>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.
