Goblin Bodyswap 3

Tucker was getting the hang of his life in Shafton. It had been a little over a year, and he'd cycled through birthing a few kids at this point. The girls went to members of the village, and while he didn't pry terribly about the little ones, he was glad to see they were treated with love and care. The boys she had no problem trading off to the other goblins by night for whatever they had, unless someone in town actually wanted one of them. The elves at the potion shop cared for their girl dearly, but some were starting to see them as almost a novelty, like puppies.

His adventuring career was steady as well. The town was far out enough from the main kingdoms that they were always needing some new area cleared out or cleaned up. He had to pull the occasional manual labor, but generally his curvy goblin figure was slaying monsters or going out by the swamps to gather herbs where no one would risk going near the slimes that lived there. It all wasn't really as "sexy" as Tucker might have hoped going into it, but still very satisfying. He thought of it as grinding; gathering up his XP for when he was able to move on later without resorting to the occasional mass murder you heard about when people were too impatient and power hungry.

The chance for change came up while he was looking over the bounty board one day. "There she is. Hey! Tucker!"

When he looked up, Tucker saw the voice belonging to a stocky dwarven woman and a tall half-orc. The dwarf smiled and waved at him, even if her arm didn't reach as high as the half-orc's chin. Tucker waved back a bit uncertainly.

"We were looking for you! You are Tucker, right?" the woman asked as she trotted over. She wore a heavy gray robe that covered a lot of her body, just short enough that she could use her hands and didn't have to lift her skirts when she ran. She had a broad build, partly from being a dwarf but having seen those around the village, she had both more fat and muscle on her than usual. She had a sweet and motherly face framed by a stiff jaw and strong cheek bones. Her hair was short, red and straight in a sort of look that Tucker associated with the sporty tomboys from back in elementary school. Some ornate but simple wooden beads were slung around her neck and a metal-banded wooden mace hung from a loop at her hip.

"Yea, that's me," he said, adjusting his pack awkwardly and turning to them. He hadn't seen much of real adventurers out here, and they looked the part. Especially the orc.

He had a pretty standard look for a barbarian: big, brawny, shirtless, but with lots of leather belts on them and armor lining his leggings. The main idea was the belts would stop or hinder a lot of the melee weapons, and if the arrows didn't take out their legs then they could keep charging and fighting until they were healed up later. His skin was a vaguely foreign shade of brown, and his hair was a strange mix of black and blonde; either a sloppy dye job or a clear sign of his mixed heritage. A broad shield was on his back, along with a long hammer that was meant for two hands but he could easily wield with one meat-hunk of a hand. His face wasn't what you'd usually call handsome, packing teeth too big and thick for his lips, flared out nostrils, and short but angular ears, but Tucker had seen uglier back in the goblin village.

"Do you know who won the last Survivor?" the barbarian asked in a low avalanche of a voice. Possibly the last thing he expected to come out of him.

The dwarf laughed and gestured between them. "I tell Hun about the TV shows I used to watch in Universe B. He's kind of an otaku for that stuff now. But that wasn't what we wanted to ask..."

"Yes it is," Hun added curtly, looking entirely serious. They hadn't quite mastered electricity in Dimension A, but Tucker had heard about wizards putting shows onto viewing crystals, and some bards and playwrights who struck deals with networks and streaming companies to retell the stories. Apparently bootleg crystal balls full of seasons of Twin Peaks and Pixar movies were a fairly overlooked problem.

"Okay, it's the second thing we wanted to ask. I'm Dura Stormfire, cleric of the moon goddess Sharae. I was wondering if you wanted to help us take out some bandits."

Now they were talking! Dura went on to explain that she was in a similar state, an "immigrant" to the dimension who had taken up the adventuring lifestyle. She had been saving for some time, and she had been converted to Sharaism so that they fronted the money for part of the transfer to help one of her followers. More immediately, there was a bandit camp about a day's travel up the road, and they had heard about Tucker's reputation from the locals. They weren't thinking an especially long-term thing, but it would be good to have another contact like him around the area (it was funny to see a dwarf check her pronouns, but Tucker had gone with "she" the whole while anyway).

"Sure. Count me in. I can scout, take a few out, then count on you guys for backup."

"I like it!" Dura said with a smile, clapping her thick hands. "We can head out tomorrow morning and split the cash three-ways."

Hun gave a nod. "Sounds good. So who won Survivor?"

"I dunno, big guy," Tucker admitted with a shrug. "But that David Bowie-looking guy won American Idol."

Hun nodded again. "I knew it..."

The trio set out, and Tucker was glad to learn that Hun had rented out a horse and carriage. On top of being impractical in the woods, cars and gas were dimensional imports and some top luxury items. The lack of roads made them pretty unnecessary as well, apart from speeding through large valleys or trade routes. The going was still quicker than Tucker was used to, and he found himself grabbing onto the edge of the cart every time they hit any  sizeable bump.

He still learned some about the others. Dura had been a female office worker and one of the first "otherworldly converts" to the temple of Sharae. She had gone through some relationship troubles and found the preachings online that got her through those hard times. The deity was a vague and comforting figure that supposedly checked on us every night, by what he'd gathered about the world between Dura's talk and his research before starting his new life.

Hun wasn't as open, but less out of secrecy than because he had a less eventful life. He was born to a female human during times of war, and his brute force proved useful when things got ugly in his hometown. He was blunt, but much like tucker, he wasn't the idiot he appeared to be. He was their driver because he had a real affinity with animals and was their best navigator between tracking and reading a map.

Tucker had only given the basics of his story when Hun called the group to a halt. They were getting near the bandit's camp, and they were moving in on foot from there. He hid the cart, packed up their supplies to bring with them, and hid the horses in an abandoned cave with food and water in case they took longer than they planned before they set out. Tucker would scout a short way ahead of Hun as the half-orc read his map and pieced together where they might be likely to appear.

They reached the point where Hun and Dura had expected them to be camped out, but apart from some old tracks, they didn't see anything. While they were discussing possibilities, Tucker scrambled up a tree as their quickest and quietest. By now he'd learned to wear his bandana around his neck while he was sneaking; it didn't cover up his cleavage too much, but it deflected the various twigs and debris that tended to get stuck in there when he didn't. From there, he could see the smoke coming from the sunken valley where the highwaymen were hiding out.

They quickly worked out their plan of attack and staked out until nightfall. Hun would be on watch, ready to barge in like the human truck that he was as soon as the bandits seemed to get wise to them. Tucker would slip in quietly and take out as many of them as he could while Dura summoned some magical fog to give him cover. He didn't want to be too cocky about it, but he'd taken out targets with less cover than that. He might just take out the camp by himself if he was careful and lucky.

The outsiders were easy. The thieves were mostly humans, so Tucker's beady eyes could see better in this "weather" and nothing but foggy moonlight. They had one drow and one orc, so he took them out first. Sliced the dark elf's hamstring and then throat, and pounced on the orc from a plank of a lookout post to knife him in the eye. He cleaned up their patrols, the loose bandits simple enough to assassinate when he picked up their patterns (especially when he had something to climb up on).

Then he moved to the tents. They were pretty large things, not enough to match their numbers by his guess since they wouldn't often be sleeping all at once (some on guard, some out banditing). Some he could slip in and kill in their sleep or while their backs were turned. When they were looking up or aware of him, a quick throwing knife in the chest or throat put them out shut them up enough for him to hurry in to stab or punch them the rest of the way. He didn't have the hardest punch, but the buckler put some impressive weight behind it.

It was luck that got him when Tucker ducked into a tent exactly when the guy was leaving it. It knocked his squat goblin body onto his curvy butt, and the random guy staggering a step or two. His eyes widened as he shouted a simple "HEYYYY!" to the others. "Intruder!" Tucker dove into the tent as the guy grabbed his sword. The guy seemed to know one end from the other, but his stance and grip wasn't the practiced and practical means that Tucker knew.

Even with his shorter reach, Tucker lashed out with his sword for the guy's fingers. He recoiled in time to save them, but it left his own blade easy for Tucker to hook his inside his defenses and flick it out of his hand. While he was busy with his impressive disarm, the bandit applied a mix of brawling and panic and kicked Tucker right in his soft little stomach. He let out a quick wheeze, faintly hearing but barely noting the sounds of shouts and struggles outside.

His own target ran into the tent, Tucker lunging after him despite his sloppy stance after the wind was knocked out of him. The guy grabbed for a pack in the corner of his room, Tucker grabbing for his belt but cursing in goblish when he realized that he had run out of throwing knives or else he'd have cut him off quickly.

Tucker's eyes widened when he saw the guy pull out a pistol; a simple black handgun you'd get in any corner gun shop or dark enough alley. They weren't illegal, but they were carefully tracked in Dimension A, and at the price of bullets they weren't especially popular when you had to put in an order from another dimension just to reload.

The outlaw aimed it at Tucker and fired, but Tucker's luck had turned around again. The guy didn't especially know what he was doing with it, and Tucker was a small, moving target. The bullet tore through the tent flap instead as Tucker charged him like (or rather, because) his life depended on it. Tucker took a stab at the gun hand, hoping to disarm that as well. He missed the firearm but slashed his hand, loosening his grip and ruining any aim as another shot went out of the tent again. The bandit reacted quickly to punch Tucker across the face, and the fist nearly as big as his head absolutely hurt. His stubby nose started to bleed rotten tomato red and his relatively light body was thrown off of the bandit. Tucker landed on his back as the bloody hand grabbed him around the neck and squeezed, giving a short wheeze before his instincts took over.

Tucker dug his short but sharp and solid teeth into the human's hand, clamping hard until blood ran from his lips as well. The guard howled and recoiled, ripping more gashed in his arm from Tucker's teeth. He quickly spit out the blood and dove for the gun, raising it and aiming like they had covered briefly in his survival training (both eyes open, both hands on the gun, brace your legs... or ass in this case...) and fired as much and as quickly as he could. The man was quickly blown away by the faster and more accurate shots, the gun finally clicking to a halt as Tucker heavily caught his breath.

He tossed away the empty gun and looked up as the tent flew open, Dura poking her head in. "There you are!" she gasped. "Are you okay?"

Tucker snorted, thumbed his nose, and spat out more blood. "It's mostly his. I'm okay."

Dura sighed and shook her head with a slight smile. "I'll patch you up later. Hun's cleaning up the last of them."

Tucker had always heard how berserkers went into frothing frenzies, some even vomiting blood or popping veins while they fought. As he watched him work, Hun wasn't any of those things when he was caught up in a fight. He just looked insanely alert, more of a Jackie Chan than a rampaging Schwarzenegger (he'd have to spend several minutes explaining what that meant to Hun later). He wasn't outraged or wild so much as he was in his element. His eyes were wide and ears were actually tensed and raised, constantly whirling and swinging a fist or an axe at something in this elaborate pattern of momentum like it was an art in itself.

He only really stopped when the last one, an even bigger bandit than Hun, stepped out from behind a tent and smashed him in the back of the head with what looked like a very small tree. Hun plopped right down, out cold as Dura stepped forward. "Sleep!" she commanded loudly, and the half-ogre slammed to the ground with a small earthquake and a loud snore. Tucker was able to put his sword through the back of his neck in a quick, easy coup de gras.

They lugged Hun into an empty tent where Dura put a quick healing spell on him. It would take a little while to work, especially with a vague injury like a concussion, but since it was after nightfall the moon goddess' powers would work especially quickly.

"You sure you're alright?" Dura asked. The two of them had taken their own tent to give Hun room to breathe and Dura room to work. She was stroking Tucker's face, as if smoothing the skin where he'd been wounded and slowly closing up his bloodied nose and bruised cheek.

"It's alright. I had some worse in the old tribe. Some of them got in drunk when my guard was asleep. 'Course, they usually killed them for hurting a breeder." The light touch of Dura's thick hands made his skin itch. He thought it was the magic at first, but even when she held his hand or moved his hips for a better angle he felt the same way. It was... strange for him to be treated gently. Ever since he'd entered the goblin body, it was either beatings, rape (giving or taking) or at best, some rough love.

"Poor thing," Dura mused as she met his eyes. "Haven't had a soft touch in your whole life here, have you?"

Tucker smiled weakly. "Didn't come here expecting one. At least it helped me get tough real quick."

"It doesn't all have to be tough, Tucker." Dura took his hand in hers, squeezing it firmly.

"It doesn't all have to be tough, Tucker." Dura took his hand in hers, squeezing it firmly. Tucker's cheeks turned a paler shade and Dura smiled as she looked into his beady eyes.

"Yea, well... most people aren't big on goblins," he muttered.

"I think we both know that we're not what we are on the outside." She cupped Tucker's face and kissed him, leaning her short body into his even smaller frame. Apparently Sharae was one of those "free love" goddesses, because when Dura removed her robe there was black and form-fitting underwear wrapped around her stocky frame (which was quickly lost as well). It was a strange but welcomed experience to be treated so tenderly, even if it was for the sake of fun to pass the time. Dura seemed to know what she was doing, her thick fingers making minor adjustments for Tucker's curvy little body and small but well-used entrance. She took her time, fingering and stroking him so slowly it made his skin crawl. He was used to being fucked and beaten, but not being loved and caressed.

The strangest part to him was the kissing. It had been over a year since he'd kissed anyone at all, and her pillowy lips and warm tongue made him squirm on contact with them. His body wasn't really repulsed, but it was unfamiliar enough that his instincts weren't sure what was happening. Tucker made himself hold onto Dura's arm to keep from breaking away, the comforting dwarf holding him steady as she continued to work over his plump and sensitive body. He relaxed a bit more when Dura unbuckled his breastplate and softly kissed at his dark green nipples. His body reacted positively to that and calmed down, likely reminding him of feeding one of his pups. He was gurgling and moaning as she followed up on the effective approach, fingering him while gently suckling milk out of his oversized breasts.

"Thank you..." Tucker mused distantly, his mind a bit detached from his body with all the alien arousal. Anything he'd experienced before he'd had to take from his partner, never given.

"Don't thank me just yet," Dura smiled up at him before proceeding to slide her braided head between his thighs. Tucker briefly remembered some vaguely bawdy comment from some patrons at his inn about dwarf tongues, and he didn't quite understand why until she was inside of him. Dura's licking was both more pleasurable, slower, and bigger than any amount of goblin dick he had ever received. Tucker immediately released a shuddering moan as she practically filled up his stretching loins, making his hips lift off the ground. He felt mentally paralyzed, but his body reacted for him as his breathing picked up its pace and he ground slowly against her tongue, almost unwilling to move that much in case he disturbed whatever magic she was working on his body. Dura squeezed and teased his leaky breasts, thumbing and slowly squeezing his chest until his narrow goblin clitoris was pulsing against the cleric's tongue.

Tucker saw spots as he released an intense orgasm over her mouth, his thick and slimey cum squirting over her. The sexual saint she was, Dura never even seemed to flinch from it. She just smiled and licked her lips as she lifted her head. "That better?"

"Yea!" Tucker squeaked. "Lots."

"I thought it was pretty good." Dura looked up quickly as her braids whipped behind her head, resting across her broad naked back as she glared at Hun. He was leaning into the tent flap, casually eating a hunk of bread.

"Hun!" Dura barked, throwing one of her boots at him that he didn't bother to dodge. Tucker was still a bit too overwhelmed to react anywhere near so strongly. Even then, Dura didn't seem to be especially angry so much as shocked. "You fucking animal! How long have you been there!?"

Hun shrugged. “Little while. They have food.” He nodded off to where he'd lugged the loot they'd salvaged from the camp. "You wanna sort through it while I get the horses?"

Dura sighed and pulled her robe around her shoulders, even if it didn't completely cover her soft belly and heavy tits. "Go ahead, Hun. We got this."

"Yea you do." Hun gave her the finger guns, something that Tucker assumed he had picked up from Dura, and he strode back out towards the woods.

Dura shook her head and tugged her robes on before starting to squeeze back into her night-black panties. "Sorry about that. He can be such a dork sometimes."

"No way. Thanks," Tucker muttered, finally finding the energy to sit up and fit back into some of his clothes. "I just wish I could make it up to you."

"You more than pulled your weight tonight," Dura assured him with a warm pat on the head, ruffling his scrappy hair. "You can catch me next time we need to kill time on duty."

"Next time?"

"Well, sure. You did most of the work for us. We were thinking of setting roots here in Shafton while we looked for more jobs, so I definitely want to keep you on call. If you're not too busy, anyway."

Tucker fixed his armor to just the right amount of cleavage and protection as he looked over at the pile of loot. Sure, a lot of it would be returned to the nearest guards to try to give it back to their owners, but they'd get a hefty cut of it. More than he got for shanking boars in the woods, that's for sure. "Yea... yea, I'm totally onboard. The work's a little harder, but the benefits can't be beat."

"Well, it doesn't all have to be tough," Dura winked at him.