The Goblin Diaries 2 (bulk post edition) (Patreon)

>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.