A morning of goblin sex

The deep, untroubled sleep lasted until the grey light of dawn began to bleed through the shutters. Sue stirred, consciousness returning slowly, like a swimmer rising from warm, heavy waters. Her body was the first thing she noticed. A pervasive, delicious soreness lingered in her muscles—a deep ache in her thighs, a tender stiffness between her legs, a pleasant weight in her lower belly. She yawned, stretching lazily under the thin blanket, and the sensations bloomed, a map of the night’s activities written on her flesh.

Last night was… was… amazing. The thought surfaced, clear and unguarded. She had to admit it.

A flicker of guilt, old and faded, tried to rise. Reed Richards. Her husband. The man she had loved, the genius she had stood beside for years. Ben Grimm. Johnny Storm. Her brother. Her team. A lifetime ago. Years. A literal, aching span of years had passed since she had seen them, touched them, heard their voices. She had been faithful. For so long. Through the loneliness, through the offers from kings and knights and handsome warriors who had tried to woo her with promises and power. She had held that line, a ghost of a promise to a ghost of a past.

But now… she looked to her side.

Skeeve slept beside her, turned away, his back a landscape of lean, green muscle. He was snoring softly, a contented little rasp. Of all people in this savage, broken world. A villainous, scheming, lustful goblin. He had taken his time. Years of leering, of teasing, of unwavering, annoying persistence. And now… he had taken her.

Her gaze drifted lower. Her own thighs were sticky. A dried, glistening residue clung to her inner skin, a pale green smear. His cum. It had dried around her womanhood, a physical claim she had welcomed, had begged for. She felt a strange, possessive warmth at the sight.

She yawned again, the soreness making the movement languid, and pushed herself up. The room was cool, the air still holding the night’s chill. She padded to the window on bare feet, the floorboards creaking softly. She pushed the shutter open a fraction.

Rain. A steady, dreary drizzle fell from a sky choked with grey clouds. The mountains beyond the city walls were shrouded in mist, the passes invisible. She knew the terrain. That rain meant swollen streams, mudslides, treacherous, flooded paths. The mountain pass to Maeven’s rumored spire would be impassable today. Possibly for days. The sun hadn’t even properly risen; the world was still gloom-wrapped.

They couldn’t ride out. Not yet.

A delay. An unexpected day of respite. Or… opportunity.

She turned back to the bed. Skeeve had shifted, rolling onto his back. He was still asleep, but his face was relaxed in a simple, happy smile. And there, rising from the thatch of dark hair between his legs, was his cock. Even in sleep, it was semi-hard, a thick, green pillar against his stomach. Such a small guy packs a mean stick… she thought, a private, amused joke curling in her mind.

She needed to pee. The night’s activities, the shower, the… everything… had left her bladder full. She moved to the small, adjoining bathing room. It was even more crude than the shower stall—a simple hole in the floor, a drain for waste. She squatted over it, her muscles protesting slightly.

The release was immediate. A stream of pale yellow joined the trickle of water already in the drain. And something else came out with it. Strings of thicker, paler green fluid, mingling with her urine. His cum. It poured out of her, a visible reminder of how deeply he had filled her, how completely she had accepted him. She watched it disappear into the hole, a faint, possessive thrill touching her.

Then she saw the other evidence.

In the corner of the small room, near the base of the wall, was a small, dried puddle. Pale green, slightly crusted. The puddle she had stepped in the night before, when she’d walked out of the shower. She had wondered what it was then, slick and strange under her bare foot.

And there, above it, a knothole in the wooden wall. A perfect, peering-sized gap.

Her eyes narrowed. She crouched, ignoring the lingering dampness on the floor, and swiped her finger through the dried residue. It came away in a gritty smear. She lifted her finger, brought it to her lips, and tasted it.

The flavor was unmistakable. Sour. Apple-like. Almost candy-sweet beneath the salt. His. She knew that taste now, intimately. It was the same taste that had filled her mouth in the shower, the same taste that had dried between her legs.

“Little shit,” she murmured, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Started without me.”

Poor guy. He’d had to do that. Watch her through the hole. Jerk off onto the floor. But he’d gotten some to make up for it later. The smile turned into a soft, genuine laugh. She wasn’t angry. She was… charmed. Amused. A little impressed by his dedication.

She stood and moved to the small, cloudy mirror hung on the wall. She looked at herself.

Her body was a canvas. The sigils, the magical markings she had applied as part of their disguise, were more than just paint now. They were active. Magic was real here. It had weight. It had influence.

The sigil of his name, Skeeve, over her left breast, was larger. It had spread, the lines darker, more intricate. She touched it, her fingers tracing the curves. A pulse of warmth answered her touch, a low, possessive hum. His claim on her. He had taken her. For now… she was his. She let the feeling sink in, a strange, comforting ownership.

On the back of her neck, the sigil for his Tribe, the Muurkwood goblins, was also more pronounced. She touched it gingerly, and a sense of connection fluttered through her—a vague awareness of distant forests, of clan bonds, of a history she didn’t share but was now tied to.

The family crests on her arms, the decorative patterns, were unchanged, but she could feel them as she rubbed her skin. They were dormant, but present. Anchors.

She had done the spell-sigils. She had put protective wards around them, little mental shields to dull their effect, to keep them as mere decoration. But when she gave in… when she gave herself to him… the protections had worn off. She’d essentially denied them. She’d let the magic work.

Her eyes dropped lower, to her stomach.

A new sigil.

One she had not put on herself.

It was bright pink, vivid against her pale skin, centered just below her navel. The design was unfamiliar—interlocking circles, with a small, stylized heart at the center. She touched it.

The sensation was immediate and confusing. A need. A deep, primal, unfocused yearning. Not for sex, not for Skeeve specifically… but for… connection. For binding. For something permanent. It unsettled her. What did it mean? Had the magic reacted to their coupling? Had he somehow marked her further, unconsciously?

She would have to be careful. She would remove them soon… she would. After the mission. That was the plan.

But for now… they were there. And they were part of her.

She returned to the bedroom. Skeeve was still sleeping, his cock now fully hard, standing straight up from his body, a proud, green monument to his desire. The sight stirred something low and hungry in her own belly. The soreness was a pleasant memory; the need was a fresh, current flame.

She didn’t hesitate.

She crawled onto the bed, moving over him. Her hands went to his shaft. She grasped it, feeling its warmth, its solid weight. She leaned down, her mouth opening, and took the head into her lips.

He stirred immediately, a groan escaping him even in sleep. His eyes fluttered open, blurry, then focused on her face, on her mouth around him. “Sue…?” he mumbled, disoriented.

She suckled gently, her tongue swirling around the tip. “Wake up,” she murmured, her voice a husky whisper. She pulled back, then slid down his length, taking him deeper into her mouth. He was already slick from her attention, from his own sleep-induced hardness.

He gasped, his hands coming up to her shoulders. “What…?”

“Bad weather,” she said, between strokes of her mouth. She released him, looked down at his face. “The pass is flooded. We can’t ride out. Not yet.”

She climbed off him, then straddled his hips. She guided his cock to her entrance, already wet from her own anticipation. She lowered herself onto him, taking him inside in one smooth, deep slide.

The fit was immediate, perfect, a filling ache that bloomed into pleasure. She was still sore, still tender, but the stretch was welcoming, familiar. She sighed, a sound of pure contentment, as she settled onto him, taking him to the root.

“We can stay another day,” she said, rocking her hips slowly, grinding against him. “Plan our attack. And fuck.”

Skeeve’s expression cleared, shifting from confusion to dawning, eager understanding. His hands moved to her hips, holding her, guiding her. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes.”

She began to move, rising and falling on him, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her inner muscles, sensitized from the night before, clasped him tightly, pulling on him with each withdrawal. The suction-like grip she’d discovered returned, a delicious, intimate hold that made him groan and arch beneath her.

“You’re holding me again,” he gasped, his claws digging into her skin.

“I am,” she agreed, a smirk playing on her lips. She leaned forward, changing the angle, and his cock ground against a spot deep inside that sent sparks up her spine. She moaned, the sound loud in the quiet room.

The sex was slower this time, less frantic than the night’s initial consummation. It was lazy, exploratory, a luxurious morning indulgence. Sue focused on the sensations, on the slow build of pleasure. She rode him with a steady, rocking pace, her hands braced on his chest, her eyes locked on his.

The soreness melted away, replaced by a building heat. Her orgasm approached not as a crashing wave, but as a rising tide. It gathered slowly, warming her core, tightening her muscles around him. She sped up slightly, her movements becoming more urgent.

Skeeve matched her, his hips pushing upward to meet her downstrokes, driving himself deeper. His eyes were wide, fixed on her face, on the way her breasts moved with her rhythm, on the sigil over her left breast that seemed to glow with her exertion.

“I love watching you,” he whispered, his voice rough. “I love being inside you.”

The words, simple and honest, tipped her over.

The climax broke over her, a warm, spreading release that washed through her belly and out to her limbs. She cried out, a soft, sustained sound, and her body clenched around him, milking him, pulling him deeper into her as she shuddered. She collapsed forward, her forehead against his chest, as the pleasure ebbed.

Skeeve wasn’t finished. He held her there, his own movements continuing, shallow and persistent, keeping her on the edge. After a minute, as her breathing slowed, he shifted, rolling her gently off him and onto her back.

“My turn,” he said, his voice hungry.

He positioned himself between her legs, entering her again with a smooth, deep thrust. This time, he took control. His thrusts were faster, more driven, his small body moving with a powerful, relentless energy. Sue’s hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his green skin. She matched his rhythm, her hips lifting to meet him, her cries becoming sharper, more fragmented.

The second orgasm came quicker, triggered by his renewed fervor. It was sharper, more intense, a bolt of pleasure that locked her muscles and stole her breath. She screamed into his shoulder, her body convulsing beneath him.

Skeeve felt her climax, and his own control shattered. He drove into her, hard and deep, and held there. His release flooded her, hot and copious, filling her just as completely as the night before. She felt it, the internal heat, the pulsing jets, and it triggered a third, softer aftershock, a gentle ripple of pleasure that left her limp and gasping.

He collapsed beside her, panting, his body slick with sweat. They lay together, tangled, spent, the morning rain a gentle patter against the shutters.

After a long moment, Sue shifted, curling against him. Her hand rested on his chest, over his heart. “We have the day,” she murmured.

Skeeve grinned, a tired, satisfied grin. “We have the day.”