A Goblin's Mouth

They were two days out from Alfield, the road a damp ribbon through reed-choked ditches, the sky already bruised for night when Caleb came back into camp with an armful of kindling and the ache of a long walk between his shoulders.

He slowed at the edge of the firelight.

Nott hadn’t heard him. She’d set up in the lee of a toppled stone, where the windbreak cut the breeze and the ground ran soft with moss. Her coat was folded under her rump. Her knees were bent, heels planted, small green toes digging into dirt for purchase. And between her feet-

Caleb’s breath hitched before he could help it.

Her balls lay heavy on the ground like two full leather shot-bags, taut and gleaming, shifting with the little shudders that ran through her body. Above them, her cock stood up between her bent knees, an obscene, towering pillar. Veined, uncut, the foreskin slick and half-drawn back over a dark, swollen glans. It was so thick she couldn’t wrap one hand around it; she used both, fingers not quite meeting as she milked the base.

Her mouth was stretched obscenely wide around the head. It filled her lips and then some, cheeks bulging, jaw unhinged as much as any jaw could be. She had the angle of it just so, spine curved, hips tipped, her body doing the geometry of the act: press down from the base, open her throat, let the fat tip slide to the back of her mouth, stop before gag, breathe through the nose, repeat.

Saliva webbed her chin and dripped off in shiny ropes that clung to the foreskin and ran down in glossy strings to the fists she was pumping. Every time she took the head deeper, her throat made a low, involuntary sound, half gurgle, half moan. The huge balls rocked and nudged against the earth between her feet as her hands worked, left palm twisting to roll the foreskin, right squeezing the base, milking, milking, milking.

Caleb stood there with the kindling and forgot how to move.

The air smelled like damp wool and woodsmoke and something hotter underneath: musk, salt, the animal edge of sex cut with cheap liquor. Heat flashed under his coat, unwelcome and immediate, and he closed his eyes for a heartbeat like that would help.

“Nott,” he said, too quietly to carry, then, throat dry: “Nott.”

She startled, just enough to pop off with a lewd, wet schlup. The head sprang free and smacked her upper lip, smearing saliva across one cheek. Her bright yellow eyes snapped up, pupils huge, and for a second her ears flattened all the way back in mortification.

Then her bravado found her.

“Oh! Ah! Hallo!” she squeaked, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist, which only dragged spit along her jaw. “You are… back. With sticks. Nott was- Nott was doing stretches.”

Caleb’s mouth twitched in spite of himself. “Ja. Of the tongue.”

She stuck the really quite long appendage out at him and then, because she was Nott, grinned with it still out, pointy and obscene. The grin held for a beat, then snapped, her ears flattening, eyes going glassy as the joke curdled and a tiny, whine escaped her.

“Oh! Oh gods, you- you weren’t supposed-” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing more spit across her face. Her fist kept moving, as if her body couldn’t stop even though her soul begged to. “Don’t look at me! This is- filthy, disgusting. Nott is disgusting.”

She bent over the shaft like she could hide behind it. “I can’t stop when it gets like this. I can’t-” her voice cracked, teeth catching the inside of her cheek as tears pricked at her eyes, “-they get so full, and I just… I just need to empty them.”

Her gaze snapped to him, furious and pleading at once. “There’s no cunt out here. No warm, willing hole. Just this mouth. And it works. The tongue, the teeth… they fit. So I fuck myself like a beast, and you shouldn’t be here to see it!”

Her voice pitched higher, frantic. “You should go. Leave Nott to her shame. Nott doesn’t deserve a friend. Doesn’t deserve you. Just a drunk goblin bitch who-” she choked on a sob, glaring down at her spit-slick cock, “-who can’t stop doing this.”

Caleb set the wood down with careful hands. He should look away. He should walk. But he didn’t. He crouched, not close enough to touch, just enough that she knew he had chosen to stay.

“I have seen worse monsters,” he murmured. His accent thickened on the words. His eyes flicked down at the obscene weight she carried, then back up, steady. “And I have done worse things than you can imagine.”

Nott’s ears twitched. She bared her teeth, laugh sharp and broken. “Ha! Don’t lie. You’re too good. Too clever. Too-” she swallowed hard, voice softening-“too kind.”

His face flickered, shadow over flame. “Nein,” he said simply. His gaze lingered on the fire as if it had answers only he could read. “There are ashes in my hands I will never wash off.”

A fragile mercy touched her eyes, then she shut it with a filthy smile. “Trust me: Nott’s already done the ‘worse.’”

Then she licked the glossy wet green cockhead with one long, obscene sweep of her tongue and took it back into her mouth with a little, self-satisfied hum. Her lips stretched, then sealed. Her cheeks hollowed. Her hands went to work in concert, rolling the foreskin back and forth, twisting, milking the shaft while she bobbed, mouth opening to accept the circumference, throat flexing against the blunt pressure.

He looked at her again. Not with disgust. Not even pity. Just tired honesty. “But still,” he said, “I stay.”

Her throat bobbed. A wet laugh escaped her, ragged as a sob. “You’re mad, Caleb Widogast.”

“Ja,” he said softly. “So are you. Perhaps this is why.”

Her ears flicked, tears still slick at the corners of her eyes, and then just like that, her goblin mask slammed back on. She slurped messily off the crown with a loud schlop, grinning up at him with spit shining down her chin.

“See? Told you- Nott’s a filthy little beast. Mouth like a tavern whore, balls like a swollen wineskin. Could drown a whole village in the muck she makes, ja? You’re lucky it’s only the trees watching, or I’d charge admission.” She winked, obscene and brittle, pumping her cock with both fists until fat drops of pre-come smeared across her knuckles.

Her voice swung up into a sing-song lilt: “Nott the Brave! Nott the Lewd! Fills bellies, fills beds, fills herself when no one else lines up.” She let her tongue flop out to show it, then wrapped it back around the glans with a groan that was half-mocking, half-needy. “Mmm. And you sit there, good Caleb, pretending you don’t want to rut this filthy goblin like the rest.”

“Indeed.” he smirked, not taking her words to heart, though he did have an unfortunate protuberance in his drawers.

He told himself to look away, to focus on the fire, on the wood crackling down to coal. But his eyes betrayed him. For all her foul mouth and self-loathing, she was, if he was honest with himself, a gorgeous little thing. Dangerous and exotic, yes, but sharp and alive in every movement, her small frame vibrating with a kind of **** energy that made her shine.

He hadn’t known he had a taste for goblins. Perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps it was only this goblin. The one who laughed and spat in the face of her own shame, who drank too much and stole too much and still made him want to stay.

Not that he had any intention of acting on such thoughts. That way lay ruin. He pulled his coat tighter, smothering the ache in his trousers, and let the fire have his gaze again.

Nott made a pleased noise and redoubled her efforts. Her eyes fluttered closed; her ears pinged; her breath came in a rhythm as practiced as lockpicks in the dark. When she reached her hand higher and pressed two fingers against the slick where her mouth met the cockhead, she found a seam that made her yelp into it, high and shocked, and her hips jerked.

It happened fast.

The cock swelled under her lips, the head thickening, and her eyes flew open just in time to look at Caleb, incredulous, as the first heavy spurt hit the back of her mouth. Her cheeks ballooned. She swallowed, coughed, swallowed again, stubborn and greedy, some spilling anyway, hot white streaks escaping at the corners of her mouth to run down her chin and over her knuckles. She didn’t stop sucking; if anything she pulled harder, milking herself through it, both hands stroking the pumping shaft while her balls rocked and tightened and her whole small body quivered with the hard, involuntary pulses.

Caleb heard himself groan. He clapped a hand over his mouth too late.

She let the head slip free with a violent pop when she had to breathe, threads of cum stringing from her lips to the swollen head. More painted her collarbone and the shallow dip between her small breasts; a last, lazy rope slid down to pool in the hollow of her belly. The cock twitched and leaked, still obscenely hard, fat and veined and demanding, as if the release had only whetted it.

For a long moment they just breathed at each other, her lips shining, his face hot.

Then Nott sniffed, wiped at her chin with the heel of her hand, and tried for a shrug that almost landed. “Nott is very efficient,” she said, and then ruined the effect by squeaking when a fresh bead welled at the slit and dripped onto her fingers. “Also…ah… persistent.”

Caleb found a cloth in the kit by feel and crouched, careful not to crowd. He held it out without touching her, eyes on the tangle of her hands so he didn’t have to look at her mouth again. “Here,” he said, voice rough. “You will want this.”

She took it, their fingers bumping. Up close, her smell was everywhere. Smoke and metal and cheap spirits and something green and warm and embarrassingly alive. “Thank you,” she said, less flippant now, dabbing at her chin and chest, then glaring at the cock when it twitched like a misbehaving pet. “Stop that.”

“It will not,” Caleb said, dry without meaning to be. His eyes betrayed him; they dropped, caught the obscene pulse at the tip, and snapped back up. His ears were on fire. “You should… drink water. And then… sleep.”

She peered at him sidelong, cunning peeking through the mortification. “You did not… dislike watching.”

His mouth did something traitorous; he smoothed it flat. “I am not made of stone.”

She blinked, then smiled in that small, lopsided way she smiled when the world gave her a scrap of kindness she hadn’t planned for. “Nott won’t tell if you won’t.”

He huffed. “Ja.”

She wiped a last gleaming line from her collarbone, then stuffed the cloth away and pulled out the crumple of her skirts and apron at her waist and pushed it back down. The cock made a ridiculous, swollen lump she couldn’t do anything about. She patted it, as if that ever worked, then reached for her bottle, took a fortifying pull, and winced.

“You should not-” Caleb began, then stopped. He had no right to scold anyone. But he did hold out his battered canteen of water to chase the liquor down.

The fire settled into a low, steady glow, throwing their shadows long against the moss and stone. Nott drank from the canteen with an exaggerated gulp and a burp that turned into a giggle, smearing her mouth with the back of her hand as if nothing at all had happened. Caleb watched her, his face schooled into calm, though the weight in his trousers throbbed like a secret he’d never tell. For now it was enough to sit across from her, two broken things made companions by the road and the dark, bound by shame and survival and the stubborn choice to stay.