growl when I go too soft on her. She's set on this way for the night. I don't exactly lose control, but it's absolutely intense, and she's so elastic that no amount of slapping her face or spanking her pussy seems to phase her beyond an excited little squeak. 

>Somehow I end up with my hand around her neck, not choking but holding her tight enough to suggest it. I can feel her thin little throat as she pants and breathes faster than I've ever heard her go, eyes wide and glassy. I cum right before I swear I hear a wet splat, maybe a dull pop inside her, and she cums what I swear must have been a literal bucket. My legs and the couch are soaked, and it’s thicker than usual. I’d worry I burst something, or maybe she’s managed to wet herself for the first time since I’ve met her, but she keeps on humping until I peel her back off me. She purrs and seems out of it long enough for me to at least towel her off and get some of the worst of all her sweat and cum stains, but she’s right back on me before I can finish. It’s a few more hours and orgasms until she just collapses into a snoring, cum-soaked heap around 8 o’clock. It’s at least a chance for me to clean at least dry her off, careful not to get too much water on her. She’s just a big-titted rag doll in my hands, wearing herself out cold. It’s a chance to catch a shower and eat a proper meal before I curl up with her. Whatever got into her, I hope it’s through. It’s fun once in awhile, but everything aches. Maybe we’ll sleep in tomorrow. If this is all what I think it is, she’ll need her strength...

Nov24: >Scrappa seems a little tired today, but pretty much back to normal. She eats an double breakfast, which seems normal after yesterday. Goblins definitely run on their stomachs. If they're fed and there's nothing around to spook them, they tend to be pretty content with themselves (until anything they want crosses their line of sight). I realize I haven't really got into it yet, but we're forming something of a pattern. Scrappa's too wild to contain with a genuine schedule, but I try to keep her somewhat regular with her feeding so I know she's at least getting something naturally edible on top of whatever she scavenges around the house or the yard. This is the basics of our days together:

>8-9am. Scrappa wakes up. Mostly seems to update her scent markings/cum, explore the house (patrolling for intruders?) and snacks. She would groom herself early on, but only so far as checking for lice and combing with her fingernails. She has since stopped this with all the petting and actual brushing I'll do for her.

>10am. I wake up. Cook breakfast for us both. I like to mix it up, but so far Scrappa's favorite normal breakfast: 3 eggs (2 raw, one cooked), 2 pieces of bacon, and two pieces of toast (extra dark and crunchy)

>11am. dressed and start on work. Scrappa tends to get overly clingy if one of us doesn't cum by noon. She thinks she's not doing her job or that I'm upset with her. If I shower in the morning, she's usually quick to "clean me up" and get her smell back on me. Not that it goes away with one shower anyway; I've been doubling up on those to try to prep for my family trip.

>2pm. Try to have most of my work done by then. Fix a snack for Scrappa: usually a few sandwiches and something crunchy. Half a bag of chips will do, but I try to give her some kind of fruit or vegetable. Pickles or carrots tend to be her favorite, and she always puts on a show of fellating them for me. If any errands need to be run, I take care of them once she eats and has calmed down.

>5pm. Dinner, cooking something myself while letting her gorge as she pleases. It helps tucker her out for bed, combined with a good dicking or two in the evening. I give her scraps of what I'm having, so I always make extra, but I experimented with her after seeing her licking an old can she found laying around. Scrappa has a real taste for canned cat food, and they're plenty cheap so I can keep them around for her easy meals

>9pm. Dessert. Something sweet to reward her for being good, even if "good" is very relative with her. If she hasn't been good, then it's a reward to make her know that I don't hate her and am not going to kick her out. Some candy or cookies work, but our favorite is sharing a big bowl of ice cream. I'm the only one to get the spoon and she lets me be alpha as fuck while she waits her turn. If she doesn't get it fast enough, she starts to whine and try to make me happy with a lapdance or tits in the face or such. Whenever she does, it ends up taking so long that it starts to melt, and she gets most of the "ice cream soup." It's also one of her favorite forms of foodplay. I offered her a spoonful once if she spread her legs, but stuck it into her pussy instead. She made such cute yipping noises from the chilly surprise as I stirred it around. "Scrappa's slutty pussy is so hungry! It'll eat anything!" I laughed at her. I ended up apologizing by eating it out of her, and letting her eat the rest of the melted ice cream off my cock like a fleshy popsicle

>midnight. Bed time. We tend to have our longer and more intimate sessions before bed. Her chubby figure makes it so she can't climb into bed without ending up on all fours with her ass in the air (or maybe she just wants me to think that). She sleeps naked and curls up against me even when it's warm out. One good orgasm puts her right out, but if she's especially fussy or saying she's still hungry, fingering her ass' tender organ puts her right back in line and an orgasm turns her into a snoring rag doll. I tend to read or browse on the laptop an hour or so after to make sure she goes to sleep (and because it’s the only quiet I have all day)

>Nov 27: day before Thanksgiving. I'm not heading out until tomorrow, but I've shown Scrappa the basics and reminded her of the important stuff. I'm even leaving her a few extra toys to keep her busy. I showed her how a vibrator works, and that gets lots of cute "Vroom" noises out of her. Plus she's so short and chubby that most of her body jiggles slightly when she uses it. I left the mp3 player hooked up to the speaker, so she just has to hit a button to turn on her playlist (her usual mix of pop, rap, disco; absolutely zero classical). I even leave an unwashed shirt of mine for her to smell if she gets lonely

>At least Scrappa seems to be aware of what’s going on. I was wondering if it would sink in, but she’s extra clingy today. She hangs on the edge of my shirt and keeps burying her nose in my crotch and just sniffing around before doing any real licking or sucking. I think it’s her turn to be blue, and I’m sure to miss her too. I order a lot of Chinese takeout and give her a bowl of fried rice and chicken so big even she can’t finish it in one sitting

>when we go to bed, she knows I’ll be leaving in the morning. She cuddles and claws me up a bit and I ask if she wants her rubrub before we settle in. she asks for something special before we go and gives me her idea. She wants to have my scent on her so strong that she won’t forget it when I’m gone. I doubt that’s possible, but I’m willing to hear her out and end up agreeing

>Now, I dabbled in women, mostly in college, but I can’t say I’ve ever been into anything too freaky. Scrappa is by far the weirdest sex I’ve had, and that’s even if you ignore her whole species and second clitoris thing (still baffled; maybe it’s like an egg sac or something?). This feels like it takes the cake, despite not involving a Scrappa leaking cum out every hole and hogtied or a half-dozen orgasms in a day… Scrappa wants to eat my ass

>we end up easing her into it. I strip down and lean over on all fours. She starts sniffing like a dog and I have to steady myself not to jump too much. She lets out happy little hums, so I guess humans at their worst don’t smell bad enough compared to what goblins experience (or maybe just because it’s me). She gives it a kiss or two on the cheeks, then she starts licking. It’s startling at first, but then again Scrappa’s not working with a human tongue either. It’s more long and slithery, something that feels like it would compare to an eel, and it can dig in deeper than expected. It’s… very new and very strange. I start breathing deeper and slower to keep my cool and not instinctively pull away.

>she ups her game when she reaches under my legs and starts jerking me off. It’s a little more skilled than I expected of her, working blind like that. Her dull claws rub over my balls while the other pumps away. Her tongue slithers around, smearing her spit around behind me and running down my legs. If she steps things up, I decide to match her; something tells me you don’t get to be Bicka by bending over and taking it. I take her by the ears and pull her head back out, complete with a wet sucking noise. I set her back as she whines for more and sit on her face. “Scrappa’s not too full from dinner, is she?” I tease her as I settle back on her mouth. I brace my legs on either side to not risk crushing her, but she’s more confident in her goblin durability and pulls on my thighs to force me down. She adores the mix of my scent and my domination, trying to bury herself in me as she slurps up hungrily. I let her drink me in while we get our hands all over each other, rubbing a few orgasms out of each other

>we end up squeezing each other and cuddling up in the wet sheets. Scrappa’s happy as a goblin in a puddle of cum. I bite the bullet and kiss her, breaking the unspoken ass to mouth code just for her. She’s snuggled up all close as I pet her hair and get her attention. “Hey… piji.”

>Scrappa squirms in my arms and chirps back “Riti.” I smooch her on the head and tell her again: “Piji...” 

>”Riti!”

>We go back and forth at least twenty times with our stupid game, and by the end we’re just yelling it at each other until she’s a giggling mess. She seems okay with the deal; I promise I’ll find the first excuse to come back to her tomorrow

>Nov 28: well, the VanHellsing Thanksgiving was the least of my worries. I woke up to kiss Scrappa goodbye and see that she had enough food. I considered a burner phone for emergencies, but I can't imagine her doing anything that catastrophic. Back at the family's house, nobody but Paige knows about Scrappa at this point. Mom asked what all the cologne was for (the stink), so I said I was seeing somebody, but not really dating. Short and purple hair was all I let them pry out of me, so they're left thinking I'm dating some perky goth. I do end up cursing under my breath in goblish when I touch the hot part of the gravy dish ("boon matika shy!" or "hump your mother's face"), but I get Paige to back me up that it's something from a sci fi series we watched.

>when I get home around ten o'clock... well, do you remember Calvin and Hobbes? Scrappa must have heard the car and smelled me coming, so she flying tackled into my waist. She's laughing and crying and jabbering away and kissing my stomach while I'm left lying in the dirt in the yard. I keep forgetting that Scrappa's stronger than she looks. I lift her up and get us back in the house, holding each other tight. There's an odd little smell to the place, and more than usual. It's more of a chemical smell than normal. I check out the house, and Scrappa's too busy kissing my neck and going on about how much she missed me to bother asking her. I just pop a finger under her loincloth and start giving her rubrubs to calm her down while I check around. Her food bowls are mostly empty, but she has some leftovers. There's some books knocked off the shelves and left open on the floor. Nothing's really broken, but there's a few empty bottles by the trash. It's a real mix of containers... two beers, a two-liter of soda, a container of laundry detergent, vegetable oil, and some cheap shampoo. Scrappa burps right on cue once I recognize them

>I ask her if those tasted any good, and she says it wasn't for taste. She points me towards the bathroom and there in the sink is what looks like a tennis ball made of a translucent but slightly green goo. A gooey little lump no bigger than my fist. I shift Scrappa in my grip and rub at her belly. She does feel a bit heavier than normal.

>"Chee-cha?" I ask carefully, nodding at the blob. She shakes her head. "Egg sacs," she specifies. "Scrappa's making more soon. Then can put babies in them." It's the first clear sentence she's told me, and it comes out... different. She's actually pronouncing words rather than just squeaking them out, a much more delicate touch to them. I wasn't sure how I'd react to it all, but I end up smiling big. The book said a mother goblin got rapidly more intelligent

>"So... you're pregnant?"

>she rubs her big soft nose into mine and giggles before she kisses me. "Scrappa will make lots of eggs for Bicka. Bicka will have family right here. Lots of piji-riti. Big clan!"

>I have no idea what I'm supposed to do except that she explained how the eggs will work. When they're all ready, they need more cum; hers for girls, mine for boys. She tells me she can handle it, and not to worry. I'm still a bit overwhelmed, so she gets down and takes my hand to lead me to bed. She strips me down and climbs on top of my dick before I can think to stop her. She does have a bit more of a pot belly than normal, though that might be from her marathon of unregulated eating over the last few days.

>"Just... be careful, yea?" I ask her

>she shushes me with a slimy finger to my lips. "Scrappa's a mommy now," she whispers as she grinds my dick into her. "Let mommy take care of her bicka."

>Nov 29: Scrappa's intelligence is remarkable to watch. She really is learning quickly. I find that the books she'd used weren't dropped, but open. She said she'd watched me typing a lot, so she was picking it up, despite no signs of it earlier. It IS mostly just fantasy novels and comics, but still impressive stuff. She's not eating more than usual, but she asks for some soap and other bizarre stuff. I started thinking it was pregnancy cravings, but the weird coloring of the egg sacs make me think otherwise. I think her body sucks the chemicals out of what she drinks to make a more durable skin for the eggs, or maybe something that makes up the weird anatomy of a goblin. Maybe they have a high content of ammonia or sodium or something? I'm shit at chemistry.

>she's started cleaning, though that's just organizing; she still masturbates and grinds on things to leave her scent. She's even started watching Youtube and listening to podcasts with me for longer stretches. She's eating more garbage and random chemicals, but she's otherwise shaping up to seem like a pretty responsible mom. She's a little less humpy on me lately, and more prone to napping, but our fewer sessions are a lot more intense. She's screaming really intensely for a while right before she cums, and a lot more assertive and confident with them. She's not humbling begging and asking for them so much as she's grabbing that dick like she owns it. My best theory is she's instinctively practicing becoming a matriarch: she's planning to be the mother of her whole clan.

>Dec 2: I was a dumbass to think that goblin pregnancy would be clean. Easy, maybe, but not clean. Scrappa does take care of herself, even if she's ballooning up that belly rather quickly. She's started to vomit every so often, but she promptly and calmly cleans it up herself if I don't stop her. She's been drinking more chemicals, and I restock on some cleaning fluids and some vitamins in case those will help. She's been especially gassy from it all, but grateful. I still can't imagine how powerful goblin guts must be. Most notably, she's started laying more sacs. She's able to waddle around fine, but it's getting harder for her to climb into the bathroom sink.

>we've started a sort of nightly ritual; I lift her up in front of the sink and spread her legs, rubbing at her folds to open them and help her relax. I dip my fingers in until she clenches around them, grunting as she's in my arms all chubby and helpless. One hand stays on her belly, which eventually starts to shrink in just slightly as she squeezes them out. I only move my fingers aside when I feel the pressure coming down, gently catching and easing down the sticky, fleshy ball. They feel like those novelty sticky balls from vending machines. The ones made from the same stuff as those stretchy hands. I gave one a gentle squeeze and it mushed out of shape like bread dough, just to slowly slop back into shape when I let go. considering how much goop Scrappa made when she was normal, I shouldn't be surprised as the mess with pregnancy

>sex is becoming something else entirely. I don't want to risk squishing anything, so I leave her on top of me. She's becoming what I think people mean by a "power bottom." She's the moaning submissive one, but she'll do things like grab my hands to make me pull her hair, or push her tits into my face and tell me to bite. And something during sex, sometimes not, I see her cooing and rubbing her stomach, as if she's singing to her unlaid eggs. It's mostly these cute, shrill tunes that I've never heard, but occasionally I catch her shrill little whispers singing something like Junk In the Trunk from MC Justin Time or Kesha's Tik Tok. It's surreal to see her do it while I'm balls deep in her while Scrappa's on all fours

>we've also talked it over; we're going to raise females. Scrappa will be a matriarch of sorts, but I'm still her bicka. She wants me to be the only male without any rivals to her love; just me, her, and what's starting to look like a dozen goblin daughters. I asked if she should take over as Bicka since she's going to know more about these girls than I am, but she giggled and kissed my cock. "Silly Bicka. No matter how smart I get, I'm still your dummy Scrappa." It's an oddly sweet thing to say before she starts wolfing down my dick like she's starving

>Dec 7th: my second cryptid encounter. Scrappa is more relaxed, and more accepting of me coming and going for work and shopping. The way she's eating, I do need to step out more often to get more odd flavors for her. The snow's apparently a big deal out here, because the plows don't come by my secluded roads so much. The car is heavy duty enough for this kind of thing, but today a downed tree took out my main way to town. I get pointed down a detour that goes over an old stone bridge. It looks safe in the fact that it's so old that it only has one lane, having stayed up for years. Tire tracks in the snow lead over it, so clearly people have crossed recently. I was just about halfway over when a hand grabbed the car. It was randomly dotted with green warts on dark blue skin. I panic and slam on the brakes instead of speeding off, though they would have been equally effective when the hand lifts the entire car off the bridge. I realize where it's coming from, and where it's taking me; under the bridge.

>I gave another goblish curse (their word for "shit explosions"). I absolutely have a troll situation. It's not what I expected from Grandpa's notes. While I could see Scrappa in the goblin sketches, I think he only ever met (or at least noted) a male troll. I mean, I'm not so far gone that I think Scrappa hasn't altered my tastes in what's attractive, but the she-troll has a surprisingly feminine and pretty face. Her ratty black hair hangs like moss around her big gray eyes and two horns rising from her forehead, and her back and shoulders are covered in the warty bumps, but you can see the female figure on her rather than a twisted gnot of muscles like the males were shown as. Huge breasts, though a slightly flabby build and standing about 11 feet tall seems to encourage that kind of thing. She had long, strong-looking arms and legs, reminding me of an orangutan in sheer reach, but the only hair appears to be on her head... and her groin. She wears a loincloth like Scrappa, looking like the remains of some kind of ancient tarp or blanket, though it's well below her belly and her dark pubic hair pokes out. Somehow what stands out is her tits… I mean top. She wears sort of a studded leather bra around her armchair-sized breasts, something that was clearly built to house her troll-scale chest instead of Scrappa’s salvaged rags. Long and narrow nails tip her long fingers and toes, and she hunches over as she singlehandedly holds up the car and stares wide-eyed at me. She raises a relatively small but very angular nose, and sniffs at me and the car.

>She grumbles and growls a few things before she drops the car a few feet, making it crash and rattle at the bottom of her den before the engine died. "Goblin stink," she finally mutters. It is a MUCH higher pitch than I expected. The kind that made me almost think she was singing gently rather than growling a threat, though soft and thoughtful. I knew an emo girl in my high school who talked like that; a pleasant voice to hear, if she'd ever use it. She poked a fingernail in through the edge of the door and pops it open by force, scooping me and it off in one hand. "Where is it?" she asked with a sort of puzzled frown. Her mouth is fitted for a head much bigger than mine, so it's a big hard to read her expressions at that scale.

>"I don't know," I try to stall. It felt like the best move. No way I can sell out Scrappa, and even if I redirect it, I'm not sure how I'd get the car out of this river. It's a shallow stream, really, and it's barely trickling at this time of year. I look around as she awkwardly shakes a finger to get the car door off like a stubborn wedding ring. I spot a fire and big empty pot over it, and there's a few bones laying by the riverbed that I think/hope are wild animals. Otherwise, it's pretty barren here.

>"I can smell it," she states a bit more loud and clear like she's finding her voice after a long time. She sniffs me again before her pointy nose pokes at my crotch. I see her big eyes, the size of my head, widen and I know she's picked up the scent. She hooks one of those nails into my pants and pops them open. She gives my package another strong sniffing before she runs her tongue the size of my arm over my crotch. Her breath and spit is hot despite the weather, and her tongue is... bumpy. It's not the warts, because they're firm enough like they make on certain kinds of sex toys. One stroke of that and I'm hard, but she doesn't stop at one. She lets out this curious, deep hum that makes it vibrate as she just slathers my cock in her warm tongue and lips. She could fit most of my lower body inside her mouth if she wanted to, but she seemed to be genuinely scrubbing the goblin flavor off of me as she braces her palm against my ass to hold me up

>going into the mouth of a troll is definitely not as unpleasant as it sounds. I cum three times in an unclear amount of time because she is being VERY thorough. She drinks up my cum each time, and she always gives another pleased little hum. Eventually she starts to pull down her loincloth, showing more of that oily pubic hair. Judging by my extensive knowledge of goblin genitalia, she seems very damp and very aroused. I finally manage to get my wits enough to ask her to stop and she pops my dick out of her mouth with another wide-eyed, uncertain stare. I remember the book emphasizing that trolls weren't very bright, and she might have just taken the order seriously. She give me a sort of forlorn frown

>"It tasted good," she mutters, licking over her thin lips and her floppy, dog-like ears hang low. "Besides, goblins can track their own smell, so you need to get rid of it quick. Don't know how you got it on you." I realize that she thought she was helping. I'd later realize that by some disgusting miracle, troll spit perfectly neutralizes goblin smell. The smell of her sweat would be too much for me to realize it at the time. I decide to take advantage of her confusion

>"Well, stop. You're not allowed. I'm... friends with the goblins." Her ears perk up and she pulls some of the damp black hair from her face to look right at me. "You... can do that?"

>I shrug. "Be friends with the goblins? Sure."

>"I meant make friends." Ow. My fucking heart right there. I look around the den as I sit in her grip. "What do you eat down here?" I ask, eying up the pot. I know people have crossed the bridge, given the tire tracks, so it must have just been the goblin smell that attracted her

>"Fish, sometimes." She goes quiet and shifts her feet awkwardly, hunching over a bit further. I read it all as her being bashful about something. When I press the subject, she pinching a piece of her upper arm, plucks it off, and pops it into her mouth. With her squishy flesh and strong fingers, it pops off in a strange, bloody chunk, and like the books suggested, it grows right back. "M'dad said I shouldn't do that so much, but not a lot of animals come down by the bridge anymore. Not even goats."

>I ask if she can put me down. She shakes her head. I firmly TELL her she has to put me down, and she does so quite quickly. I go to my car and I bring her a bagel and some chips I was going to eat on the drive. She wolfs them down with a lot of noisy chomping, and I see her big mouth twist into a clumsy smile like she hasn't had the reason to in years.

>My heart melts for the big dumb girl. She probably grabbed me with the intent of eating a goblin-seasoned human, but she seems to have forgotten, or at least second-guessed herself. I walk over and rub her leg carefully, but she just looks at me quizzically.

>I ask how long she's been down here. She doesn't know. I ask her if her father's around. She says he got killed by a man a long time ago. I ask if she has a name, and THAT she knows: Gruunda. I am assuming that's how it's spelled, because she doesn't know. As Gruunda and I strike up a conversation, I make her a deal. I'll go get her some more food, and she'll let me go; just so long as I promise to come back.

>I point out that she'll have to get my car up to the road so I can get a tow truck. She looks confused about that last part, and I point out that it won't start. And that's where I learn something new: trolls are AMAZING craftsmen. She opens up the hood with her fingernail like a crowbar, pokes and pulls at a few things, and tells me to try again. It not only starts, but the clicking that it used to have when it starts is gone. She even fixes the door with a few precise shoves and bends with her ridiculous strength and delicately long fingers. And then she apologizes for not having proper tools to do it right. It must be how she made her own clothes.

>I go through with our deal and then some. I buy her some cheap meat and snacks and deliver them back to her. I also offer her a place to stay that isn't full of snow and river water. There's a shed out behind my house that I don't use, a remnant from when Grandpa must have had a woodstove for heat. I tell her that I know Scrappa hunts out there sometimes, so there must be more animals, and it has to be warmer than this place under the bridge. It's not as spacious, but I know how trolls can fit almost anywhere based on Scrappa's stories. I tell her we can be friends.

>the she-troll just breaks into tears for a while before she can actually accept. I ran the numbers on the way to the store, and if she can mostly fend for herself, then it should be barely anything to offer her the occasional snack. The only hard part would be convincing Scrappa to have another girl on the property. When we get home, though, it's surprisingly smooth. Scrappa waddles out when the car arrives, ignoring the troll that slinks out from behind a tree she shouldn't have been able to hide behind.

>Scrappa hugs and nuzzles my lap while she mewls about missing me. Then she trots out to the troll, sizes her up, and kicks her in the ankle. Gruunda looks surprised more than hurt, but she backs up a step either way. Scrappa giggles proudly and comes back to me. "Bicka first, but Scrappa is Bicka's. The troll can stay outside, yea?" I give her the arrangement and she agrees, but she pulls down my pants to give my underwear a slimy lick over the crotch, all while looking at Gruunda out the corner of her eye. It’s a power play she pulls, and I have just enough time to point Gruunda in the direction of the shed before Scrappa drags me inside to get her smell on me again. So long as Scrappa stays in charge and gets to cling to me, I think she can care less about our new neighbor. The she-troll is endlessly grateful, and she's already made my car better than ever despite claiming to have never seen one up close before. We plan to let her to look at my plumbing tomorrow.

>Dec 10th: for what I expected from a troll, being a perfect houseguest was not among them. Gruunda's fixed things around the house from creaky floorboards to the water pressure, just by tinkering around with them for a few minutes. She's still a bit sheepish and awkward, but she won't stop making it clear how grateful she is. I've tied her into the shopping list, and she doesn't eat nearly as much as I expected at her size. After a few days, it sounds like she lives off a combination of moss and plants, wild game, and a few burgers a day. She probably averages less than I eat. The winter means there's not much sunlight, which is good for her. Apparently it takes quite a while to turn her to stone so it startles her more than hurts. I check on her now and then, but we're staying friendly neighbors.

>Scrappa isn't afraid to get a little bossy with her, which Gruunda doesn't seem to mind. She prefers some solitude, but someone to talk to at all seems good enough for her. She hunts or sleeps most of the day, so Scrappa and I still have a lot of time alone. Getting anything useful out of Gruunda is difficult at best, but she knows about goblins. She knows them as troublemakers and thieves, but she doesn't have much to take besides her cauldron and whatever she can fix up from the shed. I have my suspicions at first, but she doesn't remember any goblins recently, so I don't think she knows what happened to Scrappa's tribe either. The place is barely bigger than she is, but she seems happy wedged in there, contorted and partly flattened against a wall like some kind of bipedal octopus.

>Scrappa's been strangely self-sustaining, and it can be jarring to carry on a conversation with her when I had to outright babysit her before. Her sex drive seems to come back as her belly starts shrinking back to normal. At its biggest, she had a watermelon growing out of her gut, which is especially unusual to see at her size. She liked to rub it against my shaft until I came on her stomach, rubbing it over her oily skin and cooing her little song to her waiting eggs like a fertility ritual. She’s up to about 15 eggs laid; they keep squishing together when we run water over them like we’re supposed to. It's all so strange, seeing her like this, but beautiful. She's more aware of herself, and she seems really happy with where she is. 

>it’s not to say she doesn’t like to be pampered. Every so often she’ll still break that confidence and intelligence, and just curl up in my lap to bury her face in my crotch or lazily lick my fingers. I almost worry that being a responsible mother-to-be is a bit much on her little goblin mind. I held her in my lap tonight while she holds her belly, softly sucking and nibbling on her ear tips. She wriggles as it tickles, and I ask if she wants to head to the bedroom. She says it’s too early for sleep, so I mix things up and take the initiative. “Nope! Bicka’s orders!” I heft her up, not much weight difference to her despite the belly, and smack her on her jiggly booty. She gives this huge, shocked shriek before she kicks her feet around, laughing and calling me their words for barbarian and kidnapper (technically just “hits harder than he has to” and “took from the wrong tribe”). 

>She slaps and shoves at me while she laughs to play hard to get, finally hopping out when we get into the bedroom. She tries to climb up onto the bed by herself, but with her belly, it ends up with her boobs spread out over the blankets and her big green butt wiggling as she kicks for leverage. I have to grab her cheeks and push her up the rest of the way, where she rolls over to sit and smile at me as she gives another chemical burp. It is ridiculous what I find sexy these days…

>I give her hair a little tug and she giggles and pulls mine back.I nibble on her nose and she bites my lip hard enough to taste a little blood. It’s weird little foreplay of light pats and pinches. I think it’s the level of trust she’s put into me. She knows I’m twice her size and I know how goblin society works, but I never hurt her more than a firm spanking or a hard fucking. I think that never ceases to amaze her, like every petty smack turns her on when she realizes it doesn’t hurt. In a way… I really hope she never finds her tribe. If nothing else, because she was treated like that. She opens her pudgy lips wide as I mount her and start kissing. Our heights make it impractical, but she folds her toes around her round belly to rub at my shaft and balls with them instead. Gruunda’s agreed to help me shower by licking me down when I need to go to work, voiding out the smell, but when I’m around her, I can’t help but always want to be engulfed in Scrappa’s strange taste and smell. No matter what she eats, her long, slimy tongue is always rich with that weird, sick taste of home.

>we'd gone over how the cum spread on the eggs will affect the gender, and agreed that we wanted more women in the tribe; me because they seem cuter, and her because she says same sex goblins tend to get along better than mixed (less to worry about, I guess). I've been avoiding cumming inside her, just in case, and she seems to love it. I end up lining my shaft right between her puffy, hungry labia and pumping through them. It bumps the head against her belly as she tries to look around it to watch, and her slit keeps leaking out her warm, horny juices while my cock is holding it open

>I pinch her nipple and it gets a horny shriek out of her as she arches her back. It's too fun to pass up on and soon I'm stretching her breasts away from her chest and her eyes are like saucers. She's panting so fast she can hardly breathe, and then... she milks. I feel a thicker oily sensation than usual that makes my fingers slip and her breast plop back to her chest. I look at my hands and there's a creamy substance, translucent with a hint of blue; kind of a vegetable oil texture. I look down at Scrappa who blinks up at me expectantly, and she does something very rare; a goblin blushes. It's a deep pink color like undercooked steak that goes across the spots on her cheeks and nose, making them look more like freckles than before. Of course she's lactating... she's a busty pregnant goblin. The book mentioned that they made milk anyway, which made them laying eggs that much stranger

>Getting her point, I lick my fingers clean and grope her again. It makes her happy, and it's a sort of plain but not unpleasant flavor. It makes me think of that time I ate a fried Oreo at the fair; so much grease that it kind of coats the mouth and blocks out other flavors. Was that what goblins always tasted? It would explain how they eat so much filth... either way, I kiss her some more before I latch a mouth onto her breast and start suckling. She moans a little at first, but when nothing else comes out, I think like a goblin. I bite into her areola demandingly, and she gives this horny shout. More of the greasy milk comes out, and she makes it sound like its an orgasm all of its own for her to be milked, and for all I know it is for a goblin.

>it's a literal fight to get the milk out of her. She loves the feeling of it coming out, but I have to bite and slap at her breasts to get any decent flow. She has that same rubbery pinata thing going with her pain sensors, where her favorite games include throwing her across the room onto a couch. Eventually I grab her other tit and bend it around, squeezing and squishing it to turn one up towards her. We've played with her sucking or licking her own nipples before (usually when she wants attention or during her sexier dances), but it takes her a second in all her pleasure to get what I mean. "Hungry, my brooby?" I offer, using the goblin phrase for "mama."

>I suck on one tit, Scrappa sucks on the other. I see her pointy teeth dig into her skin, and we have a sort of contest to see who can drink the most or treat her nipple the roughest (I think I end up winning by virtue of a bigger mouth and hands). I end up turning things around so that she's holding both of her nipples to her mouth, drinking and drooling her oily milk while I stuff my dick between her tits, fingering her with a free hand. She ends up cumming hard and flopping onto the bed in her slimy puddle, and I return her usual favor my licking her clean. It was a real tender little moment between us...

>oh, and don't worry... things got gross again a few minutes later. Scrappa belly made a thick squishing noise and we hurried her back to the bathroom. I hefted her back into position right before she squeezed out another five eggs. She hugs her belly and I can see it flatten out to its normal, mild pudge, just hanging slightly over her loincloth. It looks like she's emptied herself, and she looks up at me happily as I hold her spread eagle in front of the sink. "Scrappa drooby," she gurgles sort of weakly. I kiss her cheek and hold he in my arms. She looks exhausted as I hold her and do something so new she doesn't seem to know what to do with it: I help her cum nice and gently.

>Scrappa can squirt in under 5 minutes if you're rough and quick about it. I rub her slow and gentle, letting my fingers clean out all the egg sludge mixed in with her cummy juices from her pussy. She's somewhere between ready to fall asleep and hypnotized by it as I give her featherlight touches all over, just refamiliarizing myself with it. It takes us about an hour of intimacy, and even with the unwitting endurance training she's given me over the month, my arms are exhausted by the time she quietly gasps and squirts over the eggs. Properly fertilized, I just whisper to her "You will be a beautiful brooby. My beautiful Piji-Riti. Love you, Scrappa." I forgot my hand is still inside her, because I swear the flattery alone makes her cum one more time in a quick little twitch and squirt. I make sure she's done before I lug the goblin I love back to bed and update the journal

>Dec 13th: Scrappa's more or less back to her usual self. She's horny, dirty and flirty again, and eating garbage and junk food rather than cleaning chemicals. She's started masturbating and grinding on her usual scent spots, but it's got a slightly sweeter smell to it than usual. She definitely knows it, because she grins her little fangs at me when I sniff at the air. Gruunda left us a gift on the doorstep; a half-eaten bear. I'm nowhere skilled enough to skin and cook it, and I remember reading that they're full of parasites, so I go to the shed to give Gruunda my heartfelt thanks but no thanks. Politely. After all, the meek troll is able to murder a bear while completely unarmed. Of course by then, Scrappa's already started digging into it. She's covered in gore by the time I pull her out and let Gruunda finish the rest. I can't have bloody footprints all over the house, so I get a wet, dirty bath towel and spend a while scrubbing her down. Like I expected before, her body oils stay unaffected by pretty much anything but soap and hot water. She walks barefoot through the snow with hardly a shiver, and she's quite warm to the touch.

>Scrappa either doesn't know or can't express how long the eggs will take to hatch. She shrugs and tells me "In a while." She doesn't really do much besides peek in on them once in awhile and ask me to turn on the faucet for a few seconds once or twice. The journal's entry on their breeding says a tribe of goblins can populate an area in a matter of months if left unchecked, so it can't be terribly long. I'm hoping they don't come until after Christmas; I'm not sure what you get a goblin who loves eating trash, especially baby ones. Plus my family will be expecting me again back at the VanHellsing house. Can I really keep hiding Scrappa and my growing family forever?

>Dec 15th: FUCKING. CENTAURS.

>I wake up to a booming knock on the wall of the bedroom. Gruunda's at the window, smiling sweetly. It's a little early, but Scrappa's awake like a cat and ready to bolt when I grab hold of her. I give her my usual assuring cradle (hold her in one arm, hook the hand under her butt, and lightly finger her; calms her right down every time). Gruunda says there's someone here who wants to see me. I don't know if Gruunda has the sense to make suggestive gestures, but she pulls an arrow out of her rocky shoulder. Between that and them talking to Gruunda, I know they can't be humans. Not that I get company out here anyway; I can give the local troll a tank of gas and she can get the heat working herself without having to bother calling an expert

>I tell Scrappa to stay put while I do some Bicka business. I dress for the snow and and head outside, and a short way into the woods, Gruunda shows me a pair of centaurs. Human upper halves and four-legged, furry bottom halves. One is more petite in her human half, and has a lower body of a large deer. Elaborately braided, golden hair with flowers woven in (despite the time of year), and pale, almost pearly skin. The other has a lower half like a clydesdale, thick and shaggy with huge, crushing hooves. She has a lot of shaggy black curls. Her body is thick with muscle, and an amazingly ornate longbow is in her hand. A quiver of feathered arrows is strapped around the side of her equine body. It might just be how centaurs have their spines working, but they both appear to be VERY proudly topless. The smaller's got a slightly upturned pair, but the big one's weight and muscle give her huge and heavy ones with thick nipples. I still favor Scrappa's for sheer height-to-tit ratio.

>When I approach, they speak with each other in a sharp, rapid language I don't understand. I snag a few words to look up later (a sort of bastardized Latin, apparently; perhaps the truly original form?). They try a greeting on me, and I offer a "Hello" before they look relieved. Apparently broken English is an option. While Scrappa was a lot of primitive phrases early on, they seem far more intelligent. It's more like speaking to a French foreign-exchange student than a cavewoman; the conversation's a bit stiff and they completely drop a word once in awhile, but we can get by.

>"Who owns the forest?" the big one questions right away. I shrug, and when she frowns at that, I reply "I guess I do. It's my grandpa's property that I inherited." She looks a little confused. "I own it now," I simplify.

>the smaller one steps forward, looking pleased and says I "have a good land." I thank her awkwardly, but try to keep up politeness. Gruunda's still staying a safe distance away listening, like a much less vigilant version of the big centaur. I learn that they're Ven (the pretty little deer) and Tiniel (big burly horse), and they wanted a place to stay for the winter. They'd been traveling alone for some time, and the weather didn't make that practical anymore. Apparently my property's pretty full of game and vegetation, because Ven says they could maintain themselves pretty easily out here. They'd "maintain" anything they hunted and "let the soil make," and could be gone by spring. When the last part goes over my head, Ven goes over and touches a dried up old shrub. She whispers something in her clipped Latin and it sprouts leaves and berries before my eyes. "Let it grow?" I ask a little warily, and she nods, bouncing her tight braids and soft tits around.

>Tiniel seems a little more uptight throughout our talks, but I tell them there's no reason they have to leave in the spring if they want to stay. If they can do that with the place using whatever magic they have, why not let them? It's not like I head out there much, and I can feed Scrappa myself. They both seem delighted by the idea, and I warn them about a few ground rules basically the same as Gruunda's.

>no fighting, no being spotted by humans (I don't need that kind of investigation), and no bothering Scrappa. Tiniel gives this condescending smile when I mention having a goblin lover. "That is the fate that you choose?" she speaks in this thick, Slavic kind of accent. She uses a word I don't know, but then spits on her hand and offers me a handshake with "Agreed." I spit and grab her hand back: when in Rome, do as the Greek mythology does. We shake and she pulls me into his big hard hug. It's oddly comforting to have the big strong arms and giant tits hugging around me, but I emphasize again that Scrappa's a little clingy and territorial about me, so they should watch the displays of affection

>Tiniel looks confused until Ven says something, and for some reason I am hilarious to them. I give them about a minute to calm down before Ven says "Do not worry, lord Steven. Tiniel and I, we are ****." Another word I don't understand and can't remember. When I shrug again, she gestures to Tiniel to come to her. Ven raises her forelegs, balancing them on Tiniel's furry sides to hold herself up as they embrace and kiss deeply, running hands over each other's breasts and upper horse halves. Lesbian centaur exhibitionists. Why not? They do sort of maintain that kiss for a while, as if they forgot I was there for a while

>Once they're done, Tiniel thanks me again and produces a crude, corked up clay jug as a gift. I thank her and tell them to ask me or Gruunda if they need anything before heading back and explaining it to Scrappa. She nods along at first, but when I raise the jug she stares wide-eyed like it's made of diamonds. "Centaur moony..." she whispers like it's a holy word. I look at the crude container and pop it open. I'm surprised the paint doesn't peel off the walls, as the smell alone makes my eyes water. Scrappa bounces up and down on the bed like it's Christmas (which I guess it is...), her boobs and butt bouncing like crazy in her stretched out old haltertop and panties (black with a skull on the crotch today). I ask what it is, and she cheers out "Centaur moony! Centaur moony! Get! Drunk!" This from the girl who drank bleach and nyquil like it was water.

>When I double checked the books, grandpa confirmed that centaurs were reasonable sorts. One of the more civil monsters, if a bit barbaric. They are beings of passion; short tempers, wild lovers, and brewers of some of the strongest, tastiest alcohol in the world

>I get Scrappa to calm down and figure it might be best to save it for a bit. She whines about it, but I figure she's just being impatient. I set it on top of the fridge, which she could reach, but she gets the point that I'm putting my foot down. She just got off of being pregnant, and there's new guests who gave me mysterious alcohol. It can wait a little, and so can she. She's all over me for the rest of the day; she becomes inseparable with my dick unless I physically lift her off to go to the bathroom or fetch something. She keeps sucking on me while grinding on my leg, or riding on me as she watches me expectantly. I think she's trying to butter me up to cave on the centaur wine, but it's a kind of torture I think I can take

[the writing for the entry is slightly looser and sloppier than others, with assorted typos removed for clarity's sake]

>Dec 16th: Scrappa and I had a party today. We have some of the wine jug at lunch, and even at room temperature, the centaur wine tastes of honey and ice water. Scrappa drinks hers out of a cup, licks it clean, and asks for more. I'm not much of a drinker, but it's got a tingle to it. I make some easy burgers and fries for dinner, because life with Scrappa is basically bachelor life minus all the masturbation.

>we go after it a little harder after dinner, and she's getting giggly. Goblin drunk seems like a more mellow version of human drunk; more of a high than drunk, really. I guess it's hard to get more hyper than normal goblin levels. Scrappa keeps clinging to me, sometimes for balance, sometimes to climb me. She stretches out my shirt climbing up my chest so she can kiss me, giggle, and plop back into my lap. She keeps gurgling and babbling ditzily

>I'm a little fuzzy myself, so I do some drunk science on her. I turn on some more hiphop and she starts cooing sensually, and wriggling in an offbeat sort of bellydance that's sexy as fuck. I rub a hand over her jiggling chest and booty, and she seems so lost in her rhythm that she doesn't notice. I have to ask the centaurs how to make this stuff later, because she looks like she's in absolute bliss on this stuff

>she cuddles up in my lap, and I ask her what she wants to name the babies. She blows me a raspberry, and I ask again in goblish. She dismisses the question as silly, and that we'll know their names when we see them. I guess some goblin names are named after traits; Stinkeye, Goon, and Bigbite were listed in the journals as goblin names, after all. It does get me down a certain train of thought, and I ask what Scrappa's name was before I named her

>she laughs and says it wasn't important. She's strictly speaking in goblish now, clearly not sober enough to use her pidgin English. I tell her to tell me or I'll eat her up, nibbling on her nipple as she squeals and thrashes in delight. I slow to a soft suckle, not bothering to draw out her greasy milk as she looks down at me with a big-lipped smile

>"Pruuruu." I almost think she whistled at me for a second, but she repeats: "The tribe called me Pruuruu." It's the best I can spell it; it's almost a bird call (spell check it with her when she's sober). I tell her it's beautiful, and she sticks out her tongue again. "It's an ugly name for an ugly girl," she claims, though I don't know any related words in goblish that indicate that. Maybe she just means she's forgetting her old life. Maybe it's that she didn't feel pretty until she found me. I lean in close to her and whisper "Scrappa pretty girl," into her big pointy ear. I will never forget that look on her face. Sloppy drunk in my arms while her smile fills up her face and her eyes close a little, as if she could fall asleep to that kind of sweet talk

>I hope we don't disappoint, but we don't have wild, sloppy drunk sex. It's not that it would be taking advantage of her; she literally begs for it if I go an entire day without going inside her something or other. But Scrappa seems so utterly happy and at peace, and even I've got this warmth that feels like it swims around my belly and brain. We just sort of snugglefuck all night. I can't stop touching her, and she feels so warm on that winter night (I hope the naked centaur ladies are okay out there in this weather). I just massage under her clothes head to toe and compliment her every way I can think of, and she soaks it up while she licks or hugs onto whatever part of me is in front of her. She does a lot of cooing and moaning, and it feels like that's what she needs more than a cock in the mouth... for tonight, anyway. She absolutely needs the D some nights. Like insane for the D. Are goblins like, chemically addicted to human D or something? Sober me, look this up later.

>when she's done being adorable, and the booze seems gone, we go and half pass out into bed. I say half because we flop into bed exhausted from doing nothing all night, and we stay up another hour or two just touching and... really, just loving each other. I keep telling her she's pretty and cuddly and fun until she breaks into these big happy tears that leave greasy stains on her pillow. I spoon up behind her, big enough to cover most of her body in my arms and chest as I shush her and whisper assuring flattery in her ears. She keeps crying and sniffling with occasional giggles until she passes out against me, her tank run dry. I bury my face in her purple hair, glad that her smell isn't ruined by the alcohol. Still spooning her now while I update the journal for the night, that cute butt wiggling against my rod in her sleep. Don't forget how much she means to you, Steve. She's a lot of work, but she's worth it.

>Dec 17th: I wake up feeling like I drank a bottle of hammers last night. There's still that haze in my head, but it's rough and angry rather than fluffy and warm. I start to rehydrate ASAP and read what I left myself from last night (I don’t think there was just alcohol in that, Grandpa). I find Scrappa humming in the kitchen like nothing happened (stupid goblin metabolism). The only thing contrary to that is she's wearing an apron I got her (as a sexy costume more than actually useful). Gruunda apparently showed her how to use the stove while I was asleep and she's cooking Pop Tarts in a frying pan. Her tits and ass are utterly falling out of the apron, but she turns and smiles proudly as she offers them. It just looks like the sweetest thing she could do for me. They're sort of crunchy, but not bad for Pop Tarts, so she gets lots of hugs and praise.

>I check in with the centaurs in the morning. They were bathing each other by the lake where they’d set up some quick and crude shelters. I offer some breakfast, but they’re fine for food. When it doesn't seem like I'm intruding, I decide to learn more about them and ask what they were traveling for. It sounds like it’s just what they do; they break off from their herd when the numbers get too great to hide. I ask what brought them out into my neck of the woods, and their talk gets me a little worried. They had found a place to stay a little while off, but decided to move. There were a bunch of goblin pests that showed up and they decided to avoid the trouble.

>Dec 20th. Scrappa has figured out that Christmas exists. A few cards from my family, ads online, and commercials are starting to get her excited. I wasn’t sure if I should bother to introduce her to it or not, since religion isn’t a thing for goblins, but she thinks she’s figured it out: people wear a lot of red and green by pine trees and find out what’s inside boxes. I explain its bare basics to her instead: people give gifts to people they like. The whole Jesus part feels a bit big for her, so I leave that out. I figure we can do Christmas Eve together, and I get a smallish Christmas tree and do some light shopping for gifts. I can’t get too much too early for Scrappa, since I know she’ll scrounge around and find them. She does have a lot of fun climbing the Christmas tree though (didn’t bother with ornaments since I saw that coming). I did get her a costume to get her excited: a full blown kid’s elf costume. Fuzz-lined skirt that barely go past her ass, striped red socks that almost reach her thighs, stretchy green top that stretches out to fit her chest so long as most of the buttons are down, and pointy hat over her pointy ears. She can barely sit still long enough for me to get them on her. She keeps looking in the mirror at herself and posing for it and me, but finally she wants to “sit on Santa’s lap.”

>Dec 23: once Scrappa’s fed and fucked (she wanted it in the elf costume again; it fits her like shit, but she seems to like things like thongs and booty shorts anyway), I head out to the space behind the house. I drop off Gruunda’s gift. It’s a basic laptop I got on the cheap, but once I get the wifi going, she takes to it faster than I can teach her. She’s so happy that she cries and hugs the crap out of me, and I’m lucky she’s as soft as she is strong. I leave the shed feeling pretty pleased with myself before I reflect on the fact that I let loose a literal troll onto the internet.

>Ven and Tiniel are doing well for themselves. They have a crude camp, something that I could have mistaken for a sort some kids playing fort if not for the firepit, stone knives, arrows, and drying skins. I got them a pocket knife, some storage containers, and a bunch of flower and vegetable seeds. Ven immediately puts them to use and sprouts some carrots with her magic. They’re appreciative, and I catch up on how they’re settling in. They say between Ven’s magic and Tiniel’s hunting, they shouldn’t have any trouble making through the winter. Tiniel mentioned that the pond should be good for fishing in the spring, so long as the water sprites don’t cause them too much trouble when they’re done hibernating. I just… I’m surprised we have a pond back there. At least I can table sprites until spring, apparently

>I head back inside, and Scrappa's nowhere in sight. I get cold sweats, but remember she's a very capable hider. I push away thoughts of her being swept up by other goblins along with her eggs. I make sure the eggs look fine and can't find a sign of her until I shut my eyes for a deep breath. It was something I'd wondered once in awhile, but there it was... I'd spent so long buried in Scrappa's oily stink that I could sense it. The spots where her masturbation had dried up for the day didn't even overpower it. I followed it back into the living room, realizing it had either done something strange to my nose or goblins just smelled that powerful. I finally notice the red box by the tree, about twice the size of a shoebox, or maybe that of a very expensive board game. I kneel down and open it, and Scrappa pops out with a happy squeal. She seems delighted that she surprised me, and latches right onto my cock like it's candy as she stares up at me, grinning and baring her teeth as they softly nibble on my shaft

>"You little sneak," I tease her, tugging her ears and hair for those little stinging sensations she likes so much. It makes her seal her lips around me tighter, like playing with a dog and its chew toy. The more I pull, the harder she sucks. It becomes a game between me and my bitch in a box as I keep pinching and tugging on her as she resists and keeps sucking me off. I end up gushing inside her before too long, but then I realize the folly of my game. I've already cum but she still suckin'. I literally can't get her off, even when I slap at her cheeks or pinch her nipples. She just giggles and grabs onto my legs, running her eel of a tongue over my balls and slurping those up too. She drinks two more orgasms out of me until I can't stand and she has cum dripping out her nose. I finally think to tell her she won and she pops her mouth open in a big mess of drool, cum and smiles. She climbs up into my lap, her nimble toes teasing my softening shaft as she cuddles up

>I test it out later, just to find that I can still sense her general direction by smell unless we just had sex. In that case, her smell is sort of all over me and I can't tell one way from the other. I step out for some of the easier items to get for her, avoiding the worst of the rush in town and at the malls. I end up sending Scrappa out of the bedroom, locking the door, and keeping an eye on it. She naturally tries to pick the lock (however she even does that...) and sneak in, but I just bark at her so she instantly stops and scurries away.

>Dec 24th: Christmas Eve with Scrappa, and I wake up with her already on my dick. I come to while she crawls onto me and pops me right into her miniature pussy. We're a few humps in before I whisper a "Merry Christmas, piji-riti," to her. "Chrissy Christmas," she chirps back as she smiles warmly and gets to work on my wakeup call.

>I can tell it's something special to her today, because she takes her time gyrating those giant hips rather than humping like she's in her constant heat. She controls herself, and I can feel each jiggle of her thighs and ass against me as her big milky breasts wobble to a stop in front of me. I just hold her hips to help her along, letting her milk me over about an hour of intimate grinding. I suck and kiss her breasts as they go up and down like a reward for each roll of her hips. A few times she freezes and shakes, biting her lip as she cums on me, but just uses it for lube as she keeps giving me my huge, drawn out orgasm.

>by the time she's done, she collapses on me and I pepper her with kisses. At first I imagine she has almost no possessions of her own, so there's not much she can give. The dedicated fuck session might have been her gift. I smack her on the bottom and tell her to get dressed and go eat breakfast so I can sneak her presents out of the closet and under the tree. I'm only sure she hasn't snuck a peak because they're all still wrapped, and she doesn't seem capable enough to seal them back up without my noticing.

>She comes out to the living room shrieking in delight. Either she didn't expect anything (or at least so much) or she believes that they appeared by magic when she wasn't looking. She takes as much fun in unwrapping them as admiring them, which involves her utterly destroying the wrapping paper and popping some smaller bits into her mouth. I got Scrappa a bunch of things:

>-lots of clothes

>-some candy and "drinks," like Sour Skittles and off-brand nyquil

>-some pet shampoo. It seemed to be the only part of washing she seemed to actually enjoy and understand

>-a few plush toys. Some are sure to be lost, broken, or eaten, but she seems to like the stuffed turtle. I found her humping it later in the day, like her old goblin doll

>It looks like I nailed it with her last gift. It's a miniature mockup of a cocktail dress, something that made me instantly think Jessica Rabbit. Sequins all over it, and blood red, she gasps and hurries to put it on. I have to stop her and help her put it on the right side up. It was a plus-sized outfit I manages to shear off around the thighs, so it's something that actually fits her for once. It cups her tits enough to make them wobble without her areolas popping out, and covers just past her hips while still making her booty pop out. She can't stop staring at herself and thanking me, and explodes randomly into shrieks of one of my favorite things to hear: "SCRAPPA SO PRETTY!" It's sparkly, slutty, and makes me happy to see; seemingly everything she wants.

>After being tackles and lots and lots of slimey kisses, she says she wants to show the others her stuff. She grabs a  what she can (turtle gets stuffed in her cleavage), but not before she hands me a ratty-looking notebook. "Chrissy Christmas, bicka," she says and runs out to talk to Gruunda at the shed.

>The book is mostly battered and old on the outside, likely because she pulled it out of the garbage or found it in the woods. The pages are wrinkled, but the writing looks fresh in pen. The letters are crooked and shaky, and there's plenty of scribbled out bits. Scrappa labored over writing out her feelings for me in the notebook IN ENGLISH. I keep by the bedstand from then on. I think it loses a bit of the meaning here without the visible struggle with the words involved, but it brought me to tears. Here's some of the strongest piece. I'll minimize the typos...

>"Scrappa is sorry that she's not a human. Scrappa won't be big and pretty like other girls. Scrappa smells like goblin and cries a lot (but not as much as goonda she is baby). I eats all the good food from you that you make at the work. Scrappa be sad and ded without you, and that makes Scrappa feel so so happy and so alive to be with you. Scrappa was barely alive before meeting you, Steve. I do not now if I can wryt later on when babies grow up, so wanted to do it now. But no matter what Scrappa does, she'll be happy, because you say piji-riti. Scrappa never knew somebody who didn't want to send her away or say I'm ugly. You make Scrappa stay up with crying cuz you feed me when I'm sic and hold me when I'm scared and hit me but good hit me, not bad hit me. And make me cum sooooooo much.

>"Scrappa just happiest goblin ever. No more sad and no more angry just happy. Bicka makes her safe, and bicka is piji-riti. Scrappa jealous of her babies, because when theyre hatch they wont have to know what it's like to be sad goblins. They'll always have piji-ritis, cuz Steve is the best Bicka and piji-riti, and Scrappa never ever gonna leave. Scrappa gives out all her blood and guts for Bicka, her every body part for Steve." [there's a drawing of a heart next to it] "You put up with Scrappa more than she deserves, but pleasey never stop. It make Scrappa feel warm and safe and so so impossible happy. Kissy, piji-riti."

>I grab Scrappa in the biggest, tightest hug I can when she's back, and spend the rest of Christmas Eve spoiling her. I almost feel like a dick for seeing my parents tomorrow, but I'm also not sure that she realizes Christmas is actually tomorrow. As if it matters anyway; I have her and she has me and we have a special day.

>Dec 25th: Christmas was a relaxing break from it all. I get a lot of practical house-warming stuff and clothes, and leftovers to bring back to Scrappa. Mom asks about that girl I’m seeing, half expecting her to show up this year. I tell her it's complicated, but I give her a hopeful "Someday." Paige catches up with me about Scrappa during the yearly tradition of doing the dishes for mom. The snow's not too bad and I haven't drank anything, so I end up heading home that night. Dad takes me aside to send me home with a case of beer and a quick heart to heart about how if I'm in trouble or need anything. I tell him thanks, and that I've got my hands full, but nothing I can't handle so far.

>I get home to hear the faucet running in the bathroom. I poke my head in to see that it's on low and washing over the eggs in a steady trickle. I almost go to stop it when Scrappa suddenly has my hand and pulls me gently back. "Shhh. Come to bed. Chee-cha are resting. Almost ready," she whispers. I trust her instincts more than I'm afraid of my water bill, so I follow her lead back to the bedroom. Her demand for silence goes away rather quickly once she rolls onto all fours to show me how much she missed me

>soon I'm watching her big soft bottom bounce against my pelvis as she squeals, claws digging into the bedsheets as my dick pumps her pussy from behind. Her tits drag across the sheets, leaving a rough trail of her sweat and grease as I pull on her hair. "Scrappa good girl?" she asks, looking back at me with her big red eyes and crooked smile

>"Scrappa very good girl," I tell her, pulling her back to mount her on top of my dick. The praise on top of pushing in that deep and hard makes her squirt past my dick and all over the sheets from both her holes, shaking like an earthquake on my lap. I cum myself inside her, getting her to shiver through a second outburst of her warm slime, but my cock's still hard from missing her all day. "Scrappa," I urge, and she looks at me dizzily from her fresh double orgasm. "Go try on your Christmas dress for me."

>Scrappa gasps, and seems to forget she just came so hard as she rushes off the bed and falls on her face. She gets up like it was nothing, of course, but I still help her to her drawers to get the sparkly red dress. We slip her into it and she does some poses, as if I'm not already rock hard from my idea. "Scrappa look like pretty human girl?" she coos teasingly.

>"Scrappa prettier than human girl," I tell her in goblish, and she skips in place and gives a shrill giggle. "Here. Let me show you." I have a mirror in the small bathroom attached to the master bedroom that starts about waist high. Scrappa doesn't use it much because 1, she has no use for it. the eggs are in the main bathroom, and she doesn't shower or use the toilet as far as I know (knowing goblins, though, I still flush at every opportunity). And 2, I think she has an aversion to mirrors. If I haven't dressed her up, she doesn't like to look at them. She walks by without looking most of the time, and even then she'll give a little displeased grunt when she passes. Racial self esteem and all.

>I decide to help fix that. She's still high on her first set of orgasms when I lift her up in my arms, kissing her lips and exposed parts of her breasts while my fingers rub and part her pussy. She's twitchy and ticklish about it, but I hook my stronger arms under her thighs and hold her legs open. I keep kissing at her cheek and ear while I carry her around the room, reaching under the open bottom of her dress and rubbing her slimy slit. I keep her spread out as I hold her like that in front of the mirror, her dripping pussy held up right in plain sight

>Scrappa blushes and buries her face in my chest, mumbling a drunken little "Bicka, no," just like she did when she was sick. Like she secretly enjoys it. I keep her open enough to see her big hard clit poking out between her chubby little lips. "But Scrappa's pretty girl, remember?" I coo to her, kissing over her neck and ear. "Would Bicka pick an ugly girl?" She keeps peeking out like it's a horror movie in the mirror rather than just a busty little green woman. It's kind of adorable to force that self-esteem onto her, and the smell of her lusty stink fills my nostrils like a drug.

>soon she's watching herself, eyes going between her body and mine as I keep rubbing her cunny. She lets out these needy whines, even if I just took her minutes ago. I braced an elbow on the wall as I ease her down until her cock pops into between her chubby ass cheeks, grinding between them as the slick head teases her second clit. She watches hypnotically as she jiggles in the mirror in her pretty red dress, like some tiny but high-end hooker. 

>"Scrappa makes such a pretty mommy," I coo to her, and a weak smile flickers across her face as her arched pelvis starts to pump back harder on my dick until it's forced inside her ass. She bites her lip hard, and I realize how much I love seeing her happily expressive little face every time I fuck her. Her crazy libido makes her love every time like its her first, and her regenerative and elastic properties make her tight enough to feel like it. That kind of passion is contagious, I cum in her slick ass while hardly missing a beat beyond a few low, grunting breaths. She keeps noisily taking it until squirts messily out of both holes, running down my dick and thighs as she wails in embarrassment, watching herself cum hard through greasy tears

>she buries her face in my chest again, smearing those tears and her wide little nose on me. "Scrappa dirty," she coos, but in a small and playful sort of way. "Scrappa is Bicka's dirty girl," I confirm, hugging her as I squish my fingers into one of her plump buns and smooch her on the cheek. I start to feel just how late it is, helping dry her off from our messy cum cocktails and turning the faucet back off for the night on the eggs. Christmas is officially over. One more thing needs to be delivered

>Dec 27th: Scrappa screeches like she's being murdered in the other room. I wake up in an instant and she bolts in and tries to drag me out of bed. "Hatch! Hatch!" she shrieks, and I clumsily pull on some boxers to follow her back to the makeshift nest.

>Baby goblins are also not what I expected. Their regenerative powers kick in right away, and have something to do with their hatching process. When the eggs cracked, they didn't push their way out like a bird or reptile. You could see through the bubbly-looking eggs and watch the body forming at top speed, so the little green-black lumps just move like fast-motion footage of a chicken embryo. With absolutely no help, the eggs pop open and sprout little goblins, each about the size of my wrist to fingertips when they stop growing (just short of Scrappa's hip). Grandpa left drawings of what I thought were young goblins, but I think that was just as small as they come as soon as they're born. They're born complete with open eyes, a row of little teeth, and trying to waddle around like toddlers. It's odd to see that most of these newborn goblins have some indication of breasts, but they also shove and wrestle after they're a few hours out of the egg, so ages must work differently for them. Scrappa picks each of them up in turn and licks them clean of their egg goop. While she does, I take notes on them all. Out of the twenty-some egg sacs she laid, they molded and fused together until seven goblins came out. There's a strange variety to them, but most of them have some aspect of Scrappa to them (mainly the green skin, but even that varies on a few).

1. purple hair, red eyes. tiny version of Scrappa, and has some strange obsession with her feet

2. purple hair, red eyes again. same egg, so seems to be the other's twin sister. very clingy with the first.

3. longer blue hair and purple eyes. wider build than the rest, whether that's fat or strength

4. short pink hair. one eye red, one blue. skinny and wiry one. Oddly seems a little shy.

5. rust-red hair, ice blue eyes. pink skin (not quite human levels, actual pink; Barbie pink). Tongue looks especially long (down to her belly while Scrappa's only reaches her upper breast), which I only know because she keeps sticking it out at me

6. short, frizzy moss green hair, pumpkin-orange eyes. dark blue skin and will not stop climbing up things

7. extra shaggy hair, mainly my shade of blonde with big splotches of purple in it. big, beautiful green eyes, but the quickest to start a fight of the litter

>we pile them onto the couch, where Scrappa coos to them in goblish and I follow suit. They look a little more surprised to see me speaking it, but they babble back. I'm hold the twins when one of them parrots back at me "ampu" (belly). They're already learning to talk less than an hour out of the egg. No wonder the journals said they breed like cockroaches. They'd be full grown by summer time. Scrappa sets out the broken egg shells, which our babies tear into and eat up like adorable pirana. We watch their first meal while Scrappa starts improvising some clothes for them and we start talking names.

>It’s the afternoon by the time we’ve named them all. I have to keep catching them and putting them back together while we’re talking or fetching food for them. Scrappa actually doesn’t nurse them until a few hours later, and she’ll shout at them and slap them in the back of the head if they stray or get too fussy. The babies instantly shut up and calm down when they’re smacked; it might be a survival instinct, because they don’t seem hurt by it in the same way as Scrappa likes her pinches and slaps. It reminds me of the scruff of the neck on some animals, or how ferrets have that thing on their necks that just makes them start falling asleep in case their mom senses predators they need to hide from (Paige’s roommate showed me on hers).

>the twins are Junka and Debrii. We agreed to name them with a theme, and after Scrappa for their looks. Junka keeps sucking on her toes, and Debrii will keep clinging to her whenever she can. She doesn’t stray far from her without rushing back, as if unsure if she’s still there when she’s not looking. She’s only been alive a few hours, so maybe she’s figuring out why they look alike. I tried to bring a mirror in front of them and they flipped out to see four of them.

>the chubby one is Boosa. She’s sweet and slow, but kind of the brute of the batch. Scrappa picks her name, and it’s weird how a kind of caste is showing in them the day that they’re born. She’s already trying to lift things to test her limits (pillows, bowls, her sisters). We might have a little gym rat in the bunch

>the skinny one we call Theedy. Scrappa likes the word, but I think she misses the 3-D joke (one red, one blue eye). She’s a little more bright and aware than the rest, from what I can tell. She looks up when we’re talking about her and eats a little more carefully than the rest. Absolute beta; she rolls over and whines if any of the others wrestle with her (doesn’t always stop them, so not sure why she does it)

>Rixin is the bubblegum pink one with the tongue. It seems more inconvenient than anything, making it harder for her to eat, but she’s still pretty happy go lucky. Scrappa picks that name, but I think it sounds like some kind of pink medicine anyway. She’s taken to copying Scrappa’s show of licking her sisters clean

>I name the frizzy-haired blue one Scuttlebutt, but we call her Scuttle for short.She’s the most adventurous, and the one I have to grab and hold back the most often. She’ll keep chirping back at her sisters, so I think she’s some kind of self-appointed scout. I’m not sure how advanced their language is at birth, since I don’t recognize any of her words and it can’t be anything more informative than “there’s a tv over there” or “he gets the food from in there.”

>the youngest one with my and Scrappa’s hair combined we call Nicki. Scrappa pitches it for how relatively human she looks (smaller nose, lighter green skin, less beady eyes), and her fondness for Nicki Minaj. She gets along with the others, but she’ll bop them if they try to take her food or crawl over her. She’s not the biggest, but she’s got the confidence that seems to make all the difference with a goblin. A goblin can take a hell of a beating, but they don’t seem to realize that; it’s all about how much they’ll tolerate before they panic and run away.

>I had some yogurt and applesauce ready for them to eat, but I realize they have teeth and would make a mess out of a big bowel of the stuff. I just go with giving them some bread and hamburger, and I take them into my lap one at a time to spoonfeed them the soft stuff while Scrappa finally starts to nurse them from her chubby nipples. I try to feed them until they seem satisfied (cued by a big burp or just not gobbling it down right away), but Boosa goes through two yogurts and twice as much applesauce as the rest, so I stop her before she bursts. Nicki doesn’t eat much, but she hangs onto me just for the body contact. The twins get fussy until I feed them together. They don’t seem to mind my being human at all, though I’m mostly just glad they’re not horny and humpy right off the bat. A man’s got to have some limits, right? Plus Scrappa would probably be jealous.

>Scrappa’s surprised when I suggest we let them sleep in the bedroom with us. I ask what she had in mind, and she thought we’d just leave them in the bathroom or the living room. That sounds like it’s even more likely to cause harm to any number of things. We don’t need Scuttle climbing the tv and Rixin drinking all the shampoo. I consider a makeshift nest for them like I did for Scrappa’s first night in, but when we settle down for bed, Nicki climbs back out and wants into bed with us. Then the rest want in too, except for big Boosa who’s glad to have their nest to herself.

>Scrappa’s maternal instincts, temporary or not, let them sleep in with us. They must have had a big day, evolving from sludge before our very eyes, so they sleep like the dead in a few minutes of laying down against our body heat.I do want some sort of long-term solution for where to put them, but the guest room that Paige had seems kind of far off for the newborns. Scrappa thinks I’m overestimating the amount of care a goblin baby needs, but they’re technically my kids. No reason not to spoil them as much as I have Scrappa. Scrappa herself seems so pleased with herself that she doesn’t even ask for sex all night, but she accepts some affectionate rubbing while she watches over her pups.We stay up later to watch over them, but the only time they wake up is when Boosa wakes back up climb back into bed with us. The chubby little thing needs a boost; just a day old and she already weighs like a bowling ball

>Dec 28th: we’ve fixed a few problems for the goblin pups. I thought about it overnight and figured out where to keep them. I went over the notes and it reminded me how I first heard Scrappa scraping around under the house, and then caught her in the trap she couldn’t get back out of. I end up inviting Gruunda into the house for some quick repair work. Between her technical expertise and brute strength, it takes no time at all. I let her stay in to share a meal and meet the kids. They are absolutely terrified of the troll until they watch her eating lunch with me and Scrappa, poking their fat little heads around the corner. I wouldn’t exactly trust Aunt Gruunda to babysit, but they have some fun climbing up her legs and arms. 

>As far as updating the house, I moved the cage trap's door to the way in and out of the crawlspace under the house, and install a simple cellar door in the bedroom floor that leads below. From my basic testing, it gives us access to what I’ve been calling “the tunnels” from the bedroom, and lets the pups get in but not wander out. Gruunda and I stuffed a few extra blankets and pillows down there to make it more comfortable and keep out the draft, but we still keep the kids on the ground floor for most of the day. Scrappa is definitely right about how much attention they need; she leads them into the tunnels and they just enjoy themselves crawling and jumping around, and we can hear them better than any baby monitor through the floorboards. They're already waddling around pretty capably at 1 day old, kind of like how some animals like horses are walking within hours of their birth

>the pups are coming into their own and eating whatever we give them. They wrestle and slap-fight, which Scrappa says is natural. I still pull them apart when it's clear that one is done playing, or if biting gets involved. Apart from that, they're pretty well behaved and get along nicely. I'm not sure about the nature vs nurture of goblins, but it raises a few questions and answers others

>1. Why are goblins jerks? Grandpa's journal talks about how goblin society is a hierarchy of bullying. There's an alpha male or female who stays in charge until he's overthrown (usually beat up or assassinated). The kids scuffle a little, but there's no power struggle or even notable competition. They're even working together and playing. Is it their instincts that make them into ultra-alphas and ultra-betas, or is it a vicious circle of their bossy rulers making more cowards and bullies? Hopes are that with Scrappa being left on her own and our love and care, they can grow up to be happier and kinder creatures

>2. natural scavengers. they poke their noses everywhere, finding bits of candy and pen caps to eat. They're learning to use their noses, and while they haven't started copying, they watch while Scrappa masturbates in the corners to keep her scent markers up. The scent of family seems to reassure them, so Scrappa made sure we used our freshly used sheets for the tunnels. Nicki and Junka in particular keep sniffing at my crotch and armpits, curious about my scent. Maybe human smells strange to them, or maybe they're just trying to memorize it.

>3. best benefit of goblin babies over humans? no diapers. Like Scrappa, they don't make any waste. The loincloths seem to be for comfort and decency only. They're making their body oils as of this morning. I wonder if the secretion is how they deal with their excess waste; turn the filth into a protective film through their skin. It makes as much sense as them just digesting everything indiscriminately, and does sounds gross enough to fit the goblin way of life. still have They'll spit out a half-chewed item once in awhile if they don't like it, but that's pretty rare. Even when they do, Rixin or Boosa will eat it if I don't clean it up as fast as I can 

>4. they have the same bouncy, resilient nature as Scrappa. I minimize any injuries, but 7 of the increasingly hyper mini-Scrappas running around means I'll lose track sometimes. Somebody's going to run into a wall (Debrii) or fall off a couch (Theedy), or climb onto the ceiling and jump onto her sister (Scuttle, of course). They get right back up like nothing happened, and at most, a dark purple bruise shows up that's gone in a minute. Scrappa's warning slaps seems to calm them down if anything, so it does seem to practically be part of their language.

>Dec 29th: further notes on the kids. They spent last night running around in the tunnels but came back into bed with us. Scrappa quietly ground against me while they were sleeping, and I was able to quietly finger one out of her without moving and disturbing the pups. We do need to work out something more long term for her...

>5. we're teaching them goblish first. I don't imagine they'll talk to a lot of humans in their life, but goblish is a much more simple language more suited to their tongues. They're not talking yet beyond their gurgly babbling and chirping, but seem to be understanding some phrases (the words for bed and food stick with them). Scrappa and I use that the most around the house, and English doesn't get much of a response from them yet.

>6. so spanking is definitely a thing. Boosa doesn't know her own strength and tossed Theedy too hard into a wall. Theedy starts crying, so I tug on Boosa's ear and she looks confused. I'm not sure how else to punish her, so I turn her around and spank her chubby little butt. Turns out they like it; not only do the others giggle at it, but so does Boosa. She wiggles her booty for more, and even if it's a mixed message, I give her a few more swats. They're soon lining up for them, trying to climb over each other for the next turn at the "game." No wonder Scrappa likes it so much.

>7. I'm able to head out to the store and get some more food. I get a variety to sample on the pups, and I'm noting the more interesting results here

>human baby food: only the twins like it. The rest spit or barf it back out.

>various fruit: love them. Eat them skin and all (even banana peels)

>maple syrup: planned it for the waffles, but Boosa chugs it all down in one go

>popcorn: they tear into the bag like hyenas, spraying it everywhere and then hunting down the pieces

>scrambled eggs: love them. Nicki is nuts for them, and will fight to eat them first

>Lucky Charms: approached with caution. Scuttle bravest to try it first before waving the others over, then generally enjoyed.

>bowl of milk [cow]: play around in it before realizing it's drinkable. love it

>bowl of milk [Scrappa]: clear and oily. It gets poked and then ignored. They don't seem to trust it if it's not straight from her nipple

>8. baby goblins sleep like fucking rocks! Junka rolls over in her sleep tonight and lands on the floor. Doesn't wake up. I testingly poke at Theedy, who just starts snoring. It seems like a solution to our sex life. We move the kids carefully into the tunnels, wrap them in a blanket for good measure, and leave the trap door open a crack... then Scrappa is on me like a woman possessed.

>I'm still dressed when she starts humping me, kissing so desperately I get a few shallow cuts from her teeth. With the babies out of sight, her maternal instincts get set aside and she's my horny little slut again. I doubt I could stop her if I tried. She's cum on the crotch of my pants before I can even pull them off. By the time we're naked, I don't mind her clawing my chest and biting into my neck and shoulders as she forces my dick into her. She makes a cry so passionate that it sounds like it hurts, but she keeps slamming her hips down harder and harder on top of me. There is no vanilla sex tonight, that much is clear. I grab her tits like I plan to pop them and she whines some more. Two days without fucking her feels like months as I kiss and suck on her slimy tongue, getting her addictive flavor back inside me. 

>”You’re such a sexy mommy,” I groan as her booty slaps against my thighs again. “You’re so gorgeous and sweet and…”

>She gives a fairly word-for-word translation of ”Shut up and fuck me” in goblish and I get back to thrusting against her. I I pull her hair for leverage to shove in deeper and kiss her harder, biting her lips back as we practically duel with our mouths as much as we are making out. I cum inside her right before she does on me, creating a thick, beautiful mess between us of euphoria and those beautiful, awful goblin sex juices. I’m up just long enough to update the journal before we pass out together as happy, horny parents

>Jan 8th: New Years flew by and I barely noticed. The kids have been a handful, but not in a bad way. If I leave some spare food out, Scrappa's able to watch over them when I have to do my work or leave the house. Since the kids are walking, we take them out for a walk in the woods to meet the centaurs. Best that they know not to shoot every goblin that comes by in case one of them gets loose. The kids won't stray far, but they will bolt for short distances at surprising speed if there's something to chase. Scuttle loves all the trees, and everyone but Theedy makes a run to try to catch a squirrel or mouse or something. Boosa and Nicki surprise me when they double team and catch a chipmunk; not two weeks old and the blonde is biting the heads off of small rodents (Boosa gets the body). I'd only be prouder if I wasn't a little disgusted. Scrappa's just regular proud, and keeps praising and talking them up

>Ven and Tiniel are... amused more than pleased to see the kids. Ven plays with them a bit, but Tiniel just tries really hard to avoid stepping on them and not letting them pull her braids. Ven seems a little nuts for babies, and keeps making faces and baby talk to them (maybe more butchered Latin?). It's a riot to see her stick her tongue out at Rixin and she rolls hers out to her stomach. Tiniel talks to me in lowered tones while Ven and Scrappa fuss over the kids; "There aren't many in the world who would want more goblins alive. But if that was your goal, congratulations."

>I'm in a good enough mood to pat her on the flank and just head back to my girls. Logically and biologically, I don't know if they're my flesh and blood. Scrappa doesn't seem to know how it works, but neither of us has blue or orange hair. The pups look varied, but none of them strange enough to make me think they're demigoblins. It's possible that Scrappa stored my cum so long that she used it in making the eggs, but they way she talked about cumming on them sounds like it was all her. Not that it makes a difference anyway. I've been with her all the way, and no reason not to with the girls.

>Jan 10th: first crisis. The kids are happy and playful, though sometimes needy. Today, Junka will not stop crying. She wakes us up with her wailing, and she calms down when Scrappa picks her up and we take them to breakfast. She starts to eat a few mouthfuls before she starts crying again. Goblin crying is awful. It's all snot and big greasy tears that soak right through tissues and ruin towels, and the scream gets right inside your ears. Only the other kids don't seem to mind it.

>We try food, milk, water, holding, music, laying down... she feels a little warm, but I'm sure as hell not putting a thermometer in her. I'm not even sure what I'd be checking for. Scrappa hits her in the head a few times to shut her up, but I have to stop her when the third one does nothing and she goes for a fourth. Scrappa just growls and starts pacing. I had no idea what to do; Grandpa's books didn't go deep into fussy goblin babies. I had to call for help... so I get Mom on the phone

>I step outside so I can hear anything before I dial, and I ask mom what could cause a baby to keep crying. I can hear the smug in her voice as she goes over the basics. She's not hungry, she's not sleepy, and DEFINITELY not a messy diaper. I ask how you tell if a baby's sick, and she says you see a doctor. I tell her that I can't, and she starts to chew me out about being responsible for a 2-week old baby

>...so I tell her the baby's not human. I explain the basics, and end up texting her a photo of me and Scrappa, then one of us and the kids. Government watch list be damned; my baby's crying. I have to give her a crash course on goblins, how Grandpa’s old books are real and how they could happily live in a dumpster if they wanted and cleaning them just makes them sicker.

>"So they heal from everything?"

>"Unless they break a leg or something, yea."

>"So she's scared."

>"What?"

>"She had a bad dream or something. Or saw a scary picture or heard a scary noise. Babies are new to everything. Even if they're super smart, they're still a few hours old. They don't understand everything."

>"So... how do we fix that?"

>"Love and patience. And lots of attention. Same as everything else. It made you turn out alright."

>I thank her and tell her that she can come and see them another time if she wants. She tells me any time. We swap I love yous and tell her I'll let her know how it goes.

>Mom is right again. I give Scrappa a break and get Junka alone in the bedroom. She starts to calm down when we're in the guest room, away from the smells and the noise and just have a few quiet minutes together. She sucks on my finger, and even if she bites, at least it means her mouth is shut. I feel her grate through the skin and twitch out for a thumb, but she whines when I do. I turn my finger around and I figure out what her problem is; Junka is afraid of blood

>Grandpa said that the easiest way to take out a horde of goblins was to kill one of them. As soon as they realize their mortality, at least half of their numbers will abandon the fight and instantly run for it. But she sees the cut she made on my finger and starts to whimper, but stops when I turn it away. Maybe it was seeing her sisters slaughter the chipmunk, or maybe one of them scratched her in their sleep and gave her a scare. Something that small would have healed up before we got to her.

>"What, this? It's blood," I assure her. "I've got tons of it." I suck on the little red scrape and flick it a few times, showing it doesn't hurt. I ask if she wants to do some magic and take her to the bathroom she was hatched in. I take out some band-aids and after a couple tries, I get her to put one over the scrape. "All gone! No more blood!" Junka is too charmed to be afraid, so I plop her butt on top of the toilet to clean up all her tears. I top it off with a kiss and ask if she wants to get lunch. She just holds out her arms and tells me "sooky!" Her first real word is the goblin word for "kiss."

>After a lot of giggles and trading the word with her a few times, I take her out to see Scrappa and show off our talking, smiling baby. Scrappa's relieved to see her quieted down, but tells me that Rixin said her first words too: "fuck me!" Maybe we'll have to see about quieting down the sex...

>Jan 12th: Mom and Dad pay a visit and bring along Paige. Mom thinks they look like slimey little Muppets, but they grow on her quick. She brought them a box of brightly colored baby toys that they mess around with all day. Dad is just sort of amused by the whole thing. When he sees Scrappa, he gives me a weird look followed by a little nod as if to just say "nice." Paige is all over the babies when they come out: the kids all screamed and hid at the stranger danger, and were surprisingly good at it until Scrappa pulled them all back out. Scrappa herself gets clingy with me for a little while after meeting Mom, but I think she gets the idea and clings to Dad in the same way. She's taken and not a threat.

>It's a relief to have some helping hands, and not to have to keep lying around them. Paige says she's dog-sat for people that took less work than all these kids combined. They have lots of questions and I have lots of stories, and I try to downplay the sex parts. The smell clearly catches their nose, and I just tell them you get used to it. They offer to babysit some time, considering that all I really do is hold, water and hand out foot for them until they pass out in the evening, but really, I'm not sure what else I'd do. I can't exactly bring Scrappa anywhere, and my social life is almost non-existent.

>Mom gives me a little more about Grandpa; him or Grandma would get calls from "your boss" and he'd be gone for up to a month at a time. Mom actually grew up in town, but he sold the place and moved back out to the cabin when Mom moved out and got married. I asked if she remembered anything weird when she was a kid, but all she could remember was one time when he woke her up in the middle of the night. He shoved a bag of clothes into her arms and told her and Grandma to get in the truck, go to the cabin, and not open the door for anyone. He showed up in the morning with a gash on his head, some bruised ribs, and smelling like ash and smoke. He always just told her that "work called." I figure the cabin was his safehouse, and judging by his notes and context, my best guess is he had saved them from some vengeful vampires; ash from the dead bodies, smoke from using fire on them, don't open the door because of the threshold rule (the invite them in myth), and returned by dawn when they would die if they weren't dead already. Grandpa was fucking badass

>Mom and I go to bring in takeout when she gets a call on her cell. It sounds like a wrong number from what she's saying, but she passes it off to me. There's a clear and polite man's voice that says there's some questions about grandpa's property and they'd like an agent to meet up with me as the legal owner. I offer them a coffee shop in a couple of days and he says it sounds great. He asks if I have any other "guests," and in a way that sounds like it has quotation marks around the word. When I hesitate, he assures me politely that it's a secure line, and asks if I'm able to speak freely where I am. I tell him I have my family over, but that's not what he means. They need to know how many for legal reasons, and assure me they’re here to help. I take a minute to breathe and tell him I have ten that I know of. He asks me to double-check my math, and I count eleven besides myself; 7 kids, Scrappa, the taurs, and Gruunda. I don't itemize them for him, but he thanks me for my time and tells me to enjoy my day

>Jan 14th: Agent Decker is not what I expect... but what the hell has been lately? I've had sex with a goblin and have gay centaurs on my property? Fuck expectations.

>Anyway, Decker is this old woman (I pin her at a worn-out mid-50s) with a gray suit, graying dark hair, and ambiguously leather-colored skin. She wears a silver crucifix under her shirt collar, and her cuffs have pins on them of some symbols I don't recognize (only looks like some kind of rune or character, the other like some bizarre bird). An old, misshapen scar is near her jaw, as if she were bitten by something with crooked teeth. She's not rude, but she's quick and cold in her speech like talking to me is just another part of the job and customer service is not what she's being paid for.

>It's not hard to figure what she means; if the guy on the phone wasn't clear enough, she starts by shaking my hand and telling me that she had the utmost respect for Grandpa's work. She follows up by telling me that I can relax; she's not here to kill me, she's not going to take my property or my monsters, and that she's paying for the coffee. She just wants to know what's going on to keep tabs on things.

>I go over things loosely, with her scrawling things down in a folder on documents with official-looking seals and fine print, stopping me for weird details. How long was Scrappa pregnant? When exactly did "the North-American underbridge" find me? Have any coworkers had any physical or allergic reactions to the smell? It's... strangely surgical for her. She just does not seem to care. She hands me a few pages with lines for me to sign off on. She leans on the table and tells me that for various legal reasons, my grandpa's service to The Order, and the "druidic rite of sanctuary," I'm allowed the opportunity to declare Grandpa's property a monster preserve. So long as they remain in the area, Scrappa, Gruunda, and everything supernatural on the land is left immune to hunters (monster or mundane), government contracts, and most mortal laws. If someone wanders into my property and Gruunda swallows them whole, the feds will claim it was a bear and provide some minor cover up. If Tiniel were to gallop into town and shoot a civilian, they won't hesitate to bring her down and then come to me for answers

>I read things over carefully (pretending to know what half of it means), ask a few questions, and sign off on it. Basically, rather than waste the bullets, land, and cages on the monsters, they're letting them behave themselves and using me as a cover for them. It's partly them doing Grandpa a favor and part my legal right, but mostly a chance for them to wash their hands of the whole thing for a lazy way to hide monsters from the world. I just report to them if I take in any more

>She does say that for my age, I'm doing an impressive job in keeping a low profile. They only found me when they did their semi-annual check on Gruunda's bridge and then realized I'd nearly tripled my food budget in the last few months. So I leave the coffee shop with a few business cards, some legal documents, some laminated ID card, and a number for a doctor a town over who's "in the know" in case "symptoms" come up. I can't even pay my taxes with that little trouble from the government...

>oh, and a box of doughnuts for the girls. They tear through them as soon as I get home

>Jan 16th: The kids have popped up a few inches since they were born, they know some important words and names (feels good to be called "daba"), and they're filling out a bit more in terms of figures. They haven't gained much weight, just developing their small breasts, but Scrappa doesn't seem concerned with that. Scrappa's also noticed them taking on roles, like they're a little society of their own.

>Boosa is the muscle. Scrappa said it's a type of goblin they called a "wudu." It basically just means "brute," and they weren't a species or anything so much as they were just the word for big, dumb goblins. When you wanted something lifted, pushed, or smashed, you got a wudu. It sounded like they were basically well-treated slaves: they do all the hard work, but they get fed the most to keep them strong. I try to keep Boosa interested in other stuff than just physical labor so she doesn't end up like that: she's actually showing some basic talent for drawing (until she eats the crayons)

>Rixin is a "veed," or a cleaner. You know those kinds of cats and dogs that lick the other pets all the time? Rixin's a stand-in mommy when Scrappa's busy with another girl or eating or something. She grooms the other girls for mites (fortunately she hasn't found anything yet) and licks them up if they spill anything, or something just cuz

>Scuttle is a scout. Weird note: same word in English as it is in goblish. She's one of the bravest of the group for sure in terms of exploring, climbing, and poking around. She likes to be up high, and sometimes I catch just just sitting on the couch or the tv, overlooking her siblings and looking happy that nothing's going wrong... until she rushes off to find some trouble or tosses a jelly bean at her sisters

>the twins seem to be accidentally becoming "boogabas," or "expendables." They're the lab rats, the cannon fodder, the taste-testers... if you're not sure, Junka or Debri do it first. They get shoved into the scary closet or squeeze under the couch to get the candy they dropped. We don't let them do anything too dangerous, of course, but they seem to both react to each other's names. That is, when you call for Junka, they'll both look up. So far, I think they believe they're both a part of the same goblin; they think if something happens to the one, at least they have a spare.

>Nicki is a daddy's girl, and loves to hang onto me. She loves to be carried everywhere or sit in my lap, and is quick to pull off any of the other girls who play too rough around me. Scrappa calls her "galoop," or like a toadie. She hangs off the Bicka and makes sure he's happy, and gets some benefits on the side for her loyalty. I'm careful not to make a princess out of her and spoil them all equally.

>I asked about Junka's weird obsession with feet, however. Scrappa's got nothing

>Jan 17th: Scuttle found a new friend. Literally. Nicki and Boosa are wrestling around by the bedroom when I see Scuttle pop up from behind a shelf in the hall. She's had what looked like a clay pot over her head, and it's covered with elaborate carvings, something between hieroglyphs and runes. Apparently there was a trap door behind the shelf I never knew about but she managed to poke her nose into. I ask to see the pot, and naturally, she drops it and breaks it on the floor.

>there's a lot of very dark smoke, heat, and a booming laugh that echoes in the halls. Instincts take over as I push the two girls back and run in to grab Scuttle out of the way in case the thing explodes. My second thought is "Well, I guess my baby ended the world. At least she did something with her life." Then the smoke sort of starts to solidify, radiating this heat like an open furnace with no sign of fire... and it talks in this cracked, booming voice.

>"FREE! Finally free! Damned be the one that tricked me! CURSE the one that bound me! I'll burn them all! All will-"

>"Okay, calm the fuck down!" It kind of just comes out of me, and the smoke stops talking and writhing. It's... surreal to see smoke freeze awkwardly. I tell myself to run with it. Monsters don't deal well with confidence. Gruunda caved when I basically told her to "Sit! Stay!", and the centaurs seem to think I'm some kind of lesser noble by owning the land. "Just... what do you want?" The smoke floats over to me slowly, and I shift Scuttle in my arm to be between her and it.

>"Orders..." it growls, and I think I hear a faint, feminine seduction to the tone. "Command me and the essence of fire itself."

>"No thanks." Awkward silence as the smoke floats and writhes much more slowly. "I'm good. Really. You can go do your business."

>the boom is gone in the voice, like I've literally stolen its thunder. The smoke gives a few "ers" and "ahs" in this tiny, slightly squeaky voice. "Oh... okay. If you're sure..." The smoke floats past me hesitantly, but doesn't hover more than a few feet past me. It's not until it breezes past me that I realize it's heat has died down, and that I never smelled the smoke. Up close it smells like... perfume? It hesitates just beyond me, and I see Scrappa holding the other kids back in the living room. I give her an assuring wave and keep my eyes on the smoke monster.

>"You're really sure, right?" The smoke's seductive voice sounds... not desperate, but urging. Like it wants to say something and can't. I scroll through the possibilities in my head quickly from Grandpa's books. "I'll need your true name?" I venture, and it's too hard to hide my uncertainty.

>It presses against me, and I can feel a weight to the smoke as it whispers intimately "Darkest Sahara." It almost hurts to hear it said like that, like it's branded on my brain and impossible to forget. It comes up in my head at random even now if my mind wanders, like a speed bump in my train of thought (even if a speed bump would be AWFUL for a train). There's almost a melody to the name, and it's from so deep in the throat that it's almost in the chest.

>"Darkest Sahara. Djinn, spirit of fire and treasure. You are hereby freed from your binding." I mimic the way she said the name perfectly in tone and rhythm as I quote off the simple command from the journals. There's this... I want to call it an orgasmic gasp as the smoke shoots across the room in an instant like I hit it with a magical equivalent of a shotgun. It hits a wall, bursts into this spiral of flame that somehow doesn't set the whole damn cabin on fire, and it hits the ground like an upside-down firework. The tongues of flame and ashes rise into a small humanoid shape. She's only a bit taller than Scrappa, with long hair such a rich shade of brown it's almost bronze. Her skin is as deep and dark a shade as her name implies, and her eyes are narrow and a pure golden color. They're almost cat-like, but the pupils flicker and dance like candlelight when you stare at them. She wears long and loose silks, the kind of stereotypical sexy dancers clothes from old movies.

>it's easier to take that all in until her lower body forms from the ashes. Ridiculously huge tits and wide, full hips; a real hourglass figure. Everything on this little woman is constantly moving. Every little gesture makes something jiggle, her eyes flicker, her hair flows, and she is slowly, sensually dancing as she appears in solid shape, rubbing herself all over as if she just loves having a body again

>"Master, you have no idea how good this feels," she purrs in this thick, rolling accent when she's finally manifested, and I realize she's talking to me. "I'm not a master of anything," I assure her. "I freed you. I'm Steve."

>She giggles like my name amuses her, but the way she touches herself, it seems like everything does right now. "Steve... so simple. Pardon me if old habits can be hard to kick. I was in a jar for the last..." She stops and walks over to the old fire place, running her fingers through the dust and caked ash inside (we haven't really used it since the gas heater was installed before I showed up). Sahara licks the ash from her fingers thoughtfully. "Huh. 40 years. Not as bad as I thought."

>I work out an offer with Sahara, same as the rest with a few additions. This is mainly because of what I know about djinns, and even that's just in case. Sahara seems fairly on the level with me; djinns, by the books, aren't really wish-granting spirits per-se. They're fire elementals, and guardians of treasures. Very strict when giving their word, so binding and sealing them is relatively simple. The fact that I make zero effort to do anything like that seems to have me on her good side. The main reason I set up more ground rules is that she wants to live in the fireplace. She says it has "old fire" there, and she can live there quite comfortably if I toss her something combustible now and then.

>Sahara's flirty and playful, and while she's seductive, it seems to be harmless. I had her sweat not to harm anyone who lives on the property, not to damage the cabin, and to adjust the heat when I ask. She can turn into smoke and fire, so it's easy for her to hide there if anyone comes over. I still call it in to Agent Decker and play 20 Questions, and Scrappa's a bit clingy with me again. She just doesn't like another busty little temptress walking around to tempt her man with giant titties and a mouth that's constantly at dick-height.

>going through the space behind the , there's a bunch of weird stuff down there. Twisted horns, blackened bones, fangs bigger than my hand, a mummified hand... either it was some kind of storage for Grandpa's weirder tools of the trade, or it's his secret trophy room. I have no idea what's cursed and what's not, but it's definitely not baby-proof where it is now. It feels like a shame (and dangerous) to destroy them, and I don't trust a lock to keep the pups out. I nail up the trap door around the artifacts instead, deciding to figure them out later. The kids seem entertained by Sahara like she's their tv, whether she's dancing and showing magic tricks, or just resting as a crackling fire. She sleeps a lot, but seems to love the audience/company (Reedy definitely seems to be blooming into a little pyro). Scrappa's relieved from the work at first, but she sleeps with her face buried in my crotch tonight, like she's a barrier between it and the world

>Jan 19th: So, she sleeps most of the time as a low fire or flickering embers. The kids are happy to see her wake up, sweet-talking them or putting on a light show. One of us keeps an eye on her, but she’s surprisingly responsible for a recently freed fire spirit. The journals said that they’re guardians of treasures, so maybe she has an instinct for protecting wherever she stays. She tosses out flirty jokes at me that seem to go over Scrappa’s head (“Too hot for you, Master Steven? Perhaps you would like to lose some of those clothes”), but she hasn’t taken any real action before today.

>Sahara loves an audience, so she ends up dancing for the girls. We let her go to eat and rest ourselves, and it’s hard not to watch all the jiggling going on. When the djinn’s dance comes our way, she ends up turning it into a lapdance. She’s intensely warm, almost feverish, and she smells like perfumed lamp oil. It doesn’t last long before Scrappa lets out this feral hiss and tackles her off of me. For all Grandpa said about goblins being shit in a fight, he did say that they’re real firecrackers if they get you off guard. She gets a few really solid kicks and bites before Sahara turns into smoke and snakes across the room before she reemerges. Her skin is flawless and unscratched when she’s back, but she looks annoyed

>Scrappa crawls up on my lap on all fours like she’s ready to pounce again. Her teeth bared and her ears spread out like she’s trying to look bigger, even though I think her sticking her butt up in the air (and at me) does that job even better. “Bicka’s body is Scrappa’s!” she shouts at her. The kids are quiet, except for Nicki and Scuttle who look sort of entertained by the attack. Sahara just huffs and says that Scrappa should have said so earlier. She goes back to playing with the kids and Scrappa calms down after watching her for a few minutes. I chalk it up to all the ground rules I set up for her about not hurting anyone from here. Sahara really does act like it’s all forgiven, even cooking the hamburger for us tonight (it takes about 3 seconds).

>Jan 20th, 11 am: Had a sex dream about Sahara last night. Not the regular kind. It’s not like I imagined the djinn naked in a swimming pool and we boned in front of my mom until my teeth fell out. It felt like I woke up in this black void, but one of those voids like in The Matrix where there’s obviously a floor that they’re not imaginative enough to deal without (wow, self-burn). She’s there when I get my eyes to focus, in all her dark skinned and naked glory. “Your dreams seemed rather dull, Master Steven,” she explained. “It felt like you could use something more interesting.”

>The journal mentioned that spirits and demons could get into your head through dreams, even if they couldn’t do anything to you beyond passing messages. Sahara floats towards me and as she does, she gives a little shrug of her shoulders and her top burns away. She wiggles her hips and her bottoms are gone. There’s some ancient-looking character branded right in the center of her dark and smooth pubic hair, and it glows a dull, throbbing orange. Her dark colors, graceful mannerisms, and fancy way with words make me realize just how different she acts compared to Scrappa. She touches my chest and her heat just radiates through my entire body. “What is your desire, Master?” she purrs, her sweetly smoky breath going right over my lips and nose.

>My heart races and I start to answer, but she nods when I open my mouth. “I understand,” she says with a smile. There’s a strong burst of flame a few yards away (best I can guess in a sea of black), and it lowers to reveal Scrappa. She stumbles and looks around a while, like she’s taking longer to make sense of things, but she eventually runs over and grabs onto my leg. She scowls at Sahara, but doesn’t act on anything yet

>Sahara breaks down to her that she’s in the “realm of dreams.” I have to help her break that down to Scrappa a few times. Even repeating myself and using goblish, it’s a pretty complex idea to explain to her. She finally says she get sit, but I think just runs with it. “You said I couldn’t have your human’s body. Isn’t it alright to share his mind?” Scrappa thinks about it a bit before she says “Body is mine. Pipi mine.” Her little hand grabs me possessively by the junk. But Sahara smiles.

>“Well, Master. Shall we give your goblin bride a lesson in sharing?”

>I start to open my mouth again, and she smiles. “Master truly is a dirty boy. You chose him wisely, Mistress Scrappa.” Smokes comes off her body that fills the space around us, fading away to reveal what’s behind. It’s a classroom, and Scrappa and Sahara are wearing slutty schoolgirl outfits. White panties are visible around Scrappa’s big bottom without even having to bend over (black for Sahara). I’m just a sucker for the classic fetishes

>Scrappa seems alright with sharing my dream body, at least. She climbs on top of a desk rather quickly, standing on it to start kissing my mouth. Sahara goes in low, walking straight up to my crotch and pulling down my pants. I can feel Scrappa’s slick eel of a tongue in my mouth as if it were real, and Sahara’s warm touch runs over my bare thighs like she’s made of soft, fresh bread. Her mouth pops around my cockead and it’s like it’s my dick’s been dipped into a hot tub. Even her saliva is like hot bath water as it runs down my shaft. Scrappa nips my lip and kisses me harder, possibly liking the teamwork or just trying to compete for my attention

>I make it up to her by catching Scrappa by the bottom, giving her a smack under her skirt and lifting her up into my arms. She wraps her chunky thighs around my waist, and I can feel her wet spot rub against my stomach as she digs her fingers into my shirt to stay suspended against me. Her breasts push into my ribs, and her blouse doesn’t last a full minute before her tits pop the front right open. I move a hand up to roll and pinch her nipple while the other holds her ass, and the tit responds to the rough treatment with some of her oily milk she give off when she’s excited

>the djinn is something else down below, and I put a lot of that energy she’s bringing out into Scrappa’s makeout session. Scrappa had his charming sloppiness to much of her lovemaking, but Sahara has a precise and experienced teasing to everything she does. She keeps this wiggling rhythm with her hips, constantly catching it in the corner of my eye. The dark-skinned schoolgirl of a genie keeps slowly stripping out of her top, making me hungry and expecting for every extra inch of skin she shows. 

>with the two sexy little ladies, I can’t last long, even in dream sex. When I cum into her mouth, there’s a tingling sensation in her mouth that I realize is the cum steaming inside her. Smoke comes out of her nostrils as she chuckles deeply, making her mouth vibrate around my freshly cumming cock. “Won’t you give us more, master?” she grins as she pulls her mouth off my cock, and dream or not, it looks like my rod is steaming despite just feeling warm. “I’m sure your goblin bride would want her turn

>dream sex is fucking weird, because I think I lose track of the room. Main reason I say so is that we end up laying back where the main desk was, and it’s apparently a bed now. The girls climb up on top of it, Sahara taking Scrappa’s ear and whispering a plan to her. The girls give me a bit of a show, kissing and groping each other as they start to pull the clothes off each other with a painfully slow pace. It’s enough that I’m rock hard again by the time they’re bared, though they keep on the skirts. Their soft little pussies flash with just above every step, making it feel more naughty each time

>they end up both sitting on either side of my lap and mashing their pussies together to surround my shaft. They hump up and down while I play with their oversized breasts, one or two at a time. The girls are acting like they’re trying to trib together but my dick is in the way, and don’t seem to mind at all. Scrappa coos and gurgles. Sahara gives these throaty, passionate cries, her dark bush rubbing against Scrappa’s belly. They take turns kissing each other for me and turning to do the same with me, if I lean in enough. Sahara keeps playing with Scrappa’s breasts, pinching at the rubbery skin or just rubbing her chest back and forth so their hard nipples flick together like a little fencing match. Neither of them are properly mounted on me at this point, just stroking it just inside their warm and wet openings, so I end up squirting right up between them. It splashes over their oversized tits, and they keep up their show by leaning over and licking and sucking it off each others’ skin while they meet my eyes.

>It goes on with my plowing each of them, one staying dutifully nearby to rub my chest or kiss my while I please the other. In the morning, Scrappa is curled up tightly against me, and acts with a bit of a cheery afterglow. I have a bit of an ache and weariness, but I think that’s my mind having a harder time returning from Dreamland and realizing I wasn’t up all night fucking. I confirm that Scrappa remembers the dream pretty clearly, and that it’s odd since goblins mostly just dream in meaningless, colored blobs.

>Sahara is still asleep in her pile of hot ashes in the fireplace, but there’s some coffee waiting beside her for us

>Jan 25th: I get some phone calls today that amount to a lot of nothing. The first call is from some polite real estate agent asking if I'm looking to sell. They comment on how it would make a great summer home for people and it has some "surprisingly healthy" woodlands on my property. She keeps trying to bring up more pitches or move the price around, but the fact is it's basically free at this point, and I've got a family (and several monsters) settled in here. I can only refuse so many times before I just hang up.

>I get another call a couple hours later. They apparently talked it over and sent in the big guns, because this guy is aggro. There's everything short of veiled threats in there, and he's just unpleasant. He ends up trying to muscle me with talk about lawyers, and I'm not sure I know (or like) what kind of grounds he could pull with them. I inherited the place in a will, and it was built by Grandpa and some of his friends. He gets into "We'll be seeing you in court" talk when I hang up. He tries calling again, and I just block him.

>I get another random number in the evening, right after making the goblets dinner. I sigh and check it, and the voice is... subdued. Not in the cold and calm way, but like they just got over being horrified and are choosing their words carefully. They almost talk like I have a gun pointed at them. It's neither of the first two buyers, because he immediately mentions how "I'd like to personally apologize" about today. I bite back a snicker when he mentions they were contacted by a "Miss Decker" who "made things very clear for them." Good to know that the agency actually has my back, even if they're listening in on my calls. They end up offering to send over one of those prepaid gift cards. I figure I'll use it to buy some extra meat for Gruunda. Maybe a little something for Agent Decker and leave it out on the front deck. See how long it takes her to find it.

>Jan 27th: the girls are a month old and starting to grow their curves. They're variously chatty, but know a reliable smattering of words in gobblish. Their full uses, too. Not just basic concepts. Rixin knows to hold up her arms and say "Up!" when she wants attention, but she also can point at the TV and go "Up!" if she wants it louder. Fortunately, they only use them when it applies; Boosa's only used "Fuck me!" when she's especially mad, but she's pretty mellow (and hasn't ended up using it for the other reason yet...)

>I end up looking up a basic recipe and make the girls a cake. It's nothing amazing, and I have to keep herding them away from the stove, but they get to eat the egg shells and lick the bowl from all the extra batter. They're like cute little compost heaps. I even light a birthday candle for Reedy, which she adores.

>I cut a small piece for myself and Scrappa and let them at it. The kids go berserk at the actual cake, taking a few bites right out of the top before they grab handfuls to scamper off and eat before their sisters can take any of it. Everyone gets a scrubbing with a washcloth rather than an actual bath (no way I'm risking that when they're this little). I strip out of my shirt rather than keep getting it wet while I wipe the chocolate off of seven squirmy goblins

>Nicki doesn't squirm so much, though. She leans her head on my bare chest and just sort of stares at me the whole time. "Whatcha looking at, slimeball?" It's become one of my regular nicknames for the kids.

>"Pretty," she says vacantly, gazing up at me with those big green eyes of hers. I smile back and scratch at her multicolored mane and getting this almost bird-like cooing out of her. "You are very pretty, Nicki," I assure her, giving her a peck on the lips. "Nobody tells you otherwise, okay?"

>"Okay!" she says with a big smile. I have her turn around to get the last of the icing out of her hair and off her back (where Debrii had tossed some of hers). While she's down there it's hard to miss that her hand wanders over my crotch a lot. Not doing anything in particular, but just sort of groping and sniffing around and seeing what's there. I meet Scrappa's eye (who's busy nursing Scuttle) and nod towards the activity. Scrappa nods and doesn't seem to care.

>When they're put to bed, Scrappa does think she's an early bloomer, but they're around the "humpy age." She was going to teach them how to masturbate soon anyway. It seems goblins are interested in sex even before they're able to breed (6 months), if in a kind of blindly naive way. I can't say the question's crossed my mind. They technically don't have any of my DNA, and even if they did, I doubt incest does a lot to a species whose culture involves a lot of hyper-breeding, chronic masturbators, alpha males, and ambiguous egg-laying. I'm definitely not going to force myself on them like it sounds the Bicka usually does, but I've decided that if they want it, I'm not going to turn them down. They're my girls. They're my sweet, weird, noisy, odd-smelling girls, and I'll do anything for them.

>Jan 29th: more new faces show up today, but at least they're humans this time, and won't be living here. A little before lunch, there's a knock at the door. Scrappa knows to herd and hide the kids, and Sahara's already laying low in the fireplace. For a guardian spirit thing that was stuck in a lamp for years, she sure does a lot of sleeping. We still fool around in dreams sometimes, and sometimes with Scrappa, but I try to limit it a little. I never seem to sleep as well when we do. Maybe something with REM sleep or how dreaming's supposed to make you sane.

>There's three people in comfortable clothes (warm coats, plain shirts and jeans or khakis), and the big one's carrying what looks like a big gym bag. He's heavily tanned and has a lot of big, deep scars, mostly on his arms, and looks even older than my dad. The other guy's a bit younger, or maybe just in better shape. Some early signs of gray in a big, black moustache and an eyepatch, but built like an athlete with bulging arms that still don't stack up to the biggest one and his ham-sized hands. The last one's a woman, somewhere around my age but also in much better shape. I'd say a gymnast build, but a little too bulky for that, and with a lot of blonde hanging behind her head.

>"Steven, right?" the moustached guy starts.

>"Yea."

>"Ha!" He smiles wide and nudges the big dude, who hardly budges in the slightest. "Old Gary's boy's really shot up, hasn't he? And handsome as he said, isn't he, Liz?"

>The blonde punches him in the ribs (nothing that harsh, but WAY harder than I'd expect from some joking). "Shut it, Zeke," she says in a distinct English accent. "Steven, we just saw the change in the territories, and thought we'd come by and see that things are alright. We... were friends of your grandfather."

>I ask how much they know about this place, and they understood not to mess with anything on the property. I assure them everything is friendly and invite them in. They're a little surprised to see the children's toys around, but I take them to the kitchen for some coffee. I'm thinking of how to explain it when the big one sniffs the air. "You got goblins on the property?"

>Well that's a start. I give the all clear, and Scrappa leads the pups back into the living room. Liz snickers at the sight, but they don't say anything about my breeding goblins in the house. At least nothing judgey.

>"Ah! Fresh ones!" says eyepatch jovially. "You've got a whole trouble there. Did you know they call a group of goblins a 'trouble?"

>These three are surprisingly chill with everything. If you'd told me monster hunters were coming to my house, I'd have been braced for the worst. They're part of a hunting group, like what Grandpa was, and wanted to check in on me and pay their respects while they were in the area. The woman's Elizabeth Gladstone, a relative rookie to the group but clearly seen tons more action than I have. Eyepatch is Ezekial Burns, who apparently helped Grandpa take down a big batch of demons once. The mountain of an old guy is Marcus. He's the quietest, but not unfriendly as he gets these crooked smiles a lot. I also don't get his last name, and I'm not sure if the others actually know it, but he apparently once tore the arm off a troll that was about to strangle Grandpa.

>I have them over for dinner, and Liz offers to cook. I take it that it's her instinct, because she sounds like she's sort of the intern of the group. A research assistant, if that research involved a lot of shotguns and incendiary rounds. When I don't really have anything worth feeding three humans, they're all fine ordering pizza. Liz even laughs when Scuttle gets bold enough to run up and hug her leg (and quickly runs back to the others, no doubt to brag to them).

>Zeke ends up breaking out some whiskey around the end of the meal and we take some shots in Grandpa's memory, and they tell these big stories of their adventures with and without him. Marcus speaks up to tell Zeke when he's had enough. He stops, but not without a lot of protesting. "Just because a redcap took part of my kidney down with him doesn't mean I can't hold my stuff anymore, you old ogre!" he insists, as if he wants to keep his pride in front of me.

>They bring one last thing they want to do for Grandpa/Old Gary. Hunters are a secret to the world, and there's not always something left of them, so they're not big on actual funerals (Grandpa was buried proper since he just died of age, but they insist he'd want it). We go out back in the shallow snow, a little ways into the woods. Marcus brings out the duffel bag, the one that clinks a little when he sets it down. "Old tradition," Zeke explains as he pulls a longsword out of the bag, unsheathes it, and jabs it into the earth with one hard thrust. "Supposed to keep their soul at rest. Bury them with their weapons so they can ward off anything, even in death. ...it's all bull crap, honestly, but it's the spirit of the thing."

>The other two shove some blades in as well (katana for Liz, and what I think is a bastard sword for Marcus; I'm kind of shit at weapon specifics). That seems to be the entire ritual, but Marcus gives me a light tap on the arm with a hammer of a knuckle. "We brought one extra," he rumbles discreetly. I think about it a second before I go and take out the last one, a short sword that makes me feel like a fucking hobbit. Better than chopping off my own finger trying to do an outdated hunter's funeral for Grandpa, I guess. I jab it in with the rest.

>"You done good work," Zeke proclaims. I'm not sure if he means me or Grandpa. "Take it easy, Hellsing. You've earned it." Then there’s no salute, no tears, they just head back inside. Hunters have to be a practical bunch, I guess.

>The trio give me some contact information, and say they'll be in the area if we need anything. They're these long encoded things that I assume are government-issue and super secure. I give them my old hotmail address. They have a rented place nearby, so they don't need to stay, and handshakes go around before they go. They never pressed if I was sleeping with Scrappa or not. Maybe they knew, or maybe they were too polite to ask. Maybe they respected Grandpa, or even whatever I was doing here. Either way, I decide to just settle in for the night and cuddle up with my family.

>Feb 1: Today, Scrappa's been showing the girls how to mark their territory/masturbate. It's weird just how erotic it is to watch Scrappa touch herself. We've had sex over a hundred time by now, and she marks the house about twice a week. But marking generally means she just walks to a corner, does some rapid fingering, and she squirts within a minute. This time, it's her slowly and carefully exploring herself, knees spread out and her purple-pink pussy shown off for me and her daughters in the armchair. It makes me think of when she laughed herself to tears when she realized she was pretty; she's exposing herself with pride and care to the pups and her lover, and both seem to get her going nicely. She keeps spreading out her lower lips, showing and rubbing her pudgy little clit to them. She doesn't say much at all to them, just shows them her musky, greasy little snatch and strokes herself. She'll occasionally meet my eye, which makes her shudder, blush or moan.

>A few of the girls get the idea, so Scrappa must have made the right call about them being ready (or "humpy"). They pay close attention to the slow example of their mother, and most of them start to paw around between their legs. I'm impressed again that they were walking a little over a month ago, but now they're talking and learning things as fast as we can show them. I even saw Scuttle turn on the TV by herself when she came into the living room. Scrappa either never learned that or never cared enough to use it, so it makes me wonder just how smart these girls will be with a caring and (let's face it) much more intelligent upbringing. Are goblins really in the shithole of a lifestyle they are just because no one ever showed them they could do better? All because no one ever called them pretty or told them to chase their dreams or the crap we're fed from infancy by our parents and Disney movies.

>Theedy rubs her thighs together, but seems a little embarassed or scared to try. Boosa even gets a little advanced, and plays with her breasts while she does it. The chubby lug of the sisters is still the pudgiest with her broad build, but she's also got the biggest tits of them all, already near the size of soccer balls. She seems to get that touching them feels good when she has to move them out of the way to see her snatch. Junka and Debrii even help each other a little by poking at their twin's pussy, but they seem to get bored of that once they realize it doesn't make themselves feel good. I never did get the impression of goblin sex for pleasure from any of the research, and while I haven't had the best sample group for it, lesbian/gay goblins don't seem terribly likely either.

>Nicki seems a natural, matching her mama's movements and looking to us for approval. I have to smile, and Scrappa gives her one of her snorting giggles. Scuttle and Rixin pay attention, but don't seem to get it. They'll coo sometimes when Scrappa does, but they don't seem to bother with rubbing themselves. I think maybe it's something to do with their roles, who don't mark the area for whatever reason, but when I quietly bring it up to Scrappa she looks concerned. She says there's a thing goblins get that they called "soozuba," or "stuck tube." She tells me how it's when all their gunk gets backed up inside them and starts to make them sick, and it happens when a goblin can't cum. Sometimes a pup is born with it, or their Bickas will force it on someone as punishment and forbid them from masturbating or breeding.

>This suddenly makes a lot of sense. Goblins and their hyperactive sex drives are part of their biology. I can't exactly prove it, and I'm not nearly versed enough in biology (better go ask Paige) but it sounds like goblins basically use sex as a means of digestion. The oils they excrete and their loads of energy use up anything useful, and then what little waste their is from the processes comes out with their cum. It could explain the rubbery, sour lime and honey taste of Scrappa, though not why it's so damn addictive. It doesn't seem bad to ingest it, considering all the oral we've had, but probably not something you want soaking inside your guts for long periods of time.

>We managed to encourage the rest with an implied reward. After all, mommy spends the most time with daddy. Maybe it's because she's the one that marks everything. So while Scrappa goes back to touching herself, I stay by her and start to stroke her hair and kiss her lips. Scrappa might have gotten a little too into the plan, though. She kept rubbing herself faster while she pulled down my shorts, taking my cock deep into her mouth. The girls giggle in a "teacher said a swear!" kind of way, but keep watching intently. We hadn't gotten outright sexual in front of them before, but it's endlessly amusing to them. Rixin starts rubbing herself down below while Scuttle at least starts to hump the arm of the sofa, all while mommy is busy sucking off their Bicka like I'm the most delicious thing in the house.

>Scrappa's eager jerking and sucking ends up with her thick, greasy orgasm squirting a good ways out onto the carpet. The girls gasp and squeal at the sight of mommy shaking and squirting, but the look of bliss on her face calms them down. It's also enough to make me cum hard inside her tightly sucking mouth, making Scrappa noisily gulp and slurp away to try to take it all. Some still dribbles over her chest and chin, but she smiles proudly as she does seem to swallow more than she used to. Anything to impress her little girls, I suppose, because they react to me cumming like it's a fireworks show. Lots of gasps and happy squeals from the pups as I lean on the chair, grunting or breathing heavy.

>There's a particularly sharp squeak from the little assembly of goblits. I look up and see Nicki looking up at us, hand between her legs and her cheeks blushing so hard that they look more blue than green. I lift her up to check and sure enough, there's a little sticky puddle under her. Scrappa jumps up and down (and jiggles) with pride, and Nicki gets lots of kisses and praise to make the others know to follow her lead. She's the only one of the pups to orgasm today, but they're starting to fool around with their privates now and then when they're not playing or eating. Scrappa's all smiles the rest of the day, and extra affectionate with Nicki. If horny means a happy and healthy goblin, things may be getting messy around here sometime soon.

>Feb 5: the girls are catching onto Scrappa's example the last few days. She's not providing the detailed examples she was the first day or two, but she's making sure to mark the house when they're watching to get the idea. I guess it's healthy for them, but it's doing all kinds of things with the smell of the house. My nose was used to Scrappa's but the others have their own distinct scent. It's a little more chemical than you'd get with diapers, and not entirely unpleasant. Just a little jarring sometimes. It must be what it's like for goblins to smell an outsider in their territory.

>Everyone's cum at least once except for Theedy. She's been rubbing in general and humps one of the teddy bears, but no sign of anything squirting out of her. Scrappa worries, but I tell her she'll go at her own pace. She doesn't seem to be sick or warmer or anything, but she's kind of the runt of the group. Even as spindly as she is, she has her mommy's genes. Theedy has these cute little softball boobs poking out of her narrow chest, and a surprisingly round bottom for how little fat is on the girl.

>If my cum digestion theory is right, maybe she just has a higher metabolism than the rest. Scrappa didn't need to cum as much when she first arrived and she's eating plenty, so it's not exactly urgent. I've been giving her a little extra affection lately, and she loves "hug time." It's just holding her in my lap and letting her watch tv (Cartoon Network has become a house favorite) or just while I work on the laptop. It might be part of the shyness, but she seems very polite and cuddly. Just glad to just have some peace and quiet with daddy.

>Feb 6: Theedy woke me up in the middle of the night. She somehow came out the trap door to the kids' den and slipped into bed with Scrappa and me before she poked me awake. I'd be more impressed, but it sounds like it's what goblins do naturally; get in where they're not supposed to. "Theedy hug time?" she chirps and shimmies onto my lap.

>I check and see Scrappa's still asleep from nodding off before me. "Theedy hug time," I confirm. I move to a sitting position and wrap an arm around her, and she makes a happy little purr to know that I'm between her and the rest of the world. Her pink hair's pressed against my chest, grown down past her shoulders. I'm not sure how goblins stand on haircuts. Scrappa's didn't seem to grow much at all, so I guess it just naturally stops after a certain length. Change and sharp objects do tend to spook them pretty easily, if nothing else. Junka and Debrii only seem to have just figured out that they're not the same person, so I don't want to go screwing up their reflections too.

>I bring out the laptop down by my knees and put on some Youtube for her. I keep rubbing her thin belly, which is always an odd experience. Most of the girls have something of a pot belly, and even Scrappa's weird hyper-pear shape has a bit of squish around the tummy. I can feel the outlines of lumps when I do it, and it makes her purr and cuddle up when I trace the outlines. It's my turn to worry when I think that I'm basically petting the internal organs of my littlest girl, even if she likes it.

>Theedy eventually gets up and goes to crawl down my legs. "Ready for bed now?" I ask, thinking she's heading back to the basement, but out of nowhere, she pulls down my boxers. She tilts her head to watch me with plain, wide-eyed curiosity as she opens her little mouth wide and pops the head of my dick in.

>Her tight little lips and mouth suck on it hard enough to make me shiver. I have no idea where she picked that up, but it reminds me of the first night when I found Scrappa sneaking into my bedroom for the same reason. She smiles around my cockhead, drooling over it with the shift in her overstuffed lips.

>"Hug time, Bicka," she tells me, slurping off my rod long enough to say so. She wraps both of her spindly hands around my rod, leaning her elbows on my thighs and trying to fix it back in her mouth while still watching me. She did see Scrappa do the same with me the day they learned to masturbate, so maybe she thinks this is just what happens during special alone time. Or maybe she thinks it's a treat, and she decided to try to take one for herself.

>Either way, I'd told myself I wouldn't tell the kids no. She wiggles her perky little butt as me, and I run my hands over her rear and then down to her little round boobs. Her nipples are ridiculously hard, and she mewls when I press them with my fingers like tiny joysticks. She starts sucking harder and bobbing her head with it. The goblin girl able to produce some ridiculous pressure and still slobber all over me. Her thighs spread for better leverage, so I palm her butt and slip an experimental thumb into her parting pussy lips. Tight and wet, even the thumb feels like it fills her up, so outright sex is something to save for later (no matter how flexible they are).

>Theedy starts to pant and hump against it. Given Scrappa's worries, I keep fingering my little goblit as she starts humping back harder. Theedy's smell is all over my hand and nose, like stale granola and sour grapes. Sweet but sour mixed together. Her budding sexuality letting loose on me is too much, and I end up cumming in her little mouth. She snorts and some of the cum comes out her nose, making her recoil and start coughing. It wakes up Scrappa as I grip the sheets and tense up from the orgasm, and she quickly takes in the scene.

>Theedy doesn't seem to mind, since she goes right back to trying to lick my leaking dick clean. I keep rubbing my thumb into her, finding her little blueberry of a clit grow harder as Scrappa crawls over. Rather than get jealous like I'd feared, she sits on one of my legs and kisses Theedy, their slippery long tongues dancing together as she tastes her Bicka mixed in with her child's mouth. Once they have that moment of bonding taken care of, they both start to suck and lick over my shaft and stomach, leaving it squeaky clean by the time Theedy squirts over my thumb. It's as pressurized as her mouth, because she shoots her oily cum out like a little firehouse around my plugging finger.

>Theedy mewls and curls up around my cock like she's trying to hug it. I stroke her hair and Scrappa rubs her back, peppering her with little pet names and praises in goblish. She's out like a light less than a minute after she cums, and I share a smile with Scrappa. I scoop up our runt in one arm, wipe her off with one of many dirty towels around the house, and bring her back down to sleep with her sisters again. We head back to bed, but not without several minutes of Scrappa babbling about how proud she is of our girls.

>Feb 8: Scrappa has the kids pretty under control today, so I decide it’s time to take inventory on the old place. I’ve been feeding Gruunda and tossing some flammables to Sahara, but I’ve been neglecting a lot of the studies I’ve been doing on my local goblins. I tell Scrappa I’ll be out to check up on things and bundle up to go back out into the woods.

>Gruunda’s right out back in her shed. It’s pretty cloudy out, so she’s a bit less cringey to come outside. She still has that weird octopus body, popping out of the small space and filling out when she’s in the open air without seeming to need to stretch. She gulps down some pasta, old bread and chicken wings, bones and all. I ask what she’s been up to, and she talks about how she’s been having a lot of fun working the internet. She’s started a deviantart page that she links to my email, and she “namefags” around on 4chan drawthreads. I later found out that her page had some remarkable artwork on it: detailed stuff she’s doodled out, mostly human form stuff. I guess her skills in crafts and detailed work extends to art. I make a note to get her a reference book, but she apparently already got a drawing tablet. APPARENTLY a package came for her when I was out at work one day. APPARENTLY people started commenting on her deviantart, and now she’s taking commissions after enough people asked for “draw more tits.” She used that money to Paypal some supplies for herself. I make sure she’s not leaking any kind of important information about the monsters living here, but she says trolls know how to stay secret.

>Ven and Tiniel are holding up nicely The centaurs have got a simple setup, sort of like a barn with a lot of human touches. Kind of a 3-walled box with a roof, with plenty of room for them to walk around and a curtain of what looks to be a bear skin. They’re relaxing out by a fire pit, Ven resting with her head on Tiniel’s breast while the big one pets her hair and tends to the fire. They’re still pretty adorable together, and the big badass centaur gently wakes her lover to tell her they have company. Tiniel invites me for lunch, which I decide to take her up on. I planned to be out for a while anyway. Ven fetches a pot of water while Tin gathers up some of the meat and veggies from bowls in their shelter. It’s… a lot more gruesome than I had planned on, since the “meat” is a good portion of a badger corpse. Tin carves it up with a knife while hardly flinching, even wiping some of the blood off on her flank.

>While I have her alone, I ask how she ended up with Ven. It’s… quite the story, and clearly one that she savors telling. It’s got a lot of poetic descriptions about Ven (“eyes like sunrises” and “hair woven by the goddess”), but it sounds like the frailer of the centaurs is some sort of “wizened longbow.” It’s something about a bloodline that was kept pure for generations and some of the best leaders and skilled magic users of their kind were a part of it. When I press, Tiniel shrugs and admits she’s kind of a princess. Tiniel had offered to leave the herd to thin their numbers like she’d mentioned (apparently they were eating too much and too crowded to hide easily), and Ven had sort of defied the norm by sneaking off to go with her lover. For the big scary bodyguard type, it’s cute to see the nostalgia and just plain love in Tiniel’s eyes when she talks about her partner. It reminds me of the softer looks that Scrappa gives me.

>The stew’s not bad. The meat’s a little tough, but their knowledge and magic with plants makes Ven good at using spices and such to help with the taste. Apparently the hunting’s good out here, and they haven’t really needed much besides me lending them a few cooking pots when they first got settled. The ladies offer me some tribute for my hospitality in the form of some bear meat they had leftover, but I settle for some wild carrots.

>When we’re finished and Tiniel starts to clean up, Ven brings up that “It was out there again. I took care of it.” Tiniel grunts in annoyance, and I ask what’s up. Tiniel brings up the fairies that are starting to wake up, but they’re still slow in the chilly weather (one of them managed to pinch Ven’s butt when she went by the lake, but it got swatted by her tail). The real oddity was they’d been seeing this skeletal figure on the grounds. Every so often (between a few weeks and a few days), one of them will see something stumbling through the woods. Tin shot it the first time and found it was just that: an actual skeleton walking around. She shoots it down each time she sees it, but either it or another one show up later regardless. She hasn’t seen it start any trouble, per se, but it’s not something they like lurking around.

> I remember grandpa’s books talking about skeletons kind of being the lightweights of the monster world; they were no goblins, but they were clumsy, brittle, and easily surprised. If nothing else, I’m curious. It could be another inhabitant, if it’s friendly. Otherwise, I know he left a ritual for undoing undead curses on one of the pages.

>I tell them I’ll check it out. I get a solid branch off a tree and head out to the river. It’s nothing especially big or deep, just enough to get most of your boot wet if you stepped in it. I have to go looking for a while before I finally see her. It’s hard to put any details on a skeleton; it’s plain, old bones, something on the short side of just under 5 feet, though pretty clean for something stumbling around the woods. The skeleton has this lost and empty look to it, just sort of lurching around and looking just ahead of it. I stay far enough away that I don’t think it notices me, and consider taking it out for them. I decide I should get that ritual ready first and leave it be for now. I starting back towards the house when I start hearing some rustling in the grass. I turn around too late to realize that the skeletons don’t just shamble; they can sprint. I'm tackled to the ground and boney fingers pin down my wrists. The smell hits me and it's... flowery. Again, surprisingly clean, and up close, her bones don't really have any apparent rot or cracks beyond just being bones.

>Now... I'm not really sure how to describe being fucked by a skeleton. It's not even what you think it'd be, with a dick in the pelvis or anything. She sort of just frantically pulled my pants down, sat on my thighs, and started humping the space an inch or two away from my dick. I still stand by the idea that I was only hard from living with Scrappa for so long, and being expected to fuck as much as six times a day. There's sexy monsters living on my grounds, but come on. A man has his limits.

>The skeleton starts to make these moans... again, not what I expected from her. The noises are clearly feminine, and like a woman in the throes of ecstasy. Whatever she thinks she's doing, she's enjoying it. She's surprisingly strong and heavy for being literally bones, so I can't exactly escape, but she's not really hurting anything either. Her bony jaw hangs open as she starts to pant rapidly and... I see her face. It's a spectral glow, but it outlines a plump woman's features. The outline runs down her body and big breasts bounce on her chest. Wide hips grind along over the pelvic bone, and while still intangible, I can see where the would-be flesh would be grinding on my shaft. While I'm not quite penetrating the skeleton, the spirit inside seemed to think that I was. I decide to keep quiet and let her run with that train of thought rather than correct her.

>her vague moans turned into encouraging whispers in her ethereal voice. "Yes, yes," and "Harder! Please!" I start to move hesitantly, sliding into her slowly more and more visible body. It just makes her wilder, shouting and moaning as she grabs my hips rather than my wrists as if she's convinced I won't run at this point. I watch her rapidly appearing and disappearing shape ride on me, and I'm even starting to feel a faint pressure on my shaft in the last few moments. When she spasms with her orgasm (apparently I was hitting her metaphysical g-spot), and her pale form manifests in full. Enough to make out a fair-haired woman, short and chubby and looking in the ballpark of her early forties. She appears just long enough for her "o face" before there's a burst of cold liquid on my lap. She cums ectoplasm onto me, this silvery blue liquid that sticks to my skin, just to slowly vanish about a minute later. The skeleton's grip on me goes weak and she falls off of me into the dirt. The skeleton doesn't move for a bit, but the transluscent ghost form lingers longer.

>"That was the best time of my life," she wheezes, despite not having any breath to be out of. I tell her I have some bad news about that.

>The spirit is incredibly calmed down after her pseudo-sex (she only calls it "boning" once). The journals mentioned some ghosts could feed off of life force, like draining youth and beauty from women, and she seems a lot more lively and talkative as we go on, suggesting that she considered sex a sign of life. Or maybe it was the precum... like I said, she looked like a woman by the end and there was some kind of unseen pressure going on (look, I'm telling myself it wasn't necrophilia if I didn't initiate anything).

>I find her name was/is Abigail, and that she's been dead for about two hundred years. She was a lonely washerwoman who was lured out to these woods someone started strangling her from behind her (maybe fae or goblins, given the location). I talk her through it until I find her last thoughts were that she was going to die a virgin, which explains a lot. I get the working theory that she's a ghost using her old bones to move around, rather than a traditional skeleton. She's shown she can exit the skeleton (astral projection style) and let it drop to the ground, where the bones look a little more worn and old than when she's inside them. Ghosts are often bound by something, whether it's an event, motive, or an object. So... Abby's unfinished business was getting the D. It's no "avenge my wife's murder" level revenge story, but I guess it works.

>Abby's a bit harder to piece together what to do with than the rest. She doesn't really need for or anything, and the sex seems to have invigorated her rather than send her on to the afterlife. She says she's thinking more clearly and feeling stronger after our encounter, so it sounds like it's good for her. It sounds like as long as she's self-aware like this, I can convince her to leave the centaurs alone and talk to them about what's really going on. Abby's main problem is she had a lot of self-esteem issues back then. She's not bad-looking, but definitely a big woman and heavy on the freckles. I remember Scrappa and how she was just weeping with joy when I finally got her to think she was beautiful, and try applying a little of that.

>By the late afternoon, I've brought what I think is a more long-term solution. I take her back to the cabin and introduce her to Scrappa. She squints and looks at me funny for showing her a walking pile of bones, and I think it confirms that goblins have zero perception of the dead (or lacking a 6th sense, if you will). She doesn't see even the fully manifested Abby, even when she manages to lift and toss a rock with her spectral form. She agrees with me to give up a few things that she's not using, and to keep the kids from trying to eat her bones while I fetch some things. When I'm back, Abby's making the girls giggle by taking off her skull and tossing it around in a little show of dexterity. Pretty nimble for a dead woman.

>I give her a few skirts, a long dress I never got around to modifying for Scrappa, a bit of makeup, some underwear, and an old blonde wig from a Halloween long past that I didn't have the heart to trash for some reason. She puts on the dress and seems to appreciate the touch of femininity on her old naked bones. The last one was a bit trickier, but it looks like it will do the job; the books included some simple sigils, some kind of ancient markings that affect the metaphysical properties of objects. They can be made to burn the undead or detect the presence of certain creatures, so long as the marking stays in tact. Scrappa has a number of sex toys that she doesn't use much anymore, so I passed on onto her. Basically, one quick rune later and I have essentially invented the ghost dildo. I use it to tap Abby on the arm, and her eyes go wide at the implications and gladly takes it with her bundle of clothes.

>I take her back for one last trip before I come home to cook dinner. Sahara doesn't take up much space, but I'm not sure how Abby would fit in the house where the girls eat everything that doesn't move and fits in their mouths (there is no such thing as childproofing for hyper-learning, hyper-growing omnivorous goblins). I introduce her to the centaurs, who give her a sort of open door policy and offer to build her a hut some time soon. Along the way, I head down river with Abby to check out this lake. We swam there once or twice when I was young, but even in the Summer I was never super big on swimming. Thankfully, I don't remember anything about being pulled under by fairies

>There are a few of them buzzing around like shimmering dragonflies. They're human shamed with big eyes, each about the width of two toothpicks at any given point. There's just enough curve to their faces and chests to look female, but even nude it's hard to tell. They start to swirl around me curiously when I arrive and try to strike up a conversation. "I'm Steve. I live a little way over there, and I sort of own the property. I wanted to know if you girls-"

One of them bites me on the finger. I recoil from that and another one steals the button off my coat. A third steals the button off my pants. Three of them swarm down there, tugging at my pants with needly little teeth and strong little fingers. I felt like I'd been raped enough for one day, so I swat them away. One flies in front of my face and sticks her tongue and butt out at me, so I give her a flick that flings her into the water. I can see why the ladies asked me to talk to them. The books later confirm that these are pixies, basically the shitty kind of fairy. They're little balls of chaos and magic that just like to make pests of themselves.

>It takes some effort not to try and squash a few of them. I end up just walking Abby back to her general place to let her rest and play with her new toys. I head back and do some reading on how to deal with pixies while I cook up some spaghetti and warm up some bread for the family. The main thing I find is ways to bait them and how "cold" iron (basically anything with a high enough iron content) is the best way to deal with them. They're easily tempted or bribed with bread, milk, butter, alcohol, or jewelry, apparently. Pixies are too chaotic and dimwitted to ever create anything, and they're certainly not good with animals, so those creations are hard to come by. I cross-reference that with the fairies entry, and it shows how fae of all sorts will not break a bargain or else suffer mind-blowing pain that usually destroys them on the spot. It gives me one last idea.

>I head back out just before it gets dark with my flashlight and the tupperware. The pixies are easy to spot by night, like big feminine fireflies. They gather around the light for a bit, but then I crack open the tupperware a bit. They flood to it, only to find it too small to fit inside that crack. I've come armed not with iron, but with spaghetti, marinara, bread with disgusting amounts of butter on it, and a squeeze bottle of some whiskey we had leftover. They buzz around and grab at it, but I planned enough to wear thick gloves and keep the items tucked tight under my arm.

>"Leave the pond," I state clearly like there's extra weight to my words. "Go live upriver or deeper in the woods, and don't bother anyone." They freeze up and chitter something in their chirping little language. Everything just sounds like "pip!" to me. "Do that, and all this stuff is yours. I'll double it next month, and bring it again every month after. Is that a deal?"

The dozen pixies hover in front of me, staring with their big, pupil-less eyes. They huddle up and give some more "pip pip!"s at each other before one floats up to me, nods firmly with her hands on her tiny hips, and holds out a hand. I take it between three fingers to shake it, and it feels like there's a tiny pricking on my hand. I pull it back and see what looks like a scratch from a thumbtack on my palm, a tiny drip of blood coming from it. The blood coats the lead pixie's hand, which she doesn't bother to wipe off and nods. "Done," she chirps in this hyper helium tone of voice. "Gimee." I make a quick head count and then pass off the goods. The pixies have to work together to carry it all, but they fly off like shots into the woods.

>It feels good to settle these kinds of things. I get back home and the kids all dogpile onto me, grabbing and kissing and wrestling me after missing me all day. I make sure everyone gets their hugs and kisses back, but they don't want to let go. I settle on just cuddling up on the couch and watching some cartoons with Scrappa and the kids. It's not until the kids are put to bed and I'm done having sex with Scrappa that I realize I've cleared out the lake and the girls have been pretty much cooped up in the house for their first few months... I wonder if stale pond water would be better for them than a bath

>Feb 12th: the weather's surprisingly nice for this time of year. Not exactly hot, but an early Spring kind of setup. Scrappa's a little wary about the kids, but that seems to be strictly out of goblin survival instinct (what you might call cowardice). I ask her why and she says she's afraid of predators or traps or one of them getting hurt. I hug her tight and tell her that her Bicka knows best and that I'll protect every last one of them. It takes a little coaxing and bribing her with a quick fingering in the bathroom while Sahara babysits, but she complies.

>It's overall easier said than done. I have to keep my head on a swivel to keep track of all the girls. Scuttle is happy to get something taller than the kitchen table to climb, and Boosa will run over and just start uprooting bushes and weeds to find out if she can eat them. I let her go with anything that doesn't look distinctly thorny or poisonous; just means less cooking later. Junka stays by me, and since the blood gave her nightmares last time, I make a point to pick her up and cuddle her if the pups go sprinting after something. Leashes would have felt demeaning to us all, but I feel like cartoon trailer trash before long. "Nicki, don't throw rocks at your sister. Junka, stay where I can see you. Rixin, either swallow the butterfly or let it go. Don't torture the poor thing." Just that all the way to the pond.

>The kids seem to have their minds blown by the lake as they just hurry over and stare at it. I guess they haven't seen that big a body of water before... or any, really. The water they know comes in bowls and bottles. They've only been about a quarter mile from the house in their entire lives, and I'm not sure if I'll ever take that further than that. It's a little sad to think of, but at least the house they live in is about as far from humanity as the area gets, and surrounded by some beautiful scenery.

>Speaking of, the lake is just pristine. The pixies must have kept away mosquitoes, leeches or the like, because it's absolutely quiet here. Even the birds are pretty shy about the place, which I guess makes sense if what looked like pesky little balls of light lived there. It leaves the pond to ourselves, and I set out a backpack of food and towels by a beat up old blanket. It's the best I can do for now as far as a little family vacation, but I'll have to ask around for any secluded spots in the area. I might be able to get the kids to lay low in the back seat for a while if there's somewhere nice to bring them to.

>Scuttlebutt is the first to actually go up to the pond. She makes faces at her reflection for a bit before she trips in the muddy shore and her foot hits the water. She squeaks and jumps, shaking her foot out. She looks at me, as if gauging if she should be afraid or not, and I just smile as I sit with her mama. Let them make their own decisions. Of course, Scuttle's decision is never "don't do it."

>It must be something I picked up from Grandpa, because I'm still studying my family like science projects. It turns out that there's no clear answer to "can goblins swim." It's definitely not instinct to them, that much is clear. I asked Scrappa, who shrugged and didn't know what I was talking about. The pool's only about 3-feet deep; a little higher than they are tall in the middle, but nothing I can't just wade into if they get in trouble. Scuttle gets in there and it's a little awkward, but she starts paddling around. It reminds me of when I saw a monkey swimming on the natural channel; big loping strokes followed by short rests for a second or two. When she stops to eat some kind of lily pad, the other girls stop being shocked and rush in after her.

>The reason I say the swimming test is inconclusive is because there seems to be 3 levels of response to water: yes, no, and unclear. Most of them paddle around a little, nothing special but buoyant enough between all their body fat and oils. Debrii and Junka are unclear, because they can wade around the water just fine. When they get the water up to their breasts, it seems to hit them and they go into goblin panic mode. The kids have been surprisingly mellow for the most part, but it happens time to time, and Scrappa's entered it on occasion. Panic mode is basically responding to anything scary by using every single part of your body at once; kicking, punching, screaming, spitting, biting, and rolling around. It's presumably to try to be scary, but it comes off as grating. It's no wonder that the goblin survival rate isn't fantastic. Still, the thrashing seems to keep them afloat, but it appears to be by accident.

>Boosa 100% cannot swim. It might be her weight or her just not getting it, but she can walk right to the middle of the lake and stand there, ears poking just above the water. Theedy and Nicki try to show her how, but she keeps dipping back under whenever she lays out to try to kick or paddle. I generally dish out snacks and towels as they need, and wade in to break up fights or fish out the girls who get too deep or stuck in the the deeps or mud.

>Scrappa stays fidgety though. Something keeps her on edge and her ears keep twitching, and I assume it's her natural paranoia. She takes a few minutes to head to a nearby tree and mark it with her juices, which is cute when Rixin comes over and helps her. Rixin's been doing it lately where she sits down, spreads her legs, and uses her giant tongue to lick her own clit until she tastes cum. I swear the thing's only gotten long as she grows... but I assume it's the outdoors smell. Scrappa doesn't even like it when I don't smell like her.

>Eventually, I end up having to go break up Junka and Debrii when one twin bites the other while eating moss. I get back to shore with a goblet under each arm and notice Scrappa is missing. It's just enough to concern me, because I know she can do it when she wants to, especially after her whole maternal intelligence kicked in. I start to dry off the girls when there's this piercing screech from somewhere deeper in the woods. The pups freeze, and then try to rush in the direction of the noise. Even if the noise sounded like Scrappa, it was NOT the response I was expecting from the girls who didn't like sudden noises or deep water. It makes my blood go cold to realize it must not be a warning so much as a battle cry.

>I sprint after them and grab two or three, but I can't hold them all. I set my eyes ahead of them and tense my throat in that painful way she showed me a while back and speak her name. "Sahara!" The pitch black cloud of smoke races through the air a few moments later landing in front of the kids. The pups I have squirm in my grip, as if not understanding why I'd hold them back, and the smoke closes around the girls like spectral hands and lifts them off the ground. "What's all this noise, now, handsome?" the djinn yawns, striding out from the smoke in her usual dark skin and Arabian attire. I tell her to watch the kids and I'll be right back. It's all I can think to do, and I'm not sure how long Sahara will actually stick with them. I'm not her master, and she may be relatively harmless to us, but she's fickle and can tire easily away from her hearth. I just get the first decent-sized stick/club I can and book it for Scrappa as fast as I can go without tripping.

>It's not as bad as I'd expected, but definitely stranger. My lizard brain must have assumed it was a bear or snake, but not more goblins. Scrappa is on top of another female goblin with a few more males around them watching, all dressed in similar (if lower quality) scraps. The new goblin has dirty, ice-blue hair down to her ass, and is scrawnier than Scrappa in general besides a broader nose (with a crude metal stud in the nostril) and wider hips. Scrappa is in a sort of weaponized version of panic mode: she won't stop moving, but every piece of her is being used to attack, attack, attack. She and the blue-haired goblin are going at it like cats, punching and clawing and biting everything pretty ineffectively. Every so often, Scrappa swings a fist wildly around her, enough to drive back the other goblins if they try to shimmy closer. Most of them have some kind of primitive knife, and there's a stone and wood spear discarded not far from the fight.

>One of the males looks up as I appear, baring ugly little needle teeth and spraying spit as he hisses in gobblish. "Big and ugly go away," basically; pretty much one of the main phrases Grandpa translated since they use it a lot on humans.

>"Put down the pointy and get off my mate, leg-humper." He drops his knife, but his wide-eyed stare makes it look like it was in surprise, not because of my kickass oneliner. Probably the last thing he expected from me was a legible reply in goblish. The new goblins look up at me, which just lets Scrappa deliver a perfect punch to the pierced female's nose. She squeals like a startled pig and manages to slide out from under Scrappa, snorting a blob of pinkish blood from her nostril. Scrappa lets her back off, but is still in berserker mode. She won't stop stamping her feet and furiously shrieking "MEHT! MEHT!" at them, the goblin word for "mine." I step in past the goblin males, who give me aim their crappy blades at me threatening but don't do anything yet. Even rubbing a hand over Scrappa's head doesn't calm her down.

>"These are our woods!" the blue girl demands. "Bicka Doprup owns 'em!" Scrappa screams some more before I remember what I'm dealing with, and pull HARD on her hair. I rip her off her feet and push her a foot or so behind me. She seems to remember her place and shuts up, but I can hear her growling.

>"New bicka here," I tell her. "Bicka… Steve. Tell your Doprup he's too late and to go shit somewhere else." She snorts and looks me over, but her face goes between disgust, approval, and a little bit of fear.

>"Big Bicka Doprup takes over," she insists. "I am 'best screamer' Aket, and I get to talk for him. We were here first. You just get to be in our tribe."

>Territory was weird with goblins. Wherever they lived, that was their territory, and they believed they owned it no matter what. They basically lived off the rule of dibs, except that nobody else got to play. "Good point," I note calmly. "On the other hand, look at it this-" 

>I spin around and go for a grand slam swing with my tree branch that hits one of the random,  unexpecting goblins in the face. It sounds a lot like that time I cut a melon in half with a meat cleaver, and blue blood sprays out of his mouth and nose as he goes flying a few feet, bouncing another foot or two before he comes to a stop, staring at the sky.

>Goblins can take a hell of a beating in terms of blunt force. It's why slapping and spanking Scrappa tends to just get her excited. Any damage I'd do with a club would likely just grow back in a day. Of course, goblins don't care about that. The boys stare at their downed brother and I remember one of the first things Grandpa's book said about goblins: they use their numbers and ambushes to fight, but the easiest way to stop them in their tracks is to plainly remind them that they can die. Or in this case, just get their asses kicked, but they get the point. They get over the shock and haul ass out of there, screaming as if a human with a tree branch was, in fact, a very cleverly disguised volcano about to erupt. They make zero effort to save their comrade, but he gets up in another ten seconds and bolts off deeper into the woods. Not the direction his friends are going, so basically a death sentence. Goblins don't tend to fare well on their own. I'm no slayer, but I think Grandpa would be proud how I handled a bunch of goblins threatening my family

>Scrappa does explain all that on the way back. It was her old tribe, but a chief's name she didn't recognize. She'd smelled and heard them with her sharper senses and snuck off to drive them off while I watched the kids. Scrappa snapped pretty quickly when they mentioned taking over their old land and smelling goblin pups, wanting to take them into their tribe. Scrappa's just puffed up with pride when I tell her that the pups tried to charge to the rescue when she gave her battle cry, and they flock to her when I show them she's okay. Sahara kept them in line, but she's yawning deeply when I thank and dismiss her. Scrappa does sport a few small bruises and scratches, most of which are already halfway healed.

>I finally convince her to cool off in the pond. She's exhausted from the fight and greasier than ever, and she says she could use the chance to wash off the other goblin bitch's stink. It doesn't keep her from giving me a lot of wiggling hips and a little striptease on her way in to splash around naked with the kids. I also find out that Scrappa is another type 2: she sinks like a greasy green rock.

>I don't tell the kids what happened with the other tribe, but Nicki looks concerned and Rixin was sniffing around a lot. They don't pry when we get home and I tell them to stay in the house without one of us; them being on lockdown isn't really anything new. They're getting bright enough to know when they'll doze off, so at night we just walk them down to their basement bedroom instead of having to lug seven girls into bed each night. I'm amazed again at how quickly they're growing and maturing as I ease the lid down on their trap door.

>That night, I make sure to give Scrappa a hero's welcome. Every position she likes for as long as she can stand it. Carefully easing the greasy milk out of her swollen breasts that had taken such a beating in the scrap. Whispering praises in her ears of how brave and strong she was for her bicka. Calling her “pretty” and “piji-riti” and all her favorite pet names. Her pride alone seems to make her break her old record in orgasms that night, which is an assuring sign of the goblin condition and how firm a grasp I seem to have on her mindset. When she's got cum in every orifice and looking so happy she could melt, she finally dozes off. I'm only updated the journal now because I made sure there was a baseball bat or equivalent near the bed and each of the cabin doors.

>Feb 14th: While I'm looking up more about goblins in terms of what to do about the other tribe, I do some research in my spare time. Scrappa's great with the kids, and while I grab one for a hug or some quick talk, they're starting to get pretty self-sufficient. Junka and Nicki know how to turn on the TV, and between Scuttlebutt and Boosa, they've stolen plenty of food by now. If I get too absorbed in my work, I just hear one of them thump down from the countertop and come back with snacks. I pretended to be absorbed in my laptop so that they chitter to each other and scurry off. When I follow them quietly, they've got an ingeniously dumb way of getting up to the food. I keep most of it up in cabinets or the fridge so their grabby hands won't get at it. The girls are used to cooked food, so they don't mess with the fridge too much (plus the handles are too high for them). So they choose the cabinets: Boosa grabs Scuttlebutt around the waist and FLINGS her up at the cupboard. She bounced off the door with a mushy little thud, stands on the counter and can't quite reach, and runs back down to Boosa and tells her to try again. The second time she grabs onto the handle and pulls it open, hanging from the handle and kicking at the inside until stuff falls out. They split a box of dry macaroni and a jar of peanut butter before walking back into the living room to bring it to the rest. They walk right by me like I'm not even there. In hindsight, goblin culture doesn't have much for a concept of ownership beyond yelling "Hey, that's mine!" A spear is only yours as long as you're holding it. Thievery is pretty much built into them, and I've found the girls inside doors I'd locked so picking and breaking and entering seem to be instinctual. I'm just glad I have the bookshelf in front of Grandpa's stash of relics and such. Even if they squeeze their way back there, they can't get it open.

>Between Grandpa's books, emails to Agent Decker, and the veteran hunter friends of Grandpa, I gather a few more bits of information. Neither of them seem terribly interested in goblin social structure, so they don't have much to offer in terms of diplomacy or warding them off with some ancient goblin law I never learned. Ezekiel says that you can't beat honey, jelly, or pickles for bait ("Anything gross and sticky. They'll love it."). I'm more concerned with raccoons getting into them at that point

>I don't get much for actual help or ideas. Apparently goblin's don't have much for strengths or weaknesses, they're just gross tiny people with healing factors. What I do get, however, is a few accounts of Grandpa at his work. I noted a few favorite examples here.

>Grandpa vs changeling. Follows up on a string of murders in a nearby town. Finds an out-of-place guy stalking a woman, and when approached the guy turns into a cat and books it. When grandpa corners him, it turns into a large wolf. Grandpa wounds it with a knife to the ribs, so it turns into a bear. He fends it off with the knife while emptying a pistol into it. It turns into a hawk, snake, and finally a rat whenever its wounds get bad enough, trying to escape when the knife does enough damage to kill it before it can change again. Police question him for once, but he's just a scratched up guy with a dead rat in an alley.

>hired by the government/The Order to kill a troll off in Scotland (they're apparently a huge problem over in Europe and their parts). He tries to one-shot it with an RPG, but it moves unexpectedly while it's eating a sheep. He only cripples a leg with the explosion of fire, so he can barely out-drive it in his jeep. He dupes it by pulling a U-turn, diving out of his car, and shooting it to trigger the explosives and blow it up. There was apparently a stink with The Order about how his contract covered all expenses so they had to replace the jeep.

>He went posing as a paranormal journalist to an old lady's house who claimed her place was haunted. Grandpa Gary goes into her attic, slays three poltergeists after getting several nails jammed through his leg, and goes back downstairs to tell the lady her place isn't haunted.

>he killed a wyrm once. he details how it's really more of a dinosaur than a dragon, since they don't fly, breathe fire, or have sentient thought. He also writes about how nobody's sure if dragons are still alive or just getting really good at laying low. I recall how Gruunda lives pretty comfortably in just a shed, amazon. with a wifi connection.

>slew a kraken on a battleship full of soldiers. Apparently a bunch of mermen (not the fun kind; the scaly freaky kind) stirred it up to take out the surface world. He fights beside the men and some agents of The Order to keep killing mermen and shooting/slashing tentacles until it's attached to the ship tightly enough that they can depth-charge it in the face.

>He killed a Yxvian, which by everything I read is basically a cthulu. It's a magical otherworldly creature that can't naturally survive in "reality." Some cultists were summoning one to end everything, so he made some calls and went in. Cultists die when it's summoned and tears them to shreds, but Grandpa holds it off with massive amounts of gunfire and some explosives. He can't kill it, but he can destroy its matter about as fast as it creates it. The thing starts to burn out its energy when Grandpa's wizard buddies he called seal the portal back up and unsummon it.

>goddamn do I come from a badass bloodline. But with all his injuries, close calls, missed holidays, and sadder reflections about his family near his later journals, I can see why "Old" Gary VanHellsing didn't exactly pass the torch to me or mom. It's not a pleasant job, but he felt like it's got to get done. I think he'd be proud to see what I'd made of his old house.

>All the doubling back on my goblin research brings me back to one point I've never really pried into: why was Scrappa left behind? In the past, asking her got shrugs and confusion. She'd been asleep and they were gone when she woke up, so she just sat around the basement and scavenged until I showed up.

>There's a few ideas I could think of, but nothing too concrete. I can only figure that the goblins must have moved into the area pretty recently, and fled even closer to my moving in. Grandpa doesn't sound the type to have tolerated goblins (not in such large amounts), even in his more lenient age. The cabin was empty for a good year or two when mom convinced him to move into town, but he'd kept the cabin (presumably if shit ever went bad again). By the time he'd moved out and had his will sorted out, the goblins could have definitely moved in, lived there awhile, and packed up. Scrappa was relatively young in the tribe, but she says she has lived in other places (none of which were as nice as the dirty basement of a cabin).

>Theory 1: rushing. Goblins aren't quick thinkers. They're barely thinkers at all. Instincts take over very easily for them, so if some kind of threat had appeared, they would have turned tail and run pretty quickly. If you'd set the house on fire, if they figured out to stop running in circles screaming, they'd rush out and not bother to go grab valuables or anyone more distant than their own direct spawn. If a bear or a troll had tried to get down there, they could have just fled without Scrappa and decided better her than them. Possible, but not sure it would explain why she's the only one left.

>Theory 2: Forgotten. When you can't count, tracking goblin population can get a little funny. If the chief has 100 goblins and decide to move out, he's not going to miss one. Even as a breedable female, the "big screamer" he'd met seemed to hold some rank in the goblins, so they weren't especially rare or valuable. Entirely possible, especially if Scrappa had forgotten about a move and slept in late. She'd take her chances on the basement rather than running off into the woods in what she hoped was the right direction. By all accounts, a solitary goblin out in the wild is as good as dead.

>Theory 3: Rejected. Pains me to think it, but they may have ditched her on purpose. As long as I've known her, Scrappa's been a bit... "antisocial" with humans, but nothing but a clingy, horny sweetheart to me. It's possible that the other goblins didn't care for that kind of gentleness. Maybe they saw her as weak or slow, or some of them got jealous and saw that she was overlooked when they moved on. It feels the least likely, maybe just because I'm a softy for her. I still think that a bitter goblin would have just shanked her

>Idea #2 sounds like the easiest and least interesting reasoning behind it. Arkham's Razor and all that (or was that a Batman villain?). Fortunately, none of those will be happening to her again. I've got a close eye on her and the girls, and she's the mother of what I'm proud to call my daughters. No way I'm forgetting her. I’m still her Piji-Riti. 

>shit, that reminds me... Valentine's coming up. I love the crap out of her all year round and Scrappa doesn't know that holiday yet, so not sure it needs anything special for that one day. Might be a little cruel, but I think I'll teach the goblins in my life about 50% chocolate day instead

>Feb 16th: chocolate day is a big hit. The kids are thrilled to have free candy, but Boosa especially is a clear chocoholic. They’ve had some before, but this is the first time she’s had the opportunity to keep coming back for more. The other kids go through Peeps and jelly beans, but Boosa's obsessed with getting more chocolate. She'll ignore me passing stuff out the others (Scuttle likes running around while I toss a jelly bean for her to catch in her hands or mouth) if she sees I have more chocolate and will wait for that unless I physically hand something else to her to eat.

>The kids are still goblins, so they'll eat anything you put in front of them unless they're especially entertaining. The twins still like their old rattles, and I brought home Scrappa's old ragdoll to give to Nicki. If something stays around unbroken and uneaten, it's a pretty big deal, though that may be because we keep them so well fed. They are starting to develop favorites as they keep trying things. Rixin likes old Warner Bros cartoons while Theedy likes Amazing World of Gumball. Boosa likes chocolate while Debrii wants everything with cherry inside (which grosses Junka out; maybe again with the fear of blood). They're even starting to show something of a community amongst themselves. Goblins seem to naturally cling to each other for strength in numbers, and since they're born in clusters like this, it would make sense that they have a sense of cooperation to some degree. I don't imagine that real goblins are so big on sharing, though; they seem to have an understanding between them that makes for a crude economy based around Starbursts. They know they can trade for other colors with each other, since Nicki likes the red ones and they all try to dump their yellows on Junka (who adores them).

>Scrappa's mentioned a few times that most goblin tribes formed what was just called "tento," basically just "The Pile." Goblin ownership involves whatever you have on your person, so whatever you're not using you throw in The Pile. If you need some spare food or a weapon, you go to The Pile. It's just a communal junk heap/equipment center, and apparently basically instinctive. The kids often toss most of their toys and trash into one pile in the living room or the basement.

>Only two months old, they're really starting to pick up on things. Theedy's and Nicki are able to read a little, and Scuttle fixed the tv cables when it got unplugged. They still get scared by things once in awhile (Scrappa's still a little jumpy if a gunshot or particularly loud scream goes off on tv), but they've mostly got over their crying fits without a good reason. I've still got a list of emergency treats and ways of placating them, which I'm just compiled into a bunch of things that they've grown to like.

>Junka: Disney movies, ice pops, fried chicken, rap music

>Debrii: tissues, caramel, tickle fights, rap music, anything served with a "silly straw"

>Rixin: Pepto Bismol, orange juice, old shoes, puppies (toys, shows, whatever)

>Theedy: soda, Star vs The Forces of Evil, dinosaurs, knives (got her a plastic toy one to keep her from trying to get them from the kitchen)

>Scuttlebutt: soda, pro wrestling, Adventure Time, batteries, high places, spicey food

>Boosa: pro wrestling, chocolate, chips, anything that makes fart noises

>Nicki: superhero cartoons, mommy's doll, flash games, bread (all kinds), fish/seafood

>everyone: Baby Got Back. They'll stop doing anything short of eating to cheer, dance, and sing along. God dammit, Sir Mixalot. What have you created?

>Everyone else is asleep that night when Boosa comes crawling out of their basement to find me. I'm the only one left awake, and just browsing on the laptop when she tells me she's hungry. I'm surprised since I think this is the first time any of them have woken up for anything short of a nightmare or general crying fit, but Boosa seems pretty levelheaded, if just a bit groggy. The strongfat sister has been one of the most steadily content of them so far. She's mellow and jolly, and didn't really get fussy unless someone takes her food or bites too hard.

>Me and Boosa end up having our own little private party. She wants more chocolate, but I work her into a compromise. Soon we're sitting on the couch, Boosa in my lap while I handfeed her some improvised chocolate strawberries and watching some Netflix together. Boosa's a big girl, wide enough to take up almost all of my lap (she's already got her mother's hips) and feeling like she weighs about as much as a largish dog. I'd been trying to spend some one-on-one time with the kids anyway. I read that it's good for the development of twins and groups of kids like the girls.

>Eventually, Boosa takes a strawberry herself and offers it to me. "Daddy's eating," she says like it's a sweet little order. I tell her she has to dip it first, and she wiggles her curvy self around and has some fun swirling it around in the bowl of melted candy. I open up my mouth but she drops it down my front. It leaves a few splotches on the way down my shirt and into my lap between us, but she's on it with a quick "I got it!" She grabs it in her fist and clumsily feeds it to me.

>"It's okay. We can clean it up," I assure her, but Boosa doesn't seem too upset by this either. She smiled and rubs some of the chocolate she left on my mouth, sucking it off her fingers before going in for more. She's helpfully replaced the mess on my face with one made of goblin spit instead. "There's daddy's big girl," I praise, ruffling her big blue hair. She giggles from all the affection, and Boosa's laughter's this full body thing. Her shoulders sort of bounce as she hunches over a bit, which makes everything soft on her (aka everything) jiggle around. It makes her belly and breasts pat lightly against my chest and her breasts wobble like crazy. I guess she liked it so much that she keeps going.

>Boosa latches onto my shirt and starts sucking. She takes a big wet mouthful, once again replacing chocolate with her thick spit instead. Nothing's really perfectly clean with a goblin, so I've long gotten used to it. She keeps looking up at me for approval, and I always smile and rub behind her ears or stroke her hair. It's not hard to see where it's going, but Boosa might have thought she was pretty clever for making the most of her mess. Of course, soon she's sucking and drooling on the crotch of my shorts, and I keep my breathing low and even as she takes the edge of my shorts and looks up at me again. "Daddy okay?"

>"I'm good. Do what you want, sweety." Boosa has the whole wudu/brute mentality, and it's clear that she keeps checking with me if she's allowed to do whatever she's doing. The other kids are variously adventurous and curious, and I want to encourage that in her too. She's smart, just slow and hesitant sometimes. I lift my hips enough for her to let her take off my shorts if she wants to, and she does.

>Boosa reminds me of Scrappa's early days in our lovemaking. All passion, no patience, no experience. She sucks my cocklike she’s eating a popsicle, all her interest in keeping it in my mouth as if she actually likes the taste of dick. Not that it’s bad at all, of course. She leans her hands on my thighs, and I knew she was heavy but it’s the first time I really get a good grasp of how strong she is. Not full blown adult male strong, but a strange powerhouse for a 3--foot chubster. She even pulls on my legs at one point to pull me and my shaft closer and drags me a few inches, so she must be strong enough to move me. She gives off a lot of loud sucking noises, drooling all over my lap as she clearly forgets anything about cleaning. But she looks… happy. Serene, almost. Considering that Boosa’s all about helping her sisters and eating (more than the others, anyway), this might be borderline therapeutic for her. She definitely seems to be in her own little headspace while she works me over, absorbed in her happy little workspace rather than checking with me or someone every second as if it’s exactly what she wanted right now.

>Even when I cum from her hungry slurping, Boosa doesn’t even look phased. She wolfs it down with a little extra loud sucking, but one big gulp and she keeps going. I have to ask her to stop, but when she pulls me in deeper I’m laughing, twitching and begging her to quit it. For a midnight Boosa booty call, I’m not ready for a marathon. She comes out of her little trance and smiles at me happily, pleased with herself more than she is looking for approval now. I still smother her in praise, wiping off the cum and drool from her mouth while petting and kissing her. She’s all giggles and jiggles as I clean her up, let her finish our snack and head back to bed.

>“Can Boosa sleep with mommy and daddy?” she asks as I help carry her into the bedroom.

>Why the hell not? She’s earned it.

>Feb 19th: it's an "outside day" for me; checking in at work and shopping, which means I have to clean up and look like a sane human being again. While Scrappa and Sahara are on babysitting as usual, I've asked Abby and the taurs to watch over the woods around the house. I still haven't seen much of anything from the other goblin tribe, and I'm not willing to bet that they've just run off.

>I'm in the shower for a minute or two when I hear the door get flung open and slam into the wall. I can see through the shower curtain that, going by the bright pink, it's Rixin. "Daddy's dirty!" she shouts with the same tone she'd use for "Kitchen's on fire!" She runs over and pulls the shower open. I show my priorities by hurrying to turn off the water rather than cover up. I can't risk accidentally cleaning her if it'll do the same to her as it did to Scrappa.

>I later find out that Scrappa explained to Rixin why I keep going into the bathroom. The pups don't use it for much except sometimes for water, but considering that I've never actually seen them genuinely make any waste, I generally don't want them near the toilet or the shower. So when Rixin heard that I was cleaning up to go do work, she flips the fuck out. She'd been cleaning her sisters the whole time without realizing that her "tribe's" "Bicka" had been dirty this entire time. She scrambles into the shower and gets to work.

>I have a hard time getting a hold of Rixin. Scuttle's the best climber and sneaker, but Rixin's not far behind her. She starts to lick and suck on my legs, which doesn't mean that she has to sit still. She climbs up and clings to my legs, but her tongue's more than a foot long by now, so she can slither that around while she works. She sucks up and spits out mouthfuls of water for a few seconds before she just latches onto my dick and doesn't let go.

>I'd mentioned how Boosa was all passion and no skill; Rixin is almost the opposite. Her mouth latches on so tight it's like she's some kind of sexual leech, clamping it from every direction. Her tongue still slips out past her lips, a strange sight at first but the more she slithers it around, the more it flexes and rubs against my cock. The tip does down and rather methodically rubs around my balls, moving around as if she's intent on tasting my every crevice to compare their flavors. She stares at me expectantly as she sucks loudly and deeply on my member, big blue eyes waiting for praise for her dutiful work. She almost does the opposite of her intended job, since she's drooling all over my shaft and cleaning off any bath water... especially when her intense cocksucking makes me cum quickly in her mouth. She squeals in surprise and withdraws her tongue, slurping over it and giving an apologetic whining noise. "It's okay. It's not your fault," I assure her, rubbing her rust-colored hair as she's too busy licking up all my cum to voice what's wrong, so I eventually just pick her up. She still leans down and sticks her tongue out as far as she can, insisting on cleaning the last drop before I get her off it completely.

>"I messed up cleaning," she mewls apologetically, cuddling up in my arms with her head on my chest. I sit on the edge of the tub, bouncing her gently in my arms and rubbing the little muscle between her breast and arm in the way she likes so much.

>"You didn't mess up. Daddy cleans differently than you girls do." I try to explain it simply, but they're a bright bunch of girls. She keeps asking why, and I have to eventually tell her it's because I'm a human. This takes a bit of explanation, mostly telling her how even though I smell like a goblin, I'm like my parents or the people on TV. It feels like the "you're adopted" speech mixed with the birds and the bees, both of which are really weird to give somebody after getting a blowjob.

>"How're humans and goblins different?"

>"Well... we eat less food. We're taller, and different colors, and we don't lay eggs. She nods along as if this will be on the test later. "We use bathrooms and go to work, and..." The more I go on, the less differences I can make. They're reading and writing WAY beyond a 2-month-old level, and can carry on a conversation in goblish while using basic English from watching so much Youtube and Tv, if nothing else. "And most of them don't know about goblins."

>Rixin's eyes light up and her ears raise. "I'm a secret!?" she gasps, suddenly in awe of herself. It's fucking adorable.

>"Yes, you're a secret, Rixin. It's why you're always with me or mommy, and why we don't leave the house or the woods very much."

>She hugs me around the stomach. "Well we think you're a goblin, daddy." That's... so stupidly sweet. I love these kids. "But how do you know about mommy?"

>That one I can answer. I tell her about the time we met, seeing her big green butt stuck in the animal trap, sharing food with her, waking up to her making advances on me. Rixin listens through the basics before she shouts for her sisters, getting everyone into the bathroom for story time. I hurry through it again while the seven pups listen intently, Scrappa smiling warmly behind them in the bathroom door. It's a sweet moment, but I have to scrap going shopping before work. I towel off and get dressed, going heavy on the deodorant and hope nobody wants to smell my junk today.

>I stock up on food and essentials after work, so I'm back a little before dusk. I'm still getting out of the car when I see a woman running in the rearview mirror. She blurs the more I look at her, but when I turn to look I can see it's Abby, her skeletal form fading into view once in a while. She looks frantic, but of course, the ghost/skeleton isn't panting. She just looks like she should be.

>"Steven!" she blurts, the chubby woman leaning her hands on her knees. "Goblins, sir! The ladies sent me ahead!"

>Mentally, shit gets very real very fast. I'd been waiting for it. Abby reports hurriedly that they're not at the house yet. Ven and Tiniel spotted them, but they rerouted/ran for it when Ven shot one down. I'm no strategist, but Grandpa thought this place was a safehouse for some reason. If we have any chance of stopping who knows how many goblins, it's in the hideout of the best monster hunter in the country. I start setting things straight as quick as I can. Scrappa and the kids are all inside, as well as Gruunda and Sahara. The centaurs are coming a long way around, not wanting to confront the goblins head on just yet. That leaves me with every immediate ally we've got on the way (I figure the fairies are more of a peace treaty than allies, and contacting them would take too long).

>I get to the more long term preperations; I gather up all the traps that grandpa left behind (the ones I can figure out) and set them around the yard. Even if they avoid them, they'll likely work as alarms and slow them down to move around them. Abby gets assigned to the attic, where Scrappa and the babies will hide out unless things look bad. There's no windows up there, so even if the invaders can climb, there's no way inside but through the house. Going over Grandpa's books confirmed he had a few peepholes in the ceiling, letting Abby act as a lookout.

>I have Gruunda stay in her shack, where she's given me a few more things she's built and fixed in her spare time: more traps, some caltrop/shrapnel-looking things, and what she assures me are smoke bombs. Sahara's a last line of defense for artillary, lighting up anything that tries to sneak around or book it. She seems all too glad to start some fires. The centaurs have a similar setup, keeping to the woods and picking off whatever they can. I put a quick call in to Agent Decker, reporting what's going on and asking the polite lady on the fake hotline for backup.

>Me personally, I'm still kind of shit with a gun, so I'm just keeping inside the cabin with a bat. As an afterthought, I go to where the hunters and I had planted the swords off in the woods. I take the short one they gave to me and bring it inside. With everything as fortified as I can, I thank everyone, lock the doors and windows, make sure the basement's sealed up, and bring the laptop and TV upstairs to keep the kids from stressing out. Really, they hardly seem to notice that we might be about to go to war.

>Feb 20th: Well that's all over with. I... don't know what to tell you/me. Just... that was anticlimactic. Probably the derpiest war with 100 goblins I'll ever see.

>They showed up late at night, the kids already asleep and Scrappa staying up later before I urge her to get to bed. I don't plan on her fighting anyway if she doesn't have to. Abby points out the bunch of goblins slinking in from the woods (no eyes means darkness doesn't mean shit to skeletons). I went quick and quiet downstairs, ready with the bat by the back door where they were coming from. One of their front scouts finds one of grandpa's bear traps and blows any pretense of cover as he shrieks like a girl. There's a roar from the woods; the goblins mistook his cry of pain for a battle cry.

>About a quarter of them go down without us raising a finger. The various cages and traps catch, trip and injure a bunch of them; I see one go into a cage when he's distracted by the snack cake, get stuck, and then a second goblin get stuck when he reaches in to take it from him. The smokescreen makes them run into each other, flipping out and thinking they're being ambushed so they starting to fight one another inside the smoke. When they're close enough, I hit the porch lights that makes them flip out (as if they thought they were still being sneaky). I can make out Aket, the blue-haired goblin that threw down with Scrappa back in the woods, so it's definitely the old tribe.

>Ven and Tiniel take out plenty themselves. Where Gruunda's and Grandpa's traps didn't get them, the earth just broke into random sinkholes that sucked them inside, binding them with wildly overgrown grass and vines. Arrows steadily took one goblin out every second or two throughout the fight, whether dead or just whining like crazy on the ground. I can see from the window where some of them try to flank the house and give up on the yard full of traps, just for Gruunda to burst out of her shed and swallow one hole like some kind of gigantic bipedal spider. She easily picks up two more and clunks their skulls together.

>Once a troll and some unseens snipers are in the mix, any formation they pretended to have was long gone. Goblins started turning to flee, spending as much time advancing as they were kicking and shouting their own guys to keep going. Aket and one big fatass goblin (her mentioned chief, Doprup) are in the back trying to egg them on, but they're just making them panic worse as they're just going back and forth on what's scarier, their Bicka or the enemy they haven't laid a hand on yet.

>I've heard battles go way faster than you think, between History Channel and the journals, but their entire tribe is down or out one way or another within a minute. A handful try to flee the scene and ditch their kin, but Sahara makes a wall of fire that lines the forest, caging them in (she keeps it under wraps, having enough control to not light up the place, at least). I step out with my bat in hand and point it at him, trying to look as big and mean as I can as I shout the old goblin challenge of leadership at him. Directly translated: "You're stupid! This is stupid! Give up the chiefdom or give me your head!"

>Doprup looks between me, the wall of fire, my looming attack troll in the corner, and suddenly a bunch of soldiers from the other side of the woods lining up lasers sites on him. He just blinks a few times and shrugs, dropping his decorative club covered in feathers and shiney rocks. "Okay. I give," he says in English, managing to sound matter of fact as if he's suddenly bored. sitting down and folding his arms patiently.

>the kids and Scrappa are cheering and laughing, having been watching from the attic the entire time. It's not like I did anything besides quote some old goblish at them, have some dangerous friends, and let the goblins defeat themselves, but they act like I saved the day.

>I almost forgot how durable goblins are, since almost none of them are dead (almost…). Most were trapped or shot, but are just sort of cowing by the end of the fight. Even with The Order gathering them up in cuffs and trucks, they're begging me for mercy as their new Bicka. The females promise me all kinds of things with their bodies, and the males offer all kinds of shitty treasures. Gruunda walks by and barfs out one terrified female caked in troll spit like it's nothing. Aket is raising a bigger stink out of this than Doprup himself, stomping around and complaining about a human being Bicka. Scrappa steps up and bitchslaps her before verbally tearing her a new one. A few choice bits that I can recall:

>“You have fat stupid Bicka, not big special Bicka! You don’t get to insult! Steve doesn’t need you! He makes me hot food and gives sweet drinks! He makes strong babies and teaches them words! Steve knows LOTS of insults and he NEVER uses them on me or his [jeska/tribe]. He will always be better than you deserve, and he is MINE!! Now shut your ugly-hole before my fist fills it!”

>Aket doesn’t look happy about it, but she shuts up. I talk things over with Decker when she shows her face, and she says they’ll be able to keep the rest of the goblins. Likely for observation and research, if they’re too wild to live peacefully anywhere (aka, being goblins). It sounds shitty, but harmless for them. About as good as they deserve for trying to make a few more breeders out of my family.

>When I looked them over, I didn’t really see a bunch of psychos, though. Idiots, sluts, and cowards, but not killers. Some of them didn’t seem to understand that they’d lost or been beaten and chewed on their bars. I think about the kids, and what I was able to do with them. They’re not naturally assholes, just raised that way between a lot of abuse and bad leadership. I talk with Decker about it, and basically shrugs. They’ll obviously fall back into stupid violence before long without a proper leader, so I have her gather up the survivors in their cuffs and cells and show up with a jumbo bag of Skittles. Everyone gets one. I tell them about how strong and capable a Bicka that makes me, and the things I can get for them if they’re willing to cooperate. I have most of their attention immediately, even Doprup. I tell them that if they listen to Decker, do what she says and show they can behave like the smart, brave, and gentle goblins I know they can be, they could have a spot on my land. A lot of them look fascinated by the idea. I’ll see how long that lasts, because I’m giving them a trial period with Decker and her lab boys first. She says they’d basically be in a zoo for observation, with some human interaction to test their behavior. I’ll be about a hundred miles away, but I’m now technically the Bicka of a tribe of 94 goblins (not counting my family). While I’m thanking everyone and offering to have all my guests over for a meal tomorrow when everyone’s rested, the tribe is actually singing songs about Bicka Steve while they’re loaded up into The Order’s trucks. The songs don’t rhyme or carry a tune, and I’m pretty sure that they just make up some words in the middle there, but it’s still something I’m strangely. I guess I lived with goblins long enough to appreciate the little things.

>March 1st: Not much to report, lately. Things have been… strangely steady. It felt kind of lame to update the journal when I’d just won a fucking war. Scrappa can watch the kids all by herself at this point, not that I leave that to her. They’re feeding themselves, entertaining themselves, and I even caught Rixin reading a book. Just an old comic volume, but she’s mouthing out the words and not just looking at the pictures.

>It left me with time to go cleaning up the yard. There’s a few goblin parts (Gruunda takes those, and I don’t ask questions), but mostly it’s clearing out the old traps I’d laid out. It occurs to me that if I’d owned a shotgun and knew how to use it, I probably could have blasted one of the invading tribe and had it over with when the noise and blood made the rest of them flip shit. I’m still not a violent guy though… An army of goblins comes to my house to steal the love of my life, and I apparently get most of them cushy government jobs/prison cells. I doubt any of them have been in anything as pristine as a plain, padded cell or a featureless room. Agent Decker tells me they stained everything within days.

>I’d thanked everyone on the property with a big meal at my place last week. The centaurs were awkward with being indoors and walking on actual floors, but Abby’s charmed by having a real roof over her head again. Sahara loves to talk over everyone, but Gruunda’s just happy to sit around and listen. The pups are all hyped up from the company and make a mess at their kids’ table. Whenever we bring them food, they thank me and then huddle around it at their table. They seem to think they’re part of some special club that we’re not a part of, rather than vice versa.

>I’m still keeping the fairies at arm’s reach though. I’ve got enough work managing the creatures I know and trust.

>March 3rd: you know the stories of heroes and soldiers who survive a war then die from an infection or a real bad cold? That’s what it feels like when you save your family and then wear yourself out into getting sick during the cleanup. Scrappa’s clingy and whiney, but I assure her that it’s just a bug that’ll pass if I get some rest. She’s apparently not having it: she tells the kids to be good and that she’ll check in (“and rip off the heads of any bad little girls”) and to listen to Aunt Sahara. With that, she locks the door and sits on the bed, watching me like she expects to intimidate the virus out of me. I have to laugh at her pouty little features scowling at me, but despite all my aches and sniffling, it’s good to have some quiet time with her. It’s been a while.

>Scrappa starts out pretty normal about my being sick. She makes sure I’m tucked in tight, freshens my water, and gets me some crackers to snack on. She probably remembers it all from the time she got sick from the bath last year. When I’m as comfortable as I can be, she sits on my lap facing me and loses her top. At first she just sits there with her fists on her hips, waiting on me for something. I give her a light kiss, figuring that human germs won’t do much compared to eating literal trash, but she frowns at me (not very hard, since I did just kiss her). Scrappa calls me the equivalent of a knucklehead and takes my head pretty roughly for a sick man, burying my face into her jugs and positioning her nipple into my mouth. 

>I’m as surprised as anyone when she starts breastfeeding me. She shifts to make us both more comfortable, but she keeps me locked onto her teat. I naturally start to suck on her nip, drinking her thin and greasy milk. It still has that taste like wax or overly fried food. Maybe it’s supposed to be soothing, or maybe it’s literally coating my insides to get my resilience up or soothe my stomach lining. Or maybe she’s just being clingy and this is how she’d shut up a whiny child…

>I can’t say it’s not soothing. Her familiar smell, her big soft tits, her heavy breathing and quiet, nonsensical musings. I nodded off pretty quickly, and when I came to, Scrappa was nowhere in sight. It wasn’t to say she couldn’t be found, because there was a bunch of muffled snorts coming from below the bedsheets. I figure out what woke me up as I lift the blankets, her gorgeous goblin lips sliding back and forth over my dick. I can’t quite bring myself to tell her to stop, because she’s doing such a good fucking job at it, but she takes her mouth off of me with this big wet pop. 

>“Go sleepy,” she orders me. “Bad goop out. Good goop in.” It sounds like breastmilk and blowjobs are like the goblin version of hearty, simple foods and diuretics. I don’t have the strength to argue with her, between the sickness and her liberal slurping on my cock. I tell her it must be hot down there, but she pulls the blankets back over her head anyway. She’s more concerned with me getting cold. No amount of medicine’s ever made me feel as good than a goblin sucking me off. She’s careful to lick up every drop when I squirt over her face, tits and sheets, and I can just feel her scurrying around down there, sucking noisily at each wet stain.

>The day basically goes on like that for the most part; Scrappa keeps feeding me her milk and then goes back to sucking me off every hour or so. Apart from checking on the kids once or twice, that’s just her day. She does run low on milk at once point, so she just ends up bending over in front of me, lifting her loincloth and scooting up until her pussy can grind over my mouth. I gladly lick around inside her until she squirts another burst of her welcomed cum. Her legs go weak and she flops back, burying me in her chunky green buns before she forces herself back up and starts to grind out another.

>She has to stop to refuel and check on the kids again by the late evening. It’s only then do I notice that I’m still exhausted (what man going through 5 blowjobs a day wouldn’t?), but my nose isn’t as stuffy. I haven’t blown it (so to speak) in hours, and my stomach feels more evened out without feeling hungry. Scrappa comes back to hop onto the bed, clicking her tongue for attention and pointing at my lap. I laugh at her strict little act and pull the blankets aside, letting her get back to her doctorly duties of sucking the sick out of me

>March 4th: I'm feeling way better and spend some time with the pups again. I start an email chain with Agent Decker, and she says she'll start putting some research into testing the effects of "goblin excretions" on humans. There's definitely something going on with that stuff. I shared my basic notes I've been picking up so far from consuming so much milk and cum from Scrappa.

>Health. it's hard to tell if it's made me healthier, but I've been running on an hour or two less sleep than I was before meeting Scrappa. I hadn't gotten sick until I stressed myself out, but that could have been coincidence for the fresh air of the cabin. It certainly doesn't explain that I'm healing about twice as fast as I used to. I had a papercut when I was working with one of the journals, but it was almost completely gone by the next morning.

>Body oil. I'm not looking like a sweaty scumbag or anything, but my hair's gotten thicker and slicker. I'd say it's like a natural conditioner, but that's just sort of hearsay since I never used the stuff to begin with. I like the look, but I notice it takes more work in the shower to scrub it away.

>Libido. I mean... I'd never had the good fortune to have 5 goblin blowjobs in a day, but it feels like I should get sore or tired by some point. Scrappa also has a whole lot of natural lubricants in her mouth and pussy, which certainly helps.

>This could mean a couple of things I can think of. One is that goblin cum is some mix of their bodily oils that make them so healthy and acting as a kind of wonder drug for humans. The other is less likely... I really don't want to think I'm turning into an actual goblin. Scrappa's still sexy as hell, but if I lived like one of her, we couldn't live in a proper house with real food and electricity. I guess we'd make do. Goblins seem pretty good at settling for whatever they can get (I say as I stop Nicki from eating a marker).

>March 5th: I write earlier today so I can capture the dream I just had as clear as possible. Even so, it was so vivid I can remember it like it was yesterday night instead of some hazy dream. I checked with Sahara, who swears innocence from any meddling. Not that it means much, but Scrappa doesn't remember dreaming anything like mine last night, so it's not completely the djinn's dream manipulation at work.

>So... I dreamt that Scrappa and I were goblins. Full fledged goblins, living deep in the woods in our shitty little hut made out of mud and sticks at the end of a shitty little goblin village. The pups run around happily eating bugs and bringing handfuls of mud to pile up by the "door." I throw them a dead raccoon, my first glimpse of my wiry green gands and the tight little knots of arm muscle. The girls quickly swarm the corpse, pulling out bones and shoving and kicking at each other. Boosa muscles her way into a big chunk of guts that she wrestles away for herself. I wink down at Nicki as my baby hugs around my waist. I give her an affectionate flick on the nose that startles her before I pass her half a chipmunk as a treat. She knows to respect her Bicka. It's good to encourage that kind of behavior.

>Scrappa is smearing some muck on the walls for the coming winter when she sees me come in. She turns and smiles at me with her needly teeth, wearing a peice of fur that covers one breast and that's all. The kids, come to think, barely had loincloths on. "My strong never-leave!" Scrappa chimes, trotting over to me and nuzzling at my chin. At first I'm surprised to see her walk up to me at eye level. Then it's jarring for a minute to hear her speak so clearly and legibly. I realize now she must have been speaking proper goblish, not the sort of pidgin goblish we would use around the house.

>I smack her ass and give it a possessive squeeze, getting a gleeful snort out of her. "How's my prettiest piece of treasure?" I ask, pushing her back with a rough bump of my shoulder. It feels weird to think of doing that after all I pressed on Scrappa about never wanting to hurt or worry her, but she treats it naturally. It's like the kids with their harmless wrestling, just taken up a level. She shoves me back, and I give a sharp smack across her big naked breast. She gives a startled yelp, even as she smiles. I get the impression that's just how goblins are; I'm the Bicka, and she's the Bicka's favorite. She gets to squabble with me, to prod and annoy me to show her status to anyone watching. Anyone else trying it would get their ass kicked, at best. Scrappa gets a playful smack that she's already stopped feeling by the time her boob's done bouncing. It's just a sign of affection and display of strength. It sort of adds up from what I've read and observed about goblin culture. Scrappa had asked me very earnestly early on why I don't hit her.

>The dream kind of picks up the pace from there as I drop the bag of loot from my scavenging. She gasps as I show her my mighty bounty of a half-eaten hamburger and a handful of some kind of jello in a shopping bag. Scrappa wiggles her hips in uncontainable excitement. "You got human food! You are too perfect, brave Bicka!"

>"My prize gets the best bribes," I tell her, grabbing her purple hair and yanking on it to shove her head down towards the food. She gets to all fours and starts wolfing it down, eating so ravenously that as spills some out of her mouth she just scoops it back off the floor and shoves it back in. None of us seem to question it in the slightest as she thrusts her ass up into the air, legs parted temptingly. I grab her wide hips and push my loincloth aside before unceremoniously ramming myself into her wet pussy from behind. It's strange to feel myself inside her with room to spare. My goblin dick has obvious disadvantages to my human one, namely being about 1/5th the size while Scrappa's as absurdly stretchy and wet as ever. I definitely don't fill her like I used to, so she seems to ignore me, letting me fuck her while she eats. I guess that didn't work for me, whether it's some human part of me wanting her to enjoy it or goblin jealousy that she's more into the burger than she is to me.

>I wrap her hair up in my claws and pull her head up, making her give a long whine. Her ketchupy face lifts up and looks like she's more bothered by the fact that she's stopped eating than the pain. I reach around to slap at her tits, still thrusting into her as I tell boss her around. "Yell for me. Make it noisy."

>"I'm eating!" she snaps back, baring her teeth at me. I pull the dirty purple hair to push deeper, my pelvis squashing her chubby ass cheeks further into her hips as I take her more roughly. I lean in and bite at her pointy ears, getting some shrill wails from her as she shakes. That feels better! Her soft body jiggling from the discomfort quickly excites me as I plow into her. Soon I can just growl at her to make her yelp and writhe, not having to bother reminding her with actual bites. I'd feel more awful about just dreaming it, but I remember she kept making those arousing sounds of pain but giving me these... looks. They were just like when she'd experiment with dirty talk or try to impress me when trying on new clothes. It was a muted little glances that say "you like this, right?" She's exaggerating her reactions for me, acting more hurt than she is because that's what her goblin Bicka likes.

>I cum inside her, this slightly stinging sensation followed by a single sharp jet of goblin semen that shoots deep within her. Scrappa gasps claws at the dirt floor, leaving little trenches behind her nails as she shakes her head. "Get out! It's sticky! It's coming! Out, please!"

>I stay inside a few seconds, wriggling my softening rod in her just to show that it's my choice when I get out of her. Once I do, she crawls over to the edge of the hut, squatting awkwardly and making a strained face. I roll my eyes and go over to help her, slapping at her plump little belly. "Fertile again, you needy little breeder?"

>"Fuck you! It's not my fault you make so many strong babies!" Scrappa hissed through her clenched teeth. She gives a quick little shriek and then a relieved grunt as a few of our slimy eggs plop out of her pussy, splashed in my bright blue lubricating cum. When she's done, I pinch and pull on her nipple until a little squirt of milk trickles out. "I'd bite your nose off if it wouldn't make you even uglier," I tease. She wipes her crotch with one hand and slaps her on the shoulder, leaving a sticky smear. "I'm lucky you're so boring so that you never change!" she laughs at me before going back to finish her messy meal. I plop down behind her, arms wrapped around her fertile belly as if someone would take her from me. We'll later masturbate together on the eggs to keep them wet and healthy before collapsing in a heap with the pups, just to hunt, steal and kill again tomorrow.

>I only really go so far as asking if Scrappa has any more eggs in her. She gives me a weird look and says no. She does mention that she had a dream about being a human.

>It takes a while to really translate her thoughts over; apparently Scrappa doesn’t dream very often. The pups all sleep like stones most of the time, so this might be true for most goblins. They don’t exactly have hyper imaginations as a whole.

>Scrappa dreamt that we were a normal human couple. She said she was so pretty that she wanted to cry, but in the dream, it felt normal. By what I can gather, she had a thick caramel tan; I don't know if she's aware enough of social norms to realize if she was any certain race. She would only recognize them from TV or one of the agents who showed up during the goblin war, because I haven't introduced her to anyone but my family, The Order, and other monsters. Big hips and chest, and very well-dressed. She saw herself in skirts and blouses, high heels, makeup and dresses while she was trying out clothes for something in a mirror. She had full, dark hair that she let hang wild and free.

>Her dream turns out to be much more calm than my abusive goblin sex dream. She settles on a purple dress and heels before she hurries to the door to greet me as I come into the cabin. We talk excitedly, and she has something more vague about our dialogue. Either she doesn't remember it as well, or she simplified it in her goblin brain as just points rather than whole sentences. I came back from work, we have some sweet talk, and I get changed into some kind of dress clothes. We go out into the world together, where I hold her hand and look her in the eyes a lot. She drives my car (which scared her slightly) and we go to a restaurant, which she describes as basically being a huge kitchen with more tables where we sit on the floor; it's how she eats half the time, between the coffee table or just wolfing down scraps. We talk about work and life, and the babies we left to babysit with Gruunda.

>Scrappa ends up telling me that I say something akin to "I'm happy for this one whole time we've been together." At first I figure she meant this one dream, but piece together with some questions that she means one unit of time. She dreamt of our anniversary dinner as a human couple.

>I tell her it was sweet of her, and we kind of just cuddle for a while watching the kids until I tell her about my dream. She giggles and squirms her butt in my lap, and like I feared, she seems to like it. She assures me that she likes my gentle human love too and not to worry. Sahara wakes up about then to yawn and ask for some more food. I get a piece of firewood to toss into her flames, but then I remember the night when she had brought me and Scrappa into her dreamed-up threesome. I strike up a conversation between her and Scrappa, and they agree with the idea. Scrappa's delighted at the thought, and the fire spirit's onboard if she gets to watch; she'll enter our dreams tonight and pick through the night before's memories to let human Scrappa meet with goblin Steve

>March 6th: Sahara did the trick alright. It's still pretty vivid, like most of her work tends to be. "Dreams that stick to your ribs," she calls them. We sat in the black void for a bit while I held Scrappa in my lap, playing with her breasts or grooming her hair in the way she likes. Sahara keeps poking and sliding her fingers around, working some unseen dream plane material until she asks us to step apart and face away from each other. Apparently it's easier to pull with fewer people perceiving the changes.

>There's a quick sensation of vertigo and then I'm back in the cabin's bedroom. I'm back down to 3 feet tall, given the bed now looks about 5 feet off the ground and I have to reach up to get the doorknob. Sahara left a full body mirror in the room; cabbage green skin, short claws on my long fingers and big feet. I'm a bit plump, and a short nose with big nostrils. I wear some beat-up old fur loincloth as my only garment. I have short, greasy green hair, and one of the big ears has a few nicks in it like I'm some kind of scrappy cartoon dog. But I'm not a cartoon dog! I'm a goblin! I'm rough and mean and strong, and nobody gets in my way! Those thoughts genuinely go through my mind, reminding me that Sahara brought over the instincts as well as the looks.

>"Hello there, handsome." There is this song of a voice that comes from behind me and Scrappa steps into view. She looks like she has some kind of Latina in her, and this BIG mane of silky hair that goes down to her hips. She has a v-neck t-shirt and old slacks, something like what I'd wear around the house. It's hard to gauge at my height, but she had to be in the high D cups if not higher. More than I could fit in my grubby hands, to be sure, and the same for her round hips and thighs. Her face is purely human, but there's little details that I recognize as her face. Some light specks like freckles beneath her eyes, the red pupils, her pouty lips and that thick, slightly crooked nose make it Scrappa for sure.

>Human Scrappa kneels to wrap her arms around me, and she's insanely warm and comfortable. Her boobs resting on top of my head certainly help. I excitedly call her "Big sexy!" and immediately start grabbing at her cleavage. She is stunningly hot to both the goblin and the human in me, and I want her immensely. I'd kill a dozen males that came to steal such a ridiculous beauty.

>Scrappa laughs and picks me up in a hug. I kick and squirm like a fussy child, but she kisses me on the head. I wriggle like I don't like it. I'm the alpha male! I'm the bicka! I'm supposed to be in charge! Clearly if I had found a goblin male in my basement, things would have turned out radically different. "I'm the human now, little boy," she teases, pinching the tip of my ear and wiggling it around. I squeak and shrink back, Scrappa laughing as she gropes and prods at me. "You didn't tell me goblins are so fun and squishy! You're like a little toy!" she chimes. Dammit but that voice is magical. I mean, literally, since it's going through Sahara, but it hits everything right in my big ears and little brain. It's everything I'm not; sweet, beautiful, strong, and delicate. Goblins don't have gods, but this feels like having a protective love goddess shower you in affection. It reminds me what a little puke I am, and as I'm gently cowed into submission, I wouldn't want anyone else reigning over me.

>"Are you going to be good?" she demands. I give a little grunt and I nod. She lifts me a bit higher and smacks me on the ass. She repeats the question more firmly, and that little change in tone just makes me remember that even love gods can be wrathful. I instantly cave and give her a loud "Yes I will!" out of a momentary fear of what she might do (getting into Scrappa's goblin headscape is definitely weird). She calls me a good boy and that fear melts away. Now it's just the fear of disappointing her.

>Scrappa goes poking around the room for a minute, finally locating my mp3 player (I think our new heights are jarring for her too). She switches on some soft hiphop and grins at me with these perfectly white teeth that stand out against her darker skin and hair. It's this playful, almost predatory look as Scrappa enjoys her control and power over me as she makes me sit while she proceeds to drive me insane with a striptease.

>Scrappa keeps sneaking looks down at me and at herself, since I realize now that she hadn't seen herself naked in our relatively civil dream. Her breasts are even more beautiful in just her lime-green bra, and the purple panties hug snugly around her thick thighs. The bottoms gradually vanish into her flesh the back, not so much because they're a thong so much as her ass just being so big and defined that they turn regular panties into the same affect. I keep trying to rush up and grab her, but she gives me this sharp little "AH!" and points at me each time like I'm a bad dog. I instantly cave to that slight pressure, sitting back down and folding my ears down.

>I'm forced to endure her whole strip down to her bra and panties, which she keeps teasing and lowering but never quite takes off. She rides out the song until she's on all fours on the bed, and she can see me fidgeting just to keep from exploding. She looks over her shoulder as me, wiggling her hips like a pendulum as her breasts drag along the bedsheets. "It's okay," she coos to me, patting her ass invitingly. "You're allowed to be bad now."

>I go right after her as this ball of jealousy, bitter anger, urge for dominance, and being just plain hornier than I imagined I could be. Scrappa clearly enjoys herself in the moment. She says later her human side enjoyed the control she had over something so savage while her goblin instincts just loved me being aggressive with her. I literally start humping her leg, mounting her shin and grinding my little green balls on it while I start to lick and nip at her fleshy ass. She lets out these loud moans and gasps, simple pornstar noises that still make my goblin libido go nuts. I cum within a minute of sniffing at her fragrant human pussy; I stain her lovely skin with some transluscent green jizz while I've left her panties sticky with my saliva. It's a little gross on my end, but the goblin half laughs the very idea off. Scrappa bends over and thrusts her ass up further. "Make me dirty, bicka!" she coos, almost orders. "Fill me with those dirty goblin eggies."

>And I'm right back in the game. When I'm human, even with my raised stamina lately, I at least need a few seconds to catch my breath. Goblins just bone like rabbits if given the chance. I climb on top of her, clumsily trying to fuck her but ending up just hotdogging between her perfect ass. Scrappa moans for it all the same while I claw at her hair and back, leaving shallow pricks and scratches here and there. Her screams get louder and more passionate, and I decide to fuck with latches and hooks. I grab the back of her bra and rip back hard enough that I leave more scratches where I gripped, snapping the elastic off. She wriggles to loosen the bra and let it slide down her arms, and that just moves her booty around until I cum on her ass and back.

>"I'm gonna mark you so everyone knows my goblin slut," I growl at her, pulling on her hair roughly a couple times. It's to remind her who's in charge, even if I know that's a shallow act that cracks the second she looks at me funny.

>"That's right," Scrappa pants. She rolls over slightly, which is enough to toss me off and onto the bed again. She slips off the last of her bra, spreading her legs and shaking her shoulders to make those giant breasts bounce around temptingly. "I'm a goblin-fucker! Is the big strong bicka gonna show me how real monsters do it?"

>The talk's more for the human part, at this rate, because Steve the goblin doesn't need the encouragement. I mount her stomach, grinding and humping there while I dig into her breasts. No time for kissing! There's fat teats to milk! I dig my needly fangs into the center of one tit and start to noisly suck and drool all over it. My hand scrambles over the other one, pinching and slapping at it clumsily to encourage the milk out. Scrappa is absolutely howling as I basically maul her breasts, cursing and shouting in passion as she grabs the headboard for some means to vent. She finally does start to leak and I think it was goblin milk. She doesn't know what human milk would taste like, for one, but then again neither would I. Once it's flowing, I spit it out onto the bed and casually nut again on her belly. It's pretty high-pressure stuff, so some gets up between her tits and against her chin, which she starts to rub into skin.

>I crawl over her to go back towards her pussy, just looking for another part to ravage next and not minding what parts of her I squash with knees and hands. The power of fucking a human as a goblin is insanely addictive, especially knowing that she loves it. I get low enough to bite and claw at her inner thighs, getting more vulnerable moans until I've bullied her into spreading out wide enough. I shred her panties off with my claws and jam my dick into her just as soon as I can see the sweet pink opening. I hump like a desperate dog, my short green dick jabbing at her insides as it fumbles in the dark. It's much bigger than me this time, not the tight fit of goblin on goblin or the overstuffing of human on goblin. Scrappa can't stetch out like she could as a goblin, but she doesn't have to at her size. I jab around while she's making the occasional hiss or cringe. I realize that despite my beastial passion, Scrappa can't take the abuse that I dished out as a human, let alone my goblin savagry of biting and clawing. I managed to reel it back in enough to at least pump my dick upward and brush against her clit, satisfied that she bites her lip and groans again as arousal outweighs any discomfort.

>That high-velocity cum comes again as she screams an "OH MY GOD!" in alarm. "Oh god, it's like you punctured my womb!" she shouted again, though more a passionate praise in this one. "I'm going to breed a fucking army for you, Steve!" It's good enough for the goblin, but I manage to steer it enough to eat her out while grinding on her knee again. The instincts are content enough to smear sweat and fresh cum on her, leaving my scent all over her while my long, borderline prehensile tongue slurps up her insides. Human cum really is tasty, especially when I prod at her clit and she gives this sweet, strong squirt for me.

>After removing my head and shaking off like a dog, I see her looking utterly winded. She doesn't have the goblin stamina in either sense in that body, and she's a total mess of sweat and goblin cum that makes her looks shiney and glazed, the green catching on her skin when the light hits her just right. "You're a pretty," I gurgle at her, peeking up just past her bush that tickles my broad nose. "I'm gonna keep you mine forever."

>"Only if you never let go, my Piji Riti," Scrappa sighs, holding out her arms to me. I'm still in the mood, even if we have that little tender moment. I scramble back up her and hug her desperately, the goblin lust and fear of everything joining in a long, needy squeeze. She kisses my cheeks and lips a bit, sending a shiver down my spine and reminding me of something I missed. I kiss her back rapidly while I grab her hair, pinning her head down and sitting on her face, my green dick and balls mashing int her face to grind my scent on her. "Okay, one more," she says maternally before opening her mouth. Her moaning lips wrap around my balls, vibrating gently while my wet and oily dick smears over her nose. Between her hotness and my quickdraw goblin cock, I quickly splatted her face and thick hair with my greenish seed.

>I shuffle to grind myself on her chest and face a bit more, but she firmly and gently pushes me off beside her. She smiles at me before sticking out her tongue, flashing me a double peace sign (something she'd picked up from some of the hentai I showed her, no doubt). "Does Scrappa make a pretty goblin?" she chimed as the greenish goo ran from her face and lips.

>"You always the prettiest," I grunt, kissing my slop from her face.

>"Thank you, Bicka. I love you. I love you so much, no matter what you are. You make me what I am. You are the only thing that makes me beautiful, and you will never be more perfect a human or goblin."

>There's some hot and oily tears that come to my eyes. The goblin feels flattered and self-loathing for what he is, and getting real love from the woman instead of fear, disgust or pity. That was what he deserved. The human in me realized it was Scrappa finally having access to proper human speech and thoughts and trying to express how she must have felt for all these months we've been together. Both minds are fine with just kissing her quietly and cuddling up to her and resting my chin on her chest. Scrappa suddenly tickles my ribs and I shriek in horror, then laughter. "I said I LOVE YOU!" she reminds me sharply, having to tickle me a while more before I cackle it out.

>"Okay! Okay! I love you too! You're the best, human or goblin!"

>"Damn straight you do!" she laughs, cuddling up with me until the dream just started to fade. When I woke up, Scrappa was already in happy tears and cuddled up to my chest, toes idly rubbing around my waist. "Love you," I whisper into her pointed ear, making it flick like a cat's. "Yours forever," she sighs back softly.

>March 9th: It's occurred to me that the girls are getting big. Of course, that's big for goblins. It's not half a year from their hatching and they're getting near three feet. Boosa is even as tall as her mom now. Mom stopped by and said they could probably use the fresh air, so I've started leaving the door open for them in case they want to go outside. Most of them don't. Junka and Debrii were wrestling and fell out into some mud from the rain, but they picked themselves back up and got back inside after a few minutes. Scuttlebutt's the only one that really seems to like it outside. The little scout's on the lookout for her siblings as she runs around the yard, inspecting everything to make sure it matches her standards. It's cute until she runs up the storm drain and starts yapping at a deer that comes too close for her liking. I'm surprise animals still come close to the house with how many goblins we have stinking up the place.

>Most of the kids have decided to stay inside with the tv and their toys. I keep wondering about getting them a cheap game system. An old Wii or something. I keep assuming they'd break or eat it, but they have a general sense about what things are delicate. Sisters are delicate, and so is daddy's dick (they've started calling it a "tumper" or a "bicka stick" at Scrappa's encouragement.

>Nicki's taken up a strange little hobby: she's started singing. The rest of the girls will cheer and giggle along with the music, but she's actually picking out the words and the tune while she dances along. Apart from some cooing and humming from Scrappa or the occasional bit of squealing from the girls, I hadn't even imagined goblins could sing. I'm not good enough to think I could teach her anything, but I think I know who could.

>March 10th: I take Nicki and the twins to see the centaurs, and Tiniel is delighted to see the kids again. She and Ven have built up an impressive little stable for themselves, looking kind of like a fort that an especially creative kid would make. It's simple not for the lack of craftsmanship so much as they have relatively basic needs, and their lower bodies make for no real need for seats. They even have a curtain of old furs that line the front for privacy, and so that anyone who might pass through would mistake it for a kid's hideout rather than the den of some four-legged huntresses. The only possible giveaway is the beautiful garden they've started of various plants and vegetables about their little home. Ven indicates that it's all they need.

>I keep Junka and Debrii in sight, letting them wrestle or scrounge around the woods while Nicki talks with Tiniel. Like I thought, the princess has a beautiful singing voice. She gives Nicki these melodious songs in their native language, and Nicki is captivated. I'm positive she can't understand the words, but she's still shedding some quiet tears when it's over. Tiniel assures her that it's a happy song, but Nicki is obsessed with it.

>"So so pretty!" Nicki says. She looks like she wants to say something else but looks at me and back at the maternal centauress. "Not pretty like I am."

>"Don't be silly. You are a beautiful little girl." Nicki's smiling ear to ear to have somebody besides me or her family tell her that. "I'm sure you sing very pretty too." Nicki sings her a little bit of Little Mermaid (not the Ariel one; the one with the squid lady), and Tiniel listens patiently for her to finish. She walks her back through it, slower and stopping her to "suggest" rather than correct her. Never saying she's wrong, but more like "why not try this note a little higher?" and such. It's all bit over my head, but she's improving by the time we leave.

>Ven steps out to go hunting for a while, but she stops to give me some advice before we go: "You smell like goblin juice. You may want to fix that." I'd been so busy with everything else I'd forgotten about that for a while. I've been showering whenever I go out, but I remember early on that even with buckets of soap and some cologne, goblin stink lingers longer than burnt popcorn. It's probably why Scrappa uses it to mark her territory. Fortunately I remember the cure for it too. It's time for a stop by Gruunda's.

>March 11th: I remember when I first found Gruunda. She grabbed my car off the bridge and licked me all over to make sure I lost the goblin stink because she thought they were following me. I also learned that for whatever reason, trolls can lick the smell right off of you. That morning, I warmed up some extra cherry tarts and some scrambled eggs and sausage. I made a ton and served all the kids could eat before bringing the rest out to Gruunda's shed in a big tupperware.

>Gruunda still amazes me with how easily she fits inside the tool shed. There's still the lawnmower, some gardening tools, and her laptop as well as a few nicknacks she's collected. Most of it's mostly bones and little things she's made of hair and wood, but there's also a little figurine of one of the Touhou girls. I can never tell them apart, but it's one of the oni ones. It's set on a shelf by a couple of art books, making me remember her recent hobby of drawing commissions online.

>With Gruunda contorted to fit inside, there's just enough room for me to fit in there with her as long as I'm careful not to step on her laptop. She's glad to clean me up again, but she seems even more glad when I hand her the mess of food. She eats plenty, as I'm certain to make sure of. She got into some online service that delivers meals through the mail, and I always drop them off by her door and pick up the cardboard at the end of each night. Still, something hot and fresh always goes over well with her when we need her to babysit or lay low for a while.

>While Gruunda is sucking down a handful of eggs, I'm almost pelted by a stray piece of the stuff that flies out of her moth. I step back, just to bump into her foot that stretches to the other side of the shed. It's kind of the first time I've really looked over the place up close for long. I ask her if she's okay in here.

>"I'm fine," she replied messily, gulping from her huge bottle of water. Gruunda was also fine freezing under a bridge, so I have to question her real value of comfort.

>I ask what she would think if I got a bigger shed. Something she could actually stand up in and sit comfortably. She pauses for a long while as if she's trying to wrap her head around that and says she is comfortable. Then she pauses again. I let her finish before I take back the tupperware and tell her to wait on the shower. I send out an email to see if Agent Decker is okay spotting me for a shed if it's to give my troll some better shelter.

>March 12th: Decker was perfectly onboard. I had sent her a link to something more Gruunda's size (instead of a glorified closet) and there's a delivery that afternoon. He flashes me a badge to show he's with The Order before signing off on the papers, unloading the whole thing off a truck (with no amount of staring from the pups), and wishing me a good day.

>Gruunda is just bawling like a baby when the sun goes down enough that I can show it to her. It's this pale blue thing that she barely has to hunch over to get into, and she can even stretch out her legs if she sits down. It's practically a garage at this point, but at least now I can get to the shovel without waking her up.

>Gruunda crushes me in a hug for a while before she offers that shower I wanted. I follow her in and it's nice to see her looking less cramped. She wears some modified bedsheets into some slightly fancier loincloth and breast wraps, the ten-foot troll just as strangely pretty as when I first found her.

>While we're not exactly fooling around, Gruunda definitely wants to show her appreciation. She takes her time on the tongue bath, the huge tentacle of a tongue still warm and flexible. I wouldn't have thought that something that big would be able to get inside my mouth, but sure enough she gets in there (and apparently gets that piece of chicken that's been in my teeth for like a day!). Even Rixin could learn a thing or two from the trolls about licking people clean.

>Of course, she lingers around the crotch for a while. I mean... that's where the real smell would be, I guess. It's probably where Scrappa touches me most, whether a playful grope or an all out fuckfest. It gets absolutely swamped by Gruunda's huge mouth, long tongue and dull teeth so I can't even tell where exactly it is in her maw, but her low humming and big staring eyes tell me she knows just what she's doing. She's got a powerful mouth, because when I cum it's not a gradual process. It feels like she sucks it straight from my balls in one deep gulp

>I end up toweling off and getting dressed, ready for an earful from Scrappa. She seems none the wiser about cumming with Gruunda. Maybe troll spit just cancels out all smells. It would explain a lot about how the poor thing lived under a bridge for so long without starting to smell. I've still got that goblin libido, because I'm hardly back inside when I'm squeezing Scrappa's butt under her loincloth, teasing her snatch so that she shudders and then tells them kids it's time for bed.

>Note to self - ask Decker about troll spit experiments.

>March 15th: had to go in for a meeting at work yesterday and Gruunda's shower did the trick again. I do some cleaning around the house and get back to what I've come to think of as "the gun closet." There's that space in the hallway with the trap door that I'd buried behind some nails and a small cabinet. It had the weird artifacts that grandpa had left behind, including the one that had let Sahara loose. The things haven't done me any good, and I don't know how to use any of them. I know I should basically have a garage sale with The Order, or maybe call up grandpa's hunter friends about them.

>Sahara notices me looking, then pretends she wasn't. I go back and start casually poking at the one that looks like a little bone claw on a wand, and she's instantly peeking again. She's a charmer, but she's not good at keeping her nose to herself. "What do you want, sleepyhead?" I ask without looking up.

>"I just thought I could tempt you with some forgotten knowledge." Her phrasing has me on my toes. She's more of an elemental than anything else, but she's still a variety of demon according to the old journals. Sahara seems like she'll shoot straight with me at this point, and that might have just been dad's old mindset about monsters.

>The djinn says she just wants one night to know what it's like. She looks kind of dreamily back at Scrappa playing with the kids, imagining she might be jealous of that kind of attention. I'm not so sure when she rests a warm, tanned hand on my cheek and whispers in my ear. "Just tonight. In your dreams. I own you. Deal?"

>We've already messed around in my dreams, and she's mischievous at best, so I agree. I shake her hand and a wave of warmth runs up my arm. She picks up a lens that reminds me of a cracked and dusty monocle. "You get one free. The rest I get after my night with you." She explains that it's a "kind of thing a psychic voyeur would get off on." Apparently it shows the one you look at’s strongest desire. She looks at me through it and grins wickedly at something before she hands it over. It feels rude (and ominous) to ask what she sees, but I hold it up towards Theedy. Nothing comes up and I look back at her.

>"It takes focus. Most instruments do until you're used to it, but it'll come with time. And some people don't want anything that deeply. Sometimes they don't realize they do." She smiles and floats up to pat me on the head. "Or they're just too happy to want anything." I smile and turn it to Scrappa next. This time the glass seems to shift as if there's a fog behind it. I let it linger while Sahara peeks over my shoulder, her hot breath on my neck.

>What forms in the lense is a set of legs in slacks next to Scrappa in a wedding dress. It's bright if kind of trashy, just the way she likes it, so her boobs are hanging out enough that they push into her bouquet. I find myself smiling and head over to Scrappa, taking her into my lap as she sets down Scuttlebutt. I don't ask her why, but I ask her how she even knows what a wedding is.

>She's surprised, but points at the TV. "It's for humans who have love, right?" she asks. "You get a shiny ring. Then you go to a big house and a lot of people watch them make kissy, and you throw rice and flowers at each other and drive a car until you eat a giant cake." This creeping, excited smile crawls across her pouty lips, and I'm not sure which part of that excites her most; the shiny present, the kissing in public, or the food. I'm positive this is from TV, because there's no way that goblins were ever that formal. She seemed plenty content just to be my mate for a while, and then my Piji-Riti. I ask a little more and I don't think she knows what a wife is or what marriage really does. I doubt there's much anyone would do to make it legal, especially since I can't exactly put goblin babies on my taxes. But a celebration about our family and our being together... I could see that.

>I've told her I'd look into it and stayed up before I went into my dream contract and whatever that entailed. Scrappa and the kids go to sleep, but I find there's a familiar name of the one real church here in Standhill. I go back through grandpa's journals, and he leaves it kind of vague, but his report seems to match up. As a man who was in the business of stabbing vampires, of course he'd be in good with the local priesthood. Apparently any member of any religion with strong enough faith can make holy water, so grandpa was tight with the local pastor. He mentions a Pastor Nelson and helping him with a werewolf problem in the past. Assuming it's the same last name, Google makes it sound like she's still alive, so he must have met her later in his hunting career. It's the only way it sounds like she'd have been spared, because according to the book, SHE was the werewolf problem. Just in case, I send the werewolf priest an email before bed, asking if she still remembers my grandpa.

>March 16th: I woke up with complete knowledge of grandpa's artifacts. They're nothing terribly dangerous, which is probably why he kept them at all. No swords with death curses or demon skulls with apocalyptic implications. It was things like a broken pocket watch that dulled magic. Blessed ashes that purified food. An ornate set of brass knuckles that had each extended piece made of a different monster-slaying metal. It was all stuff that he could use without putting any guests or family at risk.

>Last night was simple, but jarring. I remembered it pretty vividly, like most of Sahara's enhanced dreams. As weird as it sounds, the dream was basically my normal life. The only difference was that, somehow, I remember not remembering Scrappa. There were no goblins in the house, only my trusty djinn girlfriend Sahara. She's playful and floats around me like a dark-skinned sexy satellite, always giggling or rubbing up against me or whispering dirty promises into my ear. I smile and kiss her every now and then, or just grab her ass and pull her in for a quick smooch on her exotic, faintly smokey-smelling pussy.

>I realize now what she wanted. She built the dream to be that I had found and fell in love with her instead of Scrappa. Throughout my day, we chat a little but she mostly just sort of haunts me. She's not as loud and exciteable as Scrappa is, but she's every bit as diligant about servicing me. I'm able to scrub up in the shower while she quietly steams beneath me, sucking me off the whole time in her excitingly warm mouth. She floats behind the steering wheel when I get in the car for work, shoving her tits through the gap so I can play with her breasts and nipples while still watching the road. She's able to follow me into the office, where it seems that nobody can see her but me. It lets her float behind me and whisper in my ear while I'm typing.

>"You're so lucky to have me, master. Your wish was so wise to make me your harem girl. Who else could please your cock so, my great and powerful master? Who else would warm your body on these cold nights like your personal fuckable inferno? I burn for you, master. I live for you. My pussy melts for you and can only be saved by your perfect cock. I would burn this world to ashes for you, my master, if only to be with you. These fools are so lucky you are a kind master. So generous with your lessers." She chose to float in front of my view of my PC, spreading her legs and lifting aside the silky covering from her soaking wet snatch. "I'm still wet from all your 'generosity' last night," she purred.

>That turns out to be as much as I can take. Apparently Sahara is a needy power bottom. I went on a break and dragged her by the hair to the bathroom before using her in one of the stalls. The elemental loves it as her perfectly warm ass is impaled on my erection. She screamed and thrashed and clawed at the walls of the bathroom stall, but of course nobody heard her. She was discrete, magical, and impish. She couldn't be caught and she could go anywhere. She kept following me with praises and teasing all day, only stopping when I take her somewhere to fuck her again into another boiling over orgasm. She sucked me off again in the car ride home, and when we're back I bring out some frozen burgers that she sears to perfection in an instant. The faster I can eat, after all, the sooner I can get back to using and loving her. Whether by her magic or just by passion and careful timing, my cock never seems to get bored of her.

>It's weird to experience all of that at once. I wake up alone in my bed, still warm and smelling some smoke. I think it's a lingering affect of Sahara's dream, like the knowledge of the artifacts. I'm a little dizzy as my mind sorts out reality from the illusion. I have to steady myself on the wall until I'm out in the hallway again. It really was bizarrely ideal to be with Sahara. She seemed to happy and passionate compared to her lazy self. Maybe what she needs is a master to bring that out of her. Someone to bind to her. I don't think Scrappa would appreciate that being me, but it's something to look into.

>There's a little part of me that misses it. The idea of having a magical little lover who I could take with me anywhere and not have to lock up in a cabin. That goes away when I sniff again and realize the smoke's not coming from the dream. I lean into the kitchen where Scrappa has pulled a chair up to the stove, my only cookbook on the counter. She's started making pancakes and is doing an awful job at it. The pups are all sitting on or around the table, chomping on burned or leaking pancakes happily. Nicka grins at the sight of me and runs over. She holds up her plate of half-eaten black pancake for me like a gift.

>I thank her and take the plate, going over to Scrappa. I tell her that I'll take over, but the fusses and pushes me back by the thighs until I sit down with the babies. "You're sleepy. You work too much for us," she insists. She leans on my leg, fingers sticky with the batter as she kisses my cheek. "Work for bicka. Be happy."

>I never remembered pancakes crunching, but I still smile through some tears. She can't go everywhere, my Scrappa, but as far as I'm concerned, she makes this house a home.

>May 17th: Carla Nelson gets back to me. She says she wasn't the pastor who worked with my dad, but his daughter. She still knew and respected him and he apparently provided some help with her "condition" (her quotes, not mine). We swap a couple emails to explain what I'm asking for and how much she knows about the monster world, and it seems she's pretty up to speed after me filling in a few gaps. She hadn't known about The Order or the goblins, or that I was an official monster sanctuary. I don't fill her in on everything going on, but I get the impression that neither does she. Being associated with Grandpa and having a condition doesn't leave many options. We set up a meeting at her church this Saturday.

>May 20th: Things are all set up. Carla is this sweet and chatty lady some unclear number of years older than me. Short, red-brown hair and skin that shows some sort of mixed ancestry. She has this tall and skinny build with a fairly pretty face, but my first real takeaway are her noticeably big hands when she shakes mine. She speaks clearly and warmly, but there's a dash of a Spanish accent on certain words that makes it sound like English was a learned second language.

>The way she lays it out, there's plenty we can do for my and Scrappa's wedding. She knows the baker in town who can arrange a decent wedding cake with minimal questions, and running it during the week and barring it off as a private ceremony should keep any prying eyes out of it. So long as I can smuggle Scrappa and the kids there, it shouldn't be a problem.

>"And none of this is weird to you?" I ask while we sat in her office.

>"Oh, it's weird as shit," she says bluntly, and I have to laugh. "You're marrying a goblin in a house of God. Nothing against her, she just doesn't sound like the religious type by all you were saying."

>"They think they're not worth a god," I explain. "At most, they think a witch made them." She gives me this bemused smile and I shrug. "That or they can't wrap their minds around something that big. It's just to be romantic, more than a God thing. No offense to your kind either."

>"My kind being...?" She looks up from her writing at me curiously.

>"Pastors. Or religious types. I went as a kid, but..."

>Carla waves it off with a knowing nod. "Not to worry. I'm willing to play hostess for Old Gary."

>We sort a few last things out and I shake that big hand of hers again. "Good to meet you. I hope to see you around here more often. Any other questions before I close up here?"

>"Yea. So are you a werewolf?" Maybe being around the goblins has made me a little blunt, but Carla just gives a sharp "HA!"

>"Oh, bless me, no. They've got it rough. Just your run of the mill werebear. Much easier to deal with. See you in a week or so, once that pesky half-moon is all good and done."

May 28th: It was my wedding day today. The whole family showed up, even the inhuman ones. We don't go formal, since there's no way we'll get the kids into decent clothes all day and some of the guests literally cannot wear pants. I'd invited Agent Decker and any agents who wanted to come, and it was almost comical to see the hardass old lady show up in a dress. She came by with one of The Order's transports and offered to drive the more obvious monsters from the woods to the church. It beat my idea of getting Dad to bring his truck and have the centaurs just sort of squat under a tarp in the back.

>Paige comes down with mom and dad, and Liz from grandpa's old slaying buddies came back. The British huntress was on call in the area while Marcus and Zeke were away, and when I sent out the invites, she had replied with "I gotta see this." Everyone seems pretty into it, and even Decker carries herself with this quiet sort of respect for the moment. I started to ask her how the goblins were doing back at the lab, but she gives me nothing. "You're babbling," she says sternly. "It's her special day. Stop thinking about other goblins."

>She is right, though. I was ready to beat a horde of goblins to death with a baseball bat for my family, but I'm no fearless hunter. I'm the guy who barfed out of nerves before going to my senior prom. I'm the guy with sweaty hands and my cheap old suit I got as a graduation gift from Grandpa years ago. I haven't seen Scrappa since we got out of the car. Mom got a hold of her quickly and she and Tiniel hurried her into a back room to change. They wouldn't even let me see the dress they ordered. Mom and Paige had bought one of the dirt-cheap used ones online, and they'd been very tight lipped about it. "My boy's getting married! Give me this!" Mom said sternly when I started to question it too much. It leaves me to busy myself with the guests and try to ignore my nerves.

>The kids are all swarmed into one of the middle pews, where Sahara and Paige keep them in line as best they can. They still clamber all over, but they at least keep them distracted from sniffing out the cake that's waiting downstairs. Abby is already wailing and sobbing more than a skeleton should (we had carefully tested her on the hallowed ground and thankfully nothing exploded). It's a small gathering of about twenty of us, but it still feels crowded. We decided that the fairies wouldn't do well here, but Gruunda, Ven and Tiniel take up a whole row on their own. They'd come back to their seats with Mom waiting back with by Scrappa when things are finally and properly under way.

>It's a standard affair at first. I come down the aisle while Carla plays us in on the organ. When Scrappa finally comes out, she's blushing her off-green all across her thick nose. At first I think that every groom must feel this way when they see their bride, but I think I have it better still because their women aren't dressed like sexed-up parodies of normal brides. Scrappa has some flowers woven into her hair, clearly the handiwork of the centaur. She has on some trimmed down version of the original wedding dress, which was already pretty small to begin with based on how much her boobs threaten to burst out of it. I'd find out mom tried to help out with that with a veil or handkerchief, but Scrappa threw a fit about leaving her tits out for me. Her frizzy purple hair is tied back into a few simple braids, and she wears some high heels that push up her butt enough that it pushes out the poofy big dress out even further. She holds a bouquet, but she's gripped it so tightly that her green orbs push right through the flowers. She has some soft pink lipstick and a bit of makeup carefully put on and when she meets my eyes, she bites her lip as she keeps coming towards me.

>I don't think I've ever seen anything as beautiful or sexy in my life. Even the kids are stunned to see her like this, and they point and whisper to their mommy until she waves back at them with a big fanged smile. Pastor Nelson gives us some trimmed down version of the ceremony, but I honestly fade in and out between nerves and the gorgeous little greeny stuffed into her too-small dress in hovering by my knees.

>"Dumbass! It's your turn!" Sahara's voice echoes in the back of my head. I tune back in from my daze just before Carla turns to me. "I do!" I blurt out with my big stupid smile.

>"And Scrappa, do you take Steve as your husband, your bicka, and your true love forever? To hold and protect him and trust him with everything?" Definitely the dumbed down version.

>"Scrappa does!" she squeaks, shaking up and down to keep herself from just jumping in place with excitement. It does provide some distracting jiggle all the same.

>"Then, Steve and Scrappa VanHellsing, you're now husband and wife. You can now do the fun part and kiss the bride." Our friends and relatives laugh before clapping as I have to kneel down and take Scrappa around the waist. I kiss her firmly on the lips before I lift her up with me. Scrappa keeps on kissing over and over like she has something to prove, kicking her legs enough that her butt is poking out in some of the photos people took. At least she managed to keep her tongue out of my mouth for the special occasion.

>It's a small and cheap wedding, but it's more than enough for my greedy green girl. Scrappa doesn't leave my side, even when I need to use the bathroom. She keeps holding my hand and makes sure to visit every guest with my hand around hers. It's like she's introducing me to everyone for the first time: "This is Steve! He's my hubbin!" she explains proudly each time while taking any excuse to kiss me. We slow dance with her suspended in the air by my hands on her ass, Scrappa's legs wrapped around my waist as I keep quiet about how wet she is against my stomach. I hand-feed her cake as she's just wriggling with delight and kicking her feet like she can't contain her joy. We toss the bouquet and Ven catches it pretty handily since nobody really wants to get close to the woman who's half clydesdale and very invested in her lesbian horsewoman partner. I think she misses the point because she tosses it to the pups, who quickly eat the bouquet. Abby takes it as an excuse to flirt with one of the male agents that came with Decker.

>Other than that, it's really just a big lively party. We all eat more than usual and let the kids stuff themselves on cake. There's more hugging, laughing and congratulating than I've had in a long time. Once the kids pass out (literally; Boosa drops like someone unplugged her), we know they've partied too much. We pack up and head home. and Scrappa doesn't want to take off the dress. Even when we get the kids put to bed in the basement, she wants to have sex with the dress on. I just flip up her skirts and slide inside of her very prepped pussy while I pop her tits out of the top, rubbing down her curvy little body. We have a longer, slower session of goodnight sex than usual, letting her shudder and savor our first time as a "married" couple. It's her special day, and I fuck her deep while I kiss and flatter my special girl. I tell her what a pretty girl she is, and how wonderful a wife she'll be. How my Scrappa is prettier than any human or monster, and how I'll be there to appreciate her body every day of our lives together. The gentle stroking and flattery (on top of her excitement from no sex all day) make her squirt repeatedly, but she just shivers and coos before giving me this pleading, half-lidded look like she never wants to stop.

>I literally have to fuck her to sleep. She's full of food and cake, tuckered out from all the excitement and orgasms through today. I tell her we should go to bed, but she keeps shaking her head sleepily and pawing at my skin. "No... more hubbin," she keeps on mumbling. "Make Scrappa happy wife." I keep going by taking a slow, steady pace, and she's eventually squirting every few minutes. She shuts her eyes and goes limp, breathing softly. I start to pull out but she mumbles wordlessly in protest. She looks utterly motionless, zero energy left and still wanting her "hubbin" inside her. I get another twitching orgasm out of her, but by the following one she's not even moving. I can finally pull out when she's gently snoring. I kiss my sleeping goblin bride goodnight and stop to track today in the journal. Today was clearly something special to her, but it definitely held a special spot in my heart as well. It's one more excuse to love her and our babies more than ever.

>November 7th. Damn, it's been a while. Things got kind of... weird after the wedding. That is, things got normal. Basically, I had a whole lot of work, sex and kids going on while maintaining the centaurs, troll, fairies, skeleton/ghost and genie living on my property. Bizarre shit, but the fact that it's just everyday life kind of made me run out of reasons to write in the journal. It's only back on my mind because of Agent Decker recommending it as a part of our new project.

Everyone is great on my end. The girls are literally growing every day. They're nearly a year old (December 27th, if we're going by when they hatched), and they basically look fully grown. Junka and Debrii are taller than their mother, and Boosa has been for months. I'm pretty proud to say that they've even started wearing clothes around the house. Not Scrappa, at least, but they're turning out shockingly smart and mature for how I imagined them based on Scrappa. My goblin bride's leveled out between her limited pregnancy intelligence and her normal state, so she's bright, but she's still on the primitive side of things.

Gruunda, our local troll, has basically a tiny art studio in her new shed. Nobody visits,  but she hangs up a few and she's still making good money on her art commissions. She's even done some cam-streaming stuff; she downloaded a program that changes your face around, so she looks like a CG troll. I cannot stop laughing when I watch.

The fairies are honoring their bargain and staying the hell out of our way, which it sounds like is the best we could hope for. I leave them the occasional baked good or the like out at our designated meeting spot. Abby is glad to run it out or do some light chores as our part-time nanny ghost, though Scuttlebutt keeps trying to snatch and run away with her leg bones.

Ven and Tiniel are pregnant, and I dare not ask how the quadrupedal lesbians achieved this. Surprisingly, Ven is apparently going to be the birth mother. I would have expected the much smaller and ladylike Tiniel to be the mama, but lesbian monster births are something I'm not even going to pretend to understand.

This is the big reason I'm making this journal entry... I'm going to become a Bicka. I mean, I am technically, but a full blown chief. The leader of most of the living goblins in the United States. Agent Decker worked with me on and off until she offered to unload the tribe of goblins that I'd fought off earlier that year on me and my Grandpa's old property. Scrappa's very proud instead of jealous, and the kids seem excited. I was a little nervous to start, but I've made a few visits to the lab. It's this simple office building on the outside, but inside it's all pristine labs and glass cages containing raging werewolves or rolling slime monsters. The Order has had me sit down with the occasional goblin from the tribe, and they're always psyched to see me.

"True Bicka!" is a common greeting. "Stay a while and eat!" Even their chief Doprup seems happy to see me, even after I beaned some of his guys in the face with a bat.

The goblins have been getting by in their own large cell, but they're clearly not in the best condition there. Decker has been giving them everything they need, and while they were temporarily content with this they're getting confused. It's not had to understand why, but that's probably because of all of my experience. Goblins aren't used to having it good. They're used to scavenging and poking around and working for everything. Even Scrappa, in her life she sees as heavenly, likes to busy herself with some chores or just snooping beneath the couch sometimes. A big blank room won't do much for them.

I told Decker that I could fit them but that I wouldn't be much help. I had work and the kids plus all my other "guests" on the property. Decker asked me some basics, ran some numbers, and matched my wages plus expenses if I went full time caretaker for the property as a monster reserve. I have the tribe's shipment planned for this weekend.

>November 9th. My shipment of goblin tribe arrived! The disguised truck arrives (of course the truckload of goblins had to be disguised as a garbage truck) and unloads a few sealed crates with air holes punched in. I sign off a few things with an agent, flash our badges, and he opens them up. Out spills a collected total of 97 goblins, all of which had been trying to lean up against the door to listen.

"Good news! Your Bicka Steve is back, and I saved you from your cages!" I tell them the good news in goblish, a line I'd worked out as the most positive between me and Decker. I spot the two I was most looking for near the middle: Doprup and Aket. Doprup was their former chief, a chubby male who had given up rather quickly at the threat of violence. Aket was his "best screamer," sort of his go-to goblin and messenger of choice. She had long blue hair and a crude stud in her nose, same as last time. She looked a little grumpier than the rest, but the others look pretty thrilled to be there.

I lay down the ground rules for them, and they're very similar to the ones I gave the fey. No coming into my house (the guard troll and local ghost will see to that), no hurting the other creatures on the property (short of hunting for food), no leaving the property, and always answering to me. In return, I offer them gifts and protection; specifically the extra crate that Decker shipped out of snack cakes and stale bread.

I start basic; an agent takes a headcount while I take each goblin one at a time in a line. I learn each one's name, give him my personal greeting and assurance, and give him some food. It goes well for a while until Hooga tries to push his way to the front of the line. Hooga's a big one; he's about four feet tall and muscular with this big black mop of hair. He's still nothing on my scrawny six feet of human.

"HEY!" As soon as I shout, every goblin (including Hooga) freezes. A few of them cower as I sit up and stop my interview with Jux, a pink-headed female. "What's the problem, garbage bag?! Are you special?!"

Hooga's ears immediately droop. No goblin ever likes being called out, let alone being yelled at by someone in power. Never by someone bigger than them. He shuffles back into line, but I walk towards him. He cringes as I take his shoulder and move him back to where he was in line instead of where he was cutting. "You're a big guy, Hooga. You're special," I tell him, loud enough for most of them to hear. "You're strong and brave. I can see that. You a big eater?" Of course he was. He was obviously a brute like Boosa, and they only got that big by eating enough to fuel their crazy metabolism.

"Yea, sir," he grumbles back.

"Well everyone is equal here. What's your name?"

"Hooga, sir," he says a bit dejectedly. He likely lived a good life as Doprup's muscle.

"I'll tell you what, Hooga. Get out of line and walk it back and forth. I'll get you a share of food just like everyone else right now, and then another when you're done if you keep everyone in line, okay?"

It's a good first impression in my mine. Hooga definitely pulls his weight from then on, and while he only has to nudge one or two back into place, his being there does establish another sense of order over the tribe. I don't think it's prison rules if you're already the biggest guy there, but it works.

In the end, I bring the tribe together for one major task. We have a bunch of pallets of wood, food and basic supplies from The Order that need to go deep in the woods where they're going to live. Everyone who helps pull the loads gets to take part in a massive feast tonight. Between nearly a hundred of the little buggers plus me, Scrappa and the kids helping out, we make some decent time and we're all hauled into the spot we picked out for the village. I get some goblins on fire and building some huts while I see about that feast; the pizza place doesn't bother asking why when I but over $150 in pizza off them, but the tribe goes mental for the greasiest and tastiest food they’ve had in months. Scrappa stays happily by my side all day like my little secretary, and we end it sitting on a pallet and eat with the kids

By the time the sun's down, we've got a good fire pit going and enough simple huts put up for everyone to cram inside with plenty of cheap pillows and blankets. Of course, we go back to the house. Bicka's privilege and all. 

>November 10th. I'm sorting out a hierarchy with the tribe, but they seem to have their own instinctive roles just like the kids. While they're the youngest, the pups are happy to show them around while picking up the finer details. Scuttle, for one, is happy to show their lookouts the best trees (that she's already taken the liberty of marking). The tribe puts up with my little princesses running around and pretending to help while I check out what we have and what they need. Aket tries to request some "boomers" (guns and bombs, like the lab's guards have), but that doesn't get very far. The Order leaves me in charge of them overnight, but says they have eyes on me. They're a secret government agency with magic, so I assume they're telling the truth.

>Shelter and food seems to be in order. Hardest part is just assigning some goons to watch the food stash so they don't just eat until they pop.

>Weapons are next in line, and they're all quick to start tying together sticks and rocks for some bows, knives, spears and clubs. They're not pretty, but they sure do the job.

>Smells seem to be an issue... not in the way I expected. Every so often someone just humps a tree or rolls in the leaves like a dog. I think the sterile lab life had been freaking them out and they want to make sure they're filthy enough. Scrappa had responded terribly to baths, after all. Gorgy asks where the swamp is before running off for what I assumed to be fishing, just to come back muddy, wet and happy.

>Their last priority is more startling than surprising. I saw Junka and Debrii running away from a hut and giggling, so I went to inspect what kind of pranks they'd come up with. Instead it was male and female goblin humping and squealing like it was going out of style. They hadn't been here for a full day before they started trying to breed. Scrappa just giggled at the sight before rubbing her face against my leg, already getting in the mood herself.

>"Hey, you two!" You would have thought I was the she-goblins father holding a chainsaw by how the male reacted. He flung himself off of her, weird green boner still out as he fell to his knees wailing and crying as he begged for his life.

>"Not a mate! Only funning, bicka!" he babbled. "Little humpy, not big humpy! Just a second! Won't take a cradle from you! Please would'nt kill me so now!" He's rambling in goblish too quick for me to piece it all together perfectly. The girl looks a lot more interested than she is afraid. Rather hiding like I'd expect a human to do, she actually pushed the blanket off farther and spreads her legs as if things just got hotter.

>I'd later catch up with Scrappa to find that as chief, I basically own all the women. With a more paranoid chief, he'd have his head split in half and the pieces thrown in different directions for taking one of my unknown harem. I gather some names and clarify a few things:

1. the pink-haired one, Skeez, is a very pretty goblin who shouldn't mate with anyone she doesn't want to. She can tell me if that ever happens and I'll make them pay.

2. if the male, Pommy, wanted to breed any pups into her, he'd have to use the other hole

>I'd expected the goblins to breed anyway. If they were going to last out here, I don't think I'd want to be the one to father all of their spawn. There's plenty of tempting cuties in the tribe (8 the 100, by my count), but I didn't think Scrappa would be too happy with me indulging. I give the two my blessing to knock each other up all they want.

>by the time we're through with the day's work and dishing out the food, we head back to the house. Scrappa asks me why I didn't hump back there.

>"Modesty, I guess. I can't just bend you over a stump whenever I feel like it when I have chief business."

>Scrappa disagrees. She purred just at the mention of the thought and rubs her face against my erection. Her soft skin and the familiar sensation of rubbery smells and purple hair bobbing against my dick has me hard in a second. She's sucking me off from below the counter before I can even properly start dinner.

>Once she's through with her appetizer, I also find out she didn't mean herself. She reminds me how I'm the new Bicka of the tribe, so every female belongs to me. It would be odd if I didn't act accordingly and remind everyone of it now and then. Otherwise they might think I had a "weak smasher."

>"So you WANT me to fuck the other goblins?"

>Scrappa practically buzzes from how high she purrs. She pushes her face into my lap again, licking at my still tender and softening shaft. "Big happy! So proud!" she insisted loudly. "If bicka has biggest hammer in the village for all the girls, I'm the one who gets to keep it!"

>I had to laugh as I thought about how she was saying it. "You're right, stinky," I said, ruffling her hair. "Scrappa IS best girl."

>November 11th. I took Scrappa's advice. I spent most of the morning feeding the kids before meeting the tribe as they finish cleaning up their own hasty meal. They caught a few dead raccoons and Scuttle swipes a paw to chew on for herself (nobody dares rob the princess of her toy). After a bit of browsing, I wait by a hut and call over a dull purple goblin. Half her head is shaved (including her eyebrow) while the rest had this ridiculously unkempt mop of black. She had big red eyes that got even bigger when she saw me and dusted some dirt and breakfast from her scrap-cloth top. It's pulled tight over a pair of C-cups, fairly medium for a goblin, despite how big they look on her tiny body, and some beads or even tin foil are tied around the top of the garment as if to draw your eye there (and clatter every time they jiggle). As an afterthought she pulls a pinecone out of her hair and flicks it away before hurrying over, a hand on her wide hip.

>"Feeling humpy. In the hut now."

>"Aye, boss!" she says in a scratchy little voice before she darted inside, a fanged grin on her face the whole time. Oddly enough, it's spoken in human... I mean, English. I have to stoop to get in the hut but I had planned to spend a lot of the time on my knees anyway. The buzzed goblin is already on her knees, utterly naked and with a mouth open wide. Her green tongue was long enough to rest on her cleavage.

>"Is that how you like it?" I asked in English as I started on my pants.

>"I like it lots of ways. Just so long as there's lots of it," the raspy purple goblin answered gleefully. She glanced at Scrappa behind me, giving a small nod of her head that was just low enough to be a bow before fixing her eyes back on my cock.

>"What's your name, gorgeous?" I say to grab her attention again.

>"Why?" she asks like it's the weirdest question to ask a sexual partner.

>"Just wondering. You speak better Human than most of the tribe."

>"Scoony, boss," she says, pushing some hair out of her eyes. It falls right back into place. "I'ms good at listenin'. I listened to the humans in da woods or with da coats so I could talk 'em. Almost tricked 'em into gettin' cock-gobbled once."

>Good to note. Considering that Aket was still grumpy about me being in charge, I might need a new messenger/translator. If history and the old Hellsing journals serve me right, there's only one way to get a goblin's loyalty for life. She's drooling when I get my dick out. She's flaring her nostrils and panting like a dog when I grab her by the half head of hair. She's howling and cross-eyed when I've barely crossed my cock into the threshold of her mouth. It's definitely new to have someone howling on my dick; these deep and almost wheezing breaths like she's going mad from the mouthful of human meat. Her long and loud (if somewhat stifled) noises draw enough attention that I can hear the other goblins come and go behind me, peaking in on the action and getting an eyeful before Scrappa shoos them away.

>Scoony's tongue isn't as long as Rixin's and she doesn't know how to use it, but the girl has absolutely no gag reflex. Her nostrils keep puffing warm air over my lap as she takes my dick all the way in and doesn't let go. She's attached like a leech up to the balls, her soaking wet throat and mouth apparently not having any trouble fitting it all in. I could feel some exciting popping sensations along my shaft where her abundant spit bubbles up or runs down my balls and thigh. She's locked on as far in as she can go and it's not until I start to pull on her hair that she gets the idea to move her head instead of just sucking in place. The girls of the tribe must have been even more cock-starved than usual after being awkward in the lab, and they were every bit as new to human cock as Scrappa was on our first time.

>With all the warm spittle, I cum before too long. Scoony gulps my first shot down without a second thought before popping me back out, blasting the rest of my cum over her purple face and tits as if in celebration. I fall back to my knees once she's finished milking me dry, but my cock is still pulsing and hard over the attention.

>"Nice big bicka! Still hard after one big pump!" Scoony praised, beaming over to Scrappa with a wink. "Is a lucky mate."

>Scrappa puffed up at that like a curvy green peacock at that. Her posture implied she was offended but she had the biggest grin on her face. "Really, Scrappa is Bicka Steve's wife," she corrected, trying to casually draw attention to her wedding ring.

>"Wuzzat?" Scoony asked witlessly, but she was clearly a bit dumbstruck from the sight of the ring. Probably nicer than anything her or the tribe had set eyes on.

>"It's like a Piji-Riti," I answered. "But for humans."

>"Dats a big deal," Scoony said, her jaw hanging open. "Am I gonna get axed for this?"

>"What? No," I said incredulously. "This was her idea. I was actually seeing if you wanted to be my translator." She frowned as if thinking hard. "To ah... talk for me. So I can speak in human sometimes when it's easier."

>"Big screamer," Scrappa added helpfully.

>"Yea, that one."

>Scoony thinks it over, picking at her hair for a minute. She flicks out another twig and a dead lady bug that she finds in there (I've had so many immunization shots before we went through with this, not that I need them). "You want me screamin'? Gimme a good ride on the thing and I'll scream whatever you want!"

>Perfectly fair. Like I said, nothing more loyal than a goblin to her dick. I lift Scoony onto my lap facing me, and while the taste of cock had her howling and drooling, she looked just about paralyzed by my dick going in her. I'm audibly squishing inside her by the second pump, her long legs wrapping around my waist to cling to my dick again with her round hips. Her warm tits and hard nips rub over my chest enough that I can feel them through the fabric of my shirt. I knead her ass beneath her loincloth to get her to ride me again, and she makes all manner of hoots, chirps and squeals as I pump her again and again. I can see Scrappa watching intently, rubbing her thighs together and biting her lip. I can tell I'm going to get it from her good later when she wanted to reclaim her position.

>That was when the screaming started. Ironically, not from my new big screamer. Scoony was still grunting rapidly on my chest when the ruckus came from outside. I tapped Scoony on the shaved half of her skull. "Scoony. Something's up. I'm going to go check it out. Can you...?"

>"No," she answered bluntly, burying her face into my collar bone. "Busy."

>"Yea. Me too. that's kind of the point." I tried to outwit her. "I'll give you two later if you stop this one now."

>"No." Still stubborn. I guess her first dicking might do that to her. I sigh and grab her ass tighter, stooping as I keep her clinging to my lap and walk out with Scoony still on my dick. It's not hard to see past her, and it's less difficult to see what's wrong. A pair of goblins are dragging another by the arms, smears of green-black blood behind them. His leg is missing below the knee.

>"Boss! Boss!" One of them barked, ignoring whatever my junk is up to as Scoony grinds and moans on it. "They got Mizz!"

>"Who got... mmf... Mizz?" I asked, trying to focus as my cock started to pulse inside of Scoony.

>"Mizz did!" the other helpful goblin answered. "He had this mole and he was carvin' it up for a snack, but he wasn't cuttin' it! Like, he kept trying and he wasn't cutting through the meat! So he says 'I'll just cut harder,' but then he realized he wasn't cutting the mole. He was cuttin' his own leg off!"

>Impressive as always. I think the story went on a little longer about their failed attempts to save his leg, but by then I was nutting into Scoony. I just braced my legs to stay upright as she sprayed some thick greenish cum over my lap, purring like a lawn mower. I audibly popped her off me before setting her down and fixing my pants.

>"Okay. This is fine. Do you have the leg?" One of his boys raised the detached stump of leg that matched the wounded one's color. "Don't worry. I've got human magic for this."

>I think I've covered this before, or at least Grandpa's books did somewhere. Goblins basically won't die unless you slice them to ribbons or really rip out their brains. You could tear one's head off and they would still live if you found a way to reattach it. They're really just big babies with healing factors. It's why the pups break down crying over a cut but will still climb the curtains and fly off onto the couch without a care.

>My human magic boils down to some duct tape and a band-aid. I put a few rounds around the knee to strap it back on and tell him to keep off it. He's on food guard duty since he can't go anywhere. I give him a Hello Kitty band-aid on his arm for good measure. "That's a thing we use to make cuts get better," I tell him. "It's got good human magic in it, so you have to leave that on. Let your leg rest and it'll work good in no time."

>They buy that it's magic and not just their ridiculous anatomy at work. I get lots of cheers and praise, which is mostly just because I got the blood out of sight. Mizz offers to give me his leg in thanks for saving it but I remind him that would ruin the point. After a quick interview with Scoony about what we want to do with the tribe, I'm settled on making her my mouthpiece while I'm away. She's a little cracked and twitchy, but she knows what's going on well enough. It's a few words from me and pointing and they all answer to her now.

>"Now if you'll all excuse me, I have a wife who needs to clean me up." I pick up Scrappa in one arm and smack her on the ass, getting her to giggle and the tribe to cheer. They're a fan of me and a fan of fucking in general, I guess. The kids scamper along after us and don't mind waiting for a big but late dinner while Scrappa rides me like a mechanical bull, establishing her scent on my cock again as she chants "Mine" under every breath.

“Bicka mine. Steve mine. Piji-riti mine! Big dicky mine!! Pussy mine!! Slutty mine!!! Chief MINE!!! BABY MINE!!! MOMMY MAKEY MINE MINE MIIIIII~NE!”

It’s a very late dinner… though I’m hard again just remembering how excited she was to hose me down with the familiar smells of her pussy. Maybe I can wake her up for one more before bed…